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skyeslittlecorner · 7 months

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Oh no, everyone has great ideas and you turn them into such amazing stories 🥹 Love family stuffs ahhhhh 😩

How about the kings and their kids prepare for Mother's day? 👀 The kids ask for advices and join their dads in prepare them (...and the king's gifts too... if you know what I mean 👀👌👈)

I love bringing your ideas to life! And I'm glad that you entrust them to me, you don't even know what an inspiration it is, that I can write for you, and you like it. Stay amazing as always 🙏

Family time, let's go!

꧁:･ ✡ ･:꧂

Satan and the twins had some trouble with their gift for you. They said they wanted to do it themselves, without dad, because it would be a surprise for both of you. Of course, he agreed, but he still ordered the nobles to keep an eye on them. First they went to Sitri and wanted to paint the cups, but they broke them. Then they approached Paimon to make you your own stickers, but after half an hour, glitter was everywhere. Before they accosted anyone else, Astaroth intervened. He took them to the meadow (so they could run around and shake off some glitter) and only when they got tired did he start telling them about how their father was a child, when they were picking wild flowers for bouquets for you.

Satan himself will give you a box of mint-blueberry chocolates, which you regularly carved at 3 a.m. during your pregnancy, and a smirk with the words "I'm ready for round two." Of course, he pissed you off with that. And since he also brought good wine, get ready for the next five rounds.

Mammon and your little gang will present you with a whole collection of jewelry. You expected them to be pasta necklaces and modeling clay earrings, but of course you underestimated them. Pearl necklace, ruby bracelets, cufflinks with gold beads. Of course, they are made a bit crooked and clumsy, the younger the child the more so, but you and Mammon look like the proudest parents in the world. This is the only jewelry you want to wear.

From the king you will receive a beautiful silk set (actually five sets, each matching one piece of jewelry you received), underwear and a long dressing gown, (and a matching dress, shoes and even a handbag), which you will have to try out together.

Beelzebub loves scribbles, and so does his little girl! The card you will receive will be the messiest, most colorful conglomeration of colored tissue paper, photos and ribbons you could ever imagine. Beel made sure that there was no shortage of materials, so in one place you have shells from the Caribbean, a heart made of Chinese silk and amber with a fossil (where did they get it from? Did he really take your daughter for a walk around the world? You don't ask, you don't want to know the answer).

Beel will give you markers with edible icing. He had a great time with the little one, but now it's time for mommy to show off her artistic talent. Preferably on his body. You can trace his tattoos with a marker, or maybe write something new. He's ready to be your canvas all night long.

Your daughter has Leviathan’s perfectionism, but in a specific version that when daddy likes something, it means it's already perfect. Usually. Sometimes she says daddy has no taste, and that's the sassy part she inherited from you. She would spend a good week sitting in her father's office and embroidering a pillow as a gift for you, with small flowers, because she doesn't know anything else yet. Levi makes sure she doesn't gouge out her eye with the needle, and every time the needle almost pierces her finger, the thread pulls it back. He usually doesn't worry about it, let the child learn. This time he would prefer there was no blood on the embroidery because the gift for you has to be more perfect than anything else.

Leviathan will give you a choker, also embroidered, but with black thread on black material. You can read it only by touch. What does it say? Only you two know. It's so adjustable that it's perfect for both wearing and choking.

#whb #what in hell is bad #whb satan #whb leviathan #whb mammon #whb beelzebub #skye's little talk

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kekaki-cupcakes · 5 months

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hello!! Hope you’re doing well!!

could you please do a Leo x mortal reader cafe au like the Connor stoll one? And could the reader be a Greek mythology nerd also please have a little brother who she’ll randomly quiz about the Olympian gods?

have a nice day 😚😚

heyyy i didn't get your whole request in but i got the vibe dw and also kind of made a moodpboard for it cause I loved the whole aesthetic and no one requests mood boards <3 LISTEN TO EXPRESSO BY SABRINA!

Leo Valdez x Reader--- cafe au

»»————-　★　————-««

“Hello,” you said, looking up from your screen for a millisecond, “what can I get you today?”

When whoever it was ordering didn’t respond, you raised an eyebrow, hand hovering over the digital menu. The boy frowned at the screen above your head where it listed all the different drinks. He had the nicest brown curls, you noticed, and looked back down before he caught you staring.

He tapped his fingers quickly on the counter. Sabrina Carpenter's new song was playing over the cafe speakers. It sounded like summer.

“How many espresso shots are you legally allowed to put in one drink?” The boy asked with a crackly voice. He had dark smudges under his eyes. And on his hands. Huh. You really needed a camera to look into at times like this, for comedic effect. Like the office.

“About six,” you said, dropping your customer service voice with a shrug, and opened up a new order on the tablet, your bracelets jingling. “What can I get you today?”

You loved your bracelets. Some were from that second hand store down the street full of goths and grandmas where you’d bought yet another version of the Odyssey yesterday, and the rest were from your little brother.

You never admitted it to anyone, but he’d made them based on all your favorite Greek gods. The ones you were wearing today had pomegranate seed charms and antler horn patterns.

His eyes widened considerably. They were brown. And sparkly. “What happened to your voice?”

You squinted at him. Someone else came into the cafe with three little dogs stuffed into their giant handbag.

“That was my customer service voice.” Your brain was finally receiving enrichment in messing with this cute greasy boy. You put it on again, paired with a fake smile. “What can I get for you today?”

He chuckled, and hitched a giant canvas tote bag over his shoulder. There was a giant inked cat with butterfly wings on it, and a long metal pipe sticking out the back. You had a feeling this boy would steal your name if he got ahold of it, or trap you in a ring of flowers deep in a forest.

“Uh,” he trailed off, and then winked, scrunching up his entire face. “Surprise me.”

You blinked at him. How entirely helpful. You watched him pull an entire fucking old fashioned pocketwatch out of his pocket to check the time.

Medium was the most commonly ordered size of drink, so you selected that, and then a caramel latte with whipped cream. You had that knack that every person in your generation seemed to have been born with.

Selecting random objects and flavors to match someone’s vibe precisely. You just happened to be a barista.

For instance, this talkative sleep deprived boy was rocky road slices with peanuts in them, and torn open sugar packets, and caramel. Your coworker, Lou Ellen, who was wiping down tables behind the handbag dog man, was those butterfly shaped ice-cubes and home brewed black coffee from a saucepan and dragon fruit juices. And that thick book on Greek mythology she’d bought you for your birthday last year [she’d nicked it from the library and peeled the sticker off].

“Four dollars and sixty cents,” you said patronizingly, in your customer service voice. He grinned like you had just invented the funniest inside joke ever, and handed over five dollars in fifty cents coins.

“Keep the change.”

You printed out the receipt and reached for a medium sized cup and the ballpoint pen from a uni campus open day, after pocketing the generous tip of forty cents and a paperclip.

What a gentleman. “Name?”

“Leo Valdez, super sized Mcshizzle, bad boy supreme,” Leo Valdez super sized Mcshizzle bad boy supreme said happily, as one of the handbag dogs escaped the bag and started chewing on his laces.

You desperately needed that camera to look into now. You should be the star of a sitcom at this point, with you as the tired main character dealing with silly customers while desperately longing to go home and read your books, Lou Ellen as the hilarious trashy best friend, Will [your coworker who was currently taking out the trash] as the angry bisexual lumped with the night shift crew, and your little brother, who would pop in at random times in each episode to deliver the punchline.

Instead of letting the credits roll, unfortunately, you scribbled out an unintelligible scrawl to represent the complete nonsense you were supposed to instead. Your smile was strained this time. “I’ll call you when it’s ready.”

Leo [you assumed that was his name] beamed. “Thanks!”

It was only as you frothed the milk and tried not to burn your fingertips on the spout did you realize that the song was still going. Lou must’ve looped it, as she did with every song ever until she got sick of it and hated it.

You nodded your head and tipped the bubbling milk into the cup, reaching for the tube of caramel sauce. “Soft skin and I perfumed it for ya, I know I Mountain Dew it for ya.”

“That morning coffee, brewed it for ya.” You rolled your eyes to no one and tipped the extra caramel sauce into it. It was ten o'clock at night, and your shift had just started. Morning coffees meant college students rushing in at two a.m. so they could finish their projects.

You shook up the whipped cream. “One touch and I brand-newed it for ya.”

One of the most satisfying parts of your job, apart from spinning around and introducing yourself as the manager [you are not the manager] when someone demands to see the manager [who comes in once a month, looks around, and leaves again], is the whipped cream. The sound of it and the little pattern it makes just itches a scratch.

You smile as you finish the swirl, which sinks into the cup of espresso shots and caramel milk. You spin around, “now he’s thinkin’ ‘bout me every night, oh…”

“Is it that sweet? I guess so,” you hum under your breath, and ducking the spray bottle Lou Ellen launches over your head, you stick a straw in the cup and walk to the bench, where Will’s serving the man with three purse dogs a jelly donut.

Leo’s digging through his bag while you wait, not bothering to rush him and leave the 24/7 rip off starbucks diner empty.

You pick up the pen and take the lid off with your teeth, doodling a little cat on the blank bit of the cup. The tail comes out all wrong, and one of the whiskers slides halfway around on the plastic with a scratchy sound.

You add rushed fairy wings to its soft looking back, and hand the cup over as Sabrina Carpenter sings about being a singer. Her voice is so pretty. Like caramel. “There you go.”

Leo grinned at you, and while you watched in absolute horror, proceeded to pour an entire monster energy drink he’d pulled from his tote bag into the perfectly made coffee.

“Excuse me?” you whisper shrieked.

He blinked at you owlishly, and you tried not to notice how warm his eyes looked in the vintage yellow lights of the shop that made everything seem seventies. “What?”

“That’s enough caffeine and chemicals to give a water buffalo a heart attack,” you said, pointing at his awful concoction. It started to fizz. You wondered if the building had chemical reaction insurance.

“I’ve got a lot of work to do,” Leo shrugged, and picked up his cup happily. He looked down at it, and a grin split across his face. “I got a drawing!”

»»————-　★　————-««

It was only a few days later when the bell rattled quietly by the door and you looked up to see Leo and smiled despite yourself, fingers tapping on the cup in your hand, wear the ring you’d made from that paperclip sat, did you realize what role he would play in your heart shaped ice-cubes Sabrina Carpenter soundtracked paperback books late night set ballpoint pen sitcom.

The love interest.

»»————-　★　————-««

#leo valdez x reader #heroes of olympus x reader #pjo fandom #pjo #heroes of olympus #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson #leovaldez #leo valdez #leovaldezxreader #leo valdez pjo #leo valdez fanfic #leo valdez x you #the heroes of olympus #leo valdez x y/n

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nightlyrequiem · 1 month

Text

Latrodectus

II. Fragmented

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4

AO3

Latrodectus Mactans, otherwise known as the Black Widow, are known for their uncouth treatment of their partners. The 'widow' part of their name stemming from the common occurrence of the female devouring her partner after mating.

Tags/Warnings: Abduction, Violence, Emotional Manipulation, harassment, A Dabble of Psychological Torture, Drugging, Breaking And Entering, Fem!reader

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Valeria learned to adapt, like any good animal. She mastered the art of mimicry, and her peers were none the wiser. She studied their faces and mannerisms and copied them to perfection. In hindsight it was pointless. Once puberty hit and she grew into her face and body nobody cared that there was something just a little off about her. Being pretty and physically developed meant she could get away with a lot more. No longer would she be shunned for her off putting ways. In fact, it just made her all the more desirable to her hormonal male peers. Their attention was wasted on Valeria, who spent most of her time chasing girls she found 'special.' Marie Sanchez turned out to be very unremarkable. Not as deity-like as Valeria thought she was. Then came Elle Minote, with her honey blonde hair and mousy round face. Her good looks rivaled Valeria's and she quickly swooped in to claim her. Crowning herself as Elle's best friend.

Even before their friendship fell apart, Valeria's treatment of Elle was far from appropriate. She smothered her. Elle wasn't allowed to hang out with other people when Valeria was not pleasant. Elle wasn't allowed to have other friends. If she refused to stop hanging around them Valeria would throw guilt-tripping fits. Valeria would harshly criticize any boy Elle showed interest in. Making her feel foolish for even considering going out with him, why would Elle want a boy like that? She's far too pretty and likeable for someone about as interesting as a cheap handbag. Elle couldn't handle the overbearing weight of being Valeria's object of affection, though. She drifted away and found herself a boyfriend. Heartbroken and furious, Valeria vowed to ruin every relationship Elle ever got. It's not like she had any issues doing so. Boys are simple creatures after all.

You didn't eat the sandwich. Valeria stares at you with disappointment and you glower right back at her from the corner. Your skin is looking dull. Probably from the lack of nutrients and sunlight.

"Why are you being so difficult?" Valeria asks sharply. Why does she even bother with carefully handmaking your food if you're going to be so unappreciative?

"Why am I being so difficult?" You repeat. Voice hard with anger. "Gee, I don't know, maybe it's because you kidnapped me and locked me in a fucking cell!" Your hands grip your iron chain tightly.

"A cell?" Valeria scoffs incredulously. How dare you call this a cell. It's clean. You have a nice, soft bed with blankets. It's far more luxurious than any prisoner would get. She storms up to you and grabs your face. "You are so incredibly ungrateful." She whispers dangerously. Dilated eyes locked onto yours.

You were an artist. In the background of one of your pictures, barely in frame, was a half-painted canvas. It took her a while of staring at the photo to realise you were painting a lamb. After some digging, she found out you did commissions. You didn't make a whole lot off of those though so to make ends meet you worked at a bar. Wasting your talents and life away serving up elaborate cocktails for ungracious patrons. Valeria became a regular. The bar was subpar and hardly worth the money she spent there but with you behind the chipping counter, illuminated by the sickly glow of the old hanging lights, she could spare a few pesos.

Her blood pressure would spike every time a male patron would flirt. She seethed even more whenever you'd giggle or smile at whatever stupid remark they'd make. You were only doing it to get tipped, Valeria knew that, but it still angered her to no level. No man was deserving of you. They would never be able to appreciate all your little intricacies. Not in the way a woman could. Not in the way she could. She had to walk out one night when you were laughing a little too hard at something one of your coworkers had said. She crouched in the alley behind the bar, stiff with hatred, fingers clutched in her hair. She hated him and she hated you.

Your nails bite into the skin of her wrist. Valeria shakes her arm harshly before grabbing your wrist and wrenching your hand away. Your nails scrape against her flesh as they're moved away. Leaving thin raised lines in their wake.

"I could show you what a cell really looks like." She growls. "I could leave you in a cold, dark, damp room. No bed, no toilet, maybe I should let you starve too." Valeria feels hurt that you are comparing your room to a cell. You're throwing her hospitality back into her face. She's doing her best with a shitty situation. She sees the fear coursing through you. The way your brows twitch down and the way your breathing hitches.

"Why are you doing this to me?" You ask. Your voice breaks, a warning that you're going to start crying. "... Is it sex you want?" Valeria releases your face. She has to take a step back to stop herself from slapping you. She already explained everything to you. Are you stupid?

"No." She snaps. Glaring at you. "I already told you why I'm doing this."

"You don't love me, don't stand there and try to convince me you do." You hiss. You press close to the wall.

Valeria is appalled by your words. She hates it when people try to claim to know what she feels. They could never begin to understand her feelings. Not even her parents could begin to understand it. The violent screaming and crying fits followed up by weeks of numbness. Valeria loves you so much that she didn't give up after you turned her down. She has so many plans for your life together. She takes a deep breath to calm herself down. Those plans won't ever come true if she kills you.

"I know this is scary and that you don't understand," She explains slowly. "but I am doing what's best for you." And, what's best for her. She can't function like she needs to when she's constantly on the verge of snapping. All because the woman she wants isn't hers.

You aren't receptive to her words at all. You put your face in your hands. Your body is so tense that she can see a slight quiver in your shoulder.

"Let me OUT!" You screech. You throw your back against the wall and scream. Hands sliding up your face and into your hair. "Let me go you fucking PSYCHO!" You claw at your own arms and hyperventilate. Valeria watches silently. She knows you'll scream your vocal cords raw for the next few hours then curl up in your bed, unmoving for the next few weeks. Your behavior is repetitive and resonates with Valeria in a way that nothing else ever could. She sees herself in your rage. In the intense anger you direct onto yourself. She turns and walks out of the room.

Your screeching stops being audible at the top of the stairs. She locks the basement door and walks into the living room and sits down on her expensive dark grey couch. Her back aches in protest. She didn't realise how sore it was until now. She leans back with a sigh. Silence rings loudly in her ears as she thinks. You've been here for a month now, yet you aren't warming up to her at all. Perhaps it's the lack of stimuli. Animals kept in captivity develop zoochosis when under stimulated. Her gaze shifts to the painting she hung above the mantel. The beady eyes of a lamb stare unfeelingly back at her. She taps her fingers on her knee. She commissioned that one from you.

You're frustrated and need an outlet. Valeria understands that now. With you being so deprived of anything you enjoyed pre-capture you'll probably jump at the opportunity to do anything other than stare at the depressing stone walls of your room. Painting is a good way to relieve stress and it's also a good way to bond. The sun shines through the window. Warming the little lamb. Highlighting the delicate paint strokes. She imagines how you must've looked while painting it. An engrossed look on your face as you twist your wrist in a delicate arch to capture the soft woolly curls.

When she was in primary school, Valeria would eat alone at lunch. Kneeling in the itchy grass beneath a large tree. The grass would leave indents on her calves and thighs. She had to come up with ways to entertain herself. She would read, play with bugs, tear strips of bark from the tree that shaded her. For her twelfth birthday her mother bought her a small, coiled notebook. It was pink and had bees on it. The best part was that she didn't have to use it for school. She filled the lined pages with drawings. Some of her favourite memories are of her sketching away at lunch, tuning out the joyful noises of her classmates. She knows how good art can be for the soul.

She browses through the paint section at a small craft store and wonders if she should get you your own sketchbook. The thought is tempting, but she'd have to give you something to draw with and she's unsure if she wants to provide any potential weapons. The paintbrushes she's getting you is risky enough. Her eyes scan over the coloured tubes of acrylic. Each one fighting for her attention. The whole store smells faintly woody. It's a little disorienting. She grabs twelve colours. The basic ones as well as a few different shades. She grabs some canvases too and walks to the front to pay. The little old lady at the front gives her a judgmental look. Valeria doesn't break eye contact as she hands over the cash.

Back home, she sets down the art supplies on the dining room table. She spreads them out and inspects them. The paints, the canvases, the brushes. She can feel her own creative spark flaring up at the sight. She puts all of it back into their respective bags and carries them over to the basement. She sets them down by the door and continues further down the hall. She walks into her bedroom. The room is tidy and free of dust. The queen bed with its light pink sheets is made, the pillows arranged against the headboard with care and precision. The day is on the hotter end, and she's sweated through her shirt. Jeans and a black long sleave clearly weren't the way to go. She digs through her wardrobe and settles on a comfortable pair of black cotton shorts and a t-shirt made of a thinner material. She gives her reflection a quick check, admiring the tattoos visible on her arms. She quickly combs her fingers through her hair then walks back out.

She picks up the bags and walks down the stairs. She reaches your door and presses an ear against the wood. There's no screaming or crying. She unlocks your door and peers inside. The light is off, but your shape beneath the covers is slightly visible from the light behind her. You don't so much as shift when Valeria steps inside and turns on the light. She spots a few red droplets over in the corner. She's worried for a second that you did something to yourself, so she sets down the bags and speeds over to you. She grabs the edge of your blanket and yanks it down. There are a few red scratches on your forearm already beginning to scab. She relaxes when she realises it's nothing serious. She will need to cut your nails though.

Valeria looms over you as she softly calls your name. Trying to coax you into sitting up. Despite your eyes being closed she knows you aren't sleeping.

"Hey." She murmurs. Grabbing your shoulder and giving it a small shake. "I know you're awake. Come see what I got for you." For a few seconds you remain still. The prospect of receiving something intrigues you enough to open your eyes though. Valeria respectfully steps back and watches you sluggishly rise up. You focus your blank gaze on her and then to the bags behind her. Valeria turns and drags them towards you. Setting them beside the bed. She walks back and sits down on the ground. The cement in cool and pleasant against her bare skin. You lean over the edge of your mattress and look through the first bag. Fingers grasp the rough material of a canvas, and you pull it out.

Valeria stares at you intently. Trying to discern what you're feeling. She feels frustrated at the lack of reaction. You hold the blank canvas in your lap and simply stare at it. Valeria decides it's because you're picturing what you could paint. You set it down to the side and to Valeria's pleasure, continue to look through her gifts. You take your time looking at the other canvases and all of the paints. At the sight of the brushes, you seem to perk up. She bought you ten, wanting to give you a little variety. You hold the largest brush and turn it over. Inspecting it at every angle. You softly trail a finger down the wooden handle. Raising your head, you lock eyes with Valeria.

"I know you liked to paint." Valeria says calmly. You look cute like this. You're not baring your teeth in a gleeful grin but Valeria can still tell you're happy and for that she feels smug. A month without anything for entertainment means anything new will seem far more interesting than it normally would.

You look back down at the paintbrush and Valeria takes the opportunity to approach. She shuffles over and rests an elbow on your bed. You look back at her and she gazes at you. Feeling awed by the sight of you. She has you within her grasp.

"I did." You murmur. Eyes glazing over as you retreat into your head. "I was - am - good at painting." You tell her.

"I'll go get a cup of water; we can paint something now if you want." She says. Hoping you can't hear the satisfaction in her voice. You nod. Features soft for the first time since she took you. Valeria smiles and gets up, leaving your room. She doesn't bother locking the door. She won't be long.

Valeria hurries back down to you. Spilling some of the water on the stairs in her haste. You're sat on the floor with your paints spread out around you. Valeria realises that she forgot a palette. You don't seem to care though. You're hunched over a canvas. Dipping one of the brushes into a small splotch of green you just squirted onto the cement floor. Valeria feels the need to grab a rag and wipe it off, but she can't do it when you're finally starting to warm up to her. Valeria sits down across from you and places down the water cup between you two. Eight brushes sit off to the side and Valeria grabs one and a canvas. Starting her own painting.

Her eyes periodically shift back up to you. You're so focused that you don't take notice. Valeria is glad. She doesn't normally feel embarrassed but there's something vulnerable about painting the woman she loves. She does her best to mix colours to perfection. She remembers the detail and texture you created for the lamb painting. She tries to imitate it. To give your skin and hair life.

"Hey... Valeria?" You speak. She looks up again and stares. "... I need your opinion on something, could you come here and look at this?" Valeria sets down her canvas and moves towards you. Twisting awkwardly to look at your painting. It's a beautiful, lush landscape. She can see the brushes in her peripheral. She can hear your slightly fast breathing.

"I was wondering if I should add a cabin." She glances at the brushes again. Seven lined up side by side. She furrows her brows.

"Um... Yeah a cabin would look nice." There should be eight.

The first time Valeria was ever stabbed was during an offence mission. She was cornered by an enemy. The feeling of his steel blade passing through the flesh and tendons of her hand didn't hurt as much as she imagined it would. It didn't hurt much at all. It just felt cold. Maybe because of the adrenaline rushing through her at the time. The rattling of your chain is the only warning she gets before the jagged edges of broken paintbrush pierce through her arm. You were quick but Valeria was quicker. Had she not blocked your attack you would've stabbed her in the side of the neck.

The wood drags against her skin, leaving slivers as you pull it out to stab at her again. Valeria roughly grabs your arm and wrestles you into submission. You struggle and cry. Writhing beneath her. She squeezes your wrist until you're forced to let go of the paintbrush. Red runs down her arm. Dotting your painting with little red puddles. Valeria's movements are fluid and smooth as she wraps her hands around your throat. You wheeze and feebly try to fight back but Valeria only tightens her grip. Valeria feels betrayed and hurt. You attacked her, after she tried to do something nice for you, you attacked her. You start going still when she suddenly releases your throat. She glares down at you as you pant and cough. Her heart is hammering. Valeria needs to leave before she kills you. She aggressively grabs the paintbrushes and storms out of the basement. Locking the door behind her. She's given you too many chances. You're starting to run out.

#valeria garza #valeria garza x reader #cod mw2

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