#✘ –– most days my demons are silent.「 musings. 」

[suiana]

The death of an artist

he's always found you beautiful, even in your death and rebirth. you'll always be perfect to him. always

(yandere! musician x gn! reader) (cw: yandere stuff idk, im wiritng this while shitting i hope u enjoy my poopoo core, 2.04k words)

you might not have realised it but your silent admirer had always watched you.

he's watched you from the shadows, observing how you interact with others, how your eyes were once full of light and joy as you shared your paintings for the world to see.

it was beautiful.

you were beautiful.

he was but an aspiring musician back then. a couple of listeners here and there but never enough to fill up a concert hall. meanwhile you were a famous artist, with your paintings selling out for millions at all the art exhibitions you hosted.

you little admirer totally idolized you.

i mean, who wouldn't? all your paintings were so full of life, oh so meaningful, and most importantly, they were made with love.

love, love, love.

it was the one thing that made you stand out from all the hundreds and thousands of artists. the one thing that inspired him to even start writing songs.

your art made him feel loved. it made him feel wanted, even. he remembers how he'd get a fuzzy feeling from all your paintings, how it sent a delightful tingle up his spine as he takes in your carefully crafted masterpieces.

though there weren't any texts, all of your paintings spoke a thousand words. and they spoke to him.

with every new piece you put out, it was like he was getting to know you better. to know you on a personal level. it made his head spin and his heart leap in delight. after all, you were his idol. the one he admired so much that he began to pursue a music career dedicated to you. the career he once left behind in favour of living in this sad world.

though at one point in time, he hit a wall.

he couldn't get any ideas, no fresh inspiration for his music. the musician could only stare at his score as his mind desperately grasps at nothing. he felt like he was dying.

then you came through, like an angel of salvation.

well, looking back, you were more like a demon of salvation. especially because that one single text from you kick-started his disgusting love for you. it feels wrong to call you a demon though, not when you were so holy that he feels like touching you will corrupt your divine light.

he still remembers waking up and seeing your text on his instagram DMs. your bright red notification ping that gave him all the motivation he needed to think of a new idea.

'hey! just wanted to tell u i really enjoy ur music! cant wait to see u get famous >w<'

he swears he could die happy just seeing you message him. you messaged him. you know of his existence??? no fucking way bro. he still wonders if he used up all his luck when you messaged him so innocently that day.

of course... he responded and thus began a friendship (?) between the two of you.

friendship. yeah, maybe for you.

truth be told, he doesn't know if he ever saw you as a friend to begin with. he always thought you messaged him because you were interested in him too. whatever, these small details aren't important.

he released a love song not long after your first interaction with him. it instantly became a viral hit, taking his follower count from the thousands to the millions. he was glad it performed so well on the charts, they were his feelings to you after all.

the now famous musician had to thank you for getting him out of his rut. without you, he'd probably have gone back to doing medicine. so he did the best thing and that was to invite you out for a meal. he had to thank his muse, didn't he?

you were a little hesitant at first. that's okay, if anything he thought it was cute that you were suspicious of him. there will be plenty of time for you to warm up to him later.

the little get-together, or first date as he likes to call it, went well! you two saw each other in real life for the first time! and boy was he smitten. if he was unsure about whether he was in love with you before, he sure as hell was sure now.

you were so much more lovely in real life than you were over text. all smiles and laughs, your admirer feels that his songs didn't do you justice.

"this was fun! let's do this again!"

oh for sure he will do it again. he just wants you all to himself now. to keep you with him, a never-ending source of inspiration for the rest of his life. his beloved muse. the one he writes for. the one his songs are dedicated to. his.

so your falling off played out nicely in his favour. you were trying out an experimental style, said that he inspired you. it was one that not many would be able to understand at first glance, completely different from what your previous one was. your loyal fans stood by your side of course, him included. but the general public eventually started ignoring your newer pieces in favour for something they didn't need to use much thought to understand. for someone fresh, someone new.

he could see the way the light in your eyes slowly started to dim at the lack of interaction. sure, you said that fame wasn't important to you, that all you wanted was to showcase your art to the world.

but your little admirer could tell that it was bothering you more than you'd like to admit.

he saw the way your texts with him grew more erratic, the way the vibrant life in your eyes started to slowly dim, the way you started pushing out more works to compensate for the style change. you were desperate for the attention you once received. the way you changed in real time, becoming a slave to the consumers, like an animated robot that pushed out art just for the sake of it...

it was a little sad to see to be honest. it was like you were there, but you also weren't, you know? your name was on the artwork but he didn't see you in it.

but he was glad things turned out the way it did. it meant that he could be there for you when you cried and felt like a mistake. it meant that he could offer you a shoulder to cry on when the times were really bad.

"there there, it's alright. just let it all out."

his gentle caresses as you cried your heart out into his chest... it was delightful to see you depend on him so much. that you'd come seeking comfort from him in such a dark period of your life. he felt so wanted by you.

meanwhile, his fame was only growing larger by the day. while you were on a path to being forgotten, he was making a name for himself in the music industry. brand deals, billboards, advertisements. he was everywhere, like a ghost haunting you, to remind you that your friend was thriving while you weren't.

the musician wonders whether you've ever hated him. that you'd think he was stealing all of your fame. after all, your fame went down not long after you messaged him. he really wonders whether you've ever blamed him for making a change in your art style.

it doesn't matter now.

the artist in you was gone.

"hey, what if you make me an album cover?"

you only stared at him with dark eyes before looking away. everyone around you had slowly started distancing themselves from you. the change in your personality and looks had scared them. everyone but him had stayed. his words about horrid snakes deceiving you fill your head as you cling to the attention he gave you. who were you to deny your only friend left?

"sure."

you didn't give much thought when designing his new album. it was an avant garde album that had themes about desperation, love, and death.

how ironic, you thought.

you gave the complete piece to him a few days after, heavy bags under your eyes as your friend hugged and kissed your cheek. he's been taking care of you recently. having you move in with him, cooking you food and covering all of your expenses. he treated you like a lover. albeit you found it a bit weird that he told you not to leave without his consent. said that he didn't want people to harass you. you found it sweet of him. you were glad that he cared for you so much.

"my dear artist friend designed my new album cover, yes. i think they were a perfect fit to help design this particular album cover. they're..."

your fame immediately came back. interviews, likes, commissions, the things you were once familiar with came running back at full force after your friend's interview with a big channel.

you think if this happened earlier you'd have caved under the attention. the big spotlight, fans.... the attention will always be intoxicating. even now, you feel yourself smiling at the number of notifications you're receiving from strangers.

but you've realized that their attention is only temporary. the second you grow irrelevant they'll drop you again. just like they did before.

the only one who matters is your friend. the one who whispered sweet nothings and reassured you when you were drowning in a mass of nothingness. the one who gave you the attention you craved.

you immediately started a new piece in a new style.

'Intertwined'

a painting that gave you more fame than what you initially had before. it was a piece about self enlightenment, discovery, and contentment. and some claimed that it was the best painting that you've ever made. a masterpiece.

you showed your friend your work right after you were done and you could've sworn you saw a hint of shock in his eyes. maybe also fear? you don't know.

"this is... beautiful."

his words were slow, gaze intense as he stared at your painting for what felt like hours. you think he was mesmerized. you never asked him.

you made another painting after that.

'final duet'

again, people claimed that it was a masterpiece. your friend looked stunned again and he called it beautiful like always. he told you that he's never seen something so artistically perfect before and that he's proud of you. you like it. his compliments make you happy.

"this one is for you."

you made another piece. a simple painting of him in your style.

'untitled.jpg'

"is... it mine now?"

he proceeded to draw you into the painting as well after your words. you didn't understand what he was doing. but you found it cute. he was drawing you?

"there. now it's perfect."

he smiles down at you before pressing a kiss to your forehead like he always does. you've grown so used to his kisses that you were expecting one already. you lean into his touch before smiling softly.

"i'm so happy with you."

"me too."

the seed of life was sprouting once more, growing around the stem that it's learnt to grow dependent on.

he was everything to you. you feel like you'd die without him. but you know it'll never happen because your dearest friend will always remain by your side. he promised you. his words are like gold. he's the only one who matters.

you never want to be apart ever again.

thus you made your final masterpiece about love and dedication. a flower thriving in a dark environment and growing to love the dark, having died in the shining light once before.

'rebirth'

the blinds to the outside world shut on the two of you. no one else is important. he tells you he loves you. you repeat it. his hands wrap around you as you lean into his cold touch. you're cold too. you used to be warm once, he says he likes you cold better. shutting your eyes, all you focus on is the steady beating of his heart.

now no one will ever bother the two lovers ever again.

[ahqkas]

♯ TOO SWEET ; mattheo riddle

❛ i take my whiskey neat, my coffee black and my bed at 3, you’re too sweet for me ❜

PAIRING! mattheo riddle x gn!reader

SYNOPSIS! in which mattheo recalled the two times you were too sweet for him (based on this req.!!)

WORD COUNT! 4.1k

WARNINGS AND TAGS! consummation of alcohol, lovesick mattheo, fluff, angst, a lot of my hcs for mattheo’s past (i wrote him the way i see him), lmk if i missed smth !!

NOTES! this is purely my view on mattheo’s character bc the hc i wrote suit him sm 😿😿 reblogs & comments are greatly appreciated <3

HARRY POTTER MASTERLIST!

ONCE A MAN FALLS IN LOVE, he finds himself drawn to not just the physical beauty of his muse, but for the essence of who the person truly is - their quirks, intelligence, kindness, and their unique way of seeing the world. Every interaction, every shared experience, every memory he brings, adds another layer to his adoration towards the love of his life.

His love for them is evident in the little things - the way he watches them when they aren't looking, the small gestures of thoughtfulness, the silent support during their dark moments of life. It's in the way he listens, truly listens, to the hopes and dreams, fears and frustrations, always eager to offer his thoughts and ideas. This love manifests in his desire to be their anchor in times of storm, their cheerleader in moments of triumph, and their person in all the in-betweens. It is a love that values their independence and individuality, recognizing that they are their own person with their own journey, and yet, he longs to be a part of that journey, to walk alongside them and share in their joys and sorrows of life.

Mattheo Riddle was no different.

He marvels at your kindness, your sweetness, and the light you bring into his life. You are his muse, his inspiration, a spark of the goodness that stands in stark contrast to his own perceived flaws and insecurities he feels deep inside himself. He sees you as an angel, a pure and radiant being who somehow chose to share your life with him, despite his own imperfections and inner demons.

He sees you as an angel in a human form, who chose to live among the devils, just so he could feel the heavenly touch for the first and last time in all eternity.

He often wonders how he, with all his rough edges, hidden scars, and a past life without a happy memory, could be worthy of your love. He feels like a monster, haunted by past mistakes and burdened by the weight of his own fears and failings. You, on the other hand, are everything he aspires to be - kind, compassionate, and endlessly forgiving. Your presence in his life is a constant reminder of the beauty and grace that he lacks, and yet, your love makes him strive to be better, to rise above his darkness and become someone worthy of your affection.

In his heart, he knows that your love is transforming him, helping him to heal and grow. Your existence is a light that dispels his inner darkness, a reminder for him to cherish that even monsters like him can be loved. He clings to this, that your love is making him a better man, one day at a time.

01. THE PARTY

The Slytherin common room was full of shadows and flickering lights, transformed into a wild moment of freedom for the night. The music, a thundering beat that echoed off the stone walls, could be heard from miles away, yet no professor or ghost visited the common room to cancel the party. It was as if the ancient castle itself had granted this one night of freedom to its most cunning and ambitious students. The rhythmic thrum of bass notes and the infectious melody of the latest wizarding hits filled the air, blending with the sound of laughter and the clink of glasses.

Bodies moved in a hypnotic dance, swaying in sync with the music. The students had discarded their usual aloof demeanors and uniforms, lost in the euphoria and joy of the moment. Green and silver decorations adorned every surface, shimmering under the enchanted lights that hung from the ceiling like glowing jewels. Laughter rang out, high and clear, mingling with the deep, resonant hum of conversation.

In one corner, a group of seventh years huddled together, their heads bent close in a whisper, before erupting into loud laughter. Nearby, a couple twirled around each other, their bodies intertwining like dark waves, eyes locked in their private world amidst the chaos around them. The fireplace, usually a place of quiet contemplation, was now surrounded by students perched on its stone ledge, their eyes gleaming with the thrill of the night and alcohol.

Long tables filled with food and drink stretched along one wall, bearing the weight of a feast other students could be jealous of. Platters of magical meals, charmed to stay warm, smelled of aromas that mingled with the scent of butterbeer and stronger beverages. Bottles of firewhisky and elf-made wine were passed from hand to hand, each sip fueling the atmosphere more and more as drunken the students got. The alcohol flowed freely, loosening tongues, transforming even the shyest students into party animals of the night.

The Slytherin common room had never felt so alive. Tonight, they were not just the students of Hogwarts; they were a family, united by their house and their understanding of what it meant to be a Slytherin.

Mattheo Riddle was one of those students who were enjoying themselves tonight. His breathing features were illuminated by the green lights as he leaned casually against a stone wall, a cup of firewhisky filled to the brim in his hand. The amber liquid sloshed perilously close to the edge with each of his slowed gestures, but Mattheo seemed unconcerned, clearly lost in the haze of alcohol. His dark curls, usually styled in the way that made uncountable amount of girls fall on their knees, now fell loose around his face as you watched from a close distance.

He was engaged in a drunken conversation with Theodore Nott, whose tall, lanky frame was the opposite to Mattheo's more athletic build. Theo's typically serious demeanor had softened, his features relaxed into a rare, genuine smile as he listened to Mattheo's ramblings with a giggle threatening to spill out from his lips. The two of them, often seen together, now looked like true brothers. It was almost scary how much they resembled family when they were drunk.

Mattheo's voice, rich and slightly slurred, carried over the music as he recounted a particularly outrageous story from his recent fight. Theodore threw his head back and laughed. It was clear to anyone how close those two boys were, drunk or sober.

"Can you believe he actually thought I was serious?" Mattheo snickered with a big grin stretching across his face, taking a swig from his cup, the whiskey burning a warm path down his throat. "I mean, I barely managed to keep a straight face!"

Theodore laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. "You're a menace, Riddle. One of these days, you're going to get expelled."

"Ah, but tonight isn't that night, mate," Mattheo replied with a slow wink, raising his glass in a mock toast. "To living dangerously and laughing in the face of consequences!"

They clinked their cups together, the sound barely audible over the throbbing beat of the music and you thought now was the best time to approach your boyfriend. 

Mattheo's brown irises scanned the crowd, catching a look of you as you pushed your way through the crowd of dancing bodies. The sight of you instantly brightened his expression and a genuine smile spread across his face. He felt a rush of emotions that the whiskey in his hand only intensified, each beat of his heart echoing with the certainty that what he held for you was pure love. The Slytherin straightened up, his posture shifting from the casual slouch of a carefree boy to the attentive stance of a man. Theodore noticed the change and a knowing smirk made its appearance on his lips as he stepped aside, giving the two of you a moment of privacy. 

"[Name]," your boyfriend called out, his voice full of warmth. He reached out, his fingers lightly brushing against yours as you came closer. "There you are, love."

You beamed up at him, your eyes reflecting the party's enchanted lights, making them look like twin stars. "Having fun, are we?" you teased and the tone of your voice carried a playful match that always managed to make his heart skip a beat. 

"Only now that you're here," he replied. The world around you seemed to blur as he gazed down at you, all the noise and chaos fading into the background. "You make everything better."

Drunk on both the whiskey and his overwhelming affection, the boy's usual reservations melted away. He held you close, his hands resting on your waist as if anchoring himself to your presence. When he was sober or feeling down at heart, his love for you was often hidden beneath layers of stoicism and insecurity, but now, in this moment of happy drunkenness, it shone through. 

He bent down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, then your cheek, and finally your lips, enjoying the sweetness of the contact. "I'm so lucky to have you," he murmured against your lips, his voice thick with emotion. "I don't deserve you, but I'm going to spend every day trying to be worthy of your love."

 “You have no idea what you mean to me. I look at you and . . . it’s like you’re the sun and I’m just a planet orbiting around you, soaking up your light,” he continued without a break. The boy wanted to get every one of his words out as fast as humanly possible. To show you his hidden feelings he wasn't able to tell you before. “You’re my everything, [Name]. I don’t know how I got so lucky. You’re so kind, so . . . good. And me? I’m just . . . I’m a mess, you know? A monster sometimes.” 

You shook your head lightly and took his hands into your own, enveloping him with your warmth. He was starting to get emotional, and you didn't need to have your boyfriend drunkenly mopping around. His mood changed like weather when alcohol got involved. “You’re not a monster, Mattheo. You’re human. We all have our demons.”

“But you,” he didn't allow you to finish your sentence before he spoke up again, his voice raw with sincerity, “you make me want to be better. For you. I see you, and I just want to be the man you deserve. I’m not always good at it, but I try. I try because you’re worth it.” 

You could see the glazed look in his eyes as he swayed slightly on the spot. He was rough around the edges, you couldn't deny the truth, but he was the sweetest boy when he managed to fall in love. Which wasn't exactly difficult, Mattheo fell in love easily. But when he did, it was worth everything. Mattheo was your sweet boy. “Love,” you said softly to him, your voice filled with gentle concern to the brim, “you’ve had a bit too much to drink. Maybe it’s time to slow down a little, okay?”

Mattheo blinked, giving you a lopsided grin, his expression a mix of boyish charm and pure happiness. “But I’m fine, [nickname]. I feel great. Better than great, actually. With you here, everything’s perfect.”

“I know you’re having a good time, but I don’t want you to feel terrible tomorrow. Let’s take a break from the firewhisky for now, alright?”

He pouted slightly, his shoulders slumping as he realized you were actually serious. “You’re probably right,” he admitted, a hint of reluctance in his voice. “But only because you’re asking me.” You chuckled softly at his behavior, threading your fingers through his and gently leading him away from the dancing crowd. You navigated through the common room, moving towards a quieter corner of the space where a plush couch sat, inviting you both in with open arms. The room’s enchantments cast soft shadows on the walls, the flickering lights creating a soothing atmosphere.

“Here, sit down,” you instructed as you guided him to sit on the couch. Mattheo obeyed, sinking into the cushions with a contented sigh. You sat beside him, your hand never leaving his. You took the half-empty cup of whiskey from his hold, reaching for a glass of water on the table nearby instead and handing it to him. “Drink this. It’ll help.”

Mattheo took the glass, his fingers brushing against yours as he did. He took a long sip, the cool water a welcome relief from the heat of the alcohol he consumed. “You really do take good care of me, don’t you?” he murmured, his head resting against the back of the couch as he looked at you with a mixture of admiration and exhaustion.

“Someone has to,” you replied playfully, brushing a stray curl of hair from his forehead. “And I wouldn’t want anyone else to have the job.”

As the night wore on, Mattheo felt a warmth spreading through him that was only partly due to the whiskey. It was the warmth of belonging, of being surrounded by friends who understood and accepted him, flaws and all. Despite his often rough exterior, he was deeply grateful for these moments, these stolen hours of joy in the corners of the Slytherin common room.

02 - THE MARK

The past has a profound power to shape a man, especially when that past is influenced by suffering at the hands of a father. 

For Mattheo Riddle, his family history was the darkest shadow of all the shadows that clung to him, a reminder of the pain and fear that had molded his entire life. Raised in a home devoid of warmth, where love was a foreign concept and cruelty was a daily reality, Mattheo had learned to build tall and thick walls around his heart. A shield to protect him from more hurt that would come his way. 

The orphanage was a harsh place, stripped of the luxuries the boy had unknowingly been born into. It was a world of strict discipline and a poor form of affection. The caretakers, overwhelmed and underfunded, had little patience for a child with such a notorious legacy. Mattheo grew up under the weight of whispers and sideways glances, the infamous name "Riddle" ensuring he was never just another child. The women of the orphanage knew his father, having taken care of him when he was around the same age as his son. What a wicked child Tom was. Mattheo was different because of that, marked, and this awareness shaped his formative years in ways he could barely comprehend.

As he grew older, the whispers about his family name became more pronounced. The children at the orphanage were cruel. “Monster,” they called him, creating the very fears that nested within his own heart. He began to internalize these taunts, seeing himself through the lens of his father's sins. The idea that he could be worthy of love seemed more and more distant, more of a fantasy that had no place in his reality. But the same idea of letting someone see past his defenses, of allowing someone to love him despite his flaws, seemed not only impossible but dangerous. For how could anyone love a monster, especially one crafted by his own father?

Despite this, Mattheo yearned for something more. He longed for the kind of love he had never known, a love that was gentle and kind, that saw past his scars and accepted him for who he was. But every time he felt himself getting close to someone, the fear surged up, a wave of doubt and self-loathing washed over him and forced him to retreat behind his walls again. It was a never-ending cycle.

Hogwarts had saved him. 

Mattheo Riddle’s first steps into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry were met with a mixture of curiosity, awe, and apprehension. For the other students, he was a figure of whispered rumors, his infamous last name carrying with it a weight of fear and fascination. They had heard the stories of his father’s dark acts, of the legacy that haunted the halls of the castle like a ghost. But for Mattheo himself, Hogwarts represented a new beginning, a chance to escape the personal hell he called the orphanage and create his own path. The boy was no longer just another orphan. Here, he could be anything he wanted to be.

He wasn't deaf. The young boy could feel the weight of his father’s name bearing down on him like an invisible burden. And he wasn't blind either. He saw the way the other students looked at him, their eyes flickering with a mixture of fear and suspicion. They didn’t openly taunt him as the children in the orphanage had done, but he could sense the whispers and the wary glances that followed him wherever he went. For Mattheo, however, their fear was a source of power. He reveled in the attention, in the way his presence commanded respect, even if it was tinged with fear. He was finally someone. 

He excelled in his classes, his natural talent and restless ambition setting him apart from his peers. But it was on the Quidditch pitch that Mattheo truly came into his own. Flying high above the castle grounds, he felt a sense of freedom unlike anything he had ever known. With every twist and turn of his broomstick, he left behind the weight of his past and embraced the thrill of the present, making him feel like a bird. 

Six years had passed since Mattheo Riddle first walked through the grand doors of Hogwarts, a hopeful and determined young wizard with dreams of greatness he was so sure he'd achieve. But now, as he entered his sixth year at the renowned school of magic, the world around him had shifted irrevocably. The return of Lord Voldemort two years prior had plunged the wizarding world into chaos, and with it, Mattheo’s life had been destroyed once again.

Even among his fellow Slytherins, Mattheo felt like an outsider, a traitor to his own house and everything it stood for. He had once prided himself on his ambition and cunning, on his unwavering determination to succeed at any cost. But it didn't matter anymore. 

Mattheo sat alone in the quiet atmosphere of the Astronomy Tower, his gaze fixed on the night sky that sparkled with millions of stars. Each twinkling light seemed to mock him, making fun of the darkness that now stained his soul even more than before. His fingers gripped the sleeve of his jacket tightly, as if seeking some comfort in the fabric, but finding none.  

 On his left forearm, the Dark Mark burned like a brand upon his skin. It was a mark of shame, of betrayal, and every time he looked upon it, he felt a sickening sense of disgust and self-loathing. He had thought that by aligning himself with the Dark Lord, his father, he would finally be able to escape the shadows of his past, to prove himself worthy of the name Riddle and his father's presence. But now, he realized that he had only succeeded in plunging himself deeper into the deep hole. Even the orphanage was better than this. 

The footsteps behind him shattered the sweet silence, echoing off the stone walls of the tower. Mattheo tensed, his heart racing as he turned to face the intruder, steeling himself for whatever judgment or punishment awaited him. But as he turned, he was met not with the accusing glare of Filch or the triumphant sneer of a rival, but with the concerned gaze of a familiar face. It was you, with your eyes filled with worry as you approached him slowly, as if he'd disappear if you were a bit louder. 

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Are you alright?”

No, he wasn't alright. But he would be caught dead sooner than having you worry about him like that and more. 

He forced a tight-lipped smile, attempting to mask the emotions raging within him. “I’m fine,” he replied, his voice strained with the effort of maintaining the facade. “Just . . . thinking.”

You stepped closer, taking a seat on the ground beside him. “You don’t have to pretend with me, Mattheo. I know something’s been troubling you lately. You can talk to me.”

You were his angel, full of that purity and light he adored about you in a world darkened by his own sins. He longed to confide in you, to unburden himself of the guilt and shame that had consumed him since he had received the Dark Mark. But the fear of your rejection, of you seeing him for the monster he believed himself to be, held him back. It would shatter his heart, to see the pained expression on your face. 

“I . . .” he began, his voice faltering as he struggled to find the words, "there's something I need to show you." With a heavy heart and trembling hands, Mattheo finally mustered the courage to reveal the truth to you. For months, he had carried the burden of the dark secret alone, pushing you out and shutting you down in an attempt to shield and protect you from the darkness that was his father. But now, as he sat before you, his heart and his soul laid bare, he knew that he could no longer hide from the truth. The boy reached for the sleeve of his jacket, his fingers fumbling as he pushed the fabric up to reveal the twisted lines of the Dark Mark etched upon his skin. The sight of it made him recoil, a wave of shame washing over him as he exposed his deepest, darkest secret to the one person he had sworn to protect.

Your eyes widened in shock as you took in the mark, your palm flying to your mouth in disbelief. For a long moment, there was silence between the two of you, broken only by the sound of your shallow breathing and the distant hum of the night owls. 

“I received this a few weeks ago," Mattheo confessed, his eyes avoiding yours. "When he decided I was good enough for him."

He felt your gaze on him, eyes searching his face for answers. He could see the confusion and concern written in your expression, but beneath it all, he saw something else - a flicker of understanding and acceptance that filled him with both hope and fear. How can someone be so good to someone like him? "I've been living with the Malfoys ever since," he continued, the words tumbling out in a rush as he struggled to explain himself. "But it's not what you think, [Name]. I never wanted any of this. I never wanted to be a part of his plans, to be branded as one of his followers. But I had no choice. He made me do it."   

Tears welled in his eyes as he spoke, and he felt a desperate plea for forgiveness in his chest. He needed you to understand, to see past the mistakes that consumed him and into the depths of his soul where his love for you burned bright and true. The thought of losing you hurt him more than the Cruciatus curse ever could. 

“Forgive me. For shutting you out, for pushing you away. I was scared, I was ashamed . . . but I can't bear to keep this secret from you any longer. You deserve to know the truth, even if it means losing you forever." 

Your heart swelled with a bittersweet mixture of sorrow as you gazed upon Mattheo, your sweet boy, sitting there before you with tears in his eyes and the weight of the world upon his shoulders. In that moment, all you wanted was to wrap him in your arms and shield him from the pain and darkness that threatened to consume him. With shaky hands, you reached out to him, fingers brushing against the mark of his father's followers etched upon his skin. The sight of it filled you with a fit of fierce anger, but beneath it all, you saw the boy you so dearly loved - a boy who had been shaped by his past but who was so much more than the picture of his scars. 

"Love," you whispered into the dark, taking his face into your hands and wiping away those tears that managed to escape his control, "there's nothing to forgive. Nothing in this world could ever tear us apart, not even your father or that mark."

In that moment, Mattheo knew that he would do anything for you, that he would move heaven and earth to ensure your happiness and safety. You were his light in the darkness, his angel in a world filled with demons, and he would cherish that for the time being his heart swelled at the thought of you. You were simply too sweet for him and you knew that Mattheo’s struggles were far from over, but for tonight, that was enough.

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified.

[darcydarlingdabbles]

The Static Between Us~

RadioApple + Static 🍃Voyerism 🍃Omega!Alastor /Alpha!Lucifer

🍃Explicit🍃Vox Cucking ~ 4.8k

A/N: Happy Thanksgiving! Thanks for 160 follows, 2.5k likes on Tumblr...and holy shit 27k reads on Ao3!!! Have some crack/smut to celebrate with me XD

🍃🍃🍃

The sleek drone hummed almost imperceptibly as Vox guided it through Hell's smog-choked skies.

His screen flickered with anticipation, cyan teeth bared in a grin as the newly remodeled Hazbin Hotel came into view.

"Let's see what you're up to, old pal," Vox purred, his clawed fingers dancing across the controls.

The drone glided silently over the hotel's new rooftop gardens, a stark contrast of lush greenery against Hell's desolate landscape.

Vox's pupils contracted as he spotted his targets.

Alastor and Lucifer were strolling among the foliage.

Alastor's crimson hair gleamed in the hellish light, his ever-present smile a mask of amusement as he kept his hands folded neatly at the small of his back.

Beside him, Lucifer's smaller frame radiated power—as much as it echoed frustration with every gesture of his blackened hands. .

“What do we have here?" Vox mused, zooming in on the pair. "A lover's quarrel?"

He strained to hear their conversation, cursing the limitations of even his most advanced technology. He reached for a dial, tunning away.

"Just wait," Vox muttered, his screen crackling. "One of these days, I'll catch you slipping, Alastor. And when I do…" He trailed off, lost in visions of finally besting his rival.

Alastor's body language spoke volumes, however—the tilt of his antlers, the sharp gestures of his gloved hands. Classic Radio Demon needling.

"I'm telling you, the color scheme is fine!" Lucifer's shrill voice carried through the audio feed. "The pink would be perfectly fine if you weren’t always covering it in blood splatters!"

Alastor's static-laced chuckle grated on Vox's nerves.

"My dear, I believe you're overthinking this. The sinners won't care about aesthetics when they're being tortured."

“Alastor,” Lucifer huffed, rubbing at his temples with the long fingers of his right hand. “They’re not being tormented, they’re being redeemed.”

“I fail to see the distinction.” The Radio Demon said brightly.

Alastor’s permanent grin was etched onto his face as always, but his usually relaxed posture was now tense. His ears flicking constantly with irritation.

Next to him, Lucifer's normally suave demeanor was replaced with an obvious groan of frustration.

They were a pressure cooker about to pop.

As he watched, a pang of something uncomfortably close to jealousy twisted in Vox's gut. He pushed the feeling aside, focusing instead on the potential for chaos unfolding before him.

Vox's screen flickered with desire and disdain as he manipulated the drone's camera, panning slowly down Alastor's lithe form.

Even fully clothed from neck to wrist to ankle, the Radio Demon's silhouette was maddeningly seductive. The crimson pinstripe suit hugged Alastor's slim waist, flaring slightly at his hips before tapering down long legs.

Hiding the soft curves of an omega’s body beneath sharp angles and layers of fine fabric.

"Damn you," Vox muttered, his teeth gritting in frustration. "Why do you have to look so good?"

He zoomed in, capturing the subtle sway of Alastor's hips as he walked.

The Radio Demon's backside was pert, perfectly small in his mind. He imagined gripping those hips, claiming that body, making the omega writhe—until his circuits buzzed with want.

The TV demon's fingers twitched and Vox refocused on the conversation unfolding before him.

"And the plumbing is atrocious," Alastor's voice crackled through the feed. "Really, sire, one would think the King of Hell could conjure better pipes."

Lucifer's face tinged gold with a flush. "Don't push me, Alastor. You’ve treading on thin ice."

Vox leaned closer. What was that supposed to mean?

“Treading?” Alastor's grin widened. "My dear, I’ve been tap-dancing on it." He leaned down to the angel’s level. “You’ve simply failed to crack, yet.”

"Last warning," Lucifer growled. "Red light. Quit while you’re behind."

Red light? What kind of threat was that?

On screen, Alastor's ear twitched, his head tilting in a coquettish manner that Vox had never seen before.

There was something in Lucifer's posture, a coiled tension that spoke of barely restrained power.

Alastor's laugh rang out, sharp and challenging. "Make me, your majesty.”

“You asked for it!”

Lucifer's hands shot out, grasping Alastor by the lapels of his precious coat and slamming him against the gnarled trunk of a nearby tree. The impact sent a shower of crimson leaves cascading around them.

"Oh my," Alastor purred, his voice crackling with static. "How terrifying, I’m simply shaking in my boots."

Vox's screen glimmered with excitement, his grin stretching wider than should be possible on his digital face. "Come on, old man," he urged. "Put that pompous asshole in his place."

Lucifer's grip tightened, his knuckles like ash against the deep red of Alastor's coat. "You never know when to stop pushing, do you?" the fallen angel growled, his face inches from Alastor's perpetual, petulant smile.

"Where would be the fun in that?" the omega replied, his tone light and teasing despite his precarious position. "Besides, I do so enjoy seeing your feathers all…ruffled."

Vox's brow furrowed in confusion. He had expected Alastor to fight back, to summon his shadows or at least attempt to break free.

Instead, the Radio Demon seemed almost…relieved?

As he was being tossed around by the devil himself.

On the screen, Lucifer leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper that Vox had to strain to hear. "Are you sure you're prepared for the consequences, Bambi?"

Alastor's eyes glinted with mischief, his grin widening impossibly. "Oh, I'm counting on them."

Lucifer yanked Alastor down by his lapels, crushing their lips together in a fierce kiss. The action was so sudden and shocking that Vox's digital eyes widening in disbelief.

"What the actual hell?" the TV demon sputtered, his voice glitching as he processed the scene before him.

The kiss was rough, brutal, and anything but loving. Lucifer's hand snaked up to grip Alastor's hair, tugging it sharply as he deepened the kiss. For a moment, the omega seemed to melt into it, his usual rigid posture softening.

But then, just as quickly, Alastor's hands flew up to Lucifer's chest, shoving hard against the angel.

It was like pushing against a stone wall—Lucifer didn't budge an inch, but he did pull back, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Is that all?" Alastor taunted, his voice husky and slightly breathless. "I expected more from the mighty King."

Lucifer's eyes flashed lethally, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "Oh, you want more?"

The angel gripped Alastor's shoulders and forced him down. Until the Radio Demon's knees hit the ground with a dull thud.

Vox's excitement intensified, a thrill running through his circuits. "Now that's more like it," he chuckled darkly. "Look at the high and mighty Radio Demon now, on his knees where he belongs."

He watched the devil grab for the demon’s hands in one of his. Lucifer's grip tightened on Alastor's wrists, pinning them roughly against the gnarled bark of the tree.

The fallen angel leaned in, capturing Alastor's lips in another searing kiss. Alastor's eyes widened momentarily before fluttering shut, a soft hum emanating from his throat.

Vox's screen flared in disbelief.

"Since when do you put up with so much mouth to mouth?" he muttered, his voice tinged.

With one hand still restraining Alastor's arms, Lucifer's other hand deftly popped open the buttons of the demon’s shirt collar. "Such a needy little omega," Lucifer purred, his breath hot against Alastor's ear.

"Needy? Al? " Vox scoffed, rolling his digital eyes. “As if.”

Lucifer's lips curled into a smirk. "If you need attention so badly, Bambi, you could just ask."

Alastor's permanent grin widened, an impish glint in his eyes.

"Now where," he drawled, "would be the fun in that?"

Lucifer's hand shot up, gripping one of the Radio Demon’s antlers and yanking his head back. The deer let out a startled gasp, exposing the pallid column of his throat.

Lucifer's gaze fixed on the spot where Alastor's mating gland lay hidden beneath his skin.

"Is he going to…?" Vox leaned forward, his circuits humming with anticipation, half-expecting Lucifer to tear into Alastor's throat for his insolence.

Lucifer's mouth descended on Alastor's exposed neck, lips latching onto the sensitive mating gland.

Vox watched intently, still expecting gore, when suddenly Alastor's ears drooped and a sound escaped him that the TV demon had never heard before—a deep, throaty sigh.

"What the hell?" Vox muttered.

Alastor's eyes fluttered closed, his usual sharp grin melting into an expression of blissful surrender. Another moan vibrated through the air, sending a jolt of surprise through Vox's circuits.

Vox's digital jaw dropped.

He had never, in all their encounters, heard Alastor make a sound like that.

Nights spent tangled in silk sheets, Alastor's lithe body beneath him, cool and unresponsive. The Radio Demon's smile fixed in place, eyes half-lidded with boredom rather than interest. Vox had always assumed Alastor was simply cold, uninterested in physical intimacy beyond using it as a tool for manipulation.

But this... this was different. Alastor's usual rigid control was crumbling, his body arching into Lucifer's touch.

Another moan escaped him, lower this time, almost a purr.

"Since when do you make noises like that, you smug bastard?" Vox muttered, his voice glitching.

He zoomed in closer, drinking in every detail.

Alastor's chest heaved with each ragged breath, a flush creeping up his neck to stain his greyish cheeks. His ears, usually perked and alert, were drooped in capitulation.

And his eyes…Vox had never seen them so dark, pupils blown wide with unmistakable desire.

Lucifer's hand slid lower, teasing at the waistband of Alastor's trousers. The Radio Demon's hips bucked forward, seeking more contact.

A whimper—an actual fucking whimper—fell from Alastor's lips.

Vox's circuits buzzed with arousal and indignation. He remembered countless nights of trying to coax even the slightest reaction from Alastor.

The Radio Demon had always lay there, occasionally offering a sarcastic quip or rolling his eyes.

At best, he'd been a pillow princess. At worst, a corpse in bed.

Vox's gaze snapped back to the screen, drawn by another breathy sound from Alastor. He cursed under his breath, realizing he'd missed a crucial moment while lost in his own thoughts.

"Thank Satan for recording," he muttered, his eyes widening as he took in the scene before him. Wincing when he realized he was thanking one of the men on the screen.

Vox shook the idea off.

The Radio Demon’s usual sharp tongue seemed to have deserted him, replaced by breathy gasps and needy whines. When Lucifer nipped at his collarbone, Alastor threw his head back with a keening cry that sent shockwaves through Vox's system.

It was so fucking over the top that—the tv demon seized on the realization with both clawed hand hands.

Alastor…had to be acting. Overacting.

He was the manipulative little dandy from Vox’s bed—it must be Lucifer’s ego that needed all this porn star shit.

"You little minx," Vox snarled. "You were holding out on me all this time?"

He watched, transfixed, as Lucifer's hand dipped lower, disappearing between Alastor's legs.

The Radio Demon's reaction was immediate and intense. His back arched off the tree. His antlers scraped against the bark, leaving gouges in the wood.

Lucifer had Alastor pinned against the tree, the Radio Demon's coat and shirt pulled open to reveal a torso marred with a myriad of scars.

Vox's receivers flickered, desire and resentment coursing through him at the sight.

"Not as untouchable as you pretended to be," Vox sneered, watching Lucifer's hand disappear beneath the waistband of Alastor's slacks.

Vox scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping him. "Good luck with that, sire. Our prudish deer boy never—"

His words died in his throat as Alastor's head fell back against the tree, a low, staticky moan escaping him.

Vox's circuits nearly short-circuited at the sight.

"He always smacked my hand away if I even tried to get him off!"

Realization dawned on Vox as he watched the way the devil’s wrist moved. He wasn’t stroking at the omega’s cock—he was shoving those fingers inside Alastor.

"Good luck getting him wet, old man," Vox scoffed, his voice laced with bitterness. "Our dear Radio Demon's about as responsive as a dead battery."

Alastor's voice, dripping with disdain, echoed in his mind. "Such an unpleasant chore. But if it'll shut you up for five minutes…”

"Just another performance to stroke a more powerful ego, eh, Alastor?” Vox's grip tightened on the control panel.

The deer demon always seemed to prefer the fighting over the fucking—before and after.

On the screen, Lucifer slowly withdrew his hand from between Alastor's legs.

Vox leaned forward, anticipating the look of bored arrogance on the Radio Demon's face.

Only to see the glisten of omega slick on the fallen angel’s fingers.

Alastor's ears flattened against his head, a rare display of embarrassment that sent a jolt through Vox's system. He watched, transfixed, as Lucifer brought those fingers to his mouth, cleaning them with slow, deliberate swipes of his forked tongue.

Alastor's voice crackled through the drone's speakers, impatient and breathy. "Enough teasing, you insufferable alpha. Hurry up and fuck me already."

Vox's screen quivered violently, a chaotic swirl of jealousy, anger, and a perverse fascination he couldn't ever shake when it came to Alastor.

"Hurry up and get it over with," he mimicked in a mocking tone. "At least that’s familiar."

Lucifer's hands moved to Alastor's trousers, fingers deftly working at the fastenings.

In a sudden flourish, the fallen angel's magnificent white wings unfurled, their span impressive even through the drone's limited view. The feathers, tipped with crimson, created a shimmering curtain around the couple.

"Oh, come on!" Vox groaned to the sky at being denied his peep show.

To his surprise—and Lucifer's—Alastor's voice rang out, clear and commanding despite its underlying breathiness.

"Put those away, would you?" Alastor purred, his grin sharp and hungry. "I want to get my legs around you properly, darling."

Vox's screen crackled with static, his own shocked expression reflected back at him. Since when did Alastor ask for anything in bed?

Lucifer hesitated, confusion evident in the tilt of his head. "But I thought you'd prefer some privacy, my wicked little doe."

Alastor's laugh was dark and rich, sending an involuntary shiver down Vox's non-existent spine. "Privacy? In Hell? How delightfully naïve."

His clawed hands traced down Lucifer's chest. "Now, be a good alpha and do as you're told."

“You’re gonna pay for that one, too, Bambi.” Lucifer's eyes glowed as his own horns extending from his disheveled blonde hair.

“With interest, Darling.” Alastor purred, his voice a static-laced croon.

With a bemused smile, Lucifer complied, his wings folding back and disappearing from view.

Vox found himself leaning even closer to his monitors, arousal and bitter envy coursing through his circuitry.

The rough bark of the ancient tree scraped against Alastor's back, his shirt just hanging off his shoulders, as Lucifer pressed him firmly against its trunk. The radio demon's fingers dug into the wood, leaving deep gouges as his long legs parted, wrapping around Lucifer's smaller frame.

His hooves brushed the ground, but the archangel's supernatural strength kept him effortlessly pinned.

A sharp gasp escaped Alastor as Lucifer snapped his hips forward—the alpha obviously burying his cock inside the omega.

The warbly moan that followed sent ripples of interference across Vox's screens.

"Fuck," Alastor managed, his smile taking on a strained quality. "I suppose that's one way to compensate for your stature."

Lucifer stilled immediately, his brow furrowing. "Are you alright, Al? We can stop if—"

Alastor's laugh crackled through the air. "Don't you dare, you infuriating cherub. I was merely making an observation."

Vox seethed silently, the barbed compliment stinging more than he cared to admit. He'd never elicited such…enthusiasm from the Radio Demon.

"An observation, hmm?" Lucifer's voice was low, dangerous. "Perhaps I should give you more to pay attention to."

Alastor's grin widened impossibly, his head tilting at an unnatural angle as he met Lucifer's blazing gaze.

To Vox's utter astonishment, a sound unlike any he'd ever heard from the Radio Demon escaped those sharp-toothed jaws—a cloying, submissive omega croon.

"Alpha," Alastor purred, his voice dripping with honeyed venom. "Don't keep me waiting. Show me what that divine strength can do."

Lucifer's eyes narrowed, a wicked grin spreading across his angelic features. "As you wish."

With a growl that shook the very foundations of Hell, Lucifer began to move.

The ancient tree groaned in protest as he slammed Alastor against it, setting a brutal, punishing pace that had the Radio Demon gasping and clawing at the bark.

Vox writhed in his control room. His screen flickered wildly as he watched, certain that at any moment Alastor would start his usual routine—taunting, teasing, urging the alpha to hurry up and finish.

But the cutting remarks never came.

Alastor remained uncharacteristically hushed, not silent, save for the tuneless gasps and moans that escaped him with each thrust.

"This can't be real," Vox muttered, his voice tinged with static. "He's faking it. He has to be."

Vox's screen crackled with incredulity as he devoured Alastor's reactions.

The Radio Demon's perpetual smirk had vanished, replaced by open-mouthed gasps of pleasure.

Each thrust from Lucifer was met with unbridled enthusiasm, Alastor's lithe body bowing to meet the smaller alpha's powerful movements.

"Inconceivable," Vox hissed, his digital eyes narrowing. "Since when does the great Radio Demon submit and simper like a common whore?"

But the evidence was undeniable.

Alastor's crimson eyes were half-lidded, his antlers scraping against the tree bark as he threw his head back in abandon.

Lucifer's hand snaked between their bodies, his fingers curling around Alastor’s hard prick.

Vox leaned forward, a cruel chuckle escaping him. "Good luck with that, old man. The prude never wants to—"

His words died as Alastor not only allowed Lucifer's touch but seemed to revel in it. The omega's arms draped around Lucifer's shoulders, pulling him closer.

"That's it, darling," Alastor purred, his voice rough with need. "Don't stop."

Vox's screen flashed violently.

Alastor's composure crumbled entirely, his usual theatrical flair replaced by raw, primal need. His claws dug into Lucifer's back, slicing the fabric of the vest the devil wore.

"Alpha," Alastor implored, his voice crackling with static.

Lucifer growled, a sound that sent shivers through both Alastor and the watching Vox.

He captured Alastor's lips in a bruising kiss, hips snapping. Blood red leaves began falling from the tree with every tremble.

Vox's screen wavered erratically, mirroring his inner turmoil.

"This can't be real," he muttered. "It's another one of his tricks. It has to be."

As Lucifer and Alastor's coupling intensified, the air around them crackled with demonic energy.

The fallen leaves at their feet began to smolder, wisps of smoke curling upward.

Alastor's usual composure shattered completely, his carefully cultivated image crumbling under the onslaught.

"Alpha, please."

Lucifer's eyes glowed with hellfire as he growled, "Such a needy little doe. Is this what you wanted all along?"

He punctuated his words with particularly brutal thrusts, each one drawing a keening whine from the Radio Demon. Alastor's legs tightened around Lucifer's waist, trembling down to his red hooves.

Alastor's ears flattened against his head, a whimper escaping him.

"Alpha, please," he chanted, the words dripping with submission. "My alpha."

Lucifer captured Alastor's lips in a searing kiss, swallowing the Radio Demon's moans.

His hand moved faster on Alastor's cock, thumb swiping over the sensitive head with each stroke. Alastor's hips bucked wildly, caught between the dual sensations of Lucifer's hand and his relentless cock.

The tree behind them groaned, its trunk beginning to splinter under the force of their fucking. Cracks spread through the bark, mirroring the fractures in Alastor's usual mask of control.

His radio dials eyes spun wildly, tuning in and out of different frequencies as pleasure overwhelmed his senses.

"Lucifer," Alastor gasped, his voice breaking.

"Come for me, Bambi," Lucifer commanded, his voice resonating with unearthly power. "Show me how good I make you feel."

With a final, brutal thrust, Lucifer buried himself to the hilt inside Alastor.

The Radio Demon threw his head back as a cry of pure, unadulterated pleasure tore from his throat.

Lucifer stilled against him, grabbing the splintered tree trunk as his hips stuttered and finally stilled.

Vox's screen dimmed, a hollow ache spreading through him.

In all their time together, he had never seen Alastor so…content to surrender. And so satisfied with having done so.

They clung to each other, riding out the waves of pleasure.

Vox watched, transfixed, as Lucifer peppered Alastor's face with gentle kisses.

Soft laughter broke the silence, the tangled lovers falling to the soft grass and leaves at the base of the tree, arms still wrapped around each other.

Alastor's smile, for once, reached his eyes. “You will not hear the end of it if you ruined my coat.”

"You're incorrigible," Lucifer murmured, nuzzling the omega’s cheek.

"You wouldn't have me any other way."

The omega shifted, a small frown crossing his features.

"Well, this is a predicament," he mused, his radio-static voice tinged with amusement.

Lucifer chuckled, his golden hair falling across his forehead, until the Radio Demon’s hands started to right it.

“Hope you don’t need to be anywhere else, Bambi.” The angel chuckled, settling Alastor more comfortably into his lap. “Cause we’re gonna be stuck for a while.”

The realization hit Vox like a surge of electricity.

Alastor had allowed Lucifer to knot him.

The same Alastor who had always used his shadow powers to escape being tied down to Vox.

Resentment, hot and searing, mingled with a deep-seated anger that made his screen crackle—a painful truth began to crystallize.

"He never…not once…" Vox muttered, his voice distorting.

Alastor's fingers intertwined with Lucifer's. His gaze drifted to a fallen magnolia blossom near his hooved feet. With an elegant motion, he plucked it from the ground, his perpetual grin fixed in place, even as the delicate petals withered and browned at his touch.

Melancholy just flashed over that smile, but both alphas caught it.

Lucifer's eyes softened, sliding his other hand into Alastor's.

A warm, golden glow emanated from their joined fingers, enveloping the wilted flower.

Alastor watched, fascinated, as life surged back into the blossom.

Its petals unfurled, pristine and luminous, more vibrant than before.

"How curious," he mused, his radio-tinged voice barely above a whisper. "Your touch brings life, while mine—"

"Dont," Lucifer interrupted gently, tucking the rejuvenated flower into the lapel of Alastor’s coat. "We balance each out."

A genuine smile, softer than his usual manic grin, tugged at Alastor's lips. "I suppose we do, don't we?"

Suddenly, Alastor's head snapped towards the stealthy drone, his radio-dial eyes locking onto the camera.

His lips didn’t move, but that unmistakable voice crackled through the speakers around Vox.

"Enjoying the show, old friend?"

Vox sputtered. "How did you—"

On the screens, Alastor’s grin sharpened, turning wicked as his pupils began to spin.

Vox's face blue-screened with panic.

The air crackled with electromagnetic energy as Alastor's power surged.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you? It's rude to spy."

Vox's meticulously crafted surveillance network disintegrated in an instant, leaving only snow and static in its wake.

"No, no, no!" he snarled, his voice distorting with digital feedback. His fingers flew across the console, desperately trying to salvage the feed. "You smug, Bambi, bastard!"

The screens before him erupted in a cacophony of pixelated chaos.

The footage was gone, corrupted, irretrievable for blackmail. Or Vox’s private collection.

He slammed his fists on the console. "Damn you, Alastor!" His scream reverberated off the metal walls.

Back in the garden, Alastor's smirk widened, a mix of triumph and mischief dancing in his eyes. He savored the moment of Vox's frustration cast across the radio waves.

Then, the omega nestled closer to Lucifer.

His ex could have a tantalizing little show, but the afterglow…that was just for his alpha, and himself.

Alastor turned his attention back to Lucifer, a contented sigh escaping him as he settled more comfortably in the fallen angel's lap.

The knot tying them together pulsed gently, sending pleasant aftershocks through both their bodies.

"Now then," Alastor purred, his voice a low, staticky rumble. "Where were we?"

Lucifer's arms tightened around the Radio Demon, one hand coming up to cradle the back of Alastor's head. His fingers threaded through the soft red hair, careful to avoid the sensitive bases of Alastor's antlers.

"Right about here, I believe," Lucifer murmured, drawing Alastor into a slow, languid kiss.

Gone was the fire of before, replaced by sweetness and affection.

Alastor's lips parted with a soft sigh, allowing Lucifer's forked tongue to slip inside. The fallen angel tasted of brimstone and honey, an intoxicating combination that had Alastor melting further into his embrace.

When they finally broke apart, a dazed smile playing on Alastor’s lips.

Lucifer chuckled, pressing a series of feather-light kisses along the demon’s jaw.

"You're beautiful like this," Lucifer murmured against Alastor's skin. "

A faint blush colored Alastor's cheeks. "Flattery will get you everywhere, darling," he quipped, but there was no real bite to his words.

A faint buzzing filled the air as the drone, now useless, plummeted from the sky. It crashed behind the hotel with a satisfying crunch.

Lucifer, still knotted deeply inside Alastor, jerked around. "What was that?"

Alastor's grin never faltered. "Oh, nothing to worry about, darling," he purred, his voice a silky blend of amusement and innocence. "Just another one of those pesky flying cameras being zapped by your magnificent barrier."

Alastor shifted slightly on the fallen angel’s lap, drawing Lucifer’s attention back to him.

The garden around them was a vibrant tapestry of hellish flora, the air thick with the heady scent of sulfur and sweet blossoms. Alastor's ears twitched, picking up the faint rustle of leaves and distant screams of the damned.

"Now then," Alastor purred, his voice carrying the crackle of radio static, "I believe it's time for a little…privacy, don't you think?" His crimson eyes glinted with mischief as he gazed at Lucifer. "You can bring out those magnificent wings of yours, darling."

Lucifer's lips curled into a smirk, a mixture of amusement and affection dancing in his eyes.

"Oh? And here I thought you enjoyed putting on a show, scandolizing the plants and all."

Despite his teasing words, he unfurled his six majestic archangel wings, their pearlescent feathers catching the eerie light of Hell.

Then, they were wrapping around them both in a cocoon of soft white feathers. The air grew warmer, filled with the scent of alpha contentment and omega bliss.

“Now, why would I ever want to share you?” Alastor hummed, cupping Lucifer’s face close to him.

As the wings enveloped them both, creating a cocoon of ethereal beauty, Alastor felt a rare moment of true contentment wash over him.

The world outside faded away, leaving only the two of them in this intimate sanctuary.

Lucifer's voice, low and rich, broke the silence. "You know, Alastor, if you're needing attention, you can simply ask for it. No need for all this…taunting and provoking."

Alastor chuckled, the sound a mix of static and genuine mirth.

"Oh, but my dear Lucifer," he responded, his grin widening impossibly, "where would be the fun in that?"

That was the thrill of their little game, the push and pull that made their relationship so deliciously unpredictable.

"Besides," Alastor thought to himself, tracing a finger along Lucifer's jawline, "half the enjoyment is in the chase, isn't it?"

Alastor shifted, a mischievous glint in his radio-dial eyes. He rolled his hips experimentally, relishing the sensation of Lucifer's knot still buried deep inside his ass. An unmelodic moan escaped his lips, mixing with the ambient sounds of the garden.

Lucifer's hand shot out, gripping Alastor's hip where fawn spots adorned his skin.

"Easy there," he warned, his voice a mix of amusement and desire. "If you're aiming for another round in our room, you might want to pace yourself."

The Radio Demon's permanent grin widened. "Why would I take it easy on someone with infernal stamina?" he purred, leaning in close. "After all, aren't you the one who boasted about your…endurance?"

Lucifer raised an eyebrow, a challenge in his eyes. “ I thought you might be, done, for the night."

"Oh, mon cher," Alastor chuckled, his voice dipping into a lower register. "I just needed to break the seal, so to speak." He closed the distance between them, capturing Lucifer's lips in a searing kiss. As they parted, Alastor's expression softened ever so slightly. " When we return to our room…well, I might be persuaded to show a sweeter side."

Lucifer's eyes widened a fraction, recognizing the rarity of Alastor's offer.

The Radio Demon leaned in, his breath ghosting over Lucifer's ear as he whispered, "That side of me is just for you, after all."

[novelcain]

Okay, okay okay… I’ve had a little headcannon rattling around my head for awhile now…

AND I NEEEEEED TO SHARE IT!!!😆

Okay SO, Ao Lie is referenced as being a “young Dragon” right??

Well what if he’s actually the Dragon equivalent of a Teenager? Meaning he’s literally a traumatized child! (Because apparently his dad was totally okay with Ao being sentenced to death by the Jade dumb-dumb) and this realization makes reader unlock the most terrifying ability possible… Parental RAGE!! 😈

I could seriously imagine reader just going absolutely Apeshit on some poor soul, who thought they could get Tcherpitaka by targeting his “horse”.

She’s all like: “HOW! FUCKING! DARE YOU!!! You think it’s acceptable to attack kids!?! Do you! DO YOU!!! Well guess what pal, I’m gonna make sure you NEVER have children of your own!!”

The lowly demon: crying, shaking, and curled on the floor… “I-I’m s-sorry.. p-please, have m-mercy..”😭

Sun Wukong: … (possibly, slightly turned on)😏

Brought to you by the musings of a Pumpkin.. 🎃

I fucking love this headcanon. Your mind is a truly beautiful place Pumpkin.

Alternatively tho~ I see your reader threatening a random demon and raise you reader threatening Ao Run the Dragon King of the Western fuckin Sea:

It was no secret that after finding out that Ao Lie was essentially the dragon equivalent of a teenager you had become protective of the former death row convict. You couldn't believe that any parent would willingly send their child off to their demise over some property damage. Even if the property in question was a bunch of magical pearls.

Over time, you became something of a mother figure to the young dragon. Making sure he didn't overwork himself. Pushing him to pursue hobbies and further his education. And doting on him in general. Ao Lie soaked up every bit of praise and didn't miss a single opportunity to rub it in the other disciples' faces. Especially Wukong, who silently grew more and more jealous with every interaction between you and the prince. "Why the hell can't you stroke my fur like that," he'd pout quietly to himself.

And then one day, the group ended up in the Dragon Palace of the Western Sea, and all hell proceeded to break loose. The moment you laid eyes on the Dragon King himself you shouted, "YOU!"

"Oh no," lamented Tripitaka.

"You son of a bitch!" You pointed at Ao Run. Wukong slapped his hand over his mouth to stop from bursting out laughing while Tripitaka began to silently weep, both Bajie and Wujing gasped and stared wide eyed at you in disbelief, and Ao Lie's—who was in dragon form—jaw hit the floor.

"Pardon me—"

"Shut up," you cut off the king causing the massive dragon to scoff in indignation, and that sound alone made Wukong unable to hold his laughter back any further. Tripitaka let out a sob and fell to the floor with his head in his hands. Bajie ran to grab you. Wujing tried to apologize. Lie shrunk in on himself in look as small as possible, hoping to avoid his father's wrath.

"You bitches shut up too," you yelled at the gang and slapped Bajie across the face when he tried to clamp his hand over your mouth, "And don't touch me!"

At this point, Wukong was rolling on the floor as Bajie stumbled to hide behind Wujing while holding his abused cheek, and Tripitaka was praying to Buddha to be merciful to his soul when he meets his gruesome demise.

The young woman simply ignored her companions and proceeded to ring out the Dragon King of the Western Sea for his awful parenting methods for the next hour.

By the end, Ao Lie had begun crying and took a half human form to hug you. You gently patted the young prince on the back, glaring at his father, who was looking rather ashamed by now. The Dragon King hung his head while his entire court watched in awe as you chewed him out. The king wouldn't admit it, but you were getting heated to the point that he was worried you'd insure he'd never have another child to mistreat again.

Wukong had sat down to get a more comfortable view of the show but also to hide that he was just a little bit aroused by your protective nature. He couldn't help but wonder what your thoughts on children were.

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

Beneath Miles of Stone - Part twelve - John Wick x Plus Size Fem Reader

Summary: John has been in prison for nine months. He’s content to stay if it means appeasing the high table and keeping peace between the owners of each continental. However, he meets someone who erases that willingness. Peace be dammed.

TW: angst ; traumatic pasts ; nod at violence

“Well, well, well.” Michael shoves her shoulder lightly. “Are you cheating on your foreign boyfriend with old friend, or is old friend foreign boyfriend after all?”

“Nice tongue twister.” She giggles from his play fighting.

“Am I seriously not allowed to know?” Michael groans, draping himself over the couch and reminding her of a 1950’s housewife who just murdered her husband in his silky black robe.

She sits beside him, immediately relaxing into the soft cushions and ready to take a two day nap. “He’s private.”

“Fine, fine,” Michael grumbles. “But it’s like, are both of them private...” he raises his eyebrows and bites his bottom lip.

She chuckles. “Michael.” She doesn’t want to hurt his feelings, so it’s only a half hearted attempt at a warning.

Michael raises his hands in surrender.

She looks him over, and he’s got this soft grin and imploring eyes that just know she wants to say something, and, fuck, she really does.

But, she doesn’t trust herself not to give out too much info and…What? Are the cops even still looking for him at this point? Is her escaped death demon prisoner turned guardian angel on the run?

She’s chewing on her bottom lip so much that she can taste poinsettias.

“Just…tell me what’s bothering you,” Michael says. “I honestly don’t need to know anything else. In fact-“ he grabs a pillow from behind him “-if you start to reveal too many personal details I’ll hit you with this.”

She rubs her temples. “Can I take a shower and think about it?”

“Hello Johnathan,” Winston greets as John slides into his leather booth.

“Winston.”

“You have caused quite the ruckus, haven’t you?” Winston muses, clicking his tongue, eyeing John over the rim of his glasses

John raises his eyebrows and folds his hands on the table. “I didn’t start it.”

“I believe you,” Winston nods. “But you definitely ended it.”

“I got out, didn’t I?”

“Still, everyone’s quite angry.” Winston chews his teeth for a moment, brushes off the slacks covering his right knee. “I may have a war on my hands for this.”

“Sorry.” John looks sincere this time.

Winston shrugs. “It’s your head, John.”

“Sure.”

“Why did you kill him, anyway?” Winston asks, curious. “He always seemed nice.”

“Human trafficking.” John’s tone drops. “A friend’s daughter.”

“Ah,” Winston muses, satisfied to understand. “What a bastard.”

John’s face narrows and his eyes darken. “Yeah.”

“They can’t put a bounty on you, you know,” Winston tells him. “Continental owners are committed to peace. Most of them admire you, Johnathan.”

“I know,” John says.

“Still, they’ll have pressure from their constituents to end your life and my hotel. Not in that order.” Winston gives him a half grin, feigning unbothered by the violence that is about to invade his free time.

“You know I’ll stand by New York,” John tells him. What he really means is that he’ll stand by Winston, but that point is already solid and unmoving between them, so he doesn’t feel the need to reiterate it.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Winston muses. “But likewise.”

Winston thinks for a moment, purses his lips. “You could come stay for a while, catch up, delay the fight?”

John shakes his head no.

Winston sighs. “This better not be about a woman, John.”

John stays silent, and in that quiet Winston has his answer. He doesn’t look surprised. “Ah, L’amour.” He smiles, genuinely. “Took you long enough. What’s she like?”

“It’s not like that,” John says.

Winston snorts. “Go back to prison, then.”

John glares and sets his jaw in the way he does to indicate that he’d rather die than obey.

“Uh-huh. So, what’s she like?”

John leans back into the bench, defeated, thinking for a moment. Winston is more akin to understand metaphors rather than common sense, so John uses one.

“The sun.”

“A flower cannot blossom without sunshine, and man cannot live without love,” Winston sighs, leaning back with both arms spread around the back of the faded, stapled leather.

John shifts in his creaking indent.

“Viggo came by looking for you,” Winston says. “He wants you back.” He raises his as eyebrows as if to suggest something wicked.

John rubs his fingers together, thinking.

Winston goes on. “I wouldn’t mind having the mob over - just for some company.”

John grunts as if to laugh. “What’s in it for you?”

Winston grins. “Zero point zero one percent protection.”

John tilts his head. “Where’s the other ninety nine point nine nine?”

“Don’t get cocky, Johnathan, of course it’s you.” Winston sips his martini.

They sit there for a moment in silence, John thinking while Winston looks him over. “So it’s a no to dinner with Viggo, then?”

“I didn’t say that,” John says.

“When are you free?” Winston raises his eyebrows expectantly.

“Night shift.”

Winston gets cheeky, leans closer. “What’s her name?”

John leans away. “Get me a drink. And give me my coins.”

Winston grabs a paper from the stack beside him, takes a pen from his lapel, and writes. He slides the note to John. “You could’ve just asked for the car, too, you know.”

John folds the scrap neatly and puts it into his pocket. “I didn’t think you’d be in a good mood.”

Winston rolls his eyes. “Translation: I wanted to have a little fun after getting out of prison.”

“Were you in a good mood?” John raises his eyebrows, trying to prove a point.

“Are you still in prison?” Winston fires back.

John finally gives him a delayed, full, toothy grin. “How about the drink?”

Winston tips his head, motioning to the pocket that John put the note in. “Get your own.”

———————————

They don’t go to breakfast this morning. He takes her to a snowy, secluded park where they can snuggle in his car with the heater on.

“I think cuddling was a great suggestion,” he says, hands trying to bring her closer so that she’s on top of his body instead of smashed into his side.

She buries her face into his flannel, gulping in fresh cologne and musky detergent, still timid about putting her full weight on him.

He plays with her hair, kisses at her head and cheek bones to get her pliant enough that she’s on his lap happily instead of reluctantly.

There is a shared thought between them, and it’s about how sickly romantic this ordeal has become in such a short amount of time, but that idea is drowning beneath their desire to get each other closer.

They sit onshore, warm and holding hands, watching doubt and trepidation sink and die. No, not watching; too pre-occupied with one another to even realize or care that it’s happening.

“Yes,” she says, playing with his burly hand.

“Da.”

“No?”

He tugs her hips against his thigh to match the tempo of the sharp word. “Net.”

She giggles like a delighted child. “Handsome man.”

“Krasavchik.”

She tries to make her mouth fumble with the pronunciation of that one.

He clicks his tongue, shakes his head, helps her go slow, syllable by syllable.

She pats his cheek. “Kra-sacheek.”

He looks at her with his mouth tipped and eyebrow raised. “Just say krasavets.”

“Krasavets,” she says.

“Roll your tongue a little,” he instructs.

“I can’t.” She plays with the collar of his shirt.

“Try it,” he goads, digging impish fingers into her ribs, acting like he’s desperate to hear her do it for his personal enjoyment.

She laughs and squirms. “Fine, fine.”

She does really try hard, but it just gets him laughing at her.

She sticks out her tongue, embarrassed.

“ты такой милый, я мог бы тебя раздавить”

“What did you say?” She asks

“Cute girl,” he answers.

“That sounded pretty long winded for cute girl.” Her voice leaks suspicion.

He grins devilishly. “If you would take your lessons seriously, you would know what it means by now.”

Her mouth pops open in an astonished smile. So easy to get under her skin. “We literally just started.”

“Words from an amateur,” he sighs, rolling his eyes. The dramatics of this stoic man are her favorite thing in existence right now.

She attempts to tickle his side, earns a little twitch, the grab of her hand tight and fast as if to snap it in half.

A tinge of pain crosses her face, but it’s replaced quickly by a wide, mischievous grin. Who needs to dwell on stinging grips when a big deadly man is under your hands and able to be tickled?

He pulls her hand to his mouth and kisses her fingers. “Did I hurt you?”

“I’m made of bone, John,” she groans. “You won’t break me.”

His eyes turn sour. “I’ve broken plenty of bones.”

She refuses to be scared of him anymore despite him reminding her that he’s a walking sledge hammer. “I don’t care if you break my bones.”

The violent vision of her pretty crying face as he contorts her arms behind her back and breaks her pelvis with the thrust of his hips makes him choke on any words he could have responded with.

“Plus, let’s revisit this you being ticklish thing,” she says, trying to get him smiling again instead of brooding.

He licks his teeth into a grin. “That a war you think you can win, honey?”

It’s her turn to pout at him. “Let me win.”

That’s something he never thought he would hear come out of her mouth.

“Or at least give me a head start?” She tries.

“Oh, right now?” He asks, looking at his watch. “Okay. 30.. 29 .. twenty-“

“Noooooo,” she cries, kissing him to shut him up. “Let me prepare first.”

He nips at her top lip. “I thought that’s what the head start was for?”

“I need at least a week.” She licks the sting of his teeth away, but he grabs her mouth, because it’s his to nibble and nip and bruise as he pleases.

She looks up at him, confused, her bottom lip caught in his fingers. Her warm, damp maw is open, so he sticks his thumb onto her tongue.

She closes around it and sucks, owlish eyes rolling to the side to avoid the look of starvation on his face.

He pops from her lips, grabs her chin and makes her look back at him. He’d kill for this enchanting woman, he realizes. He’d die for this woman.

“Will you teach me?” She asks, uncomfortable in the tacit silence.

“Right.” He clears his throat. “Give me another word.”

“No.” She shakes her head. “Sorry. Will you teach me to fight?”

At first, he wants to say absolutely not. But that would be stupid, now. He needs her in his life, and his life is dangerous. With everything moving so quickly, including his attachment to her, he forgot about that part.

The past few days have been calm. Almost domestic. If he were normal, he would be ready to ask her to actually date him. He is acting completely delusional, blind, stupid, and it’s been wonderful.

Men are like wolves, a taste of blood is not enough. Pretty soon the desire for it becomes insatiable. John is no different from any other man in that way. He appointed himself father death a long time ago, and that has been his one purpose. Blood, heads, bullet’s with names on them.

A taste of love, he realizes, is also similar.

And her, so fragile and sweet in his hands, she creates a new path. Domestic bliss, waking every day to her pretty face, kissing and watching movies and flirting and making her warm and satisfied.

So many things he didn’t ever think he could have, all right here in his arms.

If he was weaker willed, he’d be pissing himself in fear from it all.

There are two options: leave her alone, forget about her and go back to doing what he’s built for, or teaching her basic skills to defend herself against his violent life that he needs her to be in.

One of these options is already never going to work, so that narrows it down.

“When do you want to start?” He replies.

“I have off tonight.” Her smile is wide and grateful because she really did not think he would agree.

“You need sleep, food, fluid,” he explains. “Self defense seems simple, but it’s hard on your body.”

“So is that a no to starting tonight?” She plays with his collar absently, and he takes the opportunity to huddle her closer.

“Sleep, food, fluid,” he repeats. “If you can get those things, then we’ll talk tonight. Beginner’s foundation.”

She seems a bit offended suddenly. “How do you know I’m a beginner?”

He cocks his head, trying to picture her fighting someone and coming up blank. He tilts her chin back and forth with his fingers, examining her cherubic face, the soft curves that belong captured in watercolors of a renaissance painting. Built for love, he thinks. Built for pleasure and playing. Fragility and soft, merciful beauty. Fighting? He almost scoffs. Instead, he inquires, “you’re not?” Anybody can be trained to be deadly, but he’s just not seeing it in her.

“I grew up in foster care,” she tells him. “I met a lot of bad people….”

He can tell that she doesn’t want to talk about this by the memory of it contorting her face.

“It’s okay,” John says.

“No, I’ll tell you.” She pulls her chin out of his hand and sits up.

He feels like he just ruined something, wants to drag her back and hold her in place. His fingers twitch, but he stays still and receptive to her story.

“Men.” She swallows, looks at him, looks down at her hands. “It’s usually men.”

He looks confused. “Fighting men?”

“Only the ones who hurt us.”

“Us?” As realization hits, so does anger. He can’t keep it out of his tone despite great attempt.

“I wasn’t the only kid in the system,” she explains. “I often had many siblings. I can only remember one family where I was the only kid they had.”

He nods, motioning for her to continue but already guessing where this is going. She’s a girl, after all, and women have vastly different experiences when it comes to growing up in orphanages and temporary homes.

“At first, I was the youngest, and I had no one to protect me. So then, when I was the oldest, I tried to become the protector I needed.”

His rage claws and screams for more detail. Mainly, one particular piece of information: Names, full and last. Maybe addresses if she can remember them.

The first rule of kill for hire is don’t be a hero and mind your own business. He should’ve known that was never going to work for him. These days he’s incapable of letting shit go or staying in his lane, and he’s sure it’s just going to get worse because he’s allowing it.

Why fight yourself if you already have to fight everyone else? Easier to just agree and compromise your base instincts into symbiosis.

“And screaming and calling the cops and asking for help - it never worked. Nothing peaceful ever worked. Violence became commonplace.”

“But, in turn, you were met with more violence.” He looks away from her for the first time since she’s known him - not in embarrassment, but contempt -  and watches snow tumble along the pavement.

“Bingo.”

John doesn’t want to imagine what she’s saying. He doesn’t want to think about her getting beaten like an unruly dog. He hates this. Rage so potent it turns all the delicate white scenery red. Hallmark movie transitions into slaughterhouse film. He wants heads, body counts - desires these so carnally that it makes his teeth ache and brain boil in cerebral fluid.

“I’m sorry.” Her small, worried voice fades the earth from crimson to pale pink.

“Sorry?” He asks.

“Did I make you mad?” She rubs at her forearm, and chews her lip. A tear slithers down her cheek.

“You?” The distance between them is too much, so he puts his chest to her forehead. “No. No, baby.”

She cries into his shirt while he rubs her scalp.

She knows what this is, at least on her end. The soft intimacy, the meeting of his friends, the terms of endearment he uses so casually after such a short amount of time. Still, she wants to ask him to tell her, in plain terms, how he feels and what is going on between them. She almost does, right here in his arms, leaking vulnerability. She opens her mouth to ask him if he really likes her, but the fear of scaring him away sows it shut.

“You need sleep,” he says, kissing her hair.

“Can I stay with you?” She asks. “Will you stay with me?” If he says no, she’ll drop it, she promises herself.

“I have some things I need to do today,” he replies, unable to stop his lips from pursing against her crown repeatedly.

“You’ll come back tonight?” She asks, cursing herself for the desperation.

“I want to,” he assures, “but I don’t know how the day will go. Here.” He uses his sleeves to wipe the tears off her face.

[ciaossu-imagines]

arachne gorgon + number 13 from the halloween asks.

Oh, this was such a great ask! Thank you so much for sending it in – she’s not a character I write for often, so it was neat to explore her headspace. I just hope I’ve done her justice and that ya’ll enjoy 😊

13. Will your muse do sexy versions of costumes or do they prefer to be more true to the character?

Why not both, would be Arachne’s opinion on the matter. She is attracted to things dark, macabre, spooky, and downright horrifyingly scary. At the same time though, she is a woman who not only knows how attractive she is but relishes in that knowledge. She enjoys showing off her figure and enjoys knowing that others find her beautiful.

Because of these facts, her ideal Halloween costumes are often ones that mix and match the dark with the ‘sexy’. Sometimes the costumes aren’t necessarily ‘spooky’ but more on the gothic side of things, such as when she dressed up as Elvira or as Morticia Addams. Both women’s outfits appealed to her and her natural appearance is startlingly close enough to both women, so they were easy costume ideas for her to think of and pull off.

She’d like things like the nurses from Silent Hill, with the combination of scary in their bandaged faces, hypodermics, and general presentation, while appreciating the ‘sexy’ factor introduced by their outfits.

She’ll also have gone as a demon queen to a Halloween party, wearing a skin-tight and low cut leather bodysuit. It’s offset by the blackout contacts, the fact her body is painted entirely red, the intricate horns and sharp teeth in her mouth.

For Arachne, after all, to pull off a look is worth any expense, something that is seen in any of her Halloween costumes, along with most of her day to day outfits.

An unmasked Mileena from Mortal Kombat would also really appeal to her, in my opinion. It’s the perfect mix of sexy, especially if she initially appeared masked, and scary when she removes the mask.

[gingerbreadmonsters]

oops-a-daisy

or: prisoners at the bar, have you anything to say in your defence?

gn!reader, a bit suggestive but no nsft, classic ginger-style fluff with a double scoop of good old-fashioned villainy. you are charged with the following indictments! all my love to the gang over on discord - for you, my darlings, it is always vega hours 💕💕💕 a particular thank you to @daveyistheloml and @zozo-01 for proofreading - i could ask for none better to attempt to persuade me to make a late-game pivot to total degeneracy. the doctor will see you now! vega singing the most wonderful lullaby in just over 3900 words.

series masterlist

main masterlist

Oh, this is bad.

No, seriously - it’s bad. It’s really, really bad. This isn’t a stumble, or a Freudian slip, or a lapse of judgement. It’s not a calculator error, it’s not an oversight, not a misstep or faux pas or slipup. You couldn’t even call it a little white lie.

“Mmm, darling…”

The calculator error underneath you laughs quietly in your mind, one clawed hand stroking softly over your back, and your mouth tastes a lot like soap.

“You do make such a wonderful companion, you know.”

It’s been a few days since you came to your agreement with Vega, but you haven’t left the… safehouse? Is safehouse the right word? Whatever this place is, you’re still here. He’d said it was because he still had a few things to sort out before you left, but it looks like he’s finished with his arrangements now. He didn’t tell you what he was doing. To be honest, you’re not sure you wanted him to.

He’d come back a few hours ago, the telltale tearing sound of a rift in the other room. A knock at the door. May I come in? As always, you’d said yes.

(It should end as it began, shouldn’t it? You and him, alone in this unremarkable room, him with all the answers and you on the back foot.)

Tomorrow, you leave. Where? You don’t know, but you’re going regardless.

“Perfectly subservient, perfectly willing…”

Bastard. He takes your half-hearted slap to his chest with irritating grace, and you can feel his amusement rippling against your senses as he takes your hand in his, lifting it to his lips and pressing an almost-kiss to the backs of your fingers.

“Alright, alright, I know. You’re much more capable than that, my dear.” Vega’s tone is familiar, that habitual undercurrent of what might be laughter, bordering on patronising but never quite tipping over. “Indulge me, won’t you? Perhaps I just like to look after you.”

He rests his cheek against the crown of your head, and the gentle weight is as comforting as ever. “I’d like to think I’m very good at it, by now.”

“Hm. I’ve had better.” It’s a lie, but he doesn’t have to know that. “Bedside manner could use some work, maybe.”

You’ve never really been the touchy-feely type, with demons or humans alike. It’s awkward, you know? There’s your coworkers, yeah, but you’re not sure they really count as friends, even though they’re probably the closest things you have. As for demons? It’s a bit embarrassing, but your job means that you don’t really go back to Aria that often, and there aren’t that many demons working at DUMP. A polite smile in the hallway, maybe a few pleasantries exchanged by the vending machine in the cafeteria.

It’s not very easy to talk to people, be they human or demon. You’ve never found it easy. And maybe all these years alone on Elegy haven’t helped, but it’s a little late for that now. Alone with your maybe-prisoner, sitting sideways in Vega’s lap, you’re not really sure where it leaves you.

“Really, now…” he muses, tail slowly curling around your ankle, pressing lightly against the skin as he idly wraps and unwraps it around your calf. “If you want me to practise being in your bed, darling, you only have to ask.”

Your face burns where it’s hidden against his collarbone, tucking yourself firmly against his chest and into the cradle of his arms. His hand has stopped, and you were rather enjoying it before. You huff quietly, swishing your tail in a silent command to keep going, and resign to keep your cool. You won’t dignify that with a response.

Vega snickers under his breath as he obeys, claws trailing up and down your back in languid, looping patterns. “No need to be embarrassed, dearest. We’re not exactly strangers, after all.”

“It’s-” Thank goodness the crack in your voice isn’t as obvious when you speak telepathically. The perks of not needing physical vocal cords. “It’s just a bit warm.”

“Is that it? You do look a little flustered. Perhaps you’d rather-” He cuts off as you move, satisfied smugness melting into confusion when you suddenly start to readjust yourself. “Hm? Oh - here, darling, let me-”

The mattress springs creak underneath the two of you as you move, but you’re so used to it by now that you barely even notice. His tail unwinds from where it’s keeping your leg in place, letting you climb further into his lap to slide your arms around his neck before returning to its previous position.

“Better?”

You nod, sighing contentedly against the side of his neck as you settle your chin on his shoulder. He’s so warm. It’s nice, to stay with him like this. Although, if you’re honest, you’re a little surprised he even lets you.

He must feel it, flickering in the back of your mind, or maybe he just knows you too well by now. Either way, he guesses correctly.

“Mm. Don’t be so surprised, my little warden. As… harsh as I admit my tastes can be, even I can admit there’s some merit in a slightly softer approach.”

Movement just out of the corner of your eye, his tail uncoiling from around your calf once more, slim and sinuous. Curling around and around, unhurried as ever, until the spade at the tip presses flat against yours for just a moment. Your eyes go wide at the unexpected feeling (when did they close?), going rigid in his arms for just a second before slouching against his chest as your muscles involuntarily fall slack.

“Don’t you agree?

Slow and deliberate, he slides his tail back down the length of yours - the swish of displaced air as it arches up behind you, before curving innocently around your back, just underneath his arm.

(Don’t think about it. It was only a moment. It could have been an accident.)

(It wasn’t, but it could have been.)

“Why waste my time simmering in discomfort, beholden to some vague notion of pride, when I could be enjoying myself elsewhere?”

It’s stupid, but you can’t help the tiny flutter in your chest at the thought that he enjoys this time he has with you. He likes you being here. He wants you to be here. That’s not something many people tend to think, when it comes to you.

“How unusual. Your heart sounds a little fast, darling. I can’t imagine why.”

“Does it surprise you?”

“Not at all. It’s only natural.”

He knows exactly what he’s doing, the bastard. Vega smiles when you look up at him, sceptical, and it’s that same smile he gets when he’s got you right where he wants you.

“Is it?”

It’s a game, and you both know it. His rules, your pieces. He’s lucky that you like to play.

His grin sharpens, wicked and inhumanly perfect. “Well, no. But you understood what I meant, and replied in kind, didn’t you?”

“I know a leading question when I hear one.”

“Then let me lead you on a little longer.” Dice clatter inside your skull as he speaks there, rattling through your brain and rolling off your tongue. “Why do you bother?”

“Bother with what?”

He takes a deep, deliberate breath - chest rising and falling under your head just once, before returning to his usual stillness. It startles you more than you thought it would.

“No wonder your recovery took so long, my dear. All those extra… accessories.”

“It’s the form I like to take.” Haughtily, you flick your tail away from where it’s draped over his legs, that static-electric feeling of cloaking magic racing up your spine as you hide it away.

“It’s a form that takes a lot of work, for very little gain. You don’t need it. Why have it?” Long fingers trace down your back, trailing back and forth as if he’s feeling every rib that hides under your skin. Perhaps he is. “Your physical form is beautiful as it is, darling. No need to weigh yourself down like that.”

“It’s no trouble to me.” It was different at first - getting used to the whole human way of being. Learning how often to blink, how deeply to breathe, how much to fidget. It unnerves them if you get it wrong. “It feels good. I’ve grown to like it.”

It’s another lie. Well. Not a lie. Half of one, at most. You’re accustomed to it, certainly. It’s second nature by now, and you’d like to think that you’re actually very good at it. Carrying all those extra pieces, bones and tissues and juices that you know by feel but not by name, sloshing around inside. It’s all part of being on Elegy, isn’t it? How else were you going to learn what gravity felt like?

“Have you, now,” he muses, tilting his head away from you in thought. “I’ve never especially cared for the physical, but if you put so much stock in it… perhaps I ought to give it some thought.”

It’s a nice try, but he can’t get you that easily. “Perhaps. I doubt you will.”

“And what makes you say that?” You don’t have to look to see the way his eyebrow lifts in amusement, the way his lips twist into an almost-smile. Your mind’s eye is enough. “I’m wounded, darling. Have a little more faith in me, won’t you?”

“I never took you as the type who inspires faith.”

“Then you’re correct. I’m not.” Your claws drag lightly over his skin, running idly back and forth across the nape of his neck. “But I wonder…”

A wicked laugh, low and dark, echoing through your mind like dice falling on soft felt.

“Sate my curiosity, then. What sort of feelings do I inspire in you, my little warden?”

Your disbelief drips through his aura, thick and heavy with sarcasm. “Like you don’t already know.”

“Maybe I just want you to tell me.”

“Then maybe I’m more inclined to sadism than you thought.”

He nods approvingly, and you can taste his contentment with your answer. Whatever test he had for you, it seems you’ve passed. “I’m pleasantly surprised, my dear. How fascinating.”

His hands stroking across your back, his tail curled around yours, and the sudden rush of heat that accompanies both of those things. Don't think about it now. He's just flattering you.

“I’m not sure you mean that.”

“I say plenty of things I mean, and plenty more that I don’t, when it suits me. I would have thought you enjoyed that sort of pragmatism, no?” Vega shrugs lazily underneath you, although he’s careful not to jostle you as he does it. “Does it truly puzzle you, that I might want to be a little more candid with you?”

“Because you love being candid with me.” He makes more of a show of it, but you do dryness just as well as he does.

“Well, you’re far better company than our friend in the other room. As pleasant as his vitriol might taste, I find he makes for a rather poor conversationalist, when it comes to passing the time.”

How uncharacteristic. “I wouldn’t have thought you paid much attention to chatting, all things considered. Do you make a habit of making conversation, then?”

His face doesn’t change, but you can feel a tiny, stifled spark of confusion, smothered into smoky satisfaction as he considers your question. Is he… flattered? “Present company excluded? No. No, I don’t.”

“Talk to me, then, if you’re so starved for small talk.”

“Looking to uncover all my secrets so soon, are we?”

“Of course.”

“Then ask away, darling. I’m listening.”

A game of kings, and a demon’s horns make a wonderful crown. Pieces chasing each other across the board, clicking against the rosewood. You won’t give up without a fight.

“You asked why I care.”

“I did.” He looks down at you, shifting in his hold, propping yourself up to sit more upright as you lean against him. “You didn’t really answer.”

“Then let me ask you. You wanted to know why I care.” His gaze is placid, deliberately so, and you hold it as you speak. “Why do you want to know?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

You don’t respond, looking up at him expectantly and fighting the urge to say anything. Let him come to you. Make him be the one who breaks the silence for once.

“Hm. Let me put it another way.” Vega takes a moment to think about it, fingers tapping a deliberately-lazy pattern against your arm. “Your commitment to this physical form is admirable - though I must say, while your considerable control of such a… such a painfully human body is remarkable, your effort seems a little misplaced.”

“Does it?” You think you know the answer, but you’ll keep pushing regardless.

“It does to me. These bodies aren’t us, are they? Not really.”

“What are they, then? If they’re not us, as you say.”

“Vessels, to hold our true forms, capture them in these human dimensions, so that we might exist on this plane. I could make and unmake this form however I pleased, in no more than an instant.” A steady hand lifts your chin, careful not to let sharp claws draw blood. “You could, too. Why pay any more mind to the hidden workings of a human form, than a human might to the weave of their shirt? How dull. Wasteful, even. A boring, mechanical task.”

You give a noncommittal shrug, turning back to your previous - and, it must be said, very comfortable - position, but his tail wrapping around your forearm keeps you where you are. He’s less docile now, a little more passion rising to the surface, and it makes a lovely crackle against your senses.

“You don’t agree.”

You tilt your head towards him in vague recognition, though not acquiescence. “I don’t have to. It’s my form, to make as I please.”

“So you find merit in it.”

“You could call it that. I get the sense you’d rather call it something else.”

“I would.”

“Then diagnose me, Doctor Vega,” you sigh airily, lifting the back of your hand to your forehead like humans do when they’re going to faint. “Tell me what’s wrong with me, I beg!” He laughs at your exaggeratedly-pained expression, delight washing over you like water, adjusting his hold as you go limp in his arms. “What would you call it, then?”

“What would I call it…”

His tail winds a little further around your arm, spade brushing innocently against your skin before folding gracefully around your wrist. The contact is nice and soothing, and without really noticing, you curve your other hand over it to keep him there.

“A waste, quite frankly, of time that could be much better spent applying yourself to more… exciting pursuits. We demons are afforded the privilege of infinity, darling. Why spend it worrying about the beating of a heart that you don’t really need?”

“Humans like them. I wanted to know what that was all about,” you reply, perhaps a little too earnestly, but it’s true. “They don’t hold feelings the way we do. For them, it’s the place where they keep their good feelings. Love and happiness and joy and all that. I wanted to know if I could do the same.”

Vega smiles softly at your response, pulling you closer and pressing a brief kiss to your temple. To be honest, you can’t tell if it’s meant to be more affectionate or patronising, but either way you don’t complain.

“Ever the optimist, I see. How… romantic of you, my warden. I can’t say that I share your perspective, but…” His hand slides down from where it’s still cupping your jaw, trailing over your neck, your shoulder, your arm, before settling on your waist. “Well, it’s not like I plan to stop you. You’re a free agent, after all.”

He leans down a little closer, conspiratorial, like he’s telling you a secret. “What you choose to do with that heart of yours isn’t my decision.”

Flicking through the deck, and he’s put down four of a kind - all you’re left with is a flush that just won’t go away. Perhaps you’ll call this one a draw.

“Mm.”

You hide your face back against his shoulder, gently nudging his jaw out of the way with the top of your head and closing your eyes. The awkward angle means you have to relinquish your hold on his tail, but it doesn’t seem to bother him - especially not when you gingerly relax the cloaking over your own.

He must taste your nervousness, shushing you softly and gathering you up in his lap, leaning back even further against the wall so that you’re properly lying on him. These physical bodies are so wonderful - the pleasant weight of his arms around your body, the warmth of his skin against yours, the calming pressure of his tail as it curves and spirals with yours.

“Mmm…” His voice, echoing low and kind in your head, is almost enough to put you to sleep right then and there. He’s so comforting, even considering all the things you know about him. “You ought to be careful, my warden. I might get used to this.”

“Yeah,” you mumble into his mind, too busy bathing in the relaxation dripping off of him to really pay much attention. “You might.”

He doesn’t reply, choosing instead to rest his head lightly on yours and letting you drift in the haze of idle contentment that envelops you both.

Time goes by, but you couldn’t say how long. Sunlight falling tenderly on your skin, blurred and dreamy in the darkness of the room, and you don’t care whether it’s real or not. It feels real, and for now that’s all you need. You don’t know. You’re not looking. Maybe it’s not sunlight at all.

Is this wrong? It must be. You’re not meant to be doing this, least of all with Vega. He’s a monster, isn’t he? A criminal. A liar. He’s said as much himself, and you believe it when he says that he isn’t to be trusted. Why, then, does that make you trust him more? It shouldn’t, it shouldn’t. You’re supposed to know better.

He’s not a good person. You’re not a good liar.

Because there’s no hiding it - you like him. Even though he’s cruel, even though he’s wicked and vicious and far too full of himself, you like him anyway. He’s good company, and he’s been kinder to you than you deserve, all things considered. It’s surprisingly natural to spar with him like this, in a way you’d never have expected before. There are very few demons like him, at least that you’ve met in your time, and you’d be wrong to say he doesn’t intrigue you just for that.

So, that’s that. You’re being manipulated. He’s manipulating you. Knowing it doesn’t make it any less appealing.

If it feels good, then why not? He says you have forever, and he’s right - you might as well spend it enjoying yourself. If that means staying with Vega, seeing this plan of his through to its completion, then that’s what you’ll do. And if he’s wrong, if that forever turns out to be a lot shorter than it’s supposed to be? Well. All those unending years, stretching off into the distance. You wouldn’t want to get bored.

There’s no point in trying to hide it. You’ve been alone for a very, very long time. Somewhere in that time, you’d made your choice not to look back. At every decision, every fork in the road, you’ll weigh up all the options, no matter what they are. Then, whatever you choose, you won’t regret it. You can’t. You did the best with what you had, and the rest is out of your hands.

You’ve made your choice. Tumbling through the atmosphere, pulled endlessly into his orbit, tethered only to his gravity. Bright and light and blinding. Your astral name has never felt so fitting.

“You’ve cloaked them again.”

Vega’s voice, carefully neutral, echoing quietly through your brain. Vaguely, you register a hand reaching up past your face, brushing languidly over the places he knows your horns should be.

“Hm,” you say eloquently, stumbling through a mental yawn. “Didn’t - mmnn - didn’t wanna to stab you by accident…” It takes you a few seconds to summon up a good comeback, and he’s polite enough to let you have them. “Unless you wanted to be stabbed in the chin today, that is.”

“Touché, my warden. Touché.” That sunlight feeling again, rippling through you like a warm current through the ocean. You could have sworn it was nighttime already. “Though I’m flattered. How courteous of you.”

A sleepy shrug. “I aim to please.”

“I’m sure you do, darling.” How do you always walk right into it? You feel the line coming before he even has a chance to say it, but it’s too late to backtrack - you accept your fate with a long-suffering sigh, buried in his chest, and even Vega can’t hide his glee at your theatrical displeasure. “Something tells me you’re very, very good at it.”

“Wouldn’t you-” You’re cut off by another yawn, bigger this time, your teeth just barely scraping over his neck before you settle back down into his hold. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Perhaps I would, my little warden,” Vega murmurs, palm brushing softly over your spine. Up and down, up and down. “Perhaps I will.”

It’s unnecessary. There’s no need to. The effect would be the same if he said it in your mind. But he doesn’t - he bends down to brush his lips just barely over your cheek, tilting his head to whisper quietly in your ear.

“And perhaps you’d like that, too.”

Oh.

There’s no time to sort out how that makes you feel - he pulls away, voice once again filling your mind as you mourn the loss of that wonderful closeness. “My poor darling. So tired. You ought to get some more sleep, little warden.” A teasing laugh, that only you and he can hear. “Doctor’s orders.”

There’s not much you can say to that. There’s not much you want to say.

You don’t really need to sleep, but it’s very nice when you do. For as tall and lean this form he’s taken is, Vega really is surprisingly comfortable to lie on. He’s warm, and gentle, and unexpectedly considerate - it’s not long before you’re giving in and drifting off to sleep.

Warmth and weight and water. A happy little inchoate, snoozing away in Vega’s arms, and you don’t remember if you dream.

(If you did, would you even want to remember?)

(Warm sunlight on the surface of the sea. Bubbles spilling, slipping, overflowing - soft, soapy foam filling a mouth and a throat and a stomach that you don’t need. The clatter of dice on rosewood. Might as well be hanged for a sheep as for a lamb.)

“Relax, my darling. It’s alright. You’re safe here.”

(Damned if you do, damned if you don’t. No excuses, no defence. A little white lie. Well. What did you expect? There’s something to be said about demons and damnation.)

(You’re choosing happiness. For once, it’s out of your hands.)

(It’s not your fault.)

“I’ve got you.”

(You are, as they say, only human.)

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[silkythewriter]

Sebastian getting drunk

(Requested in messages)

꧁𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬꧂

𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐛𝐲: silkythewriter, formally known as weirdowithahat

𝐀𝐫𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐛𝐲/𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲: Jijhvg on Pinterest. Art made by by A-1 Pictures.

𝐁𝐨𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝/𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲: sublieu

𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐰𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲: Square Enix and Yana Toboso

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: drinking (as said in the title)

𝐌𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐜 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝:

First things first, this doesn’t happen very often, he’s very proper and has much work to do so it’s rare he finds the time to sneak in a few bottles.

He doesn’t really enjoy it more as a distraction, and a short relief mechanism since he knows how he gets while drunk. He can get a bit more emotional and clingy then he’s comfortable with showing.

It takes ALOT of drinking for this man to get hammered, after all he’s a demon so his tolerance is a bit higher then that of a human. Which is a blessing and curse considering how many bottles go in one night just trying to get tipsy

One time he came to your room at the dead of night. Like I’m talking about 2-3 am in the morning, you barely heard his knock that could be considered a tap due to how silent it was. You grudgingly open the door revealing Sebastian, he stumbled slightly as you open the door which startled him a bit so he just put his full weight on as he stumbled forward leaving you concerned and confused at what happened. He only buried his face in chest while playing with a strand of your hair, and if your short mind you this demon is quite tall so he was basically bending down and if your tall he was basically hugging onto your hips while doing so. You knew something was off due to his composer, he usually was more of a gentleman around you so him doing this randomly differently gave him away.

“Y/n, darling may I invite you to dance?” His words slurred and dragged out. Leaving you chuckling at the randomness and inviting him into your room to make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid, your bed wasn’t the biggest but it was big enough for you two to lay comfortably on.

On nights like those he usually just relaxes his body and/or makes you stroke his hair to relax his spinning head.

Ciel is more or less confused when Sebastian walks out your room looking a bit more dead then usual

“Your late!” Ciel said angrily as he stared daggers into the demon. Sebastian could only bow as he apologized “I’m sorry my lord” he said his voice a bit deeper and bumper then usual but ciel only waved him off to straighten himself up

After getting drunk he definitely freshens up pretty quickly cause as said he’s a busy demon especially with ciel so he doesn’t have much time to recover from the night before

The day after him getting drunk he usually doesn’t drink for another 3-6 months? As said he doesn’t have much time for it

But with that being said he, he loves drink wine red wine to be exact, especially with you. He finds if the most relaxing especially since he finds it the most tolerable. He can’t get drunk off two or five glasses like I’ve said before but wine for some reason doesn’t effect him all that much unless he downs like 10 bottles of something

If ciel and the rest are already asleep he loves taking you to dance around in the kitchen or garden of the manor, he loves seeing your skin in the shining moon, it always complimented your dark/tan/light skin in his opinion

OH! And at the beginning, where I said he was clingy? Let’s explore that more!

When he’s not drunk he’s very proper. He is overprotective and clingy to you when not drunk don’t be mistaken but it’s more hidden and less suspected then when he’s drunk

When he’s drunk he’ll just materialize behind you and just hug your waist and is over all more touchy. Not as proper or Romantic when sober but over all more lose when so it’s a big change

Sometime he loves whispering thing into your ear when you don’t know he’s behind you, he just finds your experience funny he does end up apologizing when you scold him 💀

Overall more clingy and over you, he can’t really help it (-.-💧) he usually remembers everything once sober and it makes him a bit embarrassed

★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

AHHH I LOST ALL MY PROGRESS FOR THIS REQUEST I HAD LIKE 20 BULLET POINTS BUT NOW ITS SHORTEN IM SO SORRY TI THE REQUESTER IN MESSAGES!!!! THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR BEING SO KIND (ᗒAᗕ)՞(ᗒAᗕ)՞!!!!!

[meowcats734]

[Soulmage] You're the laughing stock of the Underworld, but on Earth your reputation attracts followers willing to betray everything. You're the only demon to uphold their side of the bargain, no strings attached.

"They have gone by many names, over the course of their existence. Scholars name them The Dealmaker. Demons call them a fool. But those who they reach out to know them by one name only: Odin." —A Compilation of Essays on the Demonic Form, Laiwen Shannel et al. 103 AR.

The Silent Academy for Witches held knowledge on every conceivable topic, even one as taboo as demonology. Granted, most of it was restricted, and it was all heavily biased against anything from outside the Silent Peaks, but if there was something I could honestly say I'd benefitted from during my stay in the Academy, it was the massive reservoir of knowledge that was the Library.

"When soulspace entities first crossed through the rifts, humanity encountered The Dealmaker. Legends say that as a Demon of Empathy, they consider harming one whom they've bonded with to be harming themself, and as a result, will never renege on a deal if they have the option." —Musings on Primitive Mythology, Kanne, 2 AR.

The classes that I'd taken on how to properly research something—say, the name of a demon—had come in handy, too. With Lucet as my research partner checking out books for me, I made index cards and mind mazes and all the lovely organizational techniques Witch Aimes had drilled into me. Bit by bit, like pulling the spines of a star-cactus from bleeding palms, I extracted the drops of restricted knowledge that I was able to access on the entity known as Odin. A demon. A dealmaker. A person of their word, no matter how terrible that word was.

"Despite a century of accumulated empathic experience, Odin is not truly human. Their approximation of the humanoid mind is flawed, at best, and what they truly desire is often difficult to discern." Are Demons Truly Alive?, Daiol Utennt, 80 AR.

The texts I had access to were frustratingly vague, and sometimes I went days without finding anything useful. But I had to know. I had to know what The Dealmaker wanted with me when he'd showed up in my dreams.

I had to know what would happen now that I'd refused.

"The Dealmaker has gathered a cult following among mortals in the years since the rifts began. Their pattern is familiar and simple: they target those shunned by society and offer them something they cannot get anywhere else." The Case for Minority Re-Education, Falo Chentrenne, 120 AR.

I snapped the book shut and stood, stretching. It had been weeks since my research project had begun, slogging through texts that were half-academic, half-propaganda. My back still ached and I had to visit the nurse twice daily, but school at the Silent Academy for Witches was on midyear break. I had no pressing obligations at the moment.

So it was time to pay a visit to an old friend.

Lucet was trying not to make Iola any angrier than he already was, so she was staying in the dorms—and even if I didn't agree with her, I sure as hell wasn't going to force her to change her mind. I didn't exactly have any other friends in the Academy, so after a quick dunk in the showers, I wrapped myself up to protect against the snow and left the Academy grounds alone.

Jiaola's house wasn't far. The old witch had built it right smack in the center of the Silent City. It was as if he and his husband were giving a massive "fuck you, we exist and we are here" to the Silent Parliament every day they continued outliving the government that had wanted them "re-educated."

There was a reason I liked Jiaola.

Small animals turned their heads as I passed, but I ignored them. I was on break; the Academy had no hold over me. They could stalk me all they wanted through the eyes of crows and blink-kittens. They might disapprove of me, but they already did.

I knocked on Jiaola's firm, old door—real wood, imported from the Redlands—and waited as Jiaola called "Coming!" A moment later, the old witch's wrinkled but unbroken smile greeted me as he opened the door.

"Cienne!" Jiaola's eyes twinkled merrily. "Come in, come in! Here to beat me at Kingmaker again?"

As much as I wanted to continue our board-game tournament, I had more pressing matters to work out. I shook my head. "Not this time, old man. We should take this inside."

Jiaola's gaze sharpened, and he reflexively swept the street with both eyes and soul. "Understood. Do you want to use the safe room, or...?"

I shook my head. "No use burning all those enchants. We can just talk in the living room."

Jiaola nodded and shuffled aside, letting me in before shutting the door. "What can an old bat like me help you with?"

I bit my lip, then leaned in and whispered, "Have you ever been contacted by a demon called Odin?"

Jiaola froze.

Then he let out a weary sigh. "So they've reached out to you as well?"

I nodded. "They wanted to use me as... some kind of champion? They promised to take me away from the Academy, at the very least." Which I wouldn't mind in and of itself, to be honest—I stayed at the Academy because I had nowhere else to go if I wanted to get food and shelter. "And from what I've heard, they're good for their word."

"They are," Jiaola said, eyes focusing on something I couldn't see. "I haven't thought about Odin in years, but... yes. The Dealmaker gave me what I wished for."

I didn't ask what Jiaola had been given. The old man would tell me if it was relevant.

"So if the Dealmaker's taking you out of the Academy..." Jiaola raised an eyebrow. "Is this the last time we'll see each other?"

I shook my head. "I turned their offer down."

Jiaola did a double-take. "You what?"

I did not like that reaction. "Yeah, actually, that's what I came here to ask you. I couldn't find anything in the library on what happens when Odin gets refused—"

"Cienne—argh!" For the first time since I'd met the witch, he seemed genuinely afraid. "You don't get it. The Dealmaker upholds their end of the offers they make, always, no exceptions. Even when the person in question doesn't accept the deal."

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

Jiaola grabbed my arm, steel in his eyes. "Get yourself into the safe room. I'll notify the city guard. If Odin said they were taking you out of the Academy, then Odin's coming to take you out of the Academy."

He paused as he reached the door, then turned around, his gaze intense as it met mine.

"The Dealmaker is coming for you, Cienne. Stay strong."

And with that, the old witch turned to the street and sounded the alarm.

A.N.

Soulmage is a serial written in response to writing prompts. Stick around for more episodes, or join my Discord to chat about it!

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[diemon]

language + landmark!

*  ―  𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐦𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐬… language: how have shifts in language affected my muse? 

in the beginning , evelynn knew no language . her communication was chemical , not sound-based . there hadn't been a need to use sound nor to communicate with her prey , as an essence she fed on the residual feelings of pain that war caused . but over time , when the war came , evelynn needed to evolve and adapt in order to feed . first , she was a silent body . over time , she slowly learned language as an adaptation to lure in food . primarily , her first language were dulunian and efric ( which is practically extinct these days ) . . . then some oesish . but she gets more bang for her buck with using velarian these days since it is used internationally .

she's never really struggled with language , simply because she doesn't worry about being right or wrong . and because she's typically bound to human lands and slowly adapted as one might just from exposure . she just adapts and moves on . however , spending so much time in human lands has almost caused evelynn to be too used to communicating in spoken languages . . . so she'll talk to other demons since for the most part . . . they also use language as a tool to enable on feelings of human disgust , panic , glutton , addiction , etc. .

there are also plenty of languages she doesn't know or feel the need to learn , so they just exist .

landmark:  was my muse around while an important landmark was being built? what do they remember about that time?

i mean technically , she is nearly as old as life itself . . . although not always sentient . her sentience came into being during the rune wars , which was so destructive it literally erased landmasses . most everything needed to be build from that point onwards . i always imagined that evelynn preferred staying to demacia and noxus . . . until noxus started conquering and invading . then , she hopped on board and followed noxus's trail of conquest to feast .

that being said , evelynn never had any ties to the cultures of demacia or noxus . frankly , she didn't give a shit about what they were building or celebrating or . . . doing . and evelynn doesn't really remember much other than eras or timeframes of suffering and war because life is inconsequential to her existence otherwise . she has complete apathy to landmarks like the grand plaza and the arena because . . . they just lack substance for her .

a landmark she IS fond of actually exists in the shadow isles -- a rhelm she hardly visits . and she likely wasn't around at its creation since it is tied to the ten ( ten demon siblings who were the first to exist and the basis for all other demon types ) . anyways ; evelynn likes the catalogue of regrets . . . because there is something yummy about the pain of lamenting she finds fun . she doesn't have specific memories of it , she just likes it .

[fat-slobby-hunks]

AU'S:

Agent au:

My muses but they're all special agents working for a shady undercover organization. Their bodies are enhanced with special enhancements that give them miraculous agility at the cost of their metabolism and waist line.

Kinks: weight gain, force feeding, latex suits, stuckage, feeding machines and more

Organizations:

The org: nameless shadowy government agency. Employees spies and supplies them with the mysterious chemical [bhm] that allows them to perform inhuman feats

Hazbin Incorporated:

A third party organization that employees the not so silent but very deadly spy known as Angel Dust. Only seeks power and profit.

My muses but they're all royalty in world of pure candy.

The Phantom Thieves:

Ryuji, Akira and Yusuke a trio of gentlemen thieves by night and normal (kinda) citizens by day. Ryuji is a former athlete, Akira a streamer and Yusuke a plus sized model and artist.

Rocket Food Enterprises:

Run by Lysander and Giovanni

These two Rocket Food enterprises. It's considered the food of the future. They own gyms, diet pill and exercise equipment companies. They have multiple food brands all disguised as trying to curve obesity and spread awareness for health and fitness. Giovanni handles the business while Lysander does tech.

Candyland Au:

Kinks: princess tf, intelligence loss, inflation, force feeding, and more

Farm Au:

My muses split amongst various positions of a farm dedicated to raising and breeding hucows and other hybrids.

Kinks: animal/pig play, breeding, exhibitionism, chastity, milking, force feeding and more

Space pirate au:

My muses sailing the cosmos as space pirates

Cyberpunk au:

My muses in a general cyberpunk setting

Axiom Au:

My muses as passengers aboard the Axiom space ship from Wall-E

Fantasy Au:

My muses in a high fantasy setting

Western Au:

An anthro hazbin/helluva boss au featuring the characters In an old west setting

May add other series eventually

Key characters:

Stolas:

Species: owl

Bio: rich son of an oil baron with some shady ties to a criminal organization. Lives an runs a local library.

Sheriff Lucifer:

Species: hell stallion (fancy horse)

Bio: sheriff and big shot around town. Keeps things running smoothly. Has a passion for rubber ducks and apples

Husker:

Species: cat chimera

Bio: the happy saloon's disgruntled bar tender. Town drunk, gambler, and former outlaw all in one grumpy package.

Alastor:

Species: deer

Bio: owner of the hazbin saloon, local celebrity and radio star. Is secretly running various criminal enterprises beneath the floor of his humble saloon.

Zestial:

Species: spider

Bio: the town undertaker noones quite sure what he gets up to...

Angel Dust:

Species: spider

Bio: waiter and occasional dancer at the local saloon. Showed up in town one day in bad shape and never bothered to tell anyone why.

Asmodeus:

Species: avian demon (big bird man)

Bio: exotic thrill seeker, entrepreneur and owner of some of the most popular adult entertainment locals across the county. Run's a local club called Ozzie's. (100% not in love >:[ )

Fizzarolli:

Species: imp

Bio: a performer an comedian. Works at towns largest and only theater

Blitzo:

Species: imp

Bio:

Moxxie:

Species: imp

Bio:

Asgore Dreemurr:

Species: goat boss monster

Bio: the mayor of town and owner of the east garden in the county fair.

Location's

Pentagram Sheriff's department:

Hazbin Saloon: the local watering hole and definitely not a front for any illegal business.

[strykingback]

☭ - Zek if he had to fight Hax >:)

Send ☭ for a vs. battle quote to your muse (RWBY EDITION) (Accepting!)

(Due to there being Inner!Demon Hax and Normal Hax. You get two for the price of one!!!!) ____________ Normal Hax! ____________

Battle Theme: Fight Again from the Jujutsu Kaisen OST- Chica

Battle intro: Zek would look at his significant other smiling with his facemask off for now. "Like I said before Hax, this time I'm using live rounds so you'll have to be ready to expect the unexpected. Especially if some of your family members come after you again" He would say putting the facemask on and cocking his rifle.

Victory: Zek would walk over to Hax, helping them onto their feet with a gentle smile on his unmasked face. "Better, but we'll still need to work on some things."

Defeat: Zek chuckles a bit as he gets up and smiles at Hax. "I think now we just need to refine some things and then your family will see that you are the most strongest." He would say to them with a smile.

Assist: "I'm here Hax!!! Providing covering fire!!!"

Taunt: "Hmm? I still think I can easily lift you despite you being seven feet tall... and myself being five feet tall."

Reacting to Taunt: Zeks face would turn red for a moment until he shakes it off.

Flee: "Oh Chyort! I hope that was not Ergis howling!!"

Reaction to Flee: "Huh?! Hax... you do remember I did say Live Rounds right?"

Tie: Zek would sit upwards looking at Hax with the biggest smile ever. "I think your family would not dare to come and mess with you this time and if they do. I'll be there ."

Perfect Victory: Zek would walk up next to Hax and lay down with them looking up at the forest sky, smiling. "I think this is nice..... plus... there are a LOT of things we need to work on. For now..I think this will put an end to our training for the day."

Semblance Activation: "Try and dodge this Hax!!!"

Finishing Move: Zek would immediately look like he is about to use the Reapers Bullet but instead he would quickly give Hax a kiss before pulling away.... "What did you think I was going to use THAT attack."

_________________

Inner-Demon!Hax ______________

Battle Theme: Scream from FFXIV: Endwalker- Masayoshi Soken

Battle intro: Zek would wander the forest before looking up at the monstrous Hax, gulping lightly swallowing back his fear. "Hax.... this isnt you! I know you can fight this!!!!" He said pointing his rifle at them while trembling.

Victory: Zek would fall to one knee panting and nearly bloodied. Thankfully alive.... as he limps off knowing while he may have subdued them.... he needed to find Eath......and fast.

Defeat: With a gasp, Zek was against a large oak tree his body slowly going limp as he tried to fire one more shot but failed as he looked up at the split Hax. Tears filling his eyes..... "I'm.... so sorry... Hax..." saying his last before passing away. Death had finally claimed Zek's soul after so so many attempts on his life.

Assist: Zek would remain silent helping this "Hax" before leaping back to the sidelines.

Taunt: "Hax! I know you! You are so much stronger than this!! I would always love you with my heart! You, Taygete, and Eath!!!"

Reacting to Taunt: "Hax.......why would you..... bring up that scar... that memory that had to be burned onto it....... my memory.."

Flee: Upon realizing he was outmatched for the moment he pointed his rifle in the air launching a dust round into the air as it exploded. Hopefully signaling Eath where he was as he started to run as quick as he can.

Reaction to Flee: "Hax! Don't run please!!!!!"

Tie: Zek would fall to the floor panting and trying to catch as much breath as he could before he would go unconscious hoping that Eath could find him soon... knowing he was out of aura...

Perfect Victory: Zek rushed up to the fallen Hax, trying to find some sort of life in them. Instead... there was none, falling to the floor and weeping silently before looking up to the sky and screaming with a loud wail as if he was damning the Gods for taking his joy and happiness away again.

Semblance Activation: "HAX!!!!! I'LL SAVE YOU!!! I PROMISE!!!!!"

Finishing Move: Zek points his rifle at Hax with his hands still trembling as he closed his eyes tightly seeing the many memories of them and him in his mind. Before reopening them seeing the barrel of the rifle covered in energy......

"I'm sorry... Hax."

He said firing the bullet at them.

[sunsblaze]

🥪 Set a plate/tray/bowl of food down for my muse (moon bro to sun bro)

meme || @fallesto - Michikatsu

Missions had been more recent in the past weeks; it almost seemed as the there was a never-ending wave of demons, and as usual, the sun-breathing user would be the first to volunteer himself- usually, he would invite his brother along, but lately, he seemed more distant. It wasn't something that Michikatsu had done; Yoriichi seemed to be distancing himself from even the other pillars, even the flame pillar, who was one of his closest friends.

This month marked two years since his beloved Uta and the baby she was carrying had been lost to him; his mind was muddled with thoughts of what his life could have been- what it should have been like. Even if Yoriichi tried to hide it, it was now clear that he was unwell. It had been days since the younger twin had eaten, much less slept, and the fact that he had been on missions almost non-stop didn't help either. His body was overworked and exhausted; his hands trembling each time he moved to draw his blade until finally, his body succumbed to exhaustion.

Luckily, he had returned from his most recent mission and was able to report to the master before inevitably collapsing. Yoriichi would spend the following days resting and recovering. Word of his condition wouldn't reach Michikatsu until the elder twin returned from his own mission- by then, two days had passed, and Yoriichi was starting to feel better, though he was still confined to bed rest. Yoriichi had been curled up in the comforting layers of his futon when he heard the padding of footsteps coming toward the room; it was mealtime; his supper had been brought to him at the same time every day. However, he hadn't expected to see his brother when the shoji doors slid open...a pleasant surprise. Quickly he sat up, his eyes lighting up as his gaze flicked between Michi's face and the tray he held in his hands. He was happy to see his brother; these last two days felt like an eternity, and he was getting restless. Once the tray was placed beside him, he would offer a gentle smile, his hand patting the tatami mat to the other side of him, a silent invitation for Michikatsu to sit.

[voxxisms]

@staticintone stepped up to alastor !! guest muse event ( currently accepting! ) “You’re certainly something. How aggravating. You stay away from what’s mine, and I won’t have to take what’s yours.” ( Alastor fight Alastor fight )

     TWO  ALASTOR'S  in one room was not how vox thought his day would go.  for one to come out of nowhere,  to flood him with memories  &&  feelings,  to establish a frequency between the two of them that he previously did not have multiple of,  it was a little overwhelming.  such was the story of the multiverse theory,  truly,  but he had little he could do about it when the world was attempting to right itself with his presence.  alastor was here now,  though,  facing off against the other demon,  a tension growing between them.  alastor's words seemed to attract alastor's attention,  vox stuck between the two of them.

        ❝  i don't see how —  ❞   spoken aloud,  unable to rectify two separate frequencies when neither were created by himself,  but he was stopped when alastor pressed the end of his staff against his chest.  not painfully,  not anything very aggressive,  but very much enough to quiet his words.

        ❝  Hush,  Vox.  We're talking.  ❞    the flood of a memory,  of a particularly harsh hit to his screen,  as though intent was being delivered silently.   ❝  I do not believe you have a say,  my friend.  I'm not sure what sort of threat you're intending to make.  You also believe him to be yours?  Has he followed you like a dog waiting for a leash?  That's something you have an interest in?  ❞

        ❝  alastor,  this doesn't need to be a fight.  ❞

        ❝  It very much does,  Vox,  if he intends to make it one.  Now,  be quiet before I make you be quiet.  You still have plenty to explain later.  ❞

words exchanged between their own frequency,  before vox found himself deflating slightly,  unable to be the mediator he wished he could manage.  it wasn't as though either of them were going to listen to him,  clearly.  torn between wanting neither to suffer any harm,  he simply remained between them,  with alastor's hands gripping his shoulders still.  possesive.

        ❝  Do not tell me you're attached,  Alastor.  What is there to be so worried for?  Has he not changed?  Grown into his own,  more powerful than you last saw?  I'd be willing to bet you're closer than we were,  hm?  That seems to be the trend.  How unfortunate,  given how he is.  ❞

     Alastor had a unique insight,  too.  Able to tap right into Vox's near every thought.  Something he had found amusing most of the time,  &&  easy to tune out any other.  He was hearing slight recounts of their relationship,  unintentionally no doubt,  from Vox himself,  the way they fell apart,  that this Alastor hated him.  That he didn't know what he was doing here,  but how glad he was to see him,  how he wasn't sure what to do about this,  how he wanted them both to be safe,  whatever happened.  A pathetic little line of thought.  

        ❝  Surely you cannot still even like him?  ❞

[bcneheaded]

@ncmad said: ‘👀’

(send me ‘👀’ for something my muse has said about yours to someone else / when they’re not around.)

💬🥀— "Unintentionally a handful, that one..." He mutters to a little Whisper floating about. Mindless things, for the most part... but they used to be sentient.. Small casper-like entities that putter about the shop often enough to consider them residents. He finds himself more often than not muttering to them. They make the softest little noises in response sometimes... it's endearing. "... oh, how I loathe to think of the day she should leave this place forevermore..." Time and place, that is. The demon's yellow eyes flicker over to the little creature as it lets out an unintelligible little coo, and he chuckles softly, leaning on his elbows atop the old wooden countertop. "Indeed, little one... It is odd, isn't it? To fear... to be totally helpless once more to forces beyond one's grasp and knowledge... Here I'd believed I'd escaped such things... and yet, I'd all but scooped her up and carried her home like an alley cat, unknowing of her plight..." Artemis falls silent, glancing back at the bauble between his gloved fingers, lazily rolling it between a finger and thumb. There was no one else in the shop, at present, aside from the whispers and he, of course. "...more is the fool me, no?"

[voidtouched-blue]

musesofawolf-[Kaleh'a]--[prior]

She seemed to know a good deal about the traps though, and how to set them off, and as she spoke about he Adders, their knowledge of how they were placed or why they were there, her lip curling as Kaleh'a felt the same disgust in his chest, he couldn't help himself from asking as she turned away, ready to take her own advice of leaving the potentially dangerous area. "Cyra, how did you know about the traps? I was..." he fumbled the word with his cheeks reddening. "Well I was shocked, and frankly a bit scared, but you seemed to just...it was like you knew what they were before even looking." He couldn't put it in words. And he wasn't trying to accuse her of anything. But she had reacted and acted so...sure, like she knew the danger, had expected it, or perhaps had seen it before. Any of the above only made his curiosity of the blue Miqo'te grow, to wonder how she knew about Garlean tech as he caught up and walked side by side back towards Hawthorne Hut, his blue eyes flicking to hers as he waited for an answer, silently wondering if he would even get one.

The heat of his anger was infectious.

Hate was a festering wound scraped raw to bleed at every breath of such a powerful emotion. The venom of his words had stilled her own breath and nearly let loose the fire that boiled just below her gentle exterior. Try as she might to hide the mirrored vexation in his person, there was no shrouding the way the muscle in her jaw clenched or the way her knuckles had blanched white as she tightened the grip on her staff.

Now was not the time to release that immolating pressure.

It was with a struggled hesitation that she willed her body to return that demon to the cage nestled in her heart. There wasn't a single Eorzean she knew who didn't carry some sort of animosity towards the Imperials. A nation as advanced, yet inept in their gifts of Aether, had made a fair show of their scientific and mechanical prowess. They were proud to unleash their inventions on the field of war, even forcing those subjugated to aid in the construction of their murderous contraptions.

Lost in her own train of thought, she had not heard the near-whispered comment of the Keeper at her side in his idle musings. It wasn't until he had asked her a question, and the topic of the day seemed to test her own patience and sanity as she turned an ear towards him. She felt the dull ache of nerves in her chest knowing that she would need to give him an answer.

Her pupils constricted for a moment while she searched in silence for a reply that would hopefully satisfy his curiosity. Glancing at him from the corner of her eye for a moment, she turned her attention back to the path ahead.

"Well...", she began. "Ever since I began studying under the guidance of E-Sumi-Yan, I had taken it upon myself to better familiarize myself with The Black Shroud. I've spent many hours having to free animals from those traps, and nearly lost my own limbs to others just in my regular duties."

It wasn't entirely a lie, but it still hadn't been the entire part of the whole. Cyra may not have had the mind for understanding how most Garlean magitek worked, but having a familiarity with them from her history certainly helped.

"Given enough time, and patience, I'm sure you'll come to find they can be rather easy to spot and disarm if you know what to look for." As indirect as it was, it was the Keepers' way of offering to teach him.