#The dreaded bookshelf

[batz]

tbh i could just use black Wall Paint(tm) after sanding the furniture down but itll probably look rlly bad in certain lighting if i do that bc of texture. so on gst day im getting spray paint.

[abookwormguidetoagoodread]

I can’t tell whether I’m afraid for my life or turned on. If it’s the second one, I’ve officially gone insane. And I like it. 

- Dreadful (Tattered Curtain #3), Greer Rivers.

[grenadaee]

The books that the world calls immoral are books that show the world it's own shame.

- The Picture of Dorian Gray, Oscar Wilde

[skyepiperreviews]

ARC reader review.

I have previously read Nyssa's books in other forms, but Dreadful always sticks out. It is a book that I highly recommend. Nyssa has a way of writing characters that makes you fall for them and care so much about them while making you feel as many emotions as the characters do. Ariella and Dorian have a seemingly perfect life and a loving home. Until one day, it all comes crashing down. As Nyssa's storytelling takes you through Dreadful, you realize just how beautifully flawed, and tragic humanity is through the eyes of Dorian and Ari. You grow to love Ari and Dorian through their faults and mistakes, wanting to help and cry with them. That's the thing about Nyssa's writing. You are feeling everything with the characters. You can be frustrated with them one minute and crying with them the next. Nyssa's characters are authentic, raw, and beautifully flawed. That's what's great about her writing is that she has human characters, imperfectly perfect in every sense of the word and full of potential to grow as people. She takes such delicate topics and relays them to the reader through a lens of understanding. While we may disapprove of the characters' mistakes, we can understand why they did what they did. Both Dorian and Ari are grieving in different ways. Will their love prevail through all else? Find out in Nyssa Winter's beautifully written novel Dreadful. It will be released on January 23, 2023.

[cadwo]

Fuck I'm gonna have to figure out how to fit another bookshelf into this room.

[themoonking]

the entire robert langdon series is just like “dan brown cannot write. but i’m intrigued and i must know more.” so every time i end up forcing myself to finish his stupid little books.

[ak319]

Yan Socialite Brother x reader x Yan?Hubby

YOUR LITTLE EZZY'S BACK! So I couldn't help but write more about him. I will also write a version with the reader's wife. Enjoy reading ♡ Ezra Headcanon

In the dark hours, the Alvarez estate was shrouded in a thick silence, broken only by the occasional crackle of the fire that danced in the hearth. Shadows stretched across the grand, dimly lit room, adding to the air of peculiar mystery that seemed to cloak the entire estate. Ezra sat motionless, his gaze fixed on the flames that flickered with a restless energy, mirroring the turmoil within him. The news you had shared with him still echoed in his mind, fanning the fire of his emotions, making it burn hotter, fiercer.

"Amir?.." his eyes were fixed on your back as you scrummaged through the bookshelf. You replied back gently. "Yes, Amir. The boy who works on one of the farms."

So a slave huh?

And then you explained everything to Ezra, from how you saw Amir, appreciated his gentle nature, and were now thinking of bringing him here as your groom. Ezra’s rage simmered beneath the surface, though his fake smile and curious eyes never left your face. But your tone didn’t match the word "thinking", it clearly said, "I am bringing him as my groom." He was happy… happy for you. But on the other hand, he wasn’t happy for himself.

This was the day he had dreaded. For his own peace of mind, he sent one of his attendants, Rowan, to inquire about this so-called Amir. The report? Amir was a poor servant with three siblings and parents who also worked on the farm. Amir was the oldest. Hm. Poor, innocent, loyal, and not too bad-looking, though in Ezra's eyes, everyone pales in comparison to Alvarez's. Nobody can ever be good enough for you. He just didn't want his sister to marry a dirt-face. After all, their family has a certain dignity in society. There was something he relished in this situation, Amir’s meekness, bred by his lower status, was something Ezra could use and if his sister were to marry, it should be to someone who knows their place.

༺𓆩❀𓆪༻

Amir couldn’t shake the memory of the way you approached him that day.

“M-my lady-”

“It’s okay, relax. Just came to greet you and see how the work is going.” His hand continued to glide through the horse’s mane, though his gaze, filled with shyness and respect, lingered on you. You loved that. “What’s your name, boy?”

“A-Amir…ma’am.” You asked him more questions, and with each one, his initial fear of you began to fade. Eventually, he even dared to ask some of his own. He didn’t realize that he had backed away to the fence, cornered by your every step forward.

“I don’t think a…” You gently removed a leaf from his silky hair. “A pretty thing like you belongs on a farm.” His quick breaths brushed your face before he turned away. Did you just compliment him?! How could you not? He was so unique with that snowy hair and those pale green eyes. “U-um, but I have to-w-work to earn-for-”

“What if I say, not anymore?”

On that very day, you boldly asked his parents for his hand in marriage, right there on the farm, while Amir stood paralyzed in disbelief. His parents, naturally, agreed without a moment's pause, and his heart raced as he caught your final glance over your shoulder before you rode off with your men. How could a humble servant like him ever be worthy of becoming your husband? The idea felt impossible, undeserved. But as the reality settled in, he came to see it not as a blessing but as a test---a daunting trial between love, loyalty, hate… and obsession.

༺𓆩❀𓆪༻

'Time to play some games' Ezra smirked in the mirror as he gave himself a once-over. "Nobody can outshine you Ezra or take your place, nobody."

The grand staircase of the mansion, lavishly adorned for his sister's wedding, became the stage for Ezra's entrance. As he descended, everyone’s eyes were drawn to him. His gaze landed on you seated beside Amir on the sofa, and his smirk widened at the sight of Amir’s expression. Those doe eyes that have seduced his sister were now filled with embarrassment, as they should be.

Amir was at a loss. His brother-in-law, dressed in an outfit nearly identical to his own--albeit more glamorous and in a different color--had just exposed Ezra's facade. All the sweet words and actions before the wedding had been an act. Ezra settled onto the cushion next to you, casually nibbling on some food from the table, savoring the revelation of his little game.

"Ezra, you should have rested," you said, your tone carrying a hint of concern. Amir was taken aback, noticing your relaxed demeanour. It seemed you hadn’t caught onto Ezra’s stunt. It wasn’t your fault, after all. Maybe you are too tired to notice or don't want to scold your brother, whom you cherish deeply, especially in front of guests—many of whom were now eyeing Ezra with a mix of admiration and curiosity. His display was a calculated reminder that he would always eclipse Amir. Ezra had even missed the official ceremony, claiming illness as his excuse and retreating to his room.

"Nonsense!. How could I have missed my own sister's wedding? And did you forget that I managed all these preparations?. I would never miss it."

'Oh, but you missed the vow ceremony, how convenient and now he's here to remind everyone how he managed all of this and such a good brother-in-law he is by being sweet to me and my family.'

"Do I look good, sister?"

"Of course you do. When have you ever looked bad?" You reached out to pat his head affectionately before pulling a small pouch from your pocket. "This is for you Ezra, a token of appreciation for your efforts, as tradition dictates."

Ezra’s eyes sparkled with delight as he accepted the pouch of gold. "It was nothing. Thank you so much. I just did my duty."

He got up soon to cater to guests including Amir's family probably to show off how humble he is.

The only thing keeping Amir sane and easing his worries was you. Your hand held his gently, and he felt comforted by the ring you put on his finger. He placed his other hand on yours, needing the reassurance that you were there for him.

‘As long as you’re here,’ he kept praying silently.

However, as days passed since the marriage, Ezra's facade toward his brother-in-law began to crumble in your absence. Amir couldn’t understand why Ezra, who had been nothing but nice to him, now seemed to act cold and distant.

The taunts, the disgusted glances, and the deliberate ignoring of Amir had become a painful routine. What troubled him the most was Ezra’s ability to put on a friendly front when you were around. He wondered how a person could even do that? Can he be this deceitful too? His parents always taught him to be kind and true to people. That is why he bared himself to you, he opened his heart to you and gave himself completely. By now he had come to terms with it that Ezra won't ever see him as part of the family much less as an equal. But he remained focused on making sure you were happy with him, that he never made you upset with him because that is what Ezra wants but with Amir's modest and docile nature, it was nearly impossible,

"You know, Amir, since my sister is away on a business trip, you might as well stay with your parents for a while." Amir looked up from his untouched breakfast, confusion and concern etched on his face.

"U-um... why?"

"Why?" Ezra's lips curled into a dismissive smirk. "Well, your duty is to her, and since she’s not here, you might as well go. It’s not like you’re doing anything important around here."

"But—"

"I’ll have the carriage prepared." And just like that he got up and left, Rowan tailing behind him. And so, Amir found himself spending days with his family. His spirits lifted somewhat in their comforting presence, but his thoughts were always clouded by how much he longed to be in your arms. However...

"You don’t just get up and leave like this. Did you even realize how badly this reflects on me? My spouse just vanished after a few days of marriage. I expected you to be waiting for me at the door, but instead, you were here." Your words felt like sharp needles piercing his heart, making him clutch the carriage’s cushion tighter. His mind was filled with images of Ezra welcoming you back, whispering deceitful tales of how he had left.

'He was bored.'

'He doesn’t like it here. I think he doesn't even want to make an effort to adjust.'

'He didn’t even bother to greet you. What kind of husband is he, sister?'

"(Y/N), I d-didn’t mean to leave. It’s just--" What could he say to avoid further anger? Should he blame Ezra? The thought of making excuses or casting blame only added to his distress.

"I don’t care. Next time, don’t leave like that. And if you feel the need to, ask me first. Got it? Also, you can just call your family to visit there. That’s your home now, you don’t have to keep coming back here." He nodded, biting his lip. 'As if your brother would ever let my family feel welcome there. I would never subject them to that mansion of thorns, to be insulted. That’s something I won’t tolerate.'

"Forgive me?" he asked softly, leaning closer to you. "Please, I missed you with every breath." A tired sigh and a gentle caress on his face were all he received, but even that was more than enough for him.

༺𓆩❀𓆪༻

Time seemed to pass slowly for Amir, each day filled with torment and venomous words from Ezra. He hid his tears, letting them out in some corner of the mansion , so that when you returned, he could greet you with a smile. He didn’t know what to do. He didn't want to stress you by complaining about your brother or involving you in this petty game. He felt like he was going mad as he dwelled on his thoughts. The books offered some solace, but he wished his life were more like a fairytale.

“Well, I thought you should take care of the household budget now, but I think it’s too soon for you to handle this. There are a number of reasons for my distrust, which... I would prefer not to share.”

“It’s alright... I just joined the family, so I think it’s inappropriate for me to take on that responsibility. And brother Ezra is handling it well anyway.”

“Thank you for understanding.” You gently played with his hair as his head rested on your lap. “I love how understanding you are.” He melted under your compliment, the magical touch adding to his contentment.

“Anything for you, wife. You know better than me. Whatever decision you make, I’ll always accept it.” He kissed your finger, his heart swelling with happiness at the sight of the ring you wore. The ring his family had bought with whatever they could afford, and yet you wore it. You were the only one who hadn’t looked down on him because of his status. You even cared for his family, sending them provisions and gifts.

Actually, there was another person who hadn't looked down on Amir--your mother, Ms. Grace. She was a woman who preferred solitude, keeping herself busy with her hobbies after her husband's death. Whenever Amir felt alone, he made sure to check on her, offering company and conversation.

“You’re a really good boy. My daughter found a gem.” Amir smiled, but his eyes told a different story. They were seated in Grace’s study, having tea. “Something troubles you, and I know what it is. It’s Ezra, isn’t it?” Damn it, is it that obvious?

“N-no, no, he’s nice. I’m just--”

“Oh, save it. He’s my son, I can smell his shenanigans from miles away. And that daughter of mine—utterly stupid!. She’s the reason he’s like this. Either she’s too aloof or just chooses to ignore it.”

“No, no! She has a lot on her plate. I just don’t want to burden her with such petty problems. She brought me here so that she could find peace, not for me to disrupt it.” Grace’s heart swelled with pity and love at his words. “You are my son too, okay? And I’m just trying to help you understand that you’re the only one who can help yourself.”

“W-what does that mean?”

"It means you have to be strong. You’re not some piece of garbage my daughter picked up. She brought you here, gave you a title, and bestowed you with respect--so honor it, and don’t let anyone take it away just because they think you don’t deserve it. My in-laws were a piece of work too. May their souls rest in peace, but I went through some tough times with them. What kept me firm was my husband. Do you get my point?"

Her in-laws--oh, what a tragedy that befell them on that ferry. The whole town was shaken. Perhaps it was their karma.

“Yes.”

"You love her, right?" His head snapped up to meet her eyes. Was that even a question?

"More than anything! Always."

"Then don’t beat yourself up like this. Just do your part and leave the rest to God. Everything will be alright one day." Amir nodded and took a sip of his remaining tea, feeling a bit lighter and more hopeful. She was right. Being depressed and crying wouldn’t get him anywhere. Worse, you might even leave him because of his sulky behavior. His fingers tightened around the saucer.

༺𓆩❀𓆪༻

"Sir Ezra has called for you," Rowan informed him as he was putting on his shoes. The two of you were getting ready for dinner. "Me?"

"Yes, you, sir. In his room."

"I'll be there." He glanced at you as you were fastening your coat. "Yeah, go ahead, I'll be waiting downstairs." He nodded and left, but not before helping you with your sleeve buttons and giving you a quick peck.

"You called for me?" His smooth voice reverberated in the quiet room, his eyes finding Ezra nestled in his giant bed.

"Oh yes, you two are going out, right? Could you tell (Y/N) to bring back those pastries that I love?" Something felt off.

Amir swallowed the uneasiness and glanced between Ezra and Rowan. "Sure. Anything else?"

"No. That would be all, thank you."

As always, you had chosen a high-end restaurant, and your presence and attention made him forget all his worries. This was what he cherished the most, his time with you. Your care, your love. He felt, no, believed that he was the luckiest man alive. Contrary to Grace's words, you did pick him from the trash and made him your treasure.

When you both entered the mansion hand in hand, your smile immediately faded into a worried frown.

"EZRA!" Amir barely had time to react as he saw you rush up the stairs where Ezra was now slumped against the railing. The bag of pastries had been thrown from your hands and lay at his feet.

"ROWAN! CALL THE DOCTOR! What happened, Ezra?!"

"Di-did you bring the med...?" Ezra's one hand gripped your collar as the other his stomach.

"What medicine?!"

"The one I asked for..." Ezra's weary, hollow gaze turned to Amir, sending a chill through his very core. "Rowan, help me carry him." You shot a sharp glance over your shoulder at Amir as you hurried up the stairs.

'He did it again... God,' Thought Amir as he bent down to collect the crumbles scattered on the carpet. They mirrored his own shattered emotions and the fractured state of his new life.

༺𓆩❀𓆪༻

"I swear he asked for pastries... you believe me, don't you!? Please!"

"I said, let it go. Just shut up." You settled onto the bed, sighing as you saw him standing in the corner, emotionless.

"Amir, come here. There is something you should know." Your tone was soft, almost apologetic.

He sat beside the bed, his eyes cast on the floor. "Listen, I feel like you both don't get along, but that needs to change, okay? He is my brother, and you are my husband. Both of you are important to me. And I wanted to tell you that soon after having a talk with him, I will ask Mother to find a suitable bride for him. This family needs an heir."

Wait...

"Heir?"

"Yes, an heir. Even though, as you know, I'm not a fan of children in any shape or form, the line needs to continue. That is Ezra's duty, so he is essential to me. This whole tedious business of having children...ugh." You rubbed your forehead in frustration. "Whatever. But we will also treat them like our own, okay?" You loathed the idea of carrying a child yourself, and Amir was just as opposed to the thought of you experiencing any discomfort. The thought of losing you over that made him shiver. The business was more important to you than anything, and you made that very clear before marriage. Your word was law. Still, he couldn’t help but ask.

"C-can't we both... adopt, though?"

"That's for another day and why adopt now when we can have our own? Ezra has to marry someday. It’s completely fair. He needs to grow up now."

Your tone and earlier outburst made him nod frantically, but a new emotion stirred within him , something close to amusement. Oh, how will Ezra react when you make him marry someone. Maybe it’s for the best, 'At least he’ll get off my back, hopefully.'

Yet, he also felt pity for the woman who would be bound to that two-faced bastard. Is your only goal to use your brother as a breeder? That’s even more amusing.

As you lay down, he went to the bathroom and stared at himself in the mirror. If Ezra were to provide you with a child one day, wouldn’t that make him more honorable in your eyes?

'No, after today’s stunt, I’ve had enough of this.'

You want a child, an heir--that’s clear, that's fine. But he won’t let Ezra exploit this situation.

༺𓆩❀𓆪༻

"I--I mean--" Ezra stammered, his usual confidence wavering as he tried to find the right words.

You held his face in your hands, your grip firm yet gentle, your eyes searching his. "It's not like I am asking for something outrageous here," you said, your tone soft but laced with expectation.

Ezra's eyes darted away for a moment, then back to you. "I get you, but isn’t it too soon? I mean-"

"You're of age," you cut him off, your tone now tinged with a bit of annoyance. "You’ve never rejected anything I’ve asked of you before, and now you are?"

"NO! No, absolutely not, sister!" Ezra's voice was a mix of desperation and determination. "How can you even think that? I will do it. I will." Inside, though, his mind rebelled. It’s not the marriage that Ezra hates, it’s the idea of spending his life with some annoying woman. What if she turns out to be a snake too?! Oh, he won't forgive that, ever. His eyes betrayed a flicker of dread before he quickly masked it with a forced smile.

"Great, then. Mother will surely find the most amazing match for you," you said with finality, turning to leave. "Just make sure to tell her what your type is. Remember, she shouldn’t just be a good wife but a perfect mother for my heir too."

Without another word, you exited the room, leaving Ezra alone with his spiraling thoughts. Did Amir put this idea in your head? Sometimes, Ezra just wanted to kill that son of a-

"Deep breaths, Ezra, deep breaths," he muttered to himself, trying to quell the surge of frustration. Yeah, his sister wouldn’t be happy if her husband was torn to pieces. 'This is your life now', seeing Amir’s face in this mansion every single day, and soon enough, a wife’s too. Ugh! He threw a vase at the wall in a fit of irritation. He won't ever be in peace until you divorce Amir.

He couldn’t afford to dwell on that for now. He had to carry out your order, even if he despised the thought of dealing with an annoying woman and whining babies. You had given him a task, a job, and he couldn’t let you down. He would never let you down.

༺𓆩❀𓆪༻

Ezra's bride, Jean Aston, had been chosen--an arrangement made with a family friend. While Ezra couldn't have cared less about the choice, he at least appreciated that Jean stood out with her striking red hair and green eyes. His wife needed to be of some caliber, though in his view, only one person could be the true beauty of the marriage, and that person was unquestionably him. However, he also acknowledged the importance of passing on good genes to the heir you desired.

What he hadn’t expected was Jean’s bubbly demeanor. Wasn't she the one who had been too shy to meet him before the wedding?

"Can you be quiet? Can you be a bit more demure?" Ezra snapped, his patience wearing thin as she chattered incessantly, sitting beside him after their vows. "Look at me--am I being so chattery? Bride and groom are supposed to be graceful, woman."

Jean’s expression soured beneath her veil. "Wow, I was just trying to make small talk. I’ve been quiet since our engagement, so I’m going to talk now that we’re married. Also when is the food going to served?I am starving, how can-"

'God, just let this ceremony end already.'

Meanwhile, in the far corner of the room, Amir sighed, silently wishing Jean the best. Poor girl didn’t know what she was in for. His mind wandered back to his own wedding, the memory leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. It was hard not to compare the two experiences and feel a twinge of sympathy for her. At least you are way better than Ezra. A lot...no, perfect in his eyes. Always.

Once they retreated to their room, Ezra lifted Jean's veil with a cold, expressionless face, cutting her off before she could utter a word.

"There are some things you need to engrain in that skull of yours. First, always show respect for my sister. Always. You know that, don’t you? Secondly, try talking less and listening more."

"Got it! Now, where’s my wedding gift?" Jean’s cheerful interruption made Ezra’s jaw tighten, but he quickly masked his irritation with a smooth composure.

"No, you tell me first--who advised you to wear a harvest gold veil with such questionable embroidery? Huh? Such a poor fashion choice. I’ve explicitly told your family that gold is my color, I wear it. I don’t want to see you in it again." His fingers traced the material with a disdainful touch. "This abomination definitely needs fixing ." Though the veil was actually quite pretty, he couldn’t accept the fact that she looked good in it-- perhaps more than he did which is a big no.

༺𓆩❀𓆪༻

Months later, the mansion, once quiet and dull, now echoed with the cries of a baby boy whom you named, Joseph. Ezra handed you the baby first which you were hesitant to hold but did anyway, after all you asked for this. It only lasted for a few minutes before he dozed off in Jean's arms.

"Jean," you said, gently patting her head. She looked up at you with a mix of nervousness and curiosity, her eyes brightening with anticipation. You took the papers from Amir and handed them to her. "Here's a gift. A plot, in your name and another in dear Joseph's. You’ve earned it."

Jean’s eyes widened with surprise and gratitude. "Y-you didn’t have to, (Y/N)-"

"Jean," Ezra scolded gently, his tone surprising you. It seemed that your brother had softened a bit since Joseph’s birth.

"Don’t refuse (Y/N)'s gift. Accept it," he added. Jean nodded, her shyness evident, but her gratitude clear as she met your gaze. "Thank you, (Y/N)."

"Good, now rest. The nanny will arrive soon," you instructed, leaving with Amir in tow. Ezra shot a disapproving look at Amir as they exited.

"Don’t be rude to Brother Amir like that," Jean reprimanded.

"It’s none of your concern. Stop being his defender, anyway. Focus on the child, his upbringing must be perfect. And take care of yourself too--I don’t want you fainting while feeding him." With that, Ezra stormed out. Jean sighed, finding him as unpredictable as ever--hot one moment, cold the next.

The tragedy that struck when Joseph was just six months old was unexpected. The poor child fell gravely ill, and even the doctors couldn't pinpoint what was wrong with his stomach. But by some blessing, everyone's prayers were answered when Amir's remedy worked, one his mother used to give when they were sick as children and Joseph was saved. Had it been a moment later, who knows what could have happened. Even though Ezra didn't bother to thank Amir, it didn’t matter. Amir did it for you, for your child.

༺𓆩❀𓆪༻

"You know, I think it's been a while since I married you," you murmured, lost in thought.

Amir looked up from his book and chuckled, "Oh, you realized it now? I think it's been more than a while, my dearest."

"I know, I know." You now stood where he was seated, gently caressing his cheek. "I think it's time you start doing your duty here." You handed him the seal, "You're in charge of the household's budget now." Amir's eyes widened in surprise. "B-but brother Ezra--"

"Shush," you interrupted. "I decide how things are run here. And I’m giving you this responsibility. Don’t disappoint me."

He nodded, a grateful smile spreading across his face as he kissed your knuckles. "Never, I won’t ever dream of it."

From within, his heart was bursting with happiness. At last, he had something--something he wanted, something he could use as leverage against Ezra. His plan had worked flawlessly. His hidden knowledge of botany had made it all possible; plants to make poison, plants to make antidote. A soft giggle escaped him and so did some tears, as you left the room, the seal twirling between his fingers.

Deep inside, he couldn’t ignore the guilt gnawing at him as he saw the pain etched on everyone’s faces over Joseph. His own tears stung with remorse, but he believed it was a good plan--a necessary one to win your trust, your love. He hadn’t wanted to be so heartless, to poison his own child, but he felt he had no choice. Being Ezra’s doormat for so long had worn him down. And for once, watching Ezra in distress was so worth it. Amir couldn’t help but relish every moment.

(AN: OmG, Amir really turned dark, the poor innocent boi. Look how Ezra massacred my boy)

[odoraful]

𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐄𝐓

wriothesley has been hesitant to tell you about his past, afraid that it will tarnish your view of him. reconciling with this is no easy task, but he has you by his side to guide him

content: wriothesley x gn!reader; established relationship; 'baby' pet name; reader and wriothesley live together; nightmare sequence; mentions of blood; spoilers to wrio story quest!; reader doesn't know the full truth of wriothesley's past; wriothesley worried about how good of a partner he is :( ; hurt/comfort; reverse comfort; 4k words

a/n: i just wanna gently hold wriothesley and tell him that he's doing so well <3 also i give full credit to critical role and the wonderful talisen jaffe for the quote "pain doesn't make people, it's love that makes people"

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Before opening his eyes, Wriothesley smelled iron. Pungent and pervasive. It filled his nostrils and sunk unpleasantly in his churning stomach. He knew he was lying on his back on a cold, hard surface, but that was about as much information he was certain about. Where he was or how he ended up in this state escaped him.

He tested his other senses. Every swallow of saliva went down like sand in his throat. His fingers were limp as he tried squeezing them into fists, the strength siphoned out of him. Slowly regaining some sense of himself again, he could finally label what the scent was. Blood.

At that realisation, he peeled opened his eyes, dreading the scene he would find himself in. A scene he knew that would be painfully similar to memories he quashed a long time ago. He grimly thought whether the blood would be trailing from his hands, or already dried up beneath him, a red dye stained on the floorboards. The lights above accosted him, dazzling his vision. Fontainian households were always so bright, and it didn’t help that the walls of them were white too. But, even then, there were always nooks and crannies shrouded in darkness. Wriothesley found that the more glittering lights there were, the darker the shadows they casted.

He sat up with a groan, his body the weight of bricks. Looking around, there was no such scene he imagined before him. The room he was in was… ordinary. Pristine white walls lined with book shelves against spotless light timber flooring. A fireplace was tucked between two shelves, where the hearth held blackened remnants of burned wood. Wriothesley was situated on the floor between the fireplace and two brown cushioned sofas facing each other separated by a low table. He swore there were other furnishings in the room, but for some reason he couldn’t focus on them. The edges of his vision blurred and he couldn’t make out any other details besides what was most salient.

It wasn’t necessary though.

He knew where he was.

He was almost even in the exact spot they found him slumped in when he was a boy. Back rested against a bookshelf, hollow eyes gazing into the distance. The officers were unable to hide the pure shock on their faces at the grisly tableau in front of them.

Bile rose in Wriothesley’s throat. Despite there being no evidence of violence, the scent of blood lingered in the air, filling his lungs. He went to stand, the movement ungraceful and slow, as if he were swimming in the ocean with thick layers of clothing on. Lying on the floor wouldn’t do well for his nausea. He walked towards to sofa to sit and assess this situation. Sinking into the cushions, he rubbed his temples with his hands.

He thought this house had long since been torn down. How had he been taken back to his old home? His mind sharply retracted those words. No, he wouldn’t call it that. Home was a place of safety and love, but the place he grew up in was built on a foundation of lies and malice. The only small glimmer of home he could recall was his bonds with his siblings.

“█████.”

A voice whispered from just beside his ear, as if speaking a secret.

Wriothesley’s skin prickled. His head snapped around, but he was only met with empty space.

Impossible, he thought. No one who should know that name. He buried it a long time ago when he was handcuffed to the bed in that emergency ward. Perhaps his mind was playing tricks on him. Digging up memories of his past.

“█████, where did you go?”

This time, a different, more louder voice came from the opposite direction. Wriothesley could make out its qualities—young and wistful. It was that of a child.

Wriothesley was not often scared. When someone like him had seen both the worst and best of what life had to offer, he was seldom caught off guard. Even backed into a corner, there was always a way out for him. A few carefully chosen words was his preferred method, but now, his tongue felt heavy in his mouth. Hearing that name being said aloud chilled him to his bones. The colour drew from his face, skin turning ghast-like. He was terrified.

“You left without saying goodbye.”

A young girl sniffled, sounding on the verge of tears. Wriothesley scanned the room frantically, trying to find the source of the voices.

“Why did you leave us?”

A young boy this time. Familiarity clawed at the back of Wriothesley’s mind. His eyes bulged in horror.

“█████, we miss you.”

“You said we would play together.”

“They took some of us away.”

“█████, will you ever come back?”

Wriothesley covered his ears, but it did little to quiet the ceaseless voices. Multiple of them spoke at once, rising in urgency, surging around him. Overlapping and defeaning, burrowing into his skull no matter how hard he squeezed and squeezed his ears shut. He was backed into a corner with no way out. He screamed in his head, roaring in agony. He couldn’t stay here, he needed out.

Hearing the pleading of his own mind, Wriothesley jolted awake.

Like a conductor ending a symphony with the close of their hand, the cacophony of voices abruptly stopped.

Void-like silence met him in the waking world.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

He felt his heart lodged in his throat, as if he had been pushed off the tallest point of the Palais Mermonia. Steadying his shallow breathing, he pushed his back further into the bedsheets, trying to ground himself.

Just a dream, just a dream. He repeated, sighing loudly. His bedroom had never been a more welcome sight as he sat up, careful not to awake his resting partner. At least, that’s where you should have been. There was no weight of your body beside him. He swept a hand over the bed, and made contact only with the sheets and crumpled quilt blanket.

Still reeling from the terrors of his dream, Wriothesley’s mind drew the worse conclusions. Had you been taken? Had you left him? Panicked, he began to call out your name. His voice was hoarse, but he was glad he could speak after being robbed of it in his dream.

A triangle of yellow light cut into the darkness of the room as the door cracked opened. Relief flooded him seeing you standing there, wrapped in a fluffy robe, hair ruffled.

“Baby, is everything alright?” You asked softly, approaching the bed.

Wriothesley’s chest rose and fell in quick intervals. His body arched over like a crooked branch, shivering ever so slightly. Alarms blared inside you. You had never seen him in this state before.

“I- I thought you had gone somewhere,” he said, voice quavering.

The mattress dipped as you sat atop, kneeling beside him. “I didn’t leave.” You lay a hand on him, watching closely at his expression with a furrowed brow. “I’m here, I’m here,” you soothed gently, rubbing small circles into his shoulder.

He gave into your touch, his posture easing. Seeing him slowly relax, you raised your hands to cradle his face. Warmth radiated through him, expelling whatever anxieties had possessed him. His breath shuddered. Immediately, he nuzzled into your touch, burying his face in the faint scent of soap and lilies. He could stay here forever. It would be all he needed to revitalise his senses and keep him alive. He covered one of your hands with his own, encompassing it completely. His calloused fingers slid between yours—a sensation that contrasted against the softness of his lips as he kissed the inside of your palm. A feather-like touch that caused the butterflies in your stomach to flutter.

“I was just in the bathroom.” You reassured him. Wriothesley hummed in response. “Did something happen?”

He hesitated, wondering how much he should tell you.

“I just had a nightmare.” His voice was muffled, lips grazing your skin as he spoke. “It was nothing, really.”

You gently turned his head towards yours, prompting him to focus on you. “It doesn’t seem like nothing to me.”

His heart stung at the pure concern on your face. Different from the times when you tended to him when he injured himself whilst boxing, or when you saw him passed out at his desk from his persistent workload. There was desperation layered in your knitted brows and parted lips.

“Let me get you a glass of water.” You said, caressing his face. Hints of stubble brushed under the pads of your thumbs. “You’ll feel a little better after being hydrated.”

Coldness returned to his cheeks as you pulled away. You couldn’t even turn around before Wriothesley’s hands were on you once again. He snaked his arms around your waist, embracing you tightly.

“Don’t go.” He rasped. “Please, stay with me.”

His pleading tugged at your heartstrings. As much as you wanted to stay in his arms, you could tell from his voice just how dry his throat was. “I won’t be far from you. I’ll be gone only for a moment.” You kissed his forehead, sealing your promise.

You waited until he loosened his hold on you (albeit begrudgingly), and hurried out of the room to fetch some water. Wriothesley leaned against the bedhead. His head was clearer now, and he tuned his hearing to the far-away whir of machinery in the Fortress.

He was glad to have a shared room with you away from his working environment. This was an entirely new floor he had extended above his office. The design of which began after he had seen you curled up in sleep on one of his chairs, waiting for him to finish his duties for the day. Resting somewhere backgrounded by piles of administrative paperwork didn’t make for the most relaxing setting. And so, he swiftly drafted plans to create private quarters for the two of you.

After a long day, he would head straight upstairs to meet you. You’d be there snuggled on the lounge with a novel, and his footfalls would be enough for you to abandon your book on the table and rush over to the door. Now, while the sun could not be seen in the stronghold beneath the waves, it found its place with you. In the way your smile beamed and eyes twinkled as you greeted him. You were so, so bright, and yet he could never look away. At first, it almost startled him how easy you gave your love to him. There was no ulterior motive with you. You loved him wholly.

He sadly wondered how quickly your glimmer would fade if he revealed parts of him that had never seen the light.

The tapping of your slippers approached the door, and you entered with a glass and pitcher of water. Placing them both on the bedside table, you poured water into the glass and handed it to him. Wriothesley didn’t realise how parched he was until he took the first sip. Eagerly chugging the rest down, he you in the corner of his eye, chewing on your bottom lip. You were on the cusp of saying something.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You asked, taking the empty glass from his hands and putting it to the side.

“Your dream that is…” You faltered through your words. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but you seemed upset when you woke up.”

More than upset, you thought to yourself, afraid.

Wriothesley reached out for you wrist. You let him guide you into bed, slipping under the blankets. He pulled you in closer, arm draped around your waist, until your bodies were flush with each other. Your expectant gaze fell on him. He plastered on an assuring smile, but couldn’t quite draw the corners of his lips up to reach his eyes.

“I was only a bit shaken,” he replied, keeping his tone light. “It had things relating to my past. My subconscious must have it out for me for not letting me get a good night’s rest.” Hopefully that was enough to mollify the true contents of his dream.

You toyed with the edge of the blanket. Wriothesley’s past was something he didn’t divulge in too much detail. Even after being together for some time, all you knew was that his childhood was a difficult time, and he had to run away from his foster parents home. You had a good sense that he no longer wished to recall these events from the way he was quick to brush off the topic. It was hard for you to balance between wanting to know more, and also respecting his privacy.

“You know that you can tell me about anything that’s bothering you, right?”

Your eyes never left his, watching the way they brimmed with fondness as he answered.

“Of course I know that baby, it’s just that…” His eyes casted downwards.

In his line of work, keeping up a poker-face meant keeping things under control. However, with you, he never hid his true emotions, and you saw conflict dance across his features.

“I’m worried it might change how you see me,” he confessed, fidgeting with his fingers as if he were itching to move.

“Wriothesley,” you covered a hand over his, halting his movement, “nothing will make me change the way I see you now. You aren’t the same person as you were back when you were young.”

Those words settled in his mind, prodding at the uncertainties he had about opening up. You continued,

“You can share anything about your past with me. And, what is it they say…” You tried to recall a line you had read recently. “A burden shared is a burden halved?”

He couldn’t fight back a smile, teeth peeking out from beneath his lips. “Putting those philosophical books you’re reading to use?”

“Actually, it’s a collection of poetry from Mondstadt.” You corrected, pursing your lips smugly.

He breathed a laugh, spirits lightening at how endearing his partner was.

From the day he selected a new name for himself, he chose to begin anew. Although he knew that nothing in his past constituted any part of his life now, it still clung to him. A fog clouding his mind during moments of solitude, drawing out doubts that stumbled into the open. If he did tell you the full truth, would you see him as nothing more than someone raised in a loveless place? Who was pushed to do what many considered unthinkable? Running a hand through his hair, he exhaled slowly—ruminating.

You calmly awaited his next words, knowing that you would accept both if he chose to tell you or not.

Wriothesley spoke again,

“I mentioned to you before that I didn’t have the most… peaceful childhood.”

You nodded, grim at the thought of what those adults had done to those innocent children. “Mmm, you told me about your foster parents, and how you ran away from them.”

“Yes, but that’s not the whole truth.”

Pausing, he steeled himself. He caught on a thread that had long since been loose and began to unravel his past.

“After I escaped, I couldn’t shake off the guilt of abandoning my siblings, but there was also no way I could stay in that household after what I had learned.”

He recounted the story in the same way one would read aloud an article published by The Steambird. So separated from his past that he had little inflection in his tone. Even so, you saw a flare of emotion in Wriothesley’s eyes.

“So, I tried to keep myself alive and tried to get stronger, so that I could return and protect them.”

“Archons,” he bowed his head, dark hair falling over his brows, “I don’t even know how much time passed out there, everything seemed to blend together.”

You felt an ache in your chest, like someone had tightly gripped your heart. “I can’t imagine how tough it must have been.” Picturing a younger Wriothesley in your head, frightened and alone, made you shiver.

“Mmm,” he hummed. “It was.” He returned a sad smile to you, though regret laced his words. “I wouldn’t wish that life for anybody, but I did learn a lot.”

“I snuck back into the house after a while of being on the streets. I-“ He rubbed his temple with his free hand, unable to find the right words. “One of my siblings told me that while I was gone, a few of them had been… adopted into other families.”

Your skin turned cold, knowing exactly what that meant.

“I-I think I heard their voices in my dream.” His voice wavered, face scrunching up as he remembered those ghostly voices in that empty room. “They were asking why I left them there, wondering where I was.”

You squeezed his hand. “But you did return. You swore that you would come back for them and you did,” you asserted.

Shaking his head, he turned his hand over to interlock your fingers with his. “Perhaps I was too late.”

“I found my foster parents sitting happily in the drawing room, and suddenly, I felt so, so angry.” His expression turned sombre, staring down at the blanket covering you two. “At them, at myself, at the world, and something snapped in me and I did the only thing I felt I could do in that moment.”

A heaviness tugged down on his chest as if in protest at the continuation of his sentence. But, there would be no hiding it now. He swallowed thickly.

“I killed them.”

The words left his lips in a whisper, and hung in the space between you.

You stilled. The faint beating of your heart could be felt between your hand in his.

Sensing your stiffness, Wriothesley forced himself to look at you, searching your face in the hopes of finding any kind of reaction. He half expected you to pull away in terror. Disillusioned at the fact that your partner was a murderer. But, he found no such revulsion. Instead, your eyes glossy with tears captured a sadness so sincere and profound that his heart shattered into pieces, piercing him from the inside out.

“It was a long time ago.” With every word he spoke, the shards seemed to dig deeper. “And I definitely don’t associate myself with that person anymore.”

“But, I understand if this changes how you see me. If you need time away-”

“Don’t say that,” you interrupted, shaking your head fervently.

You blinked, tears lining your lower lashes. The sight of your partner blurred slightly in your vision, his face contorted in pain. You understood. The distance he wanted to put between you was merely a façade. Buried beneath it was a wordless plea for you to stay. He had bared everything to you, and you would not let him hurt by himself any longer.

“It doesn’t change how I feel towards you.” Determination rose in your cracked voice. “You were so young. No child should ever be placed in a position like that.”

Surely, there must be some part of him that agreed. Some part that would allow forgiveness. Wriothesley’s gaze flicked between your eyes, lost in your expression, as was you in his. A muscle in his jaw twitched.

“I-I can’t be the one to say whether it was the right thing to do,” you continued, “but what I do know is that you were just a child who needed to survive and wanted to protect those you cared about.”

How many people had treated him with kindness as a child? It upset you to think of all the adults that turned their backs on him. Reducing his character to only what they saw on a case report. Likely considering him to be nothing more than a psychopath. Your pulse thumped in your ears at the injustice of it.

“You are not who you were in the past.” You said slowly, enunciating every word. “Pain doesn’t make people, Wriothesley. It’s love that makes people.”

His expression melted softly. The creases between his brows smoothing.

“And I know that you love and care so strongly, you’ve shown me that every single day.”

Icy blue eyes held so much affection as he stared back at you—transfixed. Now more than ever did he believe you were the sun to him. Basking in your warmth, feeling the comfort of it tingle his skin. What you had said to him had begun to sink in. However, while he couldn’t refute your words, the mindset he had formed could not be altered in a single moment. Perhaps he would not completely believe your words now, but that was alright. You would be there by his side every day to remind him.

Clearing his throat, Wriothesley tested out if his voice was still fit to speak. Though this room was private to the two of you, he spoke quietly, as if he craved only your attention.

“When I was serving my sentence here, I always dreamed about what my new home would be."

He recalled the confinement of his cell, and how his mind would drift from counting the bolts in the metal wall to imagining a new life for himself. Wanting a place that was safe and people he felt at peace with felt like a mirage to him. However, if he could go back in time and speak to his younger self in that cell, he would tell him that things would turn out alright. The journey would not be without difficulties, but he would finally be in a place where he no longer had to look over his shoulder, fearing for his safety. And, he would be with someone who would be proud to call him their love.

“I think I found it here, with you.”

He took the chance to close the distance between you two. His forehead rested against yours. You closed your eyes.

“I love you, Wriothesley,” you whispered, instinctively.

His breath caught in his throat. How fortunate he was to have you in his life. Not only to receive your endless love, but to learn just how capable of loving he is.

He whispered back in reply, his breath gently fanning across your cheeks. “I love you too.”

Neither of you broke away, staying in this position for a moment. Everything had been untangled before you, and a odd mixture of both sorrow and solace stirred inside you. Sorrow at listening to what Wriothesley had gone through as a boy, and solace at how tender the man before you was, his hair tickling against your forehead.

You continued to speak softly to each other for a while longer. The conversation floated from his time at the Fortress to how he became its administrator. As he spoke, the accuracy of the quote you shared before was confirmed in the inexplicable lightness he felt in his chest. A burden shared is a burden halved, he recited to himself.

Time drew on, and you both sensed that if you didn’t sleep now, you’d be up until the Fortress’ inmates began their morning shifts. Curling up beside each other, you asked to play big spoon this time so he could fall asleep easier. Though he was taller in stature to you, you insisted on it. If it were a different day, he probably would have put up a greater fight, but there was little argument in him now at the chance of being wrapped up in your arms. He was lulled to rest by your rhythmic inhales and exhales. The night quietened, and no more voices followed him in slumber.

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post a/n: thank you for making it to the hidden easter egg author note haha, i appreciate you greatly, and i hope it was an enjoyable read!!! 🥺 i just wanted to yap about my thought process writing this piece. you definitely don't have to read all this, it's primarily for my own notetaking! <3

i felt like this was probably one of the hardest pieces i've written so far (?) i found it tough to build up that tension of reader not knowing wriothesley's full past and him still grappling with his actions as a young boy, and even what that dialogue would look like! i had to step away and come back a few times just so i could look at this with a fresh pair of eyes. it may not be perfect but i'm glad to have finished this! :')

[mikoluvsblondes]

hi love!! I was wondering if you could do Emily x dancer!reader? Like reader used to compete in competitions when they were younger. And Emily visits readers family and their mom is showing off readers old competition photos and awards and reader gets embarrassed? I really hope this made sense!!

Not That Picture!

Emily Engstler x dancer! reader

i didnt know if you meant Emily to be a friend visiting or a girlfriend so i just assumed that you meant girlfriend. hope you like it!

warnings: nothing really

You have lived away from your family for a few years, only getting to see them on holidays. Even though you missed them everyday, you were happy with where dancing had taken you: into your girlfriend, Emily's arms. You stopped dancing years ago, but still cherished the memories of your family coming to watch your performances. Finally, you were able to visit them again, with Emily by your side.

As you step out of the airport, you're met with the smiling faces of your parents'. You run over to them, quickly engulfing them in a hug. Emily follows your lead, attempting to give them awkward side hugs ,but instead your parents pull her into a warm comforting hug.

Your parents drive both of you to the home you grew up in, bombarding you two with questions, funny stories, and dad jokes the entire time.

When you get there, your dad goes to finish dinner and your mom decides that now is a perfect time to give Emily a house tour of your home. She takes her all over the house, showing off the pictures on the wall and trinkets shes collected over the years.

As your mother takes both of you to your childhood bedroom, a wave of nostalgia washes over you(like it always does), seeing that everything is still the same way it has always been. Your mom points to the medals and awards you've earned through dancing.

"How did you two meet?" your mom glances at you "She's never mentioned it." your mom turns to Emily with a smile.

Emily looks to you nervously before finding the words to answer and smiling back at your mom. "I actually met her when we were in college. She was dancing at one of my games." Emily rubs the back of her neck and you can see in her eyes that shes reliving the moment you two first made eye contact from across the court.

"...dancing huh?" your mom looks to the bookshelf with photo albums from your old dance competitions. She walks over to it and grabs it.

"Oh my god. Mom, no." you chase after her trying to swat the book out of her hands before realizing that your mother is going to do whatever it takes to show everyone her "favorite on dance moms" as she liked to call you.

"It wouldn't hurt to show them to her. She obviously likes to see you dance." your mom jokes lightly and both you and Emily's eyes widen as a pink stripe covers over face with a nervous laugh.

Emily sits on the bed next to your mom as she looks at every picture your mom shows her, nodding and smiling to every story and explanation of each picture.

"Here. This one's my favorite." your mom says, flipping the page. And that's how you knew she got to that one picture you were dreading for her to show Emily: A picture of you in a bright purple and neon yellow costume covered feathers. You rub your face with your hands in embarrassment as you prepare for Emily to see that awful monstrosity of a picture.

Though your girlfriend actually finds it quite cute to see you as a little kid in your competition pictures, she has trouble holding her laughter in when looking at this one. She puts a hand over her mouth, trying to stop the laughter that sputters out from between her fingers. You stare at your girlfriend as she repeatedly looks to you then to the picture in disbelief.

"Can you tell why this one's my favorite? Always gets a laugh ouf of someone." your mom laughs.

"You're embarrassing me." you groan.

"That's just my job." your mom shrugs.

Emily leans over to rub your arm "They were cute pictures, really."

[mimimarvelingmarvel]

time bound part one

pairing: worst wolverine!logan howlett x f!mutant!reader

Part One - Masterlist

summary: Y/n’s life takes a dramatic turn when the Time Variance Authority intervenes, pulling her from a critical moment in her timeline. The TVA sends her to the void where she eventually meets with Deadpool and a very familiar face. With Deadpool's universe in the balance, alongside his reluctant would-be pal, Wolverine, and the enigmatic time-bending mutant known as the Veil, the trio must complete the mission and save Deadpool’s world from an existential threat.

overall warnings: 18+, Fem!Reader, AFAB Reader, Use of Y/N, Her X-Men name is Veil, She/her pronouns, Swearing, Angst, Heavy Violence, Character Death, Deadpool (he’s his own warning), Hurt, Fluff, Angst, Eventual Smut, Slow Burn, TVA

word count: 1.3k

The mansion is a war zone. Screams and gunfire echo through the halls, mingling with the sickening stench of burning flesh and molten metal. Blood splatters the walls, once lined with family photos and cherished memories, now smeared with the desperate last stands of my friends. My heart hammers in my chest, a relentless drumbeat urging me forward as I sprint down the corridors I once knew like the back of my hand. Now, they feel like the intestines of some dying beast, twisting and turning as it thrashes in its final moments.

I skid to a stop outside Logan’s quarters, nearly slipping on a pool of blood. The heavy oak door is reduced to splinters, gunshots carved deep into the wood. Logan isn’t there. Damn it. Where the hell could he be?

Of course, he’s been in one of his foul moods all week, growling at anyone who dared get too close. Typical Logan, retreating to the nearest bar when things get too heavy. My breath comes in ragged gasps as I rake my brain, trying to picture him—his location. There has to be something, some clue that could lead me to him before it’s too late. The X-Men are losing. They’re being slaughtered, and the only chance we have lies in Logan’s bloodied hands.

I force myself to see it, a twisted sort of daydream: Logan tearing through our enemies, me getting to him just in time. My thoughts race faster, my vision blurring with desperation. It’s not enough. He could be anywhere in this town, and my friends—my family—are dying.

“Kurt!” I scream, the name ripping from my throat, a raw, desperate plea. “Kurt, where the hell are you?!”

I stumble into Kurt’s room, eyes wide, hoping for a flash of blue, the familiar scent of brimstone. Nothing. The room is a wreck—furniture overturned, shards of glass glittering like ice in the moonlight, blood smeared across the floor in haphazard patterns. How much of it is Kurt’s? How much of it is anyone’s?

A cold dread grips my insides, gnawing at my heart. I can’t lose them. Not like this. Not now.

“Kurt!” I call out again, the name choking in my throat as I stumble forward, deeper into the room. My eyes scan the wreckage frantically, desperate to catch even a fleeting glimpse of him.

Suddenly, the world around me shifts. Time fractures, and I’m flooded with chaotic visions, flickering images of what could be, what might have been, and what is. It’s my curse—my gift. Chrono-Perception. I see Kurt laughing, his smile wide and genuine. Then, in another vision, he’s gasping for breath, his eyes wide with fear as a blade plunges into his side. The echoes of possible futures assault my senses, each one more horrific than the last.

I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the noise in my mind to settle, to focus. But when I open them, the reality of the present hits me harder than any of the potential futures. Just beyond the overturned bed, a familiar blue hand sticks out from beneath a collapsed bookshelf.

My breath catches in my throat, and I rush over, time seeming to slow around me, each step dragging as if the universe itself is dreading what I’m about to find. When I reach him, my heart sinks.

Kurt’s body is twisted at an unnatural angle, his once vibrant blue fur now matted with blood. His gentle, kind eyes are wide open, staring into the void. I reach out with trembling hands to close them, my fingers brushing against his cold skin. The sensation of his lifeless body under my touch sends a shiver down my spine. He wasn’t supposed to die like this. Not here. Not now.

A flash of another potential future assaults my mind—Kurt, alive and well, teleporting behind me with that infectious grin, teasing me like he always did. But it’s just an echo, a cruel reminder of what could never be.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, my voice breaking as I gently close his eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

I know I don’t have much time. The echoes of the future still buzz in my head, warning me of the impending danger. But it isn’t just my perception of time that sets me apart. My Time-Linked Vitality means my body ages slowly, each year passing like a drop in a vast ocean. It makes me resilient, gives me strength, but it also means I’m cursed to watch as the people I love die around me, one by one.

The pain of losing Kurt, of seeing him like this, is almost too much to bear. But I can’t let it consume me. Not now. Not when there are others still fighting, still clinging to life.

With one last look at Kurt’s lifeless form, I force myself to my feet. I wipe the blood from my hands on my tattered pants, my resolve hardening with every breath. The mansion is still under attack, and my friends—my family—need me.

I turn to bolt to the next room when a strange shift in the air makes me freeze—a ripple, like reality itself hiccupped. This isn’t my doing.

I spin around, but before I can even process what’s happening, a door materializes out of thin air. It hovers there, glowing with a light that feels wrong, like it belongs to a place that doesn’t give a damn about things like hope or mercy. My heart lurches, adrenaline spiking as I instinctively reach for my powers. But they fizzle out, sputtering like a dying flame.

The door swings open, and a figure steps out. Cloaked in shadow, they bear the insignia of the Time Variance Authority on their chest, a symbol of cold, unyielding authority.

“Y/N,” the figure speaks, voice smooth as polished steel. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

“What?” The word comes out more as a snarl, anger sparking to life within me. I have no time for this. “What the hell are you talking about? I need to stop them—my friends—”

“—Are meant to die,” the figure interrupts, their tone as final as a tombstone. “This timeline is not yours to change.”

The words hit me like a blow to the gut, driving the breath from my lungs. “What?”

Another figure appears beside the first, blocking my path. “It’s not your decision,” the second figure says, calm and detached. “You’re disrupting the timeline, and for that, you must be removed.”

“Removed?” I echo, my voice quivering with fury now. Cold dread coils around my chest, squeezing tight. “You can’t just—”

The first figure raises a hand, and my world goes dark. My muscles lock, frozen in place as a swirling portal opens beneath my feet. Panic surges, but it’s too late. The world dissolves into a whirlpool of shadows and chaos, the cold hands of the TVA agents the last thing I see before I’m dragged into the abyss.

The Void is worse than death. As I fall, time twists and warps around me, past, present, and future bleeding together in a nauseating blur. Memories crash over me in waves—Logan’s gruff voice, the X-Men’s laughter, the mansion bathed in warm sunlight. It all slips through my fingers, distant echoes swallowed by the darkness.

I hit the ground hard, the impact like a sledgehammer to my spine. Pain explodes in my ribs, but I grit my teeth and force myself up. The world around me is a desolate wasteland, an endless expanse of lost possibilities and forgotten timelines. Cold, lifeless, devoid of anything remotely human.

I stagger to my feet, my body aching, the emptiness of the Void pressing in on me from all sides. It’s suffocating, the silence so loud it’s maddening. I am alone—truly, terrifyingly alone.

My chest aches as I push through the underbrush, my hand pressed firmly against my side where the pain throbs persistently. I can’t see my future here—my control over time-slipping is erratic, even on a good day. The uncertainty only makes the situation worse. Each step through the dense forest feels like I’m wading through thick, invisible mud, the oppressive silence wrapping around me like a heavy shroud. My breath comes in ragged gasps, the crushing weight of despair threatening to overwhelm me.

A flicker of movement catches my eye, a brief flash of light piercing the gloom. My heart skips a beat as a figure materializes from the swirling smoke, gradually solidifying. I squint at the fiery glow surrounding him, a stark contrast to the dark, oppressive forest. Fear grips me, and I instinctively reach for my powers, but nothing happens. I’m powerless, feeling utterly useless.

“Hey there!” The figure calls out, his voice carrying a mix of amusement and curiosity. “You look like you’ve seen better days. Want a hand, or are you planning on moping around all by yourself?”

I blink, trying to process his presence amidst the chaos. “Who are you?”

He grins, flames dancing around his fingers. “Johnny Storm. You know, the Human Torch.” His casual tone does little to soothe my fear, and I take a step back, distrust etched on my face. “You look like you could use some company. So, what’s your story? Lost and hopeless, or just taking a scenic tour of the void?”

I scowl, irritation mingling with confusion. “I’m not in the mood for jokes. I’m having a really bad day—dragged into a cosmic wasteland and all.”

Johnny raises an eyebrow, a hint of amusement still lingering in his expression. “Ah, a bad day. I’ve had a few of those myself. So, what’s got you all twisted up?”

I swallow hard, my mind replaying the horrifying scenes from moments before—Kurt’s lifeless body, the screams of my friends and family. “I was trying to save my friends when these… guys in suits showed up and sent me here. Why are you here, anyway? Cosmic firefighter?”

“More like a cosmic firestarter,” Johnny retorts with a wink, his flames flaring playfully. “Anyone the TVA deems as trash ends up here—the lost and abandoned. Now, how about we get you out of this mess? The Borderlands is a decent place to catch a break.”

I narrow my eyes, skepticism etched on my face. “Borderlands? Sounds like a place where people go to get even more lost.”

Johnny smirks, his flames casting flickering shadows on his face. “Well, it’s got its charm. Plus, we’ve got a few folks there who might be able to help you out. But if you’re expecting a five-star resort, you’re gonna be disappointed.”

“I’m not picky,” I reply with a hint of weariness.

Johnny’s grin widens, but there’s a hard edge to it now. “Oh, and just so you know, there’s a delightful lady named Cassandra who’s been making a little shit storm. To put it mildly, she’s a real cunt.”

I raise an eyebrow. “I’ve encountered a few of those in my time.”

Johnny’s expression darkens further. “She’s a real menace. And then there’s Alioth, a cosmic entity that thrives on chaos. Think of it as a hungry monster that devours everything in its path.”

“That sounds… cheerful,” I deadpan. “What do you do here, anyway? Fight monsters and avoid psychopaths?”

Johnny chuckles, the sound a welcome break from the heavy silence. “Pretty much. But don’t worry. I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve, and from what I can see, you can handle yourself just fine.”

I look him over, nodding grimly, quick to expect my fate.

Next Part

A/N: Will maybe consider making a taglist! But lmk what you think!

[corruptedcaps]

Pierced

On the fourth floor of her sorority, Sarah stood in front of the door marked 'President', a little nervous, a little surprised but ultimately excited. It was a tremendous honor for her friends, and fellow sorority sisters, Emily and Bree to have voted to make her president. This was even more compounded by the fact that they had decided when they started the sorority to abolish the idea of having a single figure head.

In the first few months of her freshman year Sarah had been utterly lonely. She found it hard to make friends and there was no real place for her to meet anyone. That's when she had come across the sorority that had been abandoned.

Alpha Omega Sigma was once the most feared and revered sorority on campus, ruled with an iron fist by a girl called Kayla, the hottest, meanest, and most popular girl at the college. Her reign was infamous. She instilled fear in everyone, and her sorority sisters both idolized and dreaded her. When Kayla graduated, the sorority was left leaderless. The other girls seemed to lose their taste of being campus bitches and the building fell into disrepair, eventually being forgotten.

Sarah had seen it as an opportunity to bring together other girls who felt at sea, who needed a helping hand, who needed friends. That’s how she met the equally outcast Emily and Bree. They banded together to repair the broken down sorority. They made plans to organize charity events, volunteer at local shelters, and hold inclusive social gatherings that welcomed everyone, regardless of their background.

Finally after months of work getting the house back in liveable order, Emily and Bree surprised her with a gesture of gratitude and respect. They insisted that she become the President of Alpha Omega Sigma. Despite her resistance to having any sort of leader position or title, Sarah accepted, knowing how much it meant to them.

Pushing open the door into the bedroom she found herself beaming ear to ear. The girls had completely overhauled the room and it was now a warm and welcoming space rather than the dingy and dark place they had been storing materials in.

Sarah wandered around the newly renovated room, basking in its simple beauty. Piled in the corner were some boxes marked ‘Kayla’. They contained a bunch of clothes, jewelry and makeup from the former president that they had planned on using in a charity auction, once they had more sisters of course.

As she took a step towards the bookshelf, she suddenly felt a sharp pain shoot through her foot. "Ouch!" she exclaimed, hopping on one leg. Looking down, she saw something gleaming between the floorboards. Kneeling, she pried it out and found herself holding a small, jewel-encrusted belly button piercing. The pink diamond at its center sparkled mesmerizingly in the light.

Her eyes were captivated by the piercing's beauty. It seemed almost alive, the way it shimmered and glowed. Suddenly, it shot out of her hand and latched onto her belly button with a force that knocked the breath out of her. She quickly recovered as a pleasurable vibration coursed through her body. "Ohhhh god what is happpppppening?" She managed to moan.

A deep sensation ran through her, and she could feel her bones cracking and shifting. Her once brown hair lightened, strands turning a bright, golden blonde that cascaded in soft waves over her shoulders.

As her hair transformed, she felt her drive for academic excellence fade, slowly replaced by an overwhelming desire to party and fuck boys. Her once focused mind now swirled with thoughts of drinking, dancing and riding cock.

“No, I have to focus, I can’t just think about partying… or can I?” She muttered weakly, trying to fight the intrusive thoughts. Each time she let the naughty ideas the more she felt her body change and the piercing throb pleasurably.

Next to change were her boobs which grew bigger than any other pair she knew. They stretched out her hoody she was wearing, lifting it high and exposing her midriff where the piercing sparkled.

With her now bigger tits, her extensive knowledge of science was pushed aside, supplanted by a deep understanding of makeup, fashion and seduction techniques. As smart as she was with equations and chemical mixtures she now was an expert in the right lip gloss for the right occasion, the sexiest dress that would have heads turning, and the flirtatious looks that could bring any man to their knees.

“Maybe this isn’t so bad. Knowing how to dress to get what I want would be useful, right?” She reasoned, a sly smile creeping onto her face.

Her lips plumped, becoming lush and inviting. She bit her bottom lip pleasurably, loving the taste of lipstick she felt on it. She felt her introverted nature dissolved into an intense arrogance. She no longer felt the need to shy away from the spotlight. She craved it, relishing the power she felt in her new, sexy appearance.

“Of course, I need to be seen and admired. What’s the point of being this beautiful if no one is around to appreciate it?” She said confidently.

Her fingernails elongated and took on a perfect pink polish, as if freshly manicured. Her kindness, which had been a cornerstone of her character, was stripped away, replaced by a cruel streak. She felt a thrill in the idea of asserting her newfound dominance over others, especially her two sorority sisters.

“Yes more, MORE! This is what I want! What I deserve! The other girls are just ants in need of a queen, and I am that queen.” She declared, her voice dripping with contempt.

Sarah’s skin began tingle as it became tan, achieving a flawless, sun-kissed glow. Every blemish, scar, and imperfection faded away, leaving her complexion smooth and radiant. She felt an overwhelming surge of power and beauty unlike anything she had ever known.

Striding confidently to the mirror, Sarah looked at herself vainly. She took out her phone, posing for pictures, loving how she looked from every angle. Her new, blonde hair shimmered, her fuller tits and plumper lips adding to her bitchy look.

“Mmmm fuck yessss. I don’t know how the piercing did this, but I love it. And I’m going to make some changes to this sorority. MY sorority.” She said, admiring her reflection.

Her eye caught the boxes in the corner marked ‘Kayla’ and a wicked grin crossed her perfect lips. She ripped them open with manic glee and pulled outa tight pink outfit and began trying it on.

Everything felt perfect on her body, every item clung tightly to her bigger tits and tighter waist. She was in heaven. She looked every bit the stereotypically bitchy sorority girl. She loved it and so did the piercing. It continued to throb pleasurable everytime she thought or did something bitchy.

But there as something more to it as she caught its pink glint in the reflection. It seemed to whisper to her evil ideas, filled her mind with schemes. It endowed her with the knowledge of the wicked magic that now coursed through her and told her how she could wield it. The very thought made her wet with anticipation and thankfully she didn’t have to wait long to test out her new power.

“Sarah? Are you ok? It sounded like you were in pain.” Came Emily’s voice from beyond the door.

“We just wanted to make sure you’re not hurt.” Said Bree who was also there.

Sarah felt the piercing throb as it glowed an unholy pink. She knew what she needed to do. Swinging open the door the two girls were at first shocked at the sight of their president looking like every bully they ever had combined.

However they were soon drawn in to the glowing light of her belly button piercing. They were bathed in the pink light and were quickly transformed into blonde brats just like their leader.

“OMG Sarah, like, what did you do to us? I feel, like, so nasty.” Emily purred entering the room to use the mirror.

“For real babes, I’m so yummy and hawt now. I can’t believe the loser dorks we used to be.” Bree said in a bratty whine as she ran her newly manicured fingers over her transformed body.

“Soak it up girls, you’re the first sisters of my NEW sorority. A sorority where we get what we want, we fuck who we want, and we crush everyone who crosses us.” Sarah smirked at the two girls who returned the smile.

Over the next week the Sorority exploded with activity. Their first pledges arrived expecting a welcoming environment but instead finding two wicked bitches, Mila and Brianna, who belittled and bullied them. The ones who stayed were rewarded with a meeting with the sorority queen, Sasha.

After that meeting any resistance to the sorority lifestyle was dispel, as was their notions of kindness and charity. They just wanted to party, bully and fuck. Before the end of the month the sorority was filled with hot babes who controlled the campus.

The Alphas, as they were come to be known, were a force to be reckoned with. If you upset one of them you might as well drop out. If you didn’t they would make you wish you had.

They held the biggest parties and had the hottest girls. Everyone wanted to be them or be with them but no one was more coveted than the queen bee herself, Sasha.

At their nightly parties, hot guys would surround her, their eyes filled with desire as they watched her move. She basked in their attention, feeling the power of their longing wash over her.

Each beat of the music seemed to sync with the rhythmic throbs of the piercing in her belly button, sending waves of pleasure and satisfaction through her body. Every throb was a reward.

Sasha’s hips swayed provocatively, and she threw her head back, laughing with a mix of arrogance and delight. The boys around her were captivated, their gazes never leaving her. She could feel their desire, their yearning to be close to her, and it only fueled her confidence.

She eyed them like food at a buffet, wondering which one she would enjoy tonight. Eventually picking a muscle bound man named Brad. The other guys looked disappointed as she led Brad up the stairs. She passed by the open door of Mila who was being eaten out by her Psychology professor. She gave a wink to Sasha in between moans.

Reaching the next floor she came across Brianna who was leading another girl around by a leash while whipping her with a leather crop. Brianna nodded in respect to Sasha and pulled her pet out of her path.

Finally Sasha and Brad reached the top of the house where she had taken over the entire floor. Her previous room was more than spacious but that was fit for a president and not the queen that she now was nor what the sign now said on her pink door.

"It’s good to be the Queen." Sasha thought, her lips curling into a triumphant smile as she pulled Brad into her bedroom. The piercing throbbed again, as if in agreement, filling her with a deep sense of satisfaction. She was Alpha Omega Sigma, and nothing could challenge her reign.

THE END

[liliannadelaphinehartifelt]

Alastor - [ DEVOTION Pt. 4 ]

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A/N: This is all angst and fluff because I'm working on two other smut fics. Please accept this impromptu filler chapter for now (I'm sorry ❤️). I hope you enjoy it anyway.

WARNINGS: [ SFW ] + [ SLIGHTLY MATURE THEMES ] + [ FLUFF ] + [ ANGST ]

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You waited patiently for Alastor, standing at the window, admiring the fading moon as the sun's rays gradually inked the sky. It’d been a longer night than you imagined, but you felt energized rather than overtly exhausted.

You supposed that's what having a child felt like: tiring but never lacking excitement. A smile crept onto your face at the thought, heart racing at the image of a small hand wrapping around your finger and the possible jingle of childish laughter following the gesture. It was all you could think about.

Would they resemble you or Alastor more?

A boy or maybe a girl?

Twins?… Oh, twins would be so extraordinary but troublesome!

Oh, who am I to complain… they'd be just as lovely as Alastor.

You jumped from one thought to the next, unable to keep track of your puzzling emotions but deciding your only concern should be the present. With a steadying breath, you gazed around the room, searching for something to do or a task to occupy yourself with since sleep failed you. The room was spotless besides your belongings, which you'd already reorganized after stealing one of Alastors dress shirts to replace your blood-stained nightgown. There was a bookshelf full of various stories tucked into a corner near an old rocking chair, and the idea of reading to relax didn't seem terrible.

“A good story can be grand entertainment…”

Your father coined the phrase and always followed it with an unbelievable bedtime reading. Those nights filled with his storytelling were your fondest childhood memories, and you considered passing the sentiment onto your child. You imagined Alastor more prone to telling bedtime stories; he had the charisma, the soothing voice for it, and you had no doubt they'd become attached to him doing so.

Your smile grew wider, getting ahead of itself as you waltzed over to the tall mahogany bookshelf. “Hm…what shall we read, little one?” you placed a hand on your stomach, gently rubbing circles against it as your other grazed the worn book spines. Each title caught your eye, all ranging in subject but consistent with what Alastor told you about his mother's efforts to advance his literacy.

“Some might say she willed proper speech out of me, but I wouldn't be where I am now without such vigorous practice…”

He was far from wrong; your father had educated you similarly, claiming that despite young women of the time being expected to rely on their beauty, you'd advance farther with brains.

“Let's see..” you mumbled aloud, reading a few titles to narrow your decision, “…perhaps Penny Dreadful? No, The Grim Brothers Tales’?..” A soft giggle left your lips as you considered how ridiculous you sounded speaking aloud, but it couldn't be helped. You were longing to talk, to shout with joy, but resisted the urge in fear of causing a minor disturbance.

Finally, a book held your attention, not as worn as the others but fairly withered. “Alice in Wonderland shall do.” You pricked it from the shelf, sitting in the rocking chair while opening its front cover. The words on each page were familiar, immersive as intended, and for a few quiet moments, you thought of nothing but its premise as you whispered nonsensical sentences in their written order.

Time passed quicker than you thought; by the third chapter, you heard the bedroom door creak open, and in stepped a refreshed Alastor. You beamed a coy smile his way as he shut the door behind him, returning your smile with tired eyes while walking over to you, “Mornin’ darlin’..”

“Good morning, mon cher. You look much better.” you muse as he leans down to kiss your head, “Thank you, sweetheart. Once I get some rest, I might feel better as well.” He doesn't stand up fully, content with being at eye level with you to converse, and you unconsciously blush from the intensity of his gaze. Strands of his hair were curled into its natural waves, dripping with tiny water droplets, slithering down his mocha skin with every breath he took. It was a miracle his glasses didn't fog up, resting neatly on his face and doing nothing but accentuating his piercing brown eyes.

You could get lost in his stare; that ocean of amber took your breath away effortlessly, and you wondered if the trait would pass on to your child.

Indeed, it would… surely he'd love it.

A lump formed in your throat as anxious excitement built in your chest. You needed to tell him calmly, but the longer you waited, the more you wanted to hide away.

Did he want this?

“I’d love you and our child more than anything…”

He'd said it himself, but it was hard for you to deny that Alastor was very vague with his genuine emotions. Even as his wife, you found him hard to read

There was only one way for you to find out, and stalling wouldn't solve anything. Alastor studied your expression as you thought, perceptive to the minor changes in your mood, “My dear, are you alright?” he asked firmly. You perk up, nodding slowly while clutching the book to your chest, “I-Im, I'm fine... It's just that I have to tell you something rather delicate..”

Alastor raised a brow, watching as you bit your lip and stared at your lap, “The news you alluded to earlier this evening?” His eyes narrow, glinting with prowess as he ponders the possibilities of your announcement.

With a heavy sigh, you nod again, shutting the book before placing it in your lap, gripping it tight with one hand as the other instinctively rests on your stomach. You feel his gaze shift from your face, fixated on your abdomen, as you stumble out an explanation.

“I. Well, I'm… “ you cut yourself off when words fail, reaching for his hand gently, placing it over your own as a nervous smile adorns your face.

Oh…does she mean to say?…

Alastor froze as the warmth of your skin settled against his palm, rising and falling in a gentle pattern as you willed yourself to breathe normally while gauging his reaction. His shadows quivered in the darkness of the room, able to hear two faint heartbeats underneath the drum of your own, and the definitive sound brought a grin to his face.

It seems she's given us exactly what we hoped for. Twice the yield as well.

How delightful.

Alastor knelt before you, placing both hands on your stomach, eyes soft with affection as he finally voiced his thoughts.

“My darling wife is going to be a mother..” pride laced his tone as he averted his gaze to yours, grin ever present as you nodded excitedly with a bright smile, “And you're going to be father..” you whisper.

Your words drifted quietly in the air, sinking into Alastor’s consciousness and stirring his specters into a giddy frenzy.

My wife is having my children…

Mine and only mine.

A laugh rippled in his chest as the possessive thought invaded his mind, growing stronger as he heard your delighted giggles join his. “Come here, darlin’…” Alastor lifted you with one gentle tug on your wrists, catching you in his arms as your feet hovered off the ground. “Alastor!” you yelped excitedly, smiling so hard your cheeks hurt and laughing more as he pecked your lips tenderly. You hummed into the passionate kiss, arms locking around his neck as you kicked a foot up gingerly. He tasted like mint, calm, and refreshing. A welcomed contrast to the waning heat you felt as your nerves winded down.

He was pleased to know, which filled your heart with relief.

——- ——- ———

“Oh, my stars! Al! Y/n! I'm overjoyed for you both!” Rosie shot up from her seat, dress flowing as she glided around the coffee table to squeeze you in a tight hug as you set out the platter of sweets you'd finished baking moments ago. “Thank you, Rosie. I still can't believe it myself,” you blushed as she squealed, drawing back a bit to cup your face with both hands; her eyes sparkled with admiration as she looked between you and Alastor -who sat comfortably in an armchair. He hadn't stopped grinning since your return home from the countryside, rambling on and on to his mother about the news until the last minute, and he insisted on telling Rosie as soon as you stepped foot in New Orleans again. She was his long-time friend, after all, yours as well, by extension, and so you didn't mind revealing the news to her. Just as his mother felt like your own, Rosie filled the space of an older sister for you. She was energetic, fashionable, and constantly aware of everyone's lives.

She was a true gossip girl, but you enjoyed her company more than others.

“Al, you devil! You could've waited another year to knock my dearest friend up! Now, who will I take out on the town?..” She huffed dramatically but couldn't hold her frown as you giggled softly while he waved a hand dismissively. “I'm sure you'll survive, my dear.” he quips. Rosie rolls her eyes, returning his nonchalant gesture with an equally smug smirk, “I suppose you're right. Although, my nights out won't be as thrilling anymore with you gone being a new father and such, Al.”

He sat straighter. You happened to catch the slightest frown on his face at Rosie’s comment, but it vanished when he felt your eyes on him. “I'll accompany you on occasion when time allows it.” His response is politely chaste, and one might deem it disappointing.

Was he bothered by the notion of having less time with Rosie?

You knew they ventured to socialite parties together regularly, something they'd done long before you married him, but you never questioned it since Rosie assured you it was their fun hobby. Still, you felt concerned that Alastor could regret the idea of children if it meant a less spontaneous party going with his oldest friend.

You opened your mouth to say something, stepping towards where he sat, but Rosie grabbed your hands and whisked you away to sit on the plush sofa with her. “We must discuss everything Y/n. Having a child is no small feat, and I know Al won't spare any expense.” She grinned, squeezing your hands gently, and you smiled back at her before sparing your husband a curious glance. “He spoils me too much already, so I think he'll naturally do the same for the baby,” a soft laugh floated from you, and he tipped his head reassuringly while pulling out his pocket watch to check the time. “Whatever their little heart desires, I shall give,” he replies calmly, standing to his feet and gazing between you and Rosie. “It's about time I head on over to the station. I don't suppose you’ll be leaving anytime soon, Rosie?”

You checked the grandfather clock that stood against the adjacent wall, noticing it was nearly time for his broadcast to begin, “Seems we lost track of time.” you smiled apologetically at Alastor. He shook his head while chuckling, “It's not your fault, darling. I got caught up listening to this one ramble,” he gestured to Rosie before walking over to the parlor room coat stand. He pricked his preferred overcoat, slipping it on quickly as she glared at his back. “Is that any way to speak of your child’s future honorary aunt and godmother!” she faked a skeptical look to which you feigned concern, “Oh, my dear Rosie, he didn't mean it, I swear!”

Alastor turned on his heel, biting back a more comprehensive smile as he admired the two of you carrying on, “I will not apologize for telling the truth, ma chère, but Rosie does have the privilege of godmother so that for I will ask for her forgiveness.” he stood behind the sofa, leaning down a bit to kiss you once then twice before pulling away with a content hum.

Rosie watched the sweet exchange, able to separate the manic version of Alastor she killed from the doting husband he was in your presence, proud to see him so controlled and happy. He pulled away from you, adoring the glimmer in your eyes as you reached a hand up to adjust his glasses, “I love you,” you whisper, and he blanks for a moment, hearing the endearing phrase.

Love…is that what this is?…

Would it be so wrong to say it back?…

A flash of vulnerability crosses Alastor’s face, and you're tempted to take your words back, but he beats you to speak. “Je t'aime aussi..” he mutters back, stepping away to bid Rosie a proper goodbye, “Take good care of her while I'm gone.” he kisses her cheek, and she swats his arm, “Oh, you know I will. Now run along before you're late!” He heads to her, scolding her out the door in seconds, leaving you in her company.

“I thought he'd never leave,” Rosie chirps, glad to have some privacy to speak with you and eager to get down to the details you had to tell. “Tell me, how do you feel, honey? I know this all might be terrifying you…” she spoke softly, pricking a freshly baked cookie from the platter you set out, and you nodded timidly in agreement while fidgeting with your hands.

“I'm scared, yes, but not of being a mother. You know I've always wanted to be one. It was my biggest dream when I came of age, and I'm glad it's coming true with Al..” You rested a hand on your stomach, feeling it flip at the mention of him, and luckily, no urge to throw up followed.

Thank goodness for Angelique and her tonics!

She'd given you a case of vials to take home, all containing a special brew made by her hand, and she'd given you a strict regimen for consuming them.

“Drink two of these twice daily, morning and evening, but only take it after you've eaten. Have Alastor phone me when you need more..”

Whatever was given had a wonderous effect on your mood, reduced your fatigue, and calmed your nerves. You were grateful for her assistance, but not everything you felt could be cured with medicine.

You hoped Rosie would understand, could help calm what the tonics couldn't, so as she peered at you curiously and asked, “What's the matter, dearest?” you inevitably blurted out your worst and only fear.

“I'm afraid of how Alastor will be as a father..”

She blinked, taken aback by your confession, but it didn't show on her face. “May I ask why?”

You hesitated, fidgeting with your hands again as you thought of what to say, but Rosie rested a hand on yours to still them in a gentle grip. “Y/n, it's alright, be honest. He may have been my closest companion initially, but you are my truest friend in this moment. I'm here to listen, not to criticize. He won't hear a word of it, I swear.”

You glanced between your conjoined hands and her kind smile, and after debating whether or not to spill your heart out, you decided it wouldn't hurt to express your doubts.

You could trust Rosie. Right?…

“Well, I know he wants children. He recently told me so, but it's how he'll receive them. Alastor is a complex man, we both know that, but I fear that complexity will make it hard for him to…to..” you tried to phrase the last of your concerns gently, unsure if what you said made any sense to her, but Rosie merely smiled before finishing the thought for you.

“You're afraid he won't show them love?..”

You nod, heart clenching at the thought, “Yes. I know how his childhood went; I was there through it all, so I know his father wasn't the best man. I know what he put his mother through and Alastor hates the idea of becoming like him..”

You forced yourself to take a deep breath, beginning to tear up as memories of Alastor coming to you in the dead of night, bruised and battered but stoic as ever as he asked to sleep next to you in your bed. He'd never tell you what happened, where his father was, or if he'd been majorly injured. You'd have to coax information out of him, promise him that you'd never betray his safety, or tell your father what went on in his family. Then and only then would he relax, let you mend his scars before huddling under the thick covers with you, and though you were both exhausted, you'd whisper stories aloud to each other until the sun peeked through the trees.

It felt odd to wish for times like that to return; they all resorted from darker places, but it brought you two closer. You were able to understand Alastor to an extent most speculated of. With all the insight into his life, you hoped the irrational fears you felt would wither away, but after the incident at his mother's, they just worsened.

It felt as if he were hiding something from you.

At first, the notion piqued your curiosity, but now it ate away at your conscience.

What was he withholding from you, and did you need or want to know more?

Logic voted ‘yes,’ but your trusting nature leaned towards ‘no.’

“He won't ever be like him. I'm sure, but he's only recently expressed he cares for me. Truly loves me, so I suppose I'm afraid of that same affection not being openly expressed to our little one as well.”

Rosie nodded, scooting closer and giving you a tight side hug to calm your frazzled state. “My dear, you have every right to fear such a thing. However, if I may vouch for Alastor, I do believe his softer side will show itself for your child.” You peered at her, hope in your eyes, “Really? You think so?..”

She grins, “I am certain of it! He cherishes you like no other! Unlike my husband, yours is a dime and a man who'd kill for you if necessary.”

You blush, surprised by her claim, “I don't think he'd kill for me, Rosie, but I understand the sentiment.” She scoffs, hand rubbing your shoulders, and retorts, “Yes, he would, and he'd show the same devotion to your bundle of joy.”

Her statement soothed your worries, but the seriousness in her tone made your heart skip a beat.

It felt as though she did know he'd kill for you…kill for your child.

A shiver racked your body at the thought.

I hope it never comes to that…

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What do you guys think of the story so far? I'm just curious to hear your thoughts and theories.❤️

[ BONUS CONTENT + ]

He may be a monster, but at least he's dedicated to it; morally grey, but honest to his silly little murderous behaviors ❤️ credits to the creator

[darilarostarg]

Beneath the Dread

Daemon Targaryen x female!reader

Words: 2K

Warnings: SMUT, smut with no plot if we are being honest, sex w/o a condom, degrading dirty talk, oral sex (f receiving), p in v sex, hot wax kink/play, pain kink, semi-public sex (i guess?), implied size difference

Summary: Daemon meets you beneath the black dread during the hour of the wolf.

A gust of cold air hits you as you push open the heavy wooden door that was nestled secretly behind the bookshelf in your chambers, just as the note suggested it would. The other side greets you with nothing but darkness and the sound of dripping water. Making your way into the hallway, gently closing the door behind, you begin your descent into the caverness pit of the Keep. 

It’s various steep staircases and damp hallways before you come across any light, suddenly realizing where he has led you. You're in the bowels of the Red Keep, below even the dungeons. You had ventured down this deep before, when you were young, desperate to see the skull of Balerion in the first few moons of your arrival to the capital.  

That is where you find him. Standing gazing up at the monstrous black skull, face illuminated by the many flickering candles that burned in tribute to the beast. You continue to walk towards him, noting how his eyes flicker to the side, watching you as you make your approach. Daemon does not move his head however, it is kept trained on the skull. 

“Perhaps one day Caraxes will be this large.” You say as you take your place next to him, shoulder grazing along his bicep. “A terrifying thought, if I must be honest.” 

“Perhaps.” Daemon hums, turning his head to look down at you. He takes in your freshly brushed hair, the shine of the night creams and oils that have been applied to your body, and the soft, lacy pink nightgown draped over your body. From this angle he can see your budding nipples, hardening against gown due to the cold that’s in the air, and the anticipation of what is to come. He smirks softly at the sight. “But we will be long gone then.” 

You nod, allowing both of you to worship the remains of the ancient creature that looms over you. Daemon moves behind you, large hands wrapping around your waist and pulling you back against him. His lips move behind your ear, nipping soft kisses there, trailing down the nape of your neck. 

“I missed you.” He whispers, continuing his assault as both his hands run up your torso to squeeze and paw at your breasts. You laugh gently, hands reaching up to remove his hands, spinning around to face him. 

“I was only gone a few days. I’m sure you had your fair share of whores while I was gone.” You say, tone teasing, using your new position to mimic his previous movements, your hands running along his broad chest. Daemon shakes his head. 

“I’m afraid you have ruined them for me.” He breathes out as you lean up to begin kissing along his jaw, humming in pride at his words. “No one compares.” 

You go to respond, but he cuts you off by locking his lips with yours, tongue pushing past your lips demanding to fight. His hands are making fast work of your nightgown, and it is swiftly lying on the gravel below you, pushing you back until your bum hits against the cold surface of the altar. You pull away from him, head turning to ensure you were not going to burn yourself on the candles that burn. It was then you realise that a small portion of them have been removed, leaving room for a body or two. You breathe out a laugh, turning to a grinning Daemon. 

“Lie down. Spread your legs.” Daemon orders, stepping back watching you as you lift yourself onto the concrete altar, kicking off your slippers and lowering your back to it, spreading your legs for him as ordered. Your wet heat is now on display for him. All you can see is the flickering of flames around you, and the jaws of Balerion over you. You prop yourself up on your elbows, breathing beginning to deepen, eyes connecting with Daemon’s once again. His tunic and breeches have been quickly discarded and he is staring intently at your body, hand slowly fisting at his cock as he steps towards you. “I said lie down.” 

You follow his orders fully this time, back now placed against the cold surface. His warm hand runs along your left thigh, as your cunt clenches around nothing, desperate from some relief from him. 

“Such a pretty cunny.” Daemon murmurs. You’re not sure if he’s speaking to you or  to himself, but there’s no time for you to decode it because Daemon is suddenly spreading your folds open with his fingers, lightly placing kisses along your mound, just avoiding your soaking heat, before indulging himself with the taste of you.

His tongue is flat against your aching cunt, licking a long stripe from your hole all the way to your clit. The sound that leaves you would be borderline embarrassing had you not been so lost in pleasure and relief. He alternates between your clit and hole, his tongue having you teetering on the edge in a matter of moments. 

Finally his lips attach to your clit, two thick fingers are slipping inside of your hole, scissoring to work you open for him and you’re almost crying at the feeling, hips and bum lifting off the altar, bucking up to get more friction from his mouth and fingers, your hands moving to push his head further into you. Daemon’s arms move from your thighs to your hips at your movement, pushing you back down flat against the altar. The movement causes one of the candles to knock over, hot runny wax spraying across both your thigh and stomach and Daemon’s arm. 

Daemon is about to lift himself from you to check if you are hurt, but your fingers tangle in his hair and keep him against your heat, the moan leaving your throat one he had never heard before.  He keeps his lips wrapped around your clit, sucking harshly, before letting his tongue wander to your open hold, as his fingers continue to work you open and brush against that spot that made your breath hitch in the back of your throat. 

“See, my sweetling, why would I take a whore to bed when I have such a fucking slut waiting for me?” Daemon asks. You can hear the smirk in his voice, but you don’t have it in you to answer back, his fingers still working inside of you, having you on the verge of cumming. “Dirty, dirty little girl getting off on being burned. Liked that didn’t you, hm?”  

He’s taunting you, and you know it, and you know you will be embarrassed by your behaviour once it is down, but you’re nodding at his words nonetheless, desperate moans and pleas leaving your mouth, head thrown back, hips fucking back against his fingers. Daemon chuckles, and reaches for a small candle to his left, fingers pitching at the flame, snuffing it out. You’re so close, he can tell from the way that your walls are starting to tighten around him. So his right thumb moves to your clit, rubbing it softly as his fingers continue their assault. 

He dips his finger into the liquid formed on the top, to ensure it is not too hot, before picking up the candle and allowing the cooling wax to dribble down onto your tits, aiming to ensure he gets budded nipples. Immediately your mouth opens to let out a squeal that quickly morphs into a moan, as you spasm around him, cunt gripping his fingers tighter than ever before as you reach the highest of highs. 

You slowly lower your arched back back against the contrate, as Daemon slowly removes his fingers and hand from your heat. You lie still for a moment, trying to process what just happened, one for your hand absentmindedly travelling to grope at your own breast, which was now coated in hard wax. A soft grunt breaks you out of your daze and you raise your head up, locking your wide, lust blown eyes with Daemons. He’s still between your thighs, stroking his cock,  watching intently you paw at your wax coated nipples. 

He lifts himself onto to alter, slotting himself between your thighs and lining his thick cock with your core, rubbing it along the wetness that has pooled there, before pushing himself into you, easily bottoming out. A whimper leaves you at the feeling of your walls stretching around him. 

“Gods, you’re always tight,” Daemon grits out, bending his body down so he is face to face with you. You breath out gently, lips latching onto his as you start to buck your hips up to meet him, softly telling him to start moving. 

“All mine, aren’t you? My perfect little plaything, lets me do whatever I want.” He says against your neck. It’s not a question, it’s a statement. His pace picks up, and it’s everything but gentle, the wax antics from earlier unleashing something within him that had never surfaced before. His hands move to grip your hips, pushing himself deeper and deeper into you, gripping so tight that you know his rings will be bruised into your skin for several days. 

“Silly girl, thinking I have a need for whores, when I have one right under my own roof.” He grunts out, and all you can do is let your thighs open wider to allow him to dive deeper into you, and whine as he takes advantage of the new angle. 

“Little slut, will let me fill her up with my seed, won’t she?” You immediately clenched tightly around him at his words, earning a mix of a grunt and laugh from him. “You like that too, don’t you, hm? Want to be full of my seed?” 

You’re nodding, in too much pleasure to speak or even make noise at this point. Your head trips back once again, mouth wide open, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. You’re so close to the edge, walls tightening in rapid succession. Daemon takes the hint, dipping his thumb under his working cock collecting your juices, before finally moving up to rub at your desperate clit. 

“Please… please, Dae-” You manage to squeal out in a breath, as Daemon keeps on rutting into you at an unforgiving pace and depth. Overwhelmed with pleasure, your hands claw at his back, your outstretched knee jerking to knock over a batch of candles on the altar.  

“Go on. Be a good fucking slut for me.” Daemon whispers, head moving from its place in your neck to lock his lips around your own but as you let go, taking in the high pitched moan that was beginning to leave your throat. Daemon continues to thrust into you, pounding your cunt at the pace he had never met before. Your orgasm rips through you, back arching up, your wax covered tits dragging along Daemon's chest. He moans out, at the feeling of you clenching around him, and reminder of the wax that overed you pushing him over the edge. 

You whimper at the feeling of his seed coating your walls and his head leaving your mouth, returning once again to your neck, his lips curled into a smile, as he softens his trusts, bringing them slowly to a stop and pulling himself out of you with a deep grunt. 

You're flat against the altar once again, breathing heavily as both Daemon and the skull of Balerion looming over you. You stay like that for a moment, trying to compose yourself, listening as Daemon shuffles himself off the altar. For the third time that night, you raise your head from the cold slab. You watch as Daemon pulls his breeches over his bare legs, tucking his softened cock into them. He picks up his tunic, before picking headed to pick up your nightgown. 

He dusts the soft fabric off, before turning back to you, a stupid smile plastering his face. His eyes drop down to your still spread legs, eyeing as his seed slowly leaking out of you. His cock twitches under the fabric of his breeches. He takes a few steps forwards so he is in between your legs once again. He leans in and kisses you, surprisingly gently. 

“You know my rooms aren’t far from here?” He questions, and you raise your eyebrows at him. “and... I think we're both in need of a bath.”

Authors Note:

Hope you enjoy my first Daemon x reader stand alone smut! A little out of my comfort zone, but wanted to give it ago as dedicating all my time to my OC series is burning me out a little! Any feedback in the form of likes, reblogs, comments or asks is deeply appreciated!

My masterlist can be found by click here!

You can add yourself to my taglist here!

[coolemmasulivan2]

Clumsy Woman

Pairing: Rúben Dias x Reader

Summary: Your boyfriend doesn't like how clumsy you are, afraid you might seriously injure yourself.

Word count: 1976

Can't pretend to understand I'll be here to hold your hand I will wait for you, I will wait for you

You had been clumsy from a young age. Falling from trees, falling off bicycles, or simply tripping over your own feet seemed to be your speciality. It was during one of these graceful performances that you met your boyfriend, Ruben. You were barreling toward a magnificent face-plant when his strong arms caught you, saving you from certain embarrassment.

"I want to paint that wall!" You announced over breakfast one morning, your eyes sparkling with determination. "A deep blue, maybe."

Ruben raised an eyebrow, glancing between you and the wall. "That bookshelf has to go first." He pointed out. "It's heavy. We can do it together this weekend." He kissed your forehead and grabbed his keys. "I have to go!"

"Bye." Your attention was still on the wall and Ruben knew what you were thinking.

"Don't do it!" He called out as he reached for his bag. "Wait for me."

"But it's my day off!" You protested, already picturing the transformed wall. "I can at least start." Ruben gave you a look. "Fine." He gave you one final kiss on the lips and then left for training.

You didn't like to stay still at home. There was always a compulsion to be busy, so when boredom crept in, your eyes fell on the wall, then the bookshelf. Maybe it wasn't that difficult. With a burst of energy, you dashed out the door to buy the paint and everything you needed to paint the wall.

At home, you slip into old clothes and turn up the music. The bookshelf was packed with your books and Ruben's trophies. He'd be furious if he saw you right now, but you would prove you could handle it alone.

The bookshelf, a dark wood monster that dominated the room, had been a custom order. You started by emptying it, a task that required more muscle than expected. Then came the acrobatics. With much effort, you managed to slide a rug under one end. But as you attempted to repeat the same on the other side, disaster hit. Your hands slipped and the bookshelf came crashing down on your bare foot. A scream ripped through you as pain exploded.

"Don't do it!" Ruben's words echoed in your head. He was so going to kill you.

With a grunt of effort, you lifted the bookshelf off your foot. Pain shot through you as you collapsed to the floor, cradling your injured limb. It looked horrific, swollen and red. Trying to stand was a mistake, as a fresh wave of agony crippled you. You couldn't walk.

"Oh God, oh God!" Panic set in. Your phone was fumbled out of your pocket. You needed help, and you needed it now. Ruben wouldn't be home for hours. Calling an ambulance was the only option.

Ruben stepped into the locker room, and he heard the insistent vibration of his phone. "That thing hasn't stopped ringing." Bernardo commented, a grin spreading across his face.

Ruben's brow furrowed as he glanced at the caller ID. It was Lily, your best friend. "Hey, Lily, everything okay?"

"Hi Ruben, sorry to bother you, but I was supposed to meet Y/N at your place, and she’s not there and a neighbour mentioned seeing an ambulance at your building." His blood ran cold. "Do you know what happened?"

"I can't believe her!" His voice rose in frustration. "She wanted to paint the wall, the one with the bookshelf. I told her not to touch it!" A wave of dread washed over him.

"She probably didn't listen. Oh God." Lily knew you better than anyone. Your stubborn independence was legendary. "I've tried calling her, but no answer."

"Let me take a shower really quick and then I'll call you back."

Bernardo and Walker exchanged concerned glances. "What's going on, man? Your girl in trouble again?" Walker asked, his tone laced with disbelief.

"Looks like it!" Ruben replied, his voice rough. "She can't stay out of trouble for five minutes. Fuck." He desperately searched for the contact of his friend Eric who worked at the hospital. He answered on the fourth ring.

"Hey, mate, what's up?"

"Eric, man, sorry to bother you, I know you're working, but I need a huge favour." Ruben rushed out, his voice was laced with urgency.

"Shoot!" Eric replied, his tone professional.

"Can you check if Y/N was admitted to the hospital? I think she might have had an accident. Again." He quickly explained the situation, his voice rising with each word. Eric promised to check and call back in a few minutes.

"I'm gonna be quick in the shower." Ruben said, turning to his friends. "If Eric calls, can you answer? Please." Walker and Bernardo nodded.

He'd never showered so fast in his life. Emerging a few minutes later, Bernardo was already on the phone.

"I'll tell him, thanks, Eric," Bernardo said, hanging up.

Ruben's heart pounded in his chest. "So?"

"She's there. Broken foot, but she's okay." Bernardo reported.

"For fuck's sake."

You rolled your eyes as Ruben burst into the hospital room. His face was a mask of irritation. Lily, who'd arrived earlier, squeezed your hand in silent support before stepping back.

"Seriously, Y/n?" Ruben’s voice was dripping with disbelief. "I told you to stay put."

"I'm fine, thanks for the concern." You replied, your tone dripping with sarcasm. You loved him and knew he was worried, but sometimes it felt suffocating.

"A broken foot means you’re not." He disagreed. "Can’t you just stay still for one day?"

You didn’t want to argue, especially as he seemed to have woken up on the wrong side of the bed. "I’m a grown woman, Ruben. I don’t need you to tell me to sit still."

"Well, you don’t act like one. Sometimes I feel like I’m dating a child." His response was harsh and unexpected.

Shock washed over you. Had he really just said that?

"Maybe you should break up with this child then. I wouldn’t want to keep the great Ruben Dias from the real women in the city." You retorted, your voice trembling with anger.

He ran his hand through his hair, frustration etched on his face. He knew his words had been cruel, but his worry often manifested in this way. But breaking up with you was the last thing he wanted.

"You know that’s not what I meant-- what are you doing?" He began, but you cut him off as you tried to stand, to reach for the crutches. He pushed you back down, but you quickly pushed his hand away.

"Lily, can you take me home, please?" You asked, ignoring Ruben completely.

Lily, who had been a silent observer, helped you up.

"I can take you home!" Ruben offered.

"I don’t want you to take me home." You replied coldly. "You don’t have a car seat for a child, remember?"

Using crutches was something familiar. This wasn’t your first rodeo. You had broken other body parts before.

In the car, Lily broke the tense silence. "You know he’s just worried about you."

"I know, but that doesn’t give him the right to treat me like a child. "He has known since the beginning how clumsy I am. If he can’t handle it, maybe we shouldn't be together."

"Don’t say that!" Lily replied, her voice firm. "You two can't live without the other." Through the rearview mirror, you saw Ruben’s car following you. "I know it’s hard, but try to understand his point of view."

You looked away, trying to focus on anything but the conversation. You knew Lily was right. Ruben loved you, and his overprotectiveness came from that love. But it was hard to accept when it felt like he was suffocating you.

As the car pulled up to your apartment building, you felt a pang of sadness hit you. Lily opened your door, and carefully you stepped out. "Thanks for everything, Lily. I really appreciate it."

She smiled. "Anytime, Babe! Call me if you need anything, okay?"

You nodded and the the help of the clutches you walked towards the building entrance. As you turned around, you saw Ruben's car waiting for the garage door of the building to open up. You hesitated, looking at his car for a long moment before turning and going inside.

When you entered the house, you realised that your books were scattered like confetti, Ruben's trophies were still on the dining table, and the monstrous bookshelf stood there, a mocking presence in the room. It was impossible to clean it up. Not with your foot like that.

A few minutes later, Ruben entered the house and he looked around it. You were nowhere to be seen, but by the sound of the water running, he knew you were taking a shower. Without his help.

What if you fell? He shocked the thought out of his head. You needed space and he was going to give it to you. Kind of.

Jumping from the shower with only one foot and the other in the air, you dried yourself and put on your pyjamas. You felt like everything was hurting, but you had to prove a point to Ruben. You could do things alone without needing his help.

As you opened the bedroom door, the smell of the food hit you and your belly made a noise, not realising how starving you were. However what surprised you the most was not Ruben cooking but the fact the bookshelf was no longer on the wall that you wanted to paint, but the wall in front of it, with all his trophies and your books. Everything was really clean and the small lamp you had on the corner where you sat reading was welcoming.

The table was set, and Ruben was busy tossing salad at the kitchen island. When he saw you emerge from the bedroom, he paused, his expression softening.

"How are you feeling?" His voice was gentle, laced with concern.

You met his gaze with a cold stare. "Fine."

You grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, walking around the kitchen with surprising ease on your crutches. Ruben watched your movements with a mixture of relief and worry.

He sighed, setting down the salad bowl. "Can we talk?"

You scoffed. "Are you sure you want to do that? You think talking to a child is easy?" Your voice was sharp, but a pang of hurt shot through you as the words left your lips.

Ruben rinsed his hands and pulled out two chairs. Gently, he guided you to one and sat down across from you. His hands rested lightly on your bare legs. "I'm so sorry for calling you a child. I didn't mean it like that, and you know it."

You looked away, unable to meet his gaze. "It still hurt." You mumbled.

"I know, I know. I've been overprotective." He admitted. "But every time you get hurt, it feels like my heart stops. I worry about you constantly. But calling you a child was wrong, and I'm truly sorry."

Your anger was slowly dissipating. You couldn't stay mad at him for long. He always knew how to break through your walls. "You're an idiot if you think this is the last time I'll hurt myself." You retorted, trying to sound tough.

He chuckled softly. "Let me be an idiot, then. I love you, you know that, right?"

Ruben's eyes held yours. Slowly, he leaned forward, his hand reaching out to gently cup your face. Your heart pounded in your chest as his gaze lowered to your lips.

With a hesitant touch, his lips met yours. It was a soft and passionate kiss. As the kiss deepened, you felt a surge of relief and happiness wash over you. In that moment, nothing else mattered.

A small smile crept onto your face. "I know. I love you too."

[en-gelic]

— ANGEL'S KISSES !

an angel's kisses are a delicate feeling 1111 cw. skinship, injuries, smoking heeseung x (f) reader ʚɞ BOOKSHELF! ⋆ an. MEMORABILIA HAS ME ON MY KNEES

The hallways bustle with energy as you scurried across the school. Your chest heaved up and down as you panted out of breath, cursing your terrible stamina. Slowing down, you made it to the back of the school where you found Heeseung, grey smoke tumbling out of his mouth. He crushed it quickly at the sight of you and pretended to recite the homework you gave him the evening before.

“I saw you so don't even try." You warned, pulling a face at the smoky smell filling your lungs. He grinned his perfect smile at you as though to distract you from his lack of obedience. "Your rank is still the same after I spend four days of my week to tutor you-" You began.

"You're so pretty." He interrupted, leading his dreamy gaze to you. "Are you even listening?" You questioned, irritated with the boys' lack of cooperation.

"Not at all, pretty girl." His overused nickname still made your heart skip a beat as you scolded him to stop using the nickname on you.

"Then which one do you prefer?" Grinning, he leaned down, his breath blowing loose strands of your hair. "Princess? Baby? My love?" Fighting the urge to hold your breath, you stepped back. "Listening while I'm talking is a start."

Hearing footsteps, you silently demand his cigarette box. He handed it to you in confusion, your hand buzzing with the electricity that felt like it was running through his hand when you grazed it.

"What are you doing students?" The teacher asked, trying to peak at the cigarette box you were holding behind your skirt. Muttering a curse word under your breath, you smiled politely. "Nothing, just remembering formulas before math class." Nervously glancing at the teacher, you could see that he didn't look convinced whatsoever. "And what's behind your back?" He pressed on, sensing inaccuracy in your sentence. Being the worst liar, you pulled a face, ready to get caught by the teacher with cigarettes that weren't even yours.

"Condoms." Heeseung blurted as your eyes shot open in horror at his sentence. The teacher looked astounded as a blush tinted his cheeks. He droned on about having inappropriate material at school, but he let you keep the supposed "condoms" and granted a warning and detention for the end of the day. Not to mention, the only detention you were ever given.

When the teacher finally disappeared, you shot the boy a look and shoved the cigarettes back in his hand. "Does that mean there's no tutoring today?" He called, lighting another cigarette. "My house at seven after detention."

Dreading the evening ahead, you delegated duties to the class before heading to your worst nightmare. Surprisingly, you were first as you took your seat, the teachers' face staining pink after seeing you. Trying to hide the embarrassment exploding through you, you quickly finished your homework, turning your gaze to the window, losing yourself in the amber sunset peeking through the trees and turning the light in the room a deep shade of yellow. Movement rustled beside you as you returned from your daze to look at the boy who took his seat, fresh injuries marking his angelic features.

"What happened to you?" You question, analyzing his scars and concluding that he got into a fist fight. By his lack of reply, you stood up, viewing the quantity of the scars and opened your bag, retrieving the first aid kit. He groaned in retaliation as you held his face still while you treated the injuries on the side of his mouth.

"Who brings a first aid kit to school?" He started, wincing from the sting.

"Because I know an idiot who gets himself into fights and leaves his wounds open to infection and gets me into detention."

"Your idiot, princess." He corrected. "As if being an idiot is a good thing." Despite the red staining his features, he still looked attractive as he grinned his signature smile at you. "Being an idiot for you is." You sighed, ignoring his sentence and bringing your hand to the bruise on his cheekbone. "Care to explain who got you into this mess?"

"You." His hand caught your wrist as you hesitated to meet his eyes. Feeling the tension wafting in the room, the teacher silently exited, closing the door behind him. You continued wiping the blood away until he tugged you onto his lap, the cotton shooting out of your hands.

Desire spread through his features as you subconsciously inched closer to his lips, finally connecting them, brushing your nose against his cheek. It would be embarrassing to tell him that it was your first time, so your only result was imitating his actions, resulting in a breathtaking kiss.

A throat cleared behind you as the teacher appeared by the door, standing awkwardly. Flushed, you got up from his lap apologizing repeatedly to the teacher and moving back to your seat. Detention dismissed briskly as you hurried through the vacant halls, avoiding Heeseung as your embarrassment flared up at the thought of him. Finding a mirror, you noticed your swollen lips from his teeth nibbling your bottom one. You couldn't bring yourself to think about how awkward the rest of the evening would be and quickly freshened yourself in the bathroom before he came over.

He found you sitting by your desk, finalizing projects with your headphones on, unaware of your surroundings. He leaned down, the action going unnoticed by you who was still in your own bubble.

"What are you listening to?" He questioned, swiftly removing your headphones and resting them on your neck. Your stomach flipped at the feeling of his lip resting on your ear, feeling as it curved into a smile. Turning to face him, the weight of his stare made the words you practiced earlier disappear into thin air.

"What's with that look, doll?" He pressed, leaning his hands on the arms of your chair. His eyes moved to your lips, sliding a finger across your bottom lip which was still swollen. Leaning into you, your breaths mingled as your eyes fluttered shut, waiting for his lips to press on yours. He let out a brief chuckle before your lips connected, moving in sync as the air in your lungs languidly vanished.

"Does this mean no tutoring today?" He repeated the question he asked earlier, circling a part of your neck with his index finger. You answered by delicately kissing the area around where his bruises were, ending it off with a light kiss on his lips. Reconnecting his lips with yours, you made a mental note to give him extra homework for the damage he achieved today.

✸ perm taglist (open) : @cholexc @07sleepykatz @bunnbam (ask or comment to be added !)

✸ taglist (open) : @zhounauts @riksaes @dimplewonie @itjengirl © en-gelic 2024.

[astaroth1357]

The Demon Brothers + Dateables Bodycare

Is it the domestic in me that likes the idea of helping my SO wash up and relax? Probably.

Contents: No warnings, just fluff.

~♡♡♡~

Lucifer

Preens his wings daily, always once in the morning and once more at night.

The whole routine usually involves a shower then carefully running his fingers through his feathers to apply the right oils and get them back into place.

Loose or shed feathers are typically collected then promptly burnt (because Mammon got caught trying to sell them as powerful hex materials a couple centuries ago. He'll be damned a second time before he gets turned into a commodity! )

Before MC arrived, he used to have to go to Asmo for help getting the spots he had a hard time reaching. He'll never admit it, but he still lets Asmo help him from time to time just because he misses the bonding. Asmo is 100% that chatty hairdresser whenever he helps his brothers self-care routines, it's very entertaining.

If MC has the time to help him preen, he'll consider it the highlight of his day! The skin below the feathers is incredibly sensitive, so the feeling of their fingers running through it and knocking away any dead skin makes him purr.

It takes about an hour to get through all four wings though. Fair warning.

Mammon

Very, VERY protective of his wings. They don't look like much, but what skin and bone are there are delicate af. He once knocked one into a bookshelf and nearly passed out from the pain.

Cleans them every other day. He doesn't use his demon form much, so he doesn't worry about them getting too dirty. That said, if a photoshoot wants him to have them out, he'll make sure to freshen up.

Mammon usually sponges off any dirt on his wings then applies some moisturizer (Asmo recommended of course). Exfoliating dead skin is... well let's say it's a process he takes only with great reluctance so he tries his damnedest to keep them from drying out in the first place.

WHEN exfoliating day comes, he used to only undertake it by himself because he didn't even trust Asmo not to rub his skin so raw that he'd be in agony for weeks. It took months for him to trust MC enough to try it. Though now that he does, he could never go back!

He adores how gently the MC treats his wings and their little check-ups like "Are you okay?" or "Is this too much?" Their attention is fully on him and he lives for it. Sometimes he'll just shyly nudge the exfoliation brush into their hands when he really wants to feel loved that day.

Leviathan

Has the easiest day-to-day upkeep of all the brothers, really. Dunk his tail in some water and boom. Done. It's shedding time that he actually dreads...

About once a season, Levi's tail becomes unbearably itchy as the old skin lifts off to make way for the new. The whole process lasts about a week and he calls it his personal hell.

Levi becomes a completely different person whenever he's shedding. Bitchy, irritable, and extremely quick to lash out. He stays in his room and his brothers just leave his meals outside the door, lest they risk a visit from Lotan...

Everyone, including himself, thought the MC had a death wish when they insisted on helping him but he quickly discovered that it was something he never knew he needed.

He looooves being spoiled by their attention even more than Mammon. He'll sit on their lap and latch himself on like a kola bear while they carefully work to peel the shed off of his tail. Sometimes he games, other times he just quietly basks in them even being there at all. He adores their kindness and it makes things go faster, so really it's a win-win for him all around!

Satan

His tail is a bitch to manage so it is one of the many passing irritations that irk him throughout the day.

The bone/scales collect a lot of dirt in hard to see crevices, so when Satan goes to clean it, he often has to pull out Q-tips and metal picks just to get around all those edges. He uses a magnifying glass too, so it can look like he's cleaning up some kind of museum artifact.

He can and will accept help from basically anyone who offers (except Lucifer) and Asmo is very used to him coming in to get the thing cleaned up when he's just too frustrated to do it himself.

Lowkey wishes that MC could just take over Asmo's place as his go-to helper but he doesn't want to burden them.. It takes a good 2-3 hours to get the whole thing clean and he doubts that they have the time for that every day.

Took to the idea of MC helping him the fastest out of anyone, though they needed a bit of training on his part in order to be as proficient at it as him or Asmo. Unfortunately, his tail instinctively responds to his emotions whether he wants it to or not. That means it often wraps around the MC's wrist and won't let go which complicates things...

Asmodeus

Obviously the cleanest boy in the House.

Asmo has his self-care routine ON LOCK plus everyone else's to be quite frank. He's always on the lookout for new products or care strategies to help himself or his brothers feel their best (even the ones who don't let him help in person.)

He keeps "Care Kits" for each one of his brothers to use in the event that they have a catastrophic emergency that needs resolved. Seriously, the amount of times that he's had to pluck Lucifer's ripped feathers or cut out matted chunks of Belphie's tail fur is just...

Asmo takes his own wing care very seriously, so much so in fact that he begged Solomon to come up with the "perfect moisturizer" centuries ago which he still sells as part of his own personal product line. Even Mammon can attest to its effectiveness!

Simply loves it when MC comes in to help him! They both know that he doesn't really need it, but there's something so sweet about letting your special someone wash your hair or massage your wings... He'll melt into a puddle every time!

Beelzebub

His wings are SO DELICATE. Mammon and Asmo go on and on about how their wings are fragile but Beel has to constantly be sure that his don't straight up break.

You would think that would make him more hesitant to clean them, but not so. In fact, Beel is right up there with Asmo in terms self-grooming as far as his wings are concerned.

The reasons are two-fold. One, because they are so sensitive and temperamental that even a small layer dirt on them feels very irritating. And two, because Beel cares a lot about his body. Not in a vain way, just in a "this is the one I get" sort of way. His fitness goes hand-in-hand with his personal hygiene!

Beel never uses soapy water to clean his wings because it dulls them out and makes them feel sticky... He's much more likely to run a damp washcloth over them a few times a day which seems to do the trick.

He prefers to have Belphie or MC help him over Asmo, as he needs to have a lot of trust in a person to let them touch such a fragile part of his body. It's almost like another bonding exercise between the three as Belphie cleans one wing and MC cleans the other. Just some wholesome pamper Beel time for everybody!

Belphegor

Dirty boy. Filthy boy. Bad Belphie.

Belphie is very much a "I'll only take a bath if my hair gets greasy" kind of guy. Thankfully, Beel or Asmo usually shove him into a bathtub on a semi-regular basis. It's not that he loves filth, he just loses track of the days and baths/showers make him extra sleepy... Somebody has to be around to be sure he doesn't drown.

Unfortunately, that also means his tail care is just pitiful. He'll put off brushing it because he thinks it takes too long, which only leads to it getting matted up and taking even longer to clean up.

Asmo has dragged his sorry ass down to the bathroom many times to hose him down then de-mat his tail like he's a stray dog. Belphie whines the whole time, but lets him because it still beats having to do it himself...

Thankfully, all the MC ever had to do was float out the threat of no more cuddles for him to finally take his hygiene seriously. He may still beg them to "help" him in the bathtub or brush his fur though. He claims it's so relaxing that it put him to sleep, but we all know he was already going to do that anyway...

Diavolo

So we know that he has a legion of servants and a Barbatos to help him keep clean, but I promise you that the MC could come up to him with a dollar store hairbrush and this man would still be over the moon.

He emphatically adores literally any kind of care or grooming the MC gives him. Even if they objectively suck at it, he'll still love it anyway.

Dia could sit for hours, completely content, while the MC brushes the same bit of his hair over and over again. He's in it for the intimacy, so who cares about the results?

He's totally down for anything they want to do to him. Put his hair up in silly clips? Sure. Tie bows and streamers to his wings? Absolutely! Give him middle-school faux tattoos with pens and highlighters?? Which arm do they start with??

Barbatos and Lucifer, however, are NOT totally down for anything that the MC wants to do to the demon prince. So, reign it in, chief, they'll be monitoring them closely...

Barbatos

He doesn't get a lot of time to just take care of himself, so his morning/evening cleaning routines are quite important to him. That includes the care for his tail.

Barbs' tail is more amphibious than it is reptilian like Levi's, so it's actually better for him to wash it sparingly to keep it from drying out.

That said, he is still quite defensive of it. Asmo has tried for eons to get Barbs to let him so much as massage it and has nothing to show for it.

Needless to say, he is quite jealous that the MC gets to hold onto Barbs' tail if he has it out. Even more so that they have helped him wash it once or twice before, but still not often. Barbs doesn't let them abuse their tail privileges, after all.

When Barbs does let himself relax enough for some spoiling, he's very fond of letting the MC just glide and slide their hands along his tail for a little while. He knows the texture is slippery, but warm, and can feel quite nice on the skin so he's certain they enjoy it as much as he does.

Simeon

Simeon has a similar preening routine to Lucifer as their wings aren't too different, though Simeon wings are much, much bigger. His shirt isn't backless for nothing.

Simeon's wings also feel a lot different from Lucifer's. They're both soft, but it's the difference between stroking wool and petting a cloud, the two just can't compare. Simeon's wing feel light as air but brimming with sheer strength. They're just very impressive all around.

Unlike Lucifer, he doesn't burn his discarded feathers if they need to be plucked. He'll save them and either use them for writing quills or give them out to ill witches because angel feathers can be used to make excellent cure-alls. Solomon sometimes asks for a few as well.

Simeon gets very flustered whenever MC offers to help him preen. The first time they did it, he spent the whole time lightheaded and giddy. It was probably the most intimate part of his body they'd be allowed to touch for a long while, so he soaked in every moment of it.

Is always too shy to ask them for their help directly, but will literally jump at any offer they give him. Sometimes he pulls a Mammon and tries to subtly hint at it by mentioning how much his back is sore or worrying about his feathers outloud... Please help him, he is desperate.

(No Solomon, he is human, but I can assure you he bathes for whatever that's worth.)