#and then i returned the question as one does and then he just started telling me about how shit his classes are 😭😭😭

[diabolicalevil]

OK how do you think the primarchs would react to their partner or maybe their crush flirting with them or giving a (sort of lewd) compliment?? :3

How would the Primarchs react to flirting?

ohh this is a fun one, I'll go with crush since I think partner flirting has been done alr, if I find it I'll come back & link it. I have negative rizz so I will not be writing anything specific and this is a bit longer than my usual headcanons.

Warnings: mentions of flirting being a kind of inherent "permission." doesn't go anywhere in here but take that as you will.

Lion El'johnson: Affronted that he's feeling anything other than utter indifference to a person. Often goes out of his way to avoid you, rude when you do meet, etc. So when look at him fondly and flatter him endlessly regardless? Completely baffled. Once he's past the initial arrogant feeling having his ego strokes gives he starts moving like a rusty robot. It's the cosest he's ever been to stuttering in his entire life. Alone in his room he's fighting demons (emotions) to convince himself not to put on a huge display of power for no one but you. (it's not working)

Fulgrim: He's delighted! It was rare he was hesitant about approaching someone but you had him questioning. A part of him was self assured that romance was inevitable but another was absolutely doubting. When you initiate, throw him off his feet a bit, not only is a thrilling experience it's also a relief that it isn't one sided. From then on he'll take whatever flirting he's already been doing up a notch.

Perturabo: Scoffs and grumbles quite a bit. He assumes any compliments are teasing and assumes any teasing is intended as a lethal attack. He doesn't quite believe you when you flirt but he does want to. Replays it over and over while he's alone and it starts to drive him a bit crazy.

Jaghatai Khan: normal guy award keeps going to him. He is smiling like he's just won an award. Doesn't begin to court you immediately, could just be a one off since you two are getting closer, but he does keep an eye on little things you do. Standing close to him, searching for him, the way you speak and the words use. It's like he's keeping a tally of all the "intimate" things you do until he feels comfortable pursuing you.

Leman Russ: you are lucky if he doesn't pick you up and declare you his new spouse. Exaggerating, but you can see him get new ideas of how far he can take this. He's not an oaf, he knows the procedures of romancing a human (even if he and his legion take it to the extreme) but you can tell he'd much rather elope back to Fenris then and there.

Rogal Dorn: Silently ecstatic. hes done weeks, perhaps months, of carefully planned flirting. He thinks he's been overt and expects an overt gesture in return. So it's a shame you have entirely different ideas of flirting. Once you crack the code that what he really wants is discussions and compliments of the structural integrity of his buildings, things get substantially easier.

Konrad Curze: Scrunches his face, looks all annoyed and slinks off for the rest of the day. He's weird like that so you pay him little mind. In reality he's overjoyed you've finally given him permission to kidnap court you. He's busying himself tying up any loose ends in his leigon to make sure your future cell home with him is as comfortable as possible.

Sanguinius: He relishes moments of real human interaction very deeply. Privately, you're encouraged to joke with and treat him like a friend, even if being in the "friendzone" starts to sting. You've been like this too long and now you have to be explicit with how you flirt. If you're successful? Wings immediately extend out to the length of the room. It's unconscious and he apologises for knocking things over. But the urge to pursue you, while always there, has just hit him full force. Because you've just given him permission, haven't you?

Ferrus Manus: He does not see it as a crush. You've made him aware of how weak baselines truly are and his mission is not to rectify that. You're not his beloved, you're a project, so he tells himself. It's unfortunate that you seem so averse to his augmentations. He's no monster however, and instead tries to convince you rather than force you. Once you seem receptive to at least the idea of it hes thrilled that you're coming around a bit. Watching you sat quietly, obediently, as the apocathery evaluates your body he's struck with a sense of awe he would never feel towards a mere project. He realises he feels it because it's you. His ultimate goal has not been improvement but assimilation. He already loves you, now he must make you prepared to stand at his side and with his legion, awful as they may be.

Angron: The butchers nails colour every second of his life. He could never hate you truly, you're too much like how he once was. But the way he acts doesn't reflect that in the slightest. And yet you stay kind to him and you stay patient. You offered him a fruit, something about there being too many to go around around your colleagues. Ridiculous really, he was far too big for it to have any value to him. And yet he took it. Of course, he didn't stay long. The physical strain to not crush it in his mighty palm was too great to ignore and for once he did not wish for you to see him so cruelly.

Roboute Guilliman: He is so tired all of the time. The few minutes, perhaps a cumulative hour, a day he gets to see you are what keeps him going. So of course he allows you certain freedoms. Of course you have free reign to enter his office, of course you can sit on his desk and watch him work, of course you can distract him and tease him about how he's going to lose his muscle at this rate, of course you can ask to see them- wait, what? He takes your immediate laughter as a sign it was a simple jest but he spent the rest of the day unusually unfocused.

Mortarion: weird, weird man he is (affectionate). He is far worse at flirting than Dorn. Flirts through gift giving and does it in the rudest way possible. He's shoved books into your arms, informing you that your lack of literacy in a subject is embarrassing and reflects poorly on the leigon. Regardless, you smile and thank him for caring about you. He seems almost insulted by the implication and runs off quickly. The next time you meet you get a surprisingly quiet, "I'd like you to see Barbarus some day." you cannot even begin to comprehend his mind.

Magnus: A terrible flirt and terribly bad at it, really. The urge to simply manipulate you and make it quicker for both of you is strong but he does not. Clumsy as it may be, his diatribes and esoteric book recommendations and general cockiness are charming to you, he can tell. It pains him to be absent from you for some days but he must. Amd when he returns he's greeted with a genuine, "I missed hearing you speak." If he were a lesser man, perhaps one of his brothers, he may have swept you away thar instant. But no, he's learned that patience is key. He has all the time in the universe to win you over after all.

Horus Lupercal: Like Roboute, his work is all consuming. He kept his charms though, of course. Can't get enough of how shy you get when he so openly flirts with you. It does hurt his pride a bit when you turn him down regularly, giving one excuse after another, but he can just put that up to you being more reserved. The first time you enthusiastically replied to his flirting he almost stopped dead in his tracks. Almost, as he could tell you were about to backtrack and he would not let this slip between his fingers. The hours after that seem to move in slow motion, but it doesn't bother him as it normally would.

Lorgar Aurelian: Not flirting, idolising. Even the smallest things give him reason to put you on a pedestal and kneel at your feet in reverence. You're a little embarrassed, you're just one person among trillions in the Empire. But a small, vain part of you decides to humour him just once. Rather than try to jump off, you lounge on the pedestal like you belong there. To embrace his worship with open arms is to watch him fall even deeper into his religious fervour.

Vulkan: For a long time he refused to let himself want you. He was used to his sons having pseudo families on Nocturne, but this was different. He was a Primarch and especially huge at that. However, it did not change how much he cherished you. Vulkan accepted, albeit did not reciprocate, flirty remarks, they were his little guilty pleasure. Today he was far more loose lipped, responding to a compliment of his forge work with one aimed at you. He had known you long enough to know that you'd smile and take it sweetly, yet it still struck him silent. There were so many reasons to not pursue you but he couldn't help wanting to see more of that delightful smile.

Corvus Corax: Loving you was a challenge, not because of anything you did, but because he was terribly aware of your places in life. He could never help himself though. He knew his place was in the shadows watching over you, and yet he stayed at your side. Complimenting his hair most likely meant little to you, but to him it was yet another selfish reason to cling on to what he knew would be fleeting.

Alpharius/Omegon: Every moment, aside from maybe your first encounter, was carefully calculated on Alpharius' part. It was impossible to truly know his intentions, but he was aiming for romance, that much was clear. Omegon didn't love you, but he certainly found Alpharius' affection amusing. He'd take his brother's place, how cute that you didn't even notice. He knew he was receiving words and confessions meant for another, but what was the difference, truly? They were two halves of the same man. He continued acting as your lover when Alpharius wasn't present. It was a far faster way to hear the words he desired from you than to be honest about who he was. Perhaps his brother's interest wasn't unfounded after all.

okayy, thank you for reading. apologies if this isn't what you had in mind but I really cannot flirt for shit lol

[hyacinth-in-a-haze]

On my your yander witch x reader one was so cute I loved it!! Would love to see them living their domestic little life together now (something poor reader desperately deserves considering the household she comes from 😭)

Absolutely I can do that for you Anon!

Domestic life with the woodswitch

You can't leave the cottage. Only going so far as to the garden fence before your mind fogs over and you find yourself inside with the door closed. But he only ever smiles at your attempted transgressions, like when you'd watch your younger cousins pack their toys and declare their to run away before they turn back indoors once they forgot why they wanted to leave. He spends most of the day doing that, observing you in his home, like every interaction is something amusing.

But you have free reign over most of the home, anything he has deemed too dangerous, your body does not allow you to enter. But for the most, he allows you to just exist in his space, slowly becoming used to it as yours as well.

It's not as though he leaves you alone, doing most of his work from inside the house. You'd watch with wary eyes as he'd mix herbs together until he started narrating what he was doing for you.

“It's a drought for a customer with restless sleep. Chamomile and lavender mainly for peace.”

The familiar scents remind you of the warm tea he gives you before bed with a kiss on your head. Or the morning mixture afterwards, a bitter swampy concoction he pushes to your mouth. Cooing as you complain about the taste, promising to add extra honey next time but you need to swallow the damned drink because as much as he would adore a little you round the cottage, he'd prefer such a decision to be well planned in advance. You stopped complaining after he regaled you with that information.

He will leave twice a week on market days to walk to the village and back. Returning home with new orders to fulfil and items for your cupboards, and new things for you. Frivolity that you never had before, lace to trim the dresses he ordered from the dressmaker, aprons that never seemed to get dirty no matter how much you wore them, sweetmeats he'd pop into your mouth when you'd ask him something he did not deem worth an answer.

He only tells you of your family in passing,

“Your cousin still seeks me out. She's like you, always unwilling to accept the answer I give. I tell her my wife is well and happy, she should accept that as it is.” He would sigh and collapse into a heap on the chaise beside you, pulling your face into his lap as he braids your hair.

He doesn't expect you to tend to the house even in his absence, but old habits are hard to break when you find yourself with nothing to do and a perfectly good broom. He will tease you when he sees you sorting things about, calling you his little bride. And refusing for you to lift a finger around if he can help it.

“You need someone to take care of you, my sweet. You've lived a whole life in service to those who gave you nothing in return, just allow me to do this.”

And when you push the commanding tone comes forward again with his smile. He never finds you so pretty as when you slump in his waiting arms, unable to question him or disagree. With what he knows to be best for your sake.

Most nights you find yourself sleeping in one of his shirts, he still needs to but the linen for a new nightgown but until then this does the work. His throat bobs as the hem dips around your upper thighs, until he notices the scars on the back of them.layered across, having been collected by your skin for years with every flare of your relatives temper and flick of the switch. He does not say anything at the sight, doesn’t ask you to tell him something he didn't already learn from your words.

He returns to you with a salve in his hands, the same one he uses to tend to the love bites he leaves scattered across your shoulders and breasts. Asking you to roll over. Massaging the fragrant mixture into your scars, before kissing the back of your thighs tenderly as if his adoration could bruise you too.

“Hopefully this can help to fade them. Id never want to leave anything on you that only exists from anger”

[mountaingutta]

Starscream wants to turn Megatron's helmet into an Energon cube

Most likely, every country has some kind of legend about using or consuming parts of a defeated enemy’s body or organs for symbolic purposes.

In my country, the two most famous legends — one involves a skull, the other a hand.

So, about the story itself. Starscream learns about these legends and decides to do something similar to Megatron. From where? That depends on continuity. But since I’m currently stuck in TFP, then from Miko.

After the museum incident, she has a new hyperfixation — she’s studying myths and legends from different cultures. She just happened to stumble upon stories about symbolic cannibalism. And of course, she had to tell everyone about it. Unfortunately for Starscream he became her first victim. She began recounting each legend to him in detail. At first, Starscream tried to ignore her, but Miko is a good storyteller, so he eventually got intrigued.

“Wait, say that again.”

“About what?”

“The cube from a helmet?”

“A cup made from a skull.”

“I don’t care. Just repeat it.”

“Okay. So, around 1,200 years ago…”

“How much is that in vorns?”

“What does it matter? And don’t interrupt! So, there lived a great ruler, renowned for his military victories. He destroyed an entire state....”

“Ha, only a state...”

“Do not interrupt! And he made another pay him tribute. But when he was returning from yet another campaign, he was ambushed. Betrayed by one of his own generals...”

“How careless of him.”

“Well, he was a good commander. He left all the political scheming to his mother.”

“Who?”

“Carier”

“Oh. So what was that about the skull?”

“The enemy ruler cut the head off his dead body, removed the skin from the skull and cleaned out the insides, then coated it in silver and drank wine from it.”

“Why?”

“He believed that by doing so, he would gain the courage, strength, and military genius of his enemy.”

“So… does the head need to be cut off from a dead body or can it be from a live one too?”

“No idea. Why do you ask?”

“Never mind...oh look, here comes your babysitter.”

Miko also told him about the practice of eating the entrails of defeated enemies.

So now Starscream is burning with a new idea. Not just to kill Megatron, but to eat his spark and turn his helmet into an Energon cube. If he pulls off something like that, the Decepticons will surely be loyal to him. Even that slagging Soundwave won’t be able to stop him.

So now the question is how exactly to detach Megatron’s helmet from his still-living body and consume his spark in the process. It needs to be efficient and quick but also spectacular. The entire thing should be broadcast across the Nemesis.

Starscream began spending even more time around Megatron. He tried to discreetly assess the thickness of the Decepticon Lord’s chest armor and how strong his neck was. What kind of tool would be needed for his plan? Claws wouldn’t be enough. Neither would rockets. He’d have to borrow a few instruments from Knock Out. Starscream kept imagining how he’d rip Megatron’s head off and devour his spark. He could practically taste it.

All the while, he believed he was being subtle. But in reality, everyone noticed his odd change in behavior. He wasn’t doing anything that could technically be classified as attempted murder, treason, an overthrow of the current regime, or a coup against Megatron. Everyone just assumed he had come up with some grandiose plan that required a lot of time and effort.

But some time passed, and nothing happened. And Starscream started behaving even more strangely. He would often just stand and stare at Lord Megatron. First at his chest armor, then at his helmet. His gaze was always focused, contemplative. But over time, it became… hungry. Starscream was practically drooling at the sight of Lord Megatron.

Knock Out was the first to get scared and dragged Starscream in for a medical exam.

He didn’t find anything strange well, stranger than usual. So he let Screamer go with a flirtatious smile and the words, “Listen, I like big too, but…”

So, in short, everyone decided Starscream had fallen in love with Megatron. Or wanted to frag him. Except for Soundwave, who had known from the very beginning what Screamer was plotting and was ready to stop him at the first attempt.

But then everyone collectively concluded that the idiot was just in love with their Lord. And now the Nemesis is divided between those who secretly support it, those who oppose it, and Airachnid, who wants nothing to do with any of this.

As for Soundwave, he’s watching them all from the shadows. There aren’t that many sources of entertainment on the Nemesis, after all, so he takes every chance to spice up the dull daily routine with something interesting.

Megatron, ever the smug bastard, naturally had his charisma and good looks affect even Starscream and now he’s acting like a lovesick puppy. Or at least, that’s what Megatron thinks. But Megatron will have to put an end to it. Unfortunately, Starscream doesn’t match Megatron’s preferences in a partner.

He’s more into bots who are better endowed in the thighs and chest armor departments. What comes to mind right away are lush thighs coated in orange paint and broad, protruding chestplates covered with tinted glass. Or someone silent and long-legged. Ahem.

Starscream suspected nothing about the whole comedy. Although, the behavior of some Nemesis inhabitants really did start to worry him. Perhaps someone had figured out his plans. And it even seemed that some might be supporting him in it.

So, the props are ready, the stage is set. All that's left is to lure in the main actors and prepare for greatness.

Meanwhile, Megatron is trying to figure out how to tell Starscream that nothing will ever happen between them and that they should keep things strictly professional. But if Starscream stops attempting coups, that would be a pleasant bonus. Megatron might even promise not to beat him to death over the next two assassination attempts.

Soundwave is preparing the Cybertronian equivalent of pop-corn.

[lemmesayimyourbiggestfan]

I need more Hwang Jun-ho fluff like with wife!reader PLEASE 🙏

the weight of small things - Hwang Jun-ho

Hwang Jun-ho x pregnant wife!reader

word count: 2k

warnings: bits of ptsd, otherwise nothing

thank u for the request! took a long while to get into but i love how it turned out :)

requests are open!

There is a pulse under your skin long before you know why. A hush in your body, a tension that sits behind your ribs like a held breath. It starts as a passing question - small, fleeting, one of those thoughts that brushes the edge of your mind like a moth’s wing and disappears before you can name it. But it returns again. The next morning, and the next. You catch yourself cradling your stomach without realizing it, your hand resting low and tentative, like your body knows something it hasn’t yet told you.

You take the test alone. The apartment is dim, the early hour still clinging to the walls, and the quiet feels like a held note. The results come quickly, too quickly. Two pink lines. Soft but unmistakable. You sit down on the floor, the cold tiles pressing through the thin cotton of your pajama pants, and stare at the test resting on the rim of the sink like it might change if you look at it long enough. It doesn’t.

You imagine telling him. Imagine his face. The way he looks when he’s trying not to feel something too hard. The way he swallows his breath before it can become a sound.

But you don’t tell him. Not yet. Not while his sleep is still haunted, while he startles at doors opening too quickly, while he stands in the shower too long with the water running too hot and his palms braced against the wall like he’s waiting for it to wash something off him that doesn’t live on his skin.

You wait.

Not out of fear, but out of reverence - for him, for the thing growing inside you, for the future that has been quiet and unlived for far too long.

***

The morning you choose to speak, the sky is grey and soft with clouds. Rain breathes against the windows. You are curled into the corner of the couch with a blanket tucked around your legs, watching the steam curl from your tea when he returns from the market, damp at the collar, umbrella folded under his arm.

There is something about him that’s settling again; bit by bit, like dust resettling after a storm. He kicks off his shoes, glances over at you, and the ghost of a smile flickers at the edge of his mouth. You watch him set the bags on the counter, move with unconscious efficiency, but when your voice calls him over - gently, quietly - he comes without question.

He drops down beside you, body angled toward yours, eyes still searching. You take his hand. You press it flat over the softness of your belly - not rounded yet, not changed - but already sacred.

“There’s something,” you say, and your voice doesn’t tremble, though you feel the weight of the moment like gravity rearranging itself.

He studies your face. He always does this; watches you like there’s an answer hidden in the slope of your cheek or the blink of your eyes.

“I’m pregnant,” you tell him.

And you don’t need to say anything else.

You watch him still - his breath caught somewhere in the space between ribs, his fingers tightening minutely against your skin. His lips part, close, open again. But no words come. Just his hand rising and falling with your breath. Just his gaze locked on yours like the ground has shifted beneath him and you’re the only solid thing left.

When he finally speaks, it’s not a question. It’s a whisper shaped more by awe than fear.

“You’re sure?”

You nod once. His hand curls, instinctive and tender, the touch shifting into something more intimate than even before - like he’s just now realizing there’s more than you beneath his palm.

And then he folds into you - not with urgency, not with panic, but with a quietness that’s full of everything he hasn’t been able to say since he came back. His forehead finds your shoulder, his breath a slow exhale against your collarbone, and you feel the soft tremble in his arms, in the way he holds you like you are holding him up in return.

“I want this,” he murmurs, and it breaks open something warm and fragile in your chest. “God, I want this so much.”

***

The heartbeat sounds like something ancient - like thunder deep underground or the wings of a bird mid-flight. You lie on the exam table with cold gel slick across your stomach and his hand wrapped tightly around yours, and for a moment the world stops moving.

The screen shows a flicker of motion, the soft pulse of something just beginning to become real. And beside you, he sits frozen, eyes locked on the monitor, his knuckles bone-white from how tightly he’s gripping your fingers. You feel the shift happen in him the moment he hears it. Something falls away. Or maybe something roots itself in.

His breath shudders. You don’t look at him. You don’t need to.

But then he laughs - a single, broken sound that crumbles into silence as he presses his forehead to your hand and hides the moisture in his eyes behind the warmth of your skin.

“I didn’t expect that,” he says, voice rough. “I didn’t expect it to sound so… alive.”

You thread your fingers through his hair and let the sound of your child’s heart fill the room.

***

He swaddles the plastic baby like he’s trying to defuse a bomb.

It’s been ten minutes since the instructor handed them out, and his has gone from moderately secure to a vaguely horrifying interpretation of a burrito with limbs. You watch him turn it over with careful hands and a furrowed brow, analyzing it like a witness.

“I followed the folds exactly,” he mutters.

You lean over to inspect his work. “I think you gave it a chokehold.”

“Impossible. I was gentle.”

“You forgot the head.”

“The head?” His face shifts into something nearly scandalized. “They said support the head. I supported it with the blanket.”

You raise an eyebrow. “It’s upside down.”

He stares at it.

There’s a pause.

“…It’s still fine,” he says with impressive confidence, and you burst out laughing, nearly knocking your own doll off your lap.

The instructor walks past and lets out a polite, amused hum before silently rescuing the poor synthetic newborn from Jun-ho’s questionable care.

He looks sheepish, a little pink in the ears, but when you press a kiss to his cheek and call him Appa under your breath, you feel the tension ease from his shoulders like mist.

You make him promise to come back for the baby bath demo next week. If only so you can see if he ends up soaked or broken.

You suspect both.

***

The nursery starts with a single onesie.

He buys it on the way home one afternoon, doesn’t even tell you he’s gone to the baby store. It’s plain - white cotton, tiny collar, little snap buttons shaped like stars - and when he pulls it from the paper bag and lays it across your lap, you swear you feel the world tilt slightly beneath you.

After that, it becomes a quiet obsession.

He spends three evenings researching crib safety, watches four different videos on wall paint toxicity, makes you promise not to lift anything heavier than a throw pillow. You catch him late at night smoothing the sheets on the tiny mattress like he’s expecting someone to show up early. He reorganizes the changing table drawer three times. The socks. The hats. The pacifiers in their neat plastic cases. It’s almost scientific. But the love in it is unmistakable.

He talks to the baby while he paints. Holds a roller in one hand and a small speaker in the other, playing old Korean ballads and explaining, in perfect seriousness, why certain shades of blue are “emotionally risky” and how bears are objectively superior to ducks as stuffed animals.

You watch him from the doorway, arms crossed, your belly rounding out beneath your shirt, and marvel at this man - this man who once vanished into shadows and silence, who now stands barefoot in a room full of sunlight, humming and painting and measuring tiny hangers for clothes that haven’t even been worn yet.

“This is the happiest I’ve ever seen you,” you say.

He turns, paintbrush in hand, and smiles in that rare, open way you never get tired of.

“It’s the first time I’ve been allowed to imagine after.”

***

The pain builds slowly and relentlessly, curling in your lower back like fire and tightening through your abdomen in long, aching waves. You time them with one hand and brace yourself with the other, sitting on the edge of the bed while the rain drums softly against the window.

You wait to wake him.

You wait because you know what happens when he’s startled out of sleep - how his body forgets it’s home, how his eyes sharpen too fast. But when the hour passes and the contractions grow closer, steadier, you reach for him and whisper his name.

His eyes open immediately.

You barely need to speak. He’s already sitting up, one hand cupping your cheek, the other moving to your stomach as if by instinct.

“It’s time?” he asks.

You nod.

And that’s when he panics.

You’ve seen him calm during interrogations, composed in the aftermath of violence - but now, as he fumbles with bags and car keys and for some reason your passport, you realize this is the first time you’ve ever seen him truly unraveled by love.

You are doubled over with laughter between contractions, watching him try to lace your sneakers onto his own feet.

“You’re the one in labor,” he says, bewildered, “why are you the calm one?”

You grin through the next wave of pain. “You’re adorable when you’re terrified.”

And he is. Utterly, completely, heartbreakingly human.

***

The hospital blurs into noise and light and too much fabric. He never lets go of your hand, not even when the nurses usher him to the side, not even when you scream through the agony and the room floods with urgency. He murmurs things into your ear that you can’t process, kisses your temple like it’s the only thing anchoring him.

When they tell you to push, you feel the whole world gather into the space behind your teeth. And when it happens - when the air shifts and everything is suddenly, permanently different - he is there with his face crumpling and his fingers trembling and the sound of your daughter’s cry filling the room like wind through open windows.

***

Time folds in strange ways after she arrives.

The days stretch and blur, marked not by clocks but by the rhythm of her breath, by the soft creak of the rocking chair, by the fragile miracle of a life so small and fierce she seems to glow when the light hits her skin.

Jun-ho carries her like a secret he’s afraid to wake. He hums to her in the hallways, sings lullabies slightly off-key while washing bottles in the sink. He falls asleep with her on his chest and wakes up before her cries even reach the baby monitor.

She laughs for the first time on a Tuesday.

You’re elbows-deep in dishwater, and he’s blowing a ridiculous sound onto her belly, just playing. And then - like music - you hear it: bright and sharp and wild. The sound hits him like a punch to the chest. His hands go still. His eyes widen.

And then he does it again, and again she laughs.

You watch him fall in love all over again.

That night, you lie in the dark, her sleeping breath between you, and you feel his fingers trace yours under the blanket.

“I didn’t know it could feel like this,” he says. “Thank you for this miracle, Y/N.”

You don’t say anything, just hold his hand tighter, and hold your daughter between you, and let the silence mean what it means.

[rosen-und-mondlicht]

I got another fic that has been a culmination of talks with @heart-of-the-morningstar and ideas that started in Mexico and ended up here stateside.

questions such as:

what would the angel version of himself do if he encountered you, the reader?

what is the Angel's name?

What feelings does Lucifer have towards his old self?

What would the Angel think about laying with the reader?

If the Reader encounters his past self would you choose the Angel over him?

~9k

cw: fem reader x Lucifer, smut (piv, anal, multiple partners MMF, cum eating, fingering, double team), Lucifer is depressed, angel!lucifer, Angel is named Samael, reader calls Lucifer Luz because I say so

A/N: (God has many names but primarily he's known as Yahweh (YHWH) or even Elohim. this will be relevant later.)

Today was supposed to be simple.

You wanted a simple day in, you even had a plan in mind: sit in Lucifer’s workshop, reading your latest smutty novel while he tinkered with his ducks, maybe enjoy some snacks, perhaps have some soft music playing in the background. At the end of the day, have dinner, shower, maybe watch a movie before bed.

Lately, Lucifer has been rather clingy and then distant. He goes from an ardent lover to a passive partner. You're used to his vibrant showmanship in the everyday from making breakfast and doing laundry, but in the past few days he looks washed out, almost willfully fading into the background of your life. It was starting to scare you, if you were being honest.

You had hoped that you could join him in the things he likes, make his favorite meal and cuddle. You knew he had a tendency to fall back into depression. You were no stranger to it, falling victim by slowly isolating yourself from your loved ones. Lucifer had always been a saint in pulling you out of your funk. This time it was your turn to pull him out.

Arriving back home from work, you greeted your beloved with a kiss and smile. He listened to your plans for the night and agreed to the simple date night. You both dressed in oversized shirts, him in sweat pants and you in breezy lounge bottoms, heading over to the workshop so he could tinker and talk. Somewhere in the quiet lull of conversation settled a peaceful calm.

You don't know what happened. You were in the room, and even then, you couldn't be sure you'd be able to explain what you just witnessed.

One moment you're lounging beside Lucifer on the sofa while he tinkers away using his magic. A sharp, whining sound and a bright, disorienting light makes you let out a small surprised scream. When the light fades and your hearing returns, there's suddenly two versions of your man; the old and tired devil you know and love, and a vibrant and younger version of him in blue and gold, white-blue eyes glowing.

They look disoriented but the stranger easily snaps out of it and looks around. Confusion is clear on his beautiful face but when his eyes land on you, his expression changes into awe. Three pairs of white and blue wings sprout from behind him.

He flutters close to you, a golden blush over his face when he examines you over. The angel is dressed in a modest robe of white and gold, contrasting the blue in his eyes and wings. He's beautiful and bright, exactly like a star.

“Um, hi! you're gorgeous.” he says smiling nervously, but reaches out for a hand and plants a soft, polite kiss to your knuckles. You gasp at the gesture before a small pleased chuckle leaves you. Lucifer squawks indignantly at the display and shoves him away from you.

“Hey, pal! That's MY partner you're ogling!” he barks at the angel, snapping his sharp teeth at the angel. the angel looks horrified at the demon, eyes taking in the monstrous teeth and red eyes, then at you.

“Wait, don't tell me you're actually interested in him?” the angel doesn't see Lucifer roll his eyes, scowl deepening.

“I am. He's the one that I love.” you murmur, reaching for your devil and brushing a stray strand of hair back from his face, that scowl fading into a pleased smile. “I’m flattered you think I’m gorgeous.” you giggle. You introduce yourself, squeezing Lucifer’s hand in reassurance.. “What can I call you?”

The angel blushes, his face glowing like a bulb. “Ah! Yes, apologies. My name is Samael, but you can call me Sam or El,” he laughs awkwardly while he fumbles his introduction, but Lucifer hisses loudly in protest, his face scrunching in disgust at the offered second name.

“Nope! No! If she has to call you by name, she can call you Sam! No need to bring in Father's name into MY domain,” he frowns, bringing you closer. you look back at the pouting King and then at Sam. the angel looks confused then unimpressed when Lucifer snuggles you close for comfort.

you can't help but sigh at his antics and smile as you try to comfort the Devil. “my love, what did you do?”

Lucifer melts at the soft pets you give and chirps softly at the attention. “I think I might have split myself.”

“explain, please.” Lucifer sighs and pulls you onto his lap, gathering you up so he can hold you close and leans back.

“you know that I am a being of light, right?” you nod. “Well, are you familiar with light-years?” you give him a flattened hand wave and unsure expression.

“light-years is the distance between objects in space.” Lucifer smiles, his eyes lighting up whenever he explains the rules of the universe. “Specifically it's the distance between objects that shine light and how that light travels in one Earth year. Did you know that not only is it a distance, it is also time itself?”

“how so?” you ask, surprised. Sam pipes up then.

“Take this for example: when something is 10 light-years away, it means that from your location, it means you're seeing something that emitted that light from 10 years ago. In a way you are seeing a version of that object from the past and not the present.”

you blink, looking at Sam, confused, then Lucifer, then Sam again.

“So I'm seeing a past version of you.” you finally understand.

“exactly,” they both say, Sam's smiling brightly while Lucifer sighs. you snuggle closer to Lucifer.

“Did it hurt?” you ask quietly and Lucifer chuckles softly before kissing your forehead.

“You're too damn sweet.” he chuckles. “No, it didn't hurt, thankfully, but seeing him brings back conflicted feelings.” Samael shifts uncomfortably seeing the domestic display and the glare from his other self. you could see his hand twitch but he clasps his hands together as if trying to prevent them from reaching out.

you feel bad for the angel and hold out a hand towards him. Sam blushes and approaches slowly before taking it, and you can feel Lucifer bristle.

“Behave,” you tell the devil, and pull the angel closer. He watches you with curious eyes. eyes wide and shining, hopeful and beautiful.

He's beautiful.

Of course he is. He's God's favorite.

Those blue white eyes look at you curiously, while that soft yellow grows in intensity as you stare.

“Ah! Uhmmm,” he tries to clear his throat. his eyes going down to the ground.

“You're gorgeous,” you tell him, repeating his words back to him. His blush creeps down his neck. Lucifer shifts and tightens his grip around you, lowering his head to your neck and nips there.

“I'm still here, love,” he murmurs. your other hand goes to him and scratches his scalp in comfort.

“Are you jealous? Of yourself?” Lucifer growls softly and huffs.

“Anyone that keeps your attention off me is a distraction,” he grumbles. you giggle softly and lean your head onto his. the angel nears you again, watching you with rapt fascination how you fawn over this corrupted version of himself.

Samael doesn't understand what you see in the Devil, this future monstrous form of himself. He grimaces when he sees you turn to kiss Lucifer softly. you sigh gently against soft lips and Lucifer opens an eye to glare at the angel, that dangerous slitted, golden eye swimming in red.

Lucifer maneuvers you to straddle him and he leans back from you making a whine leaving your throat involuntarily, as blackened hands cup your ass. A hot streak of jealousy and satisfaction hits him. He knows it’s irrational, but he can’t help it.

“See what I have?” He addresses Sam in his voice reserved for royal declarations. “This is mine.” His lips curl back and sharp teeth glint menacingly, giving you a gentle pat. “She is mine. However, I see what she wants and I won't deny her anything unless I deem it not worthy of her time, harmful to her well-being, or utterly beneath her.”

you scoff but don't refute his claims. you know he's putting on a show. He has never been shy about sharing you with his clones and he never had this conversation with them. They were a team dedicated to you and your pleasure. You know this is only about his insecurity about his old life, his own feelings about his Dad and Heaven.

You gently swat at his chest.

“Lucifer, be nice.” you chastise him and he smiles at you indulgently. Instead of answering, he grabs your hip with his other hand and thrusts sharply against you, a show of dominance to the angel and a better use for your mouth: two birds, one stone.

Sam's blush fills his face and darkens to a rich golden brown. He can't pull his sights off you, the flush on your cheeks and lips, the way your lips open for an airy moan, the arch of your back before his eyes settle on the swell of your shapely rump. Lucifer squeezes your ass and smirks.

“You fall into temptation over a woman.” he doesn't clarify who specifically, but that's not the point. He gropes your globes tight before his claws tear into the material of your soft lounge bottoms, exposing your panties. His clawed hands play with and pet you and you whine until he pulls the band of your underwear with a loud snap.

“She's wonderful. handcrafted and beautifully made, absolutely unique and shapely. Her body is everything you could ever want but, more importantly, inside lies a heart of gold. a giving soul nestled within, one that has experienced the dark, vile, and inhumane but remains soft and kind.” he lectures the angel while gently grinding against your near exposed core. Your moans puncture the quiet and Sam can feel the sound affect him. He grips the front of his robe tightly to hide the growing shame.

“You’ll learn to never deny yourself of what you want, with permission, of course. It's a rapturous feeling to be surrounded by her: her skin, her hair, her scent, her everything, but most of all, that divine place between her thighs.” he chuckles lowly and cuts your panties off your body from the sides, pulling the garment off and looking pleased by the wet spot found there.

“Ambrosia, dripping and sweet and all for one special person. me.” He smells it and smiles before tossing it over to the angel behind you.

Sam yelps and catches it, mortified but intrigued and delicately sniffs. His eyes widen at the scent and is surprised when his mouth waters.

“The act alone isn't sinful. it was mandated. but you already know that, don't you?”

Sam stutters, opting to nod instead. His eyes are watching you move against his other self, wanting, whining, and wet. He can smell your excitement as you try to pleasure yourself over Lucifer's clothed cock.

“Luz,” you manage to slur our, the gasp in his name and desire seeping out from your voice hits Samael and curls something inside of him. He feels transfixed, you have a hold on him unlike anything he’s ever experienced. He approaches you from behind and holds your waist, unsure hands trembling.

Lucifer watches him boredly, his eyes flickering to you while you try to chase your own euphoria.

“What do you need, sweetheart?” he coos to you, brushing a hand to your flushed cheek.

“Want you,” you manage to pant, grinding weakly against him. Sam watches how you move, his hands don't stop trembling. you tire of the nervousness in his touch and take his hands in your own as you gently scoop them under the loose shirt you're wearing and press his palms to your naked breasts.

The shuddering intake of breath behind you when he feels your warm and soft skin. Lucifer watches the angel timidly explore your chest, meanwhile he slowly takes off his shirt, loving how your eyes watch the hem lift for exposed skin.

Samael finally seems to grow some courage and plays with your chest, soft, smooth fingers finding your nipples easily. He plays with them and is rewarded with your own full body tremor and you let out a small whine.

“Yes,” you hiss softly, encouraging him to explore. He can't help but to bring you close to him, mimicking what Lucifer had done earlier, bringing his head down to your neck and smelling your skin.

You're absolutely intoxicating. His body goes hot and he whines softly at the uncomfortable feel of his clothes suddenly. He wants nothing more than to feel your skin against his own.

Lucifer discards his shirt. Now half naked, Samael can see the scars and burns on the Devil. Ash black goes up to his upper arms and the deep, golden brown marks over his lean chest show marks of past violence. They are the scars of a story he's yet to experience.

His eyes would have stayed on Lucifer if the devil didn't snap his fingers at the angel with a deep frown..

“If you're going to take my partner, the least you can do is keep your attention on her,” he growls, unamused by the staring while shame fills him. Sam flushes in embarrassment at being caught.

“Sorry, I wasn't exactly expecting to see….well, those,” he mumbles. you reach behind you, petting his face softly.

“Ignore him, He's not playing nice because he's got issues with you, that’s all.” Lucifer grumbles, looking away to pout. You stop grinding against Lucifer to turn to face Sam, “although he's right. pay more attention to me, ok?” he nods slowly.

“Yes, ma'am,” he mumbles. you reward him with a soft kiss to his lips, a chaste little thing but seeing his flustered form pleases you.

While you were distracted with your angel, Lucifer took it upon himself to remove his pants and boxers the easy way, by magic, along with the remains of your ruined lounge bottoms. skin on warm skin finally. you groan in pleasure when he starts to grind himself slowly against your wetness.

“Don't forget about me,” he pleads softly. Normally his begging would be hot, but in this instance it breaks your heart a little. you pull away from Sam to lean back over Lucifer and kiss him.

“Never,” you assure. “Do you want me to lead or do you?” Lucifer whimpers softly before deciding that you ought to lead.

You lean back and switch positions over him so you can face Sam while straddling Lucifer. you move your hips to encourage him to grind against you, and like a trained pet, he begins.

You focus on Sam, your hands wandering his face gently. you see innocence. you bring him into a kiss, starting slow. the angel accepts your kiss shyly and you revel in the small moan that escapes him. your hands wander down and begin to undo the robe slowly.

“Is this ok?” you ask him, your lips millimeters from his.

“Yes,” he whispers. He leans in for more, but you stop him with a finger.

“Help me with the robe?” Sam quickly removes it, his fingers stumbling over the clasps. you smile and help, the robe falling away down to his bootclad feet. He looks vulnerable but when you catch his gaze, you can see something has changed. A quiet flame has begun to smolder within.

You smile and sweep back a loose strand of hair. “There we go,” you sigh. you turn back to run a hand over Lucifer's stomach.

“We need to move this elsewhere.”

“Got it,” Lucifer hums. A shimmer of red and gold surrounds everyone and with a flap of wings, the magic dissipates leaving Lucifer on the bed, with you still on top and Sam curled up in front of you. You sigh and squeeze a hand to Lucifer's thigh in thanks, rocking your hips in reward. You press yourself down onto him, letting him feel the warmth of you, sighing in relief when he brushes against your clit.

Sam stares as you move your hips, watching as both you and Lucifer moan at the touch. his claws find your hips to aid you.

“Like what you see?” you laugh airly, your head going dizzy.

“Yes,” Samael watches you, loving that expression on your face, how you bite your lip and eyes clouding with pleasure. He manages to pull his eyes down to where Lucifer is so close to you, where he was told divinity was found in beings he knew were created from dust and his Father's breath.

Questions begin to form in his mind, doubts for humanity and about them. They were made in his Father's image with the express intention of living their lives under His supervision and protection, yet he can't help but feel nothing but desire towards you. Where once he felt nothing more than curiosity, he now felt want and needs that went against his Father's plans.

His train of thoughts is broken by a shrill moan. Sam now sees Lucifer holding onto your hips, his vision of your intimate connection obscured by white and red wings and a spaded tail over where you're joined. Lucifer hisses softly, mumbling praises into your skin while he grinds gently.

Samael flushes at the scene, moving to step back but stops when Lucifer flicks your clit with his tail. He can't help but groan involuntarily at seeing that obscene look on your face that makes the blood go back to his groin. the wet smack of skin when Lucifer thrusts into you and makes you his again has you whining, as your lover pants and moans around your name.

“That's it, baby. You're taking me so well,” he moves a hand over your abdomen and gently presses his hand there. You feel him so deep inside and you shiver over him.

Sam feels hot. He grips his shirt, whimpering with each lewd smack of your hips.

He wants that.

He wants you.

Samael may have missed the beginning but now he's determined to help finish or at the very least, get a taste of this coveted divinity for himself.

Lucifer pants while he guides your hips down to his. He watches your ass bounce on him, a sight he never tires and sighs when you tighten around him.

“That's it, angel. Just like that,” he praises. He smirks over at the actual angel, and flicks his tail again to make you cry out and arch your back.

You feel like you've been ignited from within, the heat building and your skin glistens with sweat.. Lucifer notices and tears off your shirt to expose yourself to him. He runs a claw down your spine lovingly, murmuring his appreciation into your skin.

When you finally focus on Sam, your glassy eyes and wet lips tantalize him.

you're unlike anything he's ever seen and he drinks it all in. Your breasts bounce with each stroke and your frame is soft and desirable. How had he never recognized such artistry before?

He can’t help but be captivated by you, moving involuntarily towards you. Sam’s finally in front of you, crawling close to feel your heated breaths. you reach out to his face and kiss him hard.

he freezes for a moment before he lets you take him. if he falls he'll willingly fall for you and accept the consequences afterwards.

he drinks up your pleasured moans, tongues dancing clumsily but earnestly. He takes off the rest of his clothes, the fabric and his boot falling haphazardly into a pile on the side of the bed.

---

You pet his face softly while you rest on the bed, cuddling the angel after a few orgasms at Lucifer's hand. He's behind you, spooning you and refusing to leave you for the time being. Samael watched you reach your climax each time: seeing how Lucifer's tail buzzed when you got closer to the edge, how the pace you both set would go from smooth to frenzied and how you called for him every time and he held you close, praises falling from his lips easily while he helps you ride each high to its fullest.

Sam feels your skin against his own, his face pressed into the crook of your neck and inhaling your scent. He hasn't done anything more than mild touches over your chest and stomach and hips.

It's almost as if he's afraid of ruining you and some part of you wonders if Lucifer felt the same in Eden millennia ago.

his lips find your neck, pressing a soft kiss there. you hum softly in appreciation, a hand wandering down his neck and shoulders to his chest. you feel his skin. Unlike Lucifer's scarred chest, his is smooth and unblemished. you marvel at the canvas of beautiful flesh.

your hands eventually find their way to his back, also unmarred by Heaven's wrath, and you brush against one of his wing slits. He shudders and lets out an embarrassing sound that makes Lucifer cringe.

“so-sorry, they're sensitive! I didn't know that they were until you touched them just now.” Sam gasps. Lucifer snorts at him and brings you closer to him.

“idiot, of course they're sensitive. it's practically another eye!” you pinch Lucifer's thigh.

“luz,” you warn. He doesn't apologize but he stops his antagonizing with a pout. Turning back to Samael, you give him an apologetic look. “I'm sorry. I should have asked.”

“no, no, please continue to touch me. Let me learn from you. Teach me how to please you.” he finally looks you in the eye and you see that flame of determination and desire burning.

“alright,” you agree.

---

Sam is a quick student. He discovers he loves to play with your chest. His mouth is his favorite means of teasing you, his soft tongue is normal, not split, and he loves to tease your buds, watching you shiver and moan with each playful brush. he sucks marks into your skin and finds he loves the intimacy of it, seeing red marks bloom like flowers over your front.

When he moves down he's growing timid again. He pulls away to see you still split over Lucifer, cum leaking slowly between your thighs. He gulps, face erupting into gold again.

Lucifer laughs.

“What's the matter? scared?” Lucifer taunts, moving his softened cock to slosh his mess around and make you whine. Sam sneers at him and pulls you off him. The feeling of loss is felt by you and Lucifer immediately as Sam pulls you underneath him. He gently explores your mound, the thick, curled hair found there and the smooth skin of your thighs. you part your legs to let him see.

What he compares you to is a rose. a red rose blooming open and inviting. The smell of your musk mixed with technically his own makes him dizzy. He's slow, lowering his head to kiss over you, brushing his lips over coarse hair.

he tentatively goes down lower and lower and finds a small button of flesh. Curious, he licks it, making you jump and wail. He finds he likes your reaction and keeps you close while he suckles and licks. your thighs close over his head and he loves feeling the soft warmth of them over his ears. He moans softly, the vibration jolting you and a hand goes into those untouched blond locks.

You groan and the sound of Lucifer's name leaves your lips involuntarily. Lucifer smirks and crawls over to you, cradling your head and kissing you softly.

“I'm here, don't worry.” Sam stops and glares at his older self. Lucifer grins sharply at him. “My darling is used to me catering to her needs. Lucifer is the only name she knows in pleasures of the flesh,” he turns back down to you and kisses you again. “Isn't that right, darling?”

Sam growls in frustration, his eyes glowing blue. His arms move to go under your legs, holding your hips tightly “My name is Samael. I am not him. You would do well to remember that.” He shifts you in his hold, pushing your legs wide open to finally dive in.

The angel is clearly inexperienced, but he's eager. His tongue and lips explore, taking you and Lucifer's taste, cleaning you up and swallowing you whole. There are times you have to direct him. He learns and listens not just from you but also from Lucifer, though he's less kind about it.

Sam readjusts you once more, and goes all in, using the tips you both gave him. His tongue swirls from clit to cunt, circling and doodling simple shapes: stars, hearts and even the letters of his name.

Your face is red and beautiful: that bitten lip and hazy eyes looking at him with awe and desire. It makes something dark sink its claws into him and he willingly lets it. He wants to be all you want and he's aiming to get you to moan his name.

Lucifer watches you arch off the bed when Samael’s tongue enters you again, your flavor now entirely your own. Lucifer's hand grasps his cock and pumps slowly along, wanting some gratification from this odd arrangement.

your thighs go to close over Sam's head but he wrenches one away, burying his face into your sex to brush his tongue deep within to that spongy spot that makes you see stars. you moan loudly, wordlessly.

“Say my name, dove. Say it for me. Please," he begs, gasping for air before feasting on you again, this time, his fingers gently swirl your clit. The added stimulation is enough to get you to wail.

“S-sam!” you cry for the first time. Sam's heart flutters at the sinful song of your voice but he can't stop, not when he finally gets you to say his name. He drowns in you and works his tongue and fingers to bring you higher and higher until you feel the tight knot inside snap and finally cum. Lucifer cums with you, seed spilling over his fingers and over your chest, biting his lip hard as he shudders and gasps. Sam drinks you up and only stops when you push his head away.

All three of you are gasping for breath and thankfully it's Lucifer who magics a warm, damp cloth to clean his mess off you. He notices that the angel is still hard. The weeping head is leaking over himself and the sheets and he sighs.

“How did you not cum from that?” he scoffs, kissing your skin softly and dabbing your face with the clean side of the cloth. “she was hot as fuck just now.”

Sam glowers. “I was a little busy, sorry.” he rolls his eyes at him.

“boys, boys, no fighting,” you scold. they look apologetically at you, mumbling apologies. Sam, taking Lucifer's cue, summons a damp cloth of his own to help clean you up. Lucifer kindly gives you some water and tosses a bottle of water to the angel before drinking his own.

Samael observes how Lucifer cares for you. He fans you down, helping you sit up and drink your water, he praises you for all your efforts and rewards you with small kisses.

“Need anything else? more water? a break? snacks?” Lucifer's fretting over you post-coitus isn't unusual, but the angel watches the exchange with intrigue. Lucifer brings you more water and something to eat, helping to feed you. You take small bites from his hand and he's careful to keep you and bed clean of crumbs. When you have had enough, he helps you back to laying down comfortably.

Sam feels his member beginning to soften and he sighs in relief, but still feels oddly unfulfilled. Lucifer hears it and shoots him a look.

“Give her a damn minute!” Sam lifts his hands in defense.

“I didn't say anything!” he glares at the devil. The boys bicker while caring for you and you're too tired to keep them in check for the time being. you close your eyes for a moment, trying to block out their fighting. It’s only when the bed shifts beside you on both sides, you slowly open your eyes to see Lucifer and Samael looking down at you worriedly.

“oh angel, you look exhausted,” Lucifer brings a hand up to kiss it, his eyebrows furrowing. Sam does the same thing, kissing your fingers softly and you can't help but compare him to an overeager puppy, excitable when happy and pitiful when saddened. you chuckle and bring both their hands to your lips to return the favor.

“I need a moment, that's all.” you assure them. Lucifer smiles tenderly and Sam once again takes in how enamored the devil is with you. He has never seen such a monstrous being look so pathetically besotted. Lucifer's tail wags slowly as he peppers your hand and arm with kisses, relishing each giggle from your sweet lips.

You look to the angel and open your other arm to come snuggle at your side. He crawls over to you tossing the cloth over his shoulder as it poofs out of existence and curls into your side. Lucifer gets comfortable on the opposite side and draws you closer to him. you kiss Samael, an adoring kiss just for him.

“Thank you for that. You're a fast learner,” Sam blushes.

“Thank you for being a gracious teacher,” he smiles, not looking at Lucifer. He brings out his wings to cover you when you begin to shiver, unsurprised when Lucifer does the same. Now wrapped in warm wings, your eyes close and you cuddle the angel into you, your arms wrapped around his head to soothe him. Sam flushes a deep gold but lets himself feel your skin against his own. Soft snores soon fill the bedroom, Lucifer and you nestled contently with his tail wrapped around your waist. Sam's eyes go heavy after a few minutes of observing you both, feeling safe in your embrace and succumbing to sleep.

---

Sam dreams of the garden. He wanders the large green space, watching the animals come and go. He knows he's not supposed to be here; the humans are supposed to be left with the guardians of the walls and no one else.

Lush vegetation everywhere, the sound of a nearby pond with the soft calls of different waterfowl. He nears the spot and sees him, his future self, cradling a duck in his arms while he quietly hums a song he's never heard before.

Sam approaches politely, clearing his throat quietly. Lucifer turns to him, surprised to hear someone else, before his expression flattens out in annoyance.

“You?” he scoffs. His clawed hand gently scratched at the head of the duck, the creature’s eyes closed in happiness.

Sam sulks at that but goes over beside him, waving a spot close by so a rock forms for him to sit beside the devil.

Lucifer watches cautiously but says nothing. They sit in thick silence.

“Why are you like this?” Sam asks. If looks could kill, Lucifer’s glare could have obliterated him. Sam flinches and panics. “Wait! that came out wrong. What I meant to say-”

“Save it.” Lucifer growls. The duck suddenly flaps its wings forcing Lucifer to let it go. It hops off his lap to waddle into the water and leaves the tension. Lucifer's face crumples when he's left behind, his wings come out to cover himself as he curls into himself.

Sam feels awful.

“Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you.”

“What do you want?” he asks the angel, his voice sounding defeated. Samael scoots closer to move a wing over.

“How did this happen?” he asks softly. “I would like to know how someone with the experience that you do managed to split yourself to bring me here. Something must have happened recently to cause this.”

Lucifer says nothing, his teeth grinding anxiously. Samael sighs and reaches for his hand.

Lucifer flinches. Sam stops, instead flipping his hand over, open palm towards him.

Lucifer reluctantly takes his hand. Sam squeezes it in reassurance.

“What's going on?” he asks quietly. Lucifer finally looks at him. The look of compassion and worry breaks something inside of him.

He lets out his fears and pours out his insecurities: how he ruins everything he touches, he’s a failure and disappointment to his family, how he lost his first love, and how he failed as a father to his own child, repeating family cycles. He worries that he will never be enough and rather than exposing his beloved with the truth he keeps everything inside. You didn't deserve to see him at his worst, that you deserved a better partner than this weak image of his. He hoped that he could push it down, that it'll go away sooner or later.

the angel sits with his other half and listens. He doesn't understand the complete history of what Lucifer is going through, but he's not immune from his own fears and insecurities. He simply listens.

When Lucifer is finished, he's trembling with emotion and his eyes are full of tears.

“Are you done?” Sam asks quietly. Lucifer nods.

“yeah,” he sniffles. Samael stands and without preamble he hugs him tight. Lucifer squawks at the sudden contact but melts into it surprisingly fast. He embraces his other half. They stay like that for a moment, Lucifer wrapping the angel in his wings to hold him close.

Sam murmurs affirmations to him.

He is loved.

He is enough.

He’s made mistakes but he can fix them if only he's willing to.

His insecurities are not the truth.

He is not like his Father.

He is desired and no one is going to replace him.

Lucifer lets the tears fall, but Sam hides them away, soothing a hand down Lucifer's back. The worries wash away with each tear rolling down his face.

A light begins to form in between them, it's warm soothing Lucifer as it grows and envelopes them both, taking away the garden and everything around them to white.

---

You wake to warmth. slow, syrupy kisses from a pair of lips covering your chest and neck while another pair covers your neck and shoulders. You groan softly, reaching to the head in front of you. blue eyes meet yours curiously.

“What are you doing?” you rasp, turning your head to glare at the demon behind you.

“We were just getting along,” Lucifer pouts. “Isn't that what you wanted?” Lucifer's unashamed grin makes you snort and roll your eyes.

“And you? what do you have to say for yourself?” your gaze finds Sam's and he smiles awkwardly, his shoulders going up to his ears.

“We talked, that's all. Everything has cleared up for the time being ” he clears his throat and gently bumps his forehead to yours.

“We thought you might want us, uh, simultaneously.” Lucifer's tail unwraps from your middle to wrap around your thigh and squeezes possessively.

“you two made up while I slept?” you raise a brow at that, not believing the change of heart from your beloved. Lucifer nuzzles your neck, hot breath washing over your ear.

“we came to an understanding,” he purrs softly. You don't know what to believe.

your gaze narrows in skepticism and you bring the angel's face up to yours with a finger. An eye twitches nervously when you stare down at him.

“How did you and Luz come to this understanding, hmm?” Your voice is firm, taking a tone that was similar to Lucifer's during his monologue about you.

Sam gulps and flushes. “We had a heart to heart. And once that was done it was mostly him just growling and snapping at me about you,” he admits quietly, “but, that's ok, I understand.” he laughs.

“me?” you ask. the angel nods.

“I want you. You make me burn inside and I don't know what to make of it. I just want you.” His face glows yellow at the quiet confession. You can't help but give him a gentle kiss for it.

“While that's sweet, I had hoped it meant you were both discussing… this,” you lift a hand to wave it around, motioning to Lucifer's split. Sam slowly nods.

“I think we know how to get back together,” Lucifer grumbles into your shoulder. He kisses your skin, breathes in deeply, while hands travel up to your chest to knead. “but enough about us, darling. Shall we continue? We missed you terribly.” Your small giggle invites Sam closer, more confident hands coming to settle on your hips as his lips dip to your collarbone.

Lucifer nibbles softly at your skin, sighing with each slow grind of his hips behind you.

Moans float around you with the two working in tandem to bring you back to pleasure. Two cocks rubbing slow across your sensitive core, gently brushing against one another and prod at your entrance occasionally makes you squirm in their firm hold. Sam kisses your throat softly, making another mark on your skin, his soft sounds making you shiver.

“This ok?” you hear one ask. Your mind grows fuzzy with cottony bliss.

“Yes,” you hiss through your teeth with a smile. They feel you grow wet in between them, Sam pressing his forehead to your shoulder as he groans sweetly by your ear.

“Oh, by the stars,” Sam’s voice pitches down slightly and you cant your hips towards him. He gasps, and you bite back a satisfied grin.

“How do you want us, angel?” Lucifer murmurs. You try to think about it but it's so hard when you have two cocks vying for your attention.

“Sam, underneath. Luz, behind.” Lucifer kisses your head and shifts away, his tail untangling from your leg but not before his spade end playfully dips into you for a moment, a cruel tease, and you whine at the loss.

Sam gently lifts you up so you're on your knees and shifts towards the headboard. He lays down against the pillows and pulls you close. Sam brings a hand to your cheek and looks up at you with a look of hunger in his blazing eyes. Your breath hitches in your throat at seeing this sweet boy begin to morph into the man you love. He leans up for a kiss and you take it, moaning softly against his lips as hands wander your body again and he grinds himself into your wet heat.

Lucifer watches, content with seeing how comfortable you are with his past self. A bittersweet feeling washes over him.

If you were the First Woman, would you have fallen for him? Would you have stayed?

Your hips move against Samael’s feverishly, impatient and needy, and he takes the hint. He guides himself to your entrance and groans loudly when you press yourself around him. He whimpers as you slide down him slowly.

both you and Lucifer blink when the angel shudders and wails, his blush covers his chest just as you seat yourself completely over him. Sam quickly covers his face with a hand.

“Wait-,” Lucifer starts and you silence him with a stern look. Nothing else had to be said. The angel had just cum.

Lucifer clears his throat, hiding his face away. He knew he’d laugh and he didn’t want to anger you, especially not before he had got his turn.

You try to soothe the angel, telling him it was alright, while cum begins to dribble down onto your thighs. His golden face pressing into your chest as he groans in embarrassment.

“That, that wasn’t supposed to happen. Sorry,” he mumbles miserably. You pet Samael, shushing him.

“No, no, it’s ok. It happens. You just got too excited. It’s flattering, honestly,” you assure him. You occasionally glance at Lucifer making sure he doesn't further embarrass him. “Besides, you want to know a secret?” you whisper to him, a small conspiring smile pressed to his ear. Sam turns to you, curious.

“Mister bigshot over there won’t ever admit it, but when we slept together for the first time, I gave him a handy to prep him for the main event and he finished after a few strokes. He was barely out of his pants.” you chuckle. Lucifer flushes, sputtering indignantly.

“Hey!” you lean over to kiss him, a small apology. “You promised me you’d never tell.”

“He’s you,” you remind him. He pouts.

“Touche,” he grumbles. Sam absorbs your presence as you wait for him to calm and collect himself and when he murmurs into your skin, you look at him.

“You ok? Do you need anything?” Sam nods.

“A do over.” Lucifer scoffs, rolling his eyes.

“Obviously!” He shifts behind you, gently pulling your hips up and off him.

Lucifer’s hand goes between your legs to gently pump his fingers inside. Sam has a front row seat to the view now: he notes how Lucifer’s fingers are poised and how certain angles seem to pull certain sounds from you.

Lucifer’s hands aren't the only things that occupy your attention. His tail comes back to nudge alongside his fingers and collect some of the slick before it slithers behind and a low moan escapes you while you arch your back.

Lucifer chuckles warmly at the change.

“Does my pretty girl want me there?” he nibbles on the back of your neck, a smug smirk on his lips.

“Dont be an ass-” he swats your behind with his other hand, making you yelp.

“Ah, ah. The only ass here is yours, love. Gonna make you mine and you're gonna take it like a good girl, understand?” You flush and smile to yourself, the warning tone in his voice making you behave.

“Alright,” you concede.

“Good girl,” he growls in approval, the sound making goosebumps erupt on your skin. Lucifer plays with your back entrance with his tail, teasing the ring of muscle while his finger presses into your deepest spot that nearly has you crumbling in his hold.

Sam looks between your face, your chest, and the show of Lucifer playing with his seed, blackened fingers coated in slick with each pull before being shoved back in. Sam feels something ignite in him again and you can see his softened member twitch.

You go on all fours and reach for Samael, however Lucifer pulls you back to him, tutting softly.

“No, no, pretty girl. Let him come to you.” he chides. Lucifer looks at the angel, a challenge and an acceptance, encouraging. Sam takes a deep breath, reaching down to stroke himself while Lucifer plays with you. You watch Sam’s cock engorge to full mast by watching you being teased and fucked by Lucifer. Your whines encourage him to pump faster, seeing him squirm while Lucifer preps both entrances.

“Enough teasing,” Sam’s voice morphs into a tone of multitudes, his voice cracking before it goes back to normal. Vibrant blue eyes now glowing up at you and demanding your attention. You can’t look away from him.

He reaches over and Lucifer freely gives you up to him. Shifting you back over him, you position him again. He looks determined. You let him take the lead.

Sam slowly breaches you, hissing softly.

“You feel so hot,” he gasps while you sink on to him. “I could almost explode again.”

“Do you want to stop?”

“NO!” you flinch from his yell. He clears his throat. “Sorry, sorry, no. Please don’t.” Sam sets the pace, his hands on your hips will leave bruises but you don’t care. When you’re finally seated he takes in a shuddering breath and you hold him close, while he focuses on not cumming. Lucifer watches boredly while his past self collects himself and you sit with him patiently.

“Can we get a move on? My dick is about to go limp with how slow this is going?” He complains.

“Shut up,” Sam grumbles, taking the hint. He gently encourages you to move and you do. You start off easy, a small swivel of your hips, a gentle grind. It makes his heart race, but he thinks he has it under control. Sam pulls you nearly off and enters you again. You both groan at the feeling.

Lucifer watches how you both move; Sam’s clumsy rhythm slowly corrects itself, how it seems you two were almost made for one another. A pang of hurt aches in his chest at the thought. He must have made a noise because you whip your head back to him, eyes cleared from pleasure to look concerned.

Samael has stopped, not wanting to continue without your full participation.

“Luz,” you beckon. He’s quick, no hesitation, and he’s behind you with arms wrapped tight around you. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, angel. Got a bit lonely.” You know him. He’d never admit his fears of losing you to anyone else, even himself. Rather than saying it out loud, you shift your hips back to brush against him.

“Well, since you're already here, why don’t you make yourself useful?” you tease, trying to lighten the mood. Lucifer is grateful for the excuse, for you, and shifts his own hips against you. You feel the whoosh of magic behind you, and hear a bottle snapping open. Lucifer drizzles the lube on his hand, warming it before he slathers himself and dabs just a bit to your cum smeared entrance. Sam watches him over your shoulder, face yellow and patient.

Lucifer takes his time to enter you, fearing hurting you. He presses his face to your shoulder, holding you tight, groaning at the tight squeeze, but keeps still when he's fully sheathed. He breathes in deeply as you both tremble. Lucifer’s eyes flash red with the lust, glowing down at Sam for a moment and nods.

Sam takes that moment to gently brush his hands over your stomach and hips to bring you back to him. Your eyes find his blue ones and with a small nod, he starts again. You gasp at the fullness of them both, the stretch of both their cocks making you cry when he bottoms out again.

Lucifer lets the angel get a rhythm started before he begins. He holds you close, his tail wrapping around your thigh in comfort as he pumps himself into you. He adores the way you sound sandwiched between them, a small reedy sound escapes you when they both go faster. Sam’s hips slap against your own, his hands holding you tight as if he feared you’d disappear.

Sam pants and groans, feeling you squeeze around him like the most sinful vice. If this is what causes him to fall, he'll gladly do it. If you were the reason why, he'd rebuke Heaven to stay by your side forever. He whimpers when he feels you strangle his cock, he's almost there.

“Close?” you gasp, kissing his face. He nods. Lucifer notices and brings his tail over to help. The flicks of his tail makes you scream and Sam gasps one last time before he erupts.

Having you and Sam moan in sync is enough to push Lucifer to his own end, pulling out and releasing his own spend onto your ass and lower back. He groans weakly, watching it drip down slowly and catching his breath. He makes sure to clean you off with his magic before flopping back onto the bed and taking you down with him, and you take Sam with you.

All of you take a moment to catch your breaths, you staying snug between them as they both come down, the afterglow warm and soft. Sam presses into you, peppering kisses over your skin while Lucifer smothers you in his hold.

“How was that?” you ask him. Samael nuzzles into you like a needy pet which comes as no surprise when he bites you hard. The bite stings but it’s not like Lucifer's, with his blunt teeth. You hiss in pain, grateful he soothes it with kisses and a few licks.

“There, something to remember me by,” he beams up at you.

“You’re leaving? Already?” Samael’s expression becomes a wistful one.

“I’m from the past, sweet dove. I don’t belong here.” he reaches for your hand and kisses it gingerly. “Besides, you already have me, technically speaking. Thank you for showing me the depth of your love. Thank you for giving yourself to me.” Sam looks behind you to lucifer and then back to you.

“I can’t speak for my future self, only as myself currently, but you mean so much to me. I love you. I’ll treasure the memories you gave me and I hope that I can continue to be the man you deserve.”

Lucifer says nothing, opting instead to bring you closer to him, nuzzling your hair.

Between the two of them you can't help but feel so loved and tears begin to pool in your eyes. Sam's the first to notice and sits up, confused and panicking. Lucifer snorts at his flailing.

“what’s got your halo in a twist?” Sam ignores him, still focusing on you.

“Little dove, why are you crying?” he leans over to brush a tear away. Lucifer sits up now, concerned. you sniffle and laugh, letting Lucifer dab away your tears with a tissue.

“Sorry, I’m just a little emotional. I just love you so much.” you assure them. Lucifer’s anxiety eases enough to bring you close again, and Samael’s face is full of wonder at the confession. He melts when you pull him down and kiss him softly, tasting your lips and chasing the sweetness of your love. Lucifer kisses you where he can, holding you possessively. His chest feels warm and light knowing you love him, a reassurance he will always gladly take from you.

You gasp softly and Lucifer finally notices that Sam is beginning to glow brighter, as if he was a star about to explode. Sam must have felt something shift within, looking at his hands, before looking at you two. He smiles, a soft bittersweet thing. Lucifer feels an ache within, realizing that Samael’s time is over. Whatever magic that had brought him from the past is finished and it was time for him to return to the past and into himself.

You try to hold onto Sam but he only takes your hands into his and squeezes them.

“Thank you. Thank you again for showing me a version of love that I have yet to experience.” he kisses your hands reverently. He peers over your shoulder to look at the Devil, at himself, and cocks a familiar looking smirk. “You’re very lucky. Keep her close.”

“Always,” Lucifer swears without any doubt. Sam looks pleased at that and then looks at you again. A fondness remains in his expression and he reaches up to your face. “I’m glad to have met and known you, even if it’s not during my time. I love you too, sweetheart. Thank you for loving me.” He smiles and leans down for one more small kiss.

Small motes of light float around him, and unlike his arrival, he quietly fades away from your embrace, leaving you and Lucifer in bed alone.

After Sam is gone, Lucifer takes it upon himself to clean you both up and care for you. He can feel your eyes on him and feel the quiet buzz of your thoughts while he washes you down like any other time after he’s made love to you.

He lays you back down onto a clean bed in fresh pajamas, attending to himself and he can’t take the tension anymore.

“Well?” he asks, voice more timid than intended. You perk up and tilt your head at him like a confused pup.

“Well?” you repeat, not sure what he’s asking.

“What did you think?” Lucifer internally braces for your opinion. You take a moment to gather your thoughts into a cohesive thought, but to him it feels like an eternity.

“He was very sweet. He- i mean- you aren’t so different. Some things have changed, obviously, but you’re still relatively the same. You’re shy, awkward, and goofy, but you're also incredibly sweet, loving and passionate. You’re just a little older, and have experience and trauma.”

Lucifer hums at that, pulling on a loose shirt and boxers before sitting next to you.

“And?”

“And what?” you huff. “He’s you. I love you. You obviously would have loved me back then but I met you as the Devil. You are the man I love, there’s no one else. Even if there was a way to go back to him, why would I? I already have you, here and now.” Lucifer smiles and brings you to him to kiss you. To hear your words about his angelic self, seeing that unblemished, perfect version and still choosing him, means everything to him.

His heart feels utterly full and he’s overcome with emotion, a tear falling from an eye.

“I love you so much, you don’t even know.” he laughs, affection laced into every word. You open your arms for him and he gladly falls into you, spreading his wings to hide you away from the world so only he has the pleasure of seeing you.

You had a taste of pure angelic bliss. He especially knows first hand how dangerous a single taste can be and how it can change everything. Despite that, you would choose him over an uncorrupted version of himself. He knows he’s undeserving of you but you make him want to be better. He’s forever indebted to you, cherishing your love.

The rest of the night is spent with him smothering you in kisses and cuddling, making sure you understand that you are everything he wants and loves, and he’s grateful to know that you love all facets of him and perhaps through your eyes, he might learn to love those aspects of himself too.

[marvelsmostwanted]

There are people – some in my own Party – who think that if you just give Donald Trump everything he wants, he’ll make an exception and spare you some of the harm. I’ll ignore the moral abdication of that position for just a second to say — almost none of those people have the experience with this President that I do. I once swallowed my pride to offer him what he values most — public praise on the Sunday news shows — in return for ventilators and N95 masks during the worst of the pandemic. We made a deal. And it turns out his promises were as broken as the BIPAP machines he sent us instead of ventilators. Going along to get along does not work – just ask the Trump-fearing red state Governors who are dealing with the same cuts that we are. I won’t be fooled twice.

I’ve been reflecting, these past four weeks, on two important parts of my life: my work helping to build the Illinois Holocaust Museum and the two times I’ve had the privilege of reciting the oath of office for Illinois Governor.

As some of you know, Skokie, Illinois once had one of the largest populations of Holocaust survivors anywhere in the world. In 1978, Nazis decided they wanted to march there.

The leaders of that march knew that the images of Swastika clad young men goose stepping down a peaceful suburban street would terrorize the local Jewish population – so many of whom had never recovered from their time in German concentration camps.

The prospect of that march sparked a legal fight that went all the way to the Supreme Court. It was a Jewish lawyer from the ACLU who argued the case for the Nazis – contending that even the most hateful of speech was protected under the first amendment.

As an American and a Jew, I find it difficult to resolve my feelings around that Supreme Court case – but I am grateful that the prospect of Nazis marching in their streets spurred the survivors and other Skokie residents to act. They joined together to form the Holocaust Memorial Foundation and built the first Illinois Holocaust Museum in a storefront in 1981 – a small but important forerunner to the one I helped build thirty years later.

I do not invoke the specter of Nazis lightly. But I know the history intimately — and have spent more time than probably anyone in this room with people who survived the Holocaust. Here’s what I’ve learned – the root that tears apart your house’s foundation begins as a seed – a seed of distrust and hate and blame.

The seed that grew into a dictatorship in Europe a lifetime ago didn’t arrive overnight. It started with everyday Germans mad about inflation and looking for someone to blame.

I’m watching with a foreboding dread what is happening in our country right now. A president who watches a plane go down in the Potomac – and suggests — without facts or findings — that a diversity hire is responsible for the crash. Or the Missouri Attorney General who just sued Starbucks – arguing that consumers pay higher prices for their coffee because the baristas are too “female” and “nonwhite.” The authoritarian playbook is laid bare here: They point to a group of people who don’t look like you and tell you to blame them for your problems.

I just have one question: What comes next? After we’ve discriminated against, deported or disparaged all the immigrants and the gay and lesbian and transgender people, the developmentally disabled, the women and the minorities – once we’ve ostracized our neighbors and betrayed our friends – After that, when the problems we started with are still there staring us in the face – what comes next.

All the atrocities of human history lurk in the answer to that question. And if we don’t want to repeat history – then for God’s sake in this moment we better be strong enough to learn from it.

I swore the following oath on Abraham Lincoln’s Bible: “I do solemnly swear that I will support the constitution of the United States, and the constitution of the state of Illinois, and that I will faithfully discharge the duties of the office of Governor .... according to the best of my ability.

My oath is to the Constitution of our state and of our country. We don’t have kings in America – and I don’t intend to bend the knee to one. I am not speaking up in service to my ambitions — but in deference to my obligations.

If you think I’m overreacting and sounding the alarm too soon, consider this:

It took the Nazis one month, three weeks, two days, eight hours and 40 minutes to dismantle a constitutional republic. All I’m saying is when the five-alarm fire starts to burn, every good person better be ready to man a post with a bucket of water if you want to stop it from raging out of control.

Those Illinois Nazis did end up holding their march in 1978 – just not in Skokie. After all the blowback from the case, they decided to march in Chicago instead. Only twenty of them showed up. But 2000 people came to counter protest. The Chicago Tribune reported that day that the “rally sputtered to an unspectacular end after ten minutes.” It was Illinoisans who smothered those embers before they could burn into a flame.

Tyranny requires your fear and your silence and your compliance. Democracy requires your courage. So gather your justice and humanity, Illinois, and do not let the “tragic spirit of despair” overcome us when our country needs us the most.

Sources:

• NBC Chicago & J.B. Pritzker, Democratic governor of Illinois, State of the State address 2025: Watch speech here | Full text

• Betches News on Instagram (screencaps)

[slowfuckintheafternoon]

18+ only please and thank you

Roommate Ghost who’s basically a rehomed cat.

You barely saw him at first. He’d come out of his room to do laundry, and you’d occasionally spot the back of him as he’s leaving for work, but otherwise it was like living with a ghost. A large, moody ghost who seemed to think eye contact was an unforgivable breach of privacy.

So you did the obvious thing, and coaxed him out with food. You’re lonely, he seems nice enough, and he’s also just conveniently there. It’s no big deal to make something that smells really wonderful when he’s home, and hope he’ll take the bait.

It takes three whole entire dinners. Two delicious meals without so much as a stir from his room, and you’re just about to give up on the whole scheme, when you’re finally rewarded with a tousled head poking out of his room on the third attempt.

“Want some?” you immediately pipe up, giving him an encouraging smile while you scoop noodles into your bowl. Realizing your mistake, you quickly relocate your gaze back to the food, so as not to scare him off.

Cmon, take the bait. Come on out, kitty. You know you want it.

Silent as ever, your massive roommate indeed emerges to fill his belly.

A soft, “Thanks,” is all you get for your efforts, but it thrills you. You sit there practically vibrating with glee, trying to play as cool as possible while you both eat and purposefully don’t speak to each other. There’s just chewing and silence, and the quiet clatter of spoons and forks, and you love it.

The next day, the contents of your personal grocery list have magically appeared in your refrigerator. The meat you needed, vegetables, your special milk for your cereal. Bemused, you step over to your pantry and verify that, yes, he got the dry stuff too. You weren’t planning to cook anything fancy two days in a row, but hell, if he’s around again tonight, you might as well.

But he’s not around. You don’t see him again for several weeks, never even got a text that he was leaving. You were just starting to make progress, and now it’ll all be erased when he returns. You lost your one window of opportunity for building trust, and it’ll be back to silence, back to emptiness, back to being strangers.

But to your surprise, when he does finally come home, he meows at you.

Not officially. Not in, like, actual cat language, but he drops his bag by the door and responds to your quiet greeting with a heavy sigh, and, "It’s good to be back.”

You can’t help the grin that spreads across your face, so you quickly hide it by staring at the TV.

He joins you for dinner the next time you cook. And the next. Groceries pop up like spring flowers, anything you write down, even if it’s snacks he never touches.

He starts hanging out with you while you cook. On the other side of the counter at first, looming like a dark shadow, just listening to your music and offering answers to your small talk.

You keep it light. Keep it friendly and easy, and entice him over occasionally to taste what you’re making. He starts lingering closer, letting the kitchen light touch him, leaning against your side of the counter. The scary side.

And then one day he tells you a joke. Just completely out of the blue, “What do you call an angry carrot?”

“Uhh…” you pause peeling carrots for a second, trying to wrap your head around some scenario where this is a legitimate question, because surely he's not about to tell you an actual joke. “I dunno?”

“A steamed vegetable.”

You return to your carrots with a delighted laugh. He's being friendly, he's making jokes! Best not comment on the progress he's made, because you don’t want to scare him off.

Good luck with that.

He starts following you around like an actual stray cat. You can’t bear to close the door on him, so he’s just always there, hanging out in the doorway, telling you little bits about his day while you brush your teeth for bed. He doesn’t talk a whole lot, prefers to listen to you yap, but he’s shut in his room less and less.

Except for the bad times. Simon goes through phases where he recluses himself again. Sometimes it’s only a few hours, other times it’s days, but he occasionally needs time to himself, and you don’t mind. You still get a thrill every time he appears again, metaphorically meowing at you and rubbing up against your leg.

God, you wish he would. You could use some good leg rubbing, actually.

Is he the rubbing type? He’s never made a pass at you, never touched you at all, and even the times when you’ve hung out together in your room, he always stood politely in the doorway. Always turned his head to the side when you’ve had to open your underwear drawer or spilled sauce on your shirt and had to strip it off. He’s just like that, always aware of your personal space and his, uncomfortable about the two bubbles touching without warning.

When it finally happens, it's you who's surprised.

You've just halted mid-step in the middle of the kitchen, staring down at the corner of the cabinets because you swear you just saw something move.

When all of a sudden, and actual mouse scampers across the floor, doing erratic zig zags like it's too scared to decide where to go, and all you can do is scream because it's coming right for you--

A thick arm clamps around your stomach, and your feet abruptly lose contact with the floor. You've completely lost track of the mouse, you're just frozen in shock from the fact that your whole back is glued to Simon's side, and he doesn't even bother to hold you up with both arms as he swivels around searching for where the mouse went.

"Thanks," you squeak, patting his forearm as a signal to put you down. "You're really strong, holy shit."

He grunts like he doesn't agree. "Doesn't take much to lift somebody."

Your feet touch back down to the linoleum, and you just hope your hot face isn't too evident. "Right, uh huh. Cause I could definitely lift you."

"Probably could."

You eye him skeptically, all the way from his socks, to the always-mussed hair at the top of the mountain. "I don't feel like throwing out my back, but thanks for the offer."

"I wasn't offering."

It's just small talk. Regular jokes, with his usual deadpan delivery, but you swear there was something he meant to say in those words. You try to discern them, gazing up into those brown eyes that don't mind meeting yours anymore.

It's hanging in the air, the thing he meant to say. You don't want to try and guess. It's too risky, and you might hurt yourself if you get it wrong.

"What is it, Simon? What's wrong?"

His eyes stutter for just a second, like he's ripping himself out of a train of thought. "I think you should hide in your room while I find that mouse."

Stupid, cockblocking mouse.

You don't sleep well that night. You keep thinking about your quiet roommate, end up having to jerk off at two in the morning just to get a little bit of relief, and your sleep is fretful even after that.

You ask about the mouse the next day, and he swears he not only caught it, but released it in the woods a mile away. There's absolutely no telling if he's pulling your leg or not, so you just drop it, too absorbed in the questions that were haunting you all night.

"I'm not good at... fucking."

Your head snaps up, staring wide eyed at Simon's troubled expression across the table. "What?"

"I've never been with a woman before. At least, not... like this. Wager I'll make a fool of myself, so I might as well get it out in the open."

"Oh. Um." Your heart is pounding, your mind whirling to comprehend how you got here so suddenly. He looks so scared, holding himself rigidly into place without so much as blinking, and you're taking far too long to answer at this point.

"I'm good at it," you finally tell him, hoping it sounds more comforting and less like a brag. "We can figure it out together, if it's something you want to do."

"Okay."

It takes a little while to get there. Some time to find a natural moment to take his hand in yours, for him to return the gesture by wrapping his arm around your waist and bringing your body over to his. But then his hand finds the back of your neck, and he's definitely not a beginner at kissing.

You've wanted it for so long, imagined it so often, that the press of his body against yours almost feels familiar. The seeking movements of his lips, the soft breaths coasting over your cheek. It's quiet and slow, in the corner of your shared kitchen.

He tucks your body into his, lets you saturate yourself in each second of this moment while you both learn the way the other likes to kiss. You end up in your bed soon after, just for the sake of comfort and lining up your mouths a little more conveniently.

It's easy to lose yourself in the safety of him. Your body feels at home in the muscled softness of his, in the thoughtful, patient movements of his hands exploring under your clothes. It feels like he's belonged to you far sooner than today.

His first time isn't perfect, but he makes up for his inexperience by taking his time. Laughs at your breathless, "a hole is a hole" statement, and insists on exploring with his mouth and fingers first.

Simon makes the prettiest noises when he finds your wetness waiting for him. He seems to enjoy the feeling of it on his fingers, sliding them in and out so carefully, studying the textures inside you. He tastes his own fingers, less like a scientist and more like a little kid who's discovering new flavors in the sandbox.

He makes a sound then, a warm, rumbly one, and then pulls his fingers out of his mouth to lean down and find your clit with his lips.

A hole is a hole, but there's something special about whispering little cues at him in the dark, and the way he efficiently adjusts himself, ever the dedicated soldier. A hole is a hole, but you cum like that, with your roommate's strong hand gripping your hip, and his mouth accomplishing exactly the motion you need to draw a slow, brain-melting orgasm out of you.

"Yeah, just like that," you pant a few moments later, shoving his face away from your oversensitive pussy.

Just like that.

[devotedsweetheart]

caleb tying you tight to the bed after you attempted to run away while he was sleeping.... again. he woke up immediately when be heard the twisting of the room's doorknob, used to the sound after hearing it so often. he jumped right up from the bed and grabbed you by your wrist when you tried to sprint, his grip on you never relenting as he dragged you back to pin you down to the bed.

"you wanna fuckin' run away huh? you wanna scream and cry, tell me how terrible i am to you? bad. fucking. girl." he spat in your face, anger taking its hold on him.

he leaned over you hastily to grab the handcuffs he keeps in his nightstand (from past experiences of catching you) and jerks your hands to fit inside them, not even bothering to put a hand over your mouth to cover your protests. he cuffs them to the bed pole, sitting on your legs to keep you from kicking at him.

tugging at your pajama shorts & panties with mean hands, he barely gets them halfway down your thighs and he's already delivering a sharp slap to your clit; telling you that if you don't shut your 'pretty little mouth' he'll do it again, harder.

lifting off your legs, he yanks off his boxers and pushes your knees to your chin, staring at your glistening cunt before grinning and returning his gaze to you. "you like it when im mean to you, pips? d'you try and run from me on purpose, just so you can get caught?" he utters, a look of mock-sympathy etched into his features.

when you dont answer and continue your nonstop sobs, he sends another sharp smack to your cunt, causing you to jolt your hips and open your eyes to look at him. "i asked you a fucking question, answer me when i speak to you. do you hear me?" he asks, leaning down to whisper into your ear. you can feel his rock hard erection right on your core and it's making you go berserk, the lack of pressure on your clit is torture.

you nod, scared of what he might do if you don't respond. breaking the silence, you whisper back to him, "n-no.. i don't. im sorry, caleb, pleas-" but before you can finish your sentence, he brings one hand from your leg to your lips to cover the whole lower half of your face, shutting you up. the stretch of his cock filling you up so suddenly causes a scream to rip from your throat as you desperately try to pull your hands down from the restraints to push him off of you.

"don't start that shit with me, baby. i know you're not sorry, so don't even try to lie to me. shut up and take it like the good slut i know you can be." he whispers straight into your ear, biting down on the lobe after.

his thrusts are unapologetically deep and unforgiving. he makes no effort to control himself, letting out all the anger he feels into your poor little pussy. when you make an effort to hurt him by kicking your legs into his back, he simply brings himself up sloppily and slaps you with the hand previously covering your mouth; plugging your nose with it.

along with his hips, his face shows all the frustration thats built up over the times you've ran away. teeth bared, eyebrows scrunched, sweat dripping down his cheek. he's beautiful in his own fucked up way, at least thats what you think.

speaking of thinking, you can't quite form thoughts clearly as your vision begins to blur, dark spots showing up in the corners of your eyes. you're thrashing your body around violently, trying your hardest to get him to let up on you. he does nothing but grin an awfully evil grin, raising his voice to speak to you. "you gonna be a good girl if i let you breathe, huh? you gonna let me abuse this stupid fucking pussy, be my stupid whore?" you nod your head repeatedly as much as you can before he finally lets go of your face.

he laughs at you when you take big gulps of air, thrusts getting faster, sharper.

you can't help the way choked moans spill out of your throat. no matter how much you try to deny how bad you like your punishment, it really does just feel so so good when caleb is using you as his personal fleshlight. it feels even better when he shifts his hand to push on your lower stomach, feeling himself in there. your eyes roll to the back of your head, whimpers and incoherent sentences rolling off your tongue. it isnt long before his other free hand is grabbing you by the hair and yanking you to look directly at where your bodies meet, making an uncomfortable position where your shoulder blades are working overtime trying not to pop out of their sockets.

"keep your fucking eyes open and look at that greedy little thing of yours taking me so well, squeezing me so tight. you feel me in there? yeah? see that big bulge, baby?" he questions and you swear you're on the verge of cumming just from the dirty way he speaks to you.

you nod as much as you can with his hand restricting your movements and he lets go of you, throwing your head back into the pillows. he comes along with you, dropping just above your lips and caging your head in with his arms.

"you want my fucking babies inside you, huh? fill you up so good just so you wont leave me again. i bet you want that... knowing how absolutely filthy you are for me. nod your head, tell me you want it." he says into your open mouth, spitting in it while he's there. your eyes widen and you begin your protests immediately, shaking your head.

"awh, pipsqueak.. i don't care. maybe once my seed is inside you, you won't try to run away from me."

[satellites444]

sylus has a long day and he needs to eat you out.

simply because he's a giver, and he wants nothing more than to please you. that's his stress relief.

like, you're at home relaxing when you get a text from him, simply saying ‘need to see you’

so you unlock your front door for him and wait for him to arrive.

when he gets there you're on the couch in your comfiest sweatpants and your head perks up when he the door opens. you notice immediately the tension in his shoulders and the tired look on his face.

“how was your day?” you ask, your voice is curious. he meets your eyes as he walks towards where you're at on the couch, and he doesn't say anything he just drops to his knees in front of you.

“sylus?” you question as his fingers pull at the waistband of your pants. you let him take your sweats off, leaving you in just your underwear. he tosses the sweats somewhere in the living room and starts to leave a lazy trail of kisses from your knee to your inner thigh, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake.

“long day,” he says between kisses, “just need this,” he mumbles into your leg.

who are you to deny him what he needs?

“whatever you need,” you say, running your fingers through his hair, watching his eyes flutter shut at the touch.

he pulls your underwear off, leaving you naked from the waist down. he spreads your legs, admires the sight for a moment and then he's diving in

your back arches off the couch, your jaw going slack. he normally likes to tease you, take his time, but right now he's not wasting any time.

“aahh, sylus,” you say, it comes out almost like a whimper. the pleasure hitting you so suddenly you feel like you can't breath properly.

he's just as vocal as you are, too. he's moaning as soon as he tastes you on his tongue, he's whispering, “fuck,” to himself before diving back in. he’s gripping your thighs to keep them open so he can devour you.

he knows what you like, he knows exactly how to move his tongue to get those noises he loves so much. he knows that if he sucks your clit in just the right way, your hips will buck and you’ll let out a breathy moan. that's what he does; he’s in heaven.

you're flooding his senses, the stress of the day melts away instantly. he doesn't even remember why he was so pissed, why he was so stressed before because he's in his favorite place.

he gets messier with it as he loses himself to the action. not caring that saliva and arousal are dropping down his chin, probably onto the couch—he’ll buy you a new one. “need you to cum for me, on my tongue, i need it,” he says, only breaking contact with your pussy to ramble out what he wants. he's drunk on it. slurping and licking at everything you have to offer him.

when you're close, you have tells and he knows them like the back of his hand. your breathing gets shallower, your moans grow in pitch and frequency, your fingers grip his hair tighter. he inserts two fingers because he wants to feel you clench around them when you cum.

ultimately that's what pushes you over the edge, too. the way he curls his fingers has you seeing stars and you come hard.

he cleans you up, though it's more for his enjoyment. he takes his time doing it, still relishing in the taste of you, the feeling of you on his tongue. he stays down there until you're pulling at his head.

he’s rock hard in his pants, but he doesn't ask you to return the favor because honestly, he got what he wanted. maybe later he’ll fuck you, or he’s going to touch himself to the image of eating you out but right now he's helping you put your clothes back on and ordering take out.

[espinosaurusrexex]

Bucky who starts a purely platonic physical touch giving friendship with reader… until it turns into more

･ﾟ✫* 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑖 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡  ｡✭･ﾟ

It starts off so innocently. Bucky just sat really close to you one day and noticed how the touch of your shoulder on his made him tingly all over.

The same happened when your hand brushed his, or you passed close by, and he caught a whiff of your hair - something that reminds him of the feeling he now seeks out when you’re around.

It’s no secret that either of you have been single a long time with basically no prospects for a future relationship, so no one questions when you and him suddenly hang out more.

He invites you over when you ask him if he was okay, and he realized that his day was in fact crappy and that if you offered to talk to him, he’d tell you all about it.

And when you sit on the sofa listening to Bucky talk, your hand instinctively found his and before Bucky knew it, his head was pressed into your shoulder, your nails raking over his scalp releasing a feeling within him, he can only describe as heavenly.

He loves it when you comfort him, and he loves comforting you, somehow knowing that you need this part of your friendship just as much as he does.

So it becomes a regular thing: when the rest of the team returns home to their spouses after a tiring mission, you and Bucky retreat to either one of your apartments under the pretense of not wanting to be alone.

Of course, neither of you planned for it to become so touchy and intimate... no, that would be insane, right?

It’s a normal afternoon for the two of you, hanging out at your place, a movie playing on TV, Bucky’s head buried in your chest as he lays half on top of you and you with your back against the sofa. Your hand rakes over his hair as his are halfway tugged beneath your body, seeking all the warmth he can get.

The physical touch aspect of your relationship has somehow crossed the lines between friends, but neither of you care. It feels too good to be held and protected to stop.

Bucky hasn't felt the caring touch of a partner in decades and you... well, let's just say that all men before Bucky didn't feel the need to express their love through aftercare - not that Bucky is in any way shape or form about to give said aftercare... no, you are just friends. Just. Friends.

Friends who frequently hide their hands in the other's jacket when the cold catches up to them.

Friends who bury their faces in each other's chest and lap like it is the most normal thing a person can do to another.

Friends who somehow always wonder if the other feels that spark ignite whenever they hold each other close.

Bucky feels the sensation when he's practically caging you beneath his upper body of the sofa. He lifts his head as he usually does to see if maybe this time he could magically hear your thoughts.

"What's up?"

He shakes his head. "I just really enjoy this." he mumbles and blushes, and your hand suddenly stops its path along his scalp.

"Me too." you smile and look into his eyes.

normally he'd put his head back, and you'd resume watching the movie, but something is different today.

maybe it's the way his hair looks perfectly tousled by your constant motions, or maybe it's the way he slowly blinks at you like a very comfortable pet.

but you finally find the courage to kiss him.

Follow my library blog for fic updates! @espinosaurusrexex-library

[adorechris]

your presence — chris sturniolo

pairing: perv!chris x bsf!reader

includes: m!masturbation, chris getting caught, chris having sexual thoughts/fantasies, lowkey sub!chris, idk what else

it was never supposed to happen.

he was never supposed to feel this way about you. his best friend.

you’re hanging out with him, nick, and matt in their living room. the four of you are sitting on the couch, watching and commenting on the show love island. your sat next to nick, chris and matt on the other couch. chris keeps glancing over at you as if he needs to tell you something. but you don’t pay any mind to it, giving him a small smile before returning your attention to the show. nick and matt are engrossed in it, acting like they’re actually in the show and yelling at the screen.

chris’s eyes trail over you despite how hard he tries not to let them. first, his eyes trail over your eyes. watching how they move subtly. then your lips, noticing how plump and perfect they look. how much better they’d look wrapped around his—

then his eyes then go down to your cleavage. he didn’t mean to be weird. he didn’t want to. he didn’t even want to be thinking of you like this. but he just couldn’t help it. the way your tank top outlines your curves even sitting down, the way your hair falls over your shoulders, the way your boobs practically spill out of your black tank top…

he swallows thickly, shifting in his seat. he forces his gaze to go back to the tv screen as he adjusts himself somewhat discreetly. he forces himself not to look at you. but it’s like your engraved in his mind right now. his breathing gets heavier and shallower. he couldn’t be more grateful for the blanket covering his sweatpants.

matt looks over at chris, noticing his quietness. usually matt is quieter than chris. but not this time. “hey, y’alright?” he questions, looking chris up and down, taking note of his flushed and almost panicked state.

chris looks over at him, nodding a little too fast. “yeah, i’m just really hot.” he breathes out, shifting the blanket.

matt raises his eyebrows, not believing him but not caring enough to pry. “alright.” he mumbles, turning his attention back to the tv and giggling at nicks comments.

you glance over at chris, noticing his state too. his eyes meet yours, and he whimpers under his breath, swallowing thickly. he doesn’t even care how he looks right now—he needs to rub one out real quick.

he stands up abruptly, adjusting his grey sweatpants as he does so. you watch him, and immediately notice the huge bulge in his sweatpants. your face flushes as you look up and see his eyes staring at you. “i—i have to use the bathroom.” chris mumbles before practically jogging out of the room, running upstairs to his bedroom. not the bathroom like he said.

“the fuck is his deal?” matt says, looking at you and nick.

“kid probably has to shit real bad.” nick jokes, making you giggle. you turn back to watch the tv, but you can’t stop thinking about what you saw. how big his bulge was, how he was breathing so heavy, how his face looked so desperate and flushed…

chris goes in the bedroom, not even bothering to fully close the door. he lays on his bed, his back resting against the headboard of his bed. he lifts his hips slightly to take off his sweatpants and his boxers in one go. his hard dick slaps against his abdomen, and he hisses slightly at the feeling and the cold air hitting him.

he lays back against the bed before he slowly wraps his hand around the base of his dick. he starts slow—he strokes himself gently, going from the base of his dick and to his tip, occasionally rubbing his thumb along his slit. he moans at the feeling of finally being able to touch himself.

he squeezes his dick slightly, adding more pressure. “o—oh fuck-“ he stammers out. his hips buck instinctively, chasing the feeling.

he can’t help but imagine your lips wrapped around his dick. how you’d take it all, tears streaming down your face as he repeatedly face-fucks you. how beautiful you’d look with his length down your throat, his balls slapping your chin with every rough thrust of his hips.

he gets to the tip of his dick, and runs the pad of his thumb over his slit. he shudders, his head tilting back against the headboard, his eyes squeezing shut.

“m’so close…oh my—fuck—“ he whines, his brows pinching together. his hips buck, practically fucking his fist now.

—

“where is chris? it’s been like.. five minutes.” nick comments as he looks over at you.

“i know right.” you comment, “i’m gonna check on him, actually.” you say before standing up. nick and matt just nod in response, not thinking about it too much.

but you knew what chris was doing.

you go upstairs, checking the bathroom only to see no one in there. you walk towards his room, to which you hear muffled whimpers and moans. you walk into his room, acting like you don’t know he’s jerking off. you’re not sure where the confidence came from yourself, as you really only saw chris as your best friend.

“hey, chris, matt and nick wanted me to check up on y—“ you begin, opening the door. you stop when you see him. the sight is even more beautiful than you could’ve imagined.

his face is so fucked out, hair messy, brows pinched together, jaw slack, panting and whimpering like a puppy.

his eyes open when he hears you, his hand never stopping its motions.

“get out—fuck—“ he begins to respond, but gets interrupted by a moan. he whines, his head tilts back against the headboard. you stand there almost dumbly. he tries to cover himself, he tries to come back to reality. he really did try to stop, but the knot in his stomach is so taut.

he’s about to take his hand off of his dick. to try to act somewhat casual. but as soon as his eyes focus on you—actually focuses—he cums right then and there uncontrollably.

he cries out, spasms taking over his body as spurts of cum cover his hand and abdomen. his hips buck as he tries to cover himself poorly. “f—fuck! get out—“ he struggles to say as his eyes roll into the back of his head briefly, the feeling overwhelming but not stopping as it rushes through his body.

you step back, watching his body practically go limp as his orgasm ends. your faced is flushed, your panties soaked. “chris i’m sorry—“ you begins to apologize, but he just shakes his head.

“it’s fine. just get out and don’t tell anyone.” he pants, finally bringing a blanket over his lower half. you simply nod, walking back downstairs.

he’s so fucking embarrassed.

gif credits: @vxnitra

credits to whoever made this au idk who made it!

[darkbluekies]

Broken restraints

Yandere!doctor oc x reader

Summary: you've finally had enough and decides to switch the roles on your doctor, to try to get where he has placed the poison that is destroying you

Warnings: drugging, reader is held captive and poisoned, basically a little manhandling of darling?, restraints, manipulation/kind of infantilization

Word count: 2k

Your heart is beating. This can backfire horrendously, but what other choice do you have?

“Can I have something to eat?” you ask as he places the two cups on the table.

“Are you hungry?” he wonders and gives you a worried look, always speaking to you in that soft, understanding tone. “Didn't you like the dinner?”

“I did, but I'm still hungry.”

“Okay, would you want a sandwich? Or a fruit?”

“Whatever, please.”

He nods. “Okay, I'll be back soon.”

You wait for the door to click shut before opening your hand where he's placed the sleeping pills. Your eyes turn to his coffee cup. This is such a bad idea.

You grab your own cup of chamomile tea and place the pill underneath, gently crushing it against the desk, grinding it into a fine powder. Your heart beats inside your chest. What if he comes back before you're done? If he forgot something? How do you explain this without telling the truth? 

You pour the powder into his coffee, stirring slightly and feeling your heart sink to your stomach. Despite what he's doing to you, there has to be another way, right? But then again, if there was another way you wouldn't be doing this.

I'm sorry but what else do I do?

He returns with an apple.

“Here you go, little one”, he says. “Can't let you go to bed hungry. It's good that you're hungry. As long as you're not nauseous. Or cramping.”

From your poison, you mean?

You take a bite of the apple just for it to be believable. He takes a sip of his coffee. Your heart stops.

“How are you feeling?” he asks after he's swallowed. “How's your head?”

“Fine”, you reply shortly. 

He reaches out, touching it as if you had a fever.

“That's good”, he says. 

He drinks some more. You try to take another bite of the apple, but you're too worried about him feeling the taste, or the texture of the crushed pill.

“You look like you're going to throw up”, he says. “Are you sure you're fine?”

“I-I actually am a bit nauseous, when I think about it”, you half lie. 

“See? I know when you're lying, you forget I read you like an open book. Drink some tea, it'll help.”

He pushes the cup closer to you. You sip carefully. The warming sensation only highlights the disgusting guilt.

He tucks you in, like he does everything night, and starts to move towards the door, but your hand grabs his white lab coat sleeve.

“Please don’t leave”, you whisper. “Not yet.”

He looks at you in a questioning manner. You've been so quiet ever since you got to know about the poisoned air purifier, not wanting him close. But he can't deny you. Never.

“Okay”, he says and sits down on his stool, rolling over to your bedside. “Just lay down. I'm not going anywhere.”

“Lay?” you ask quietly, patting the space on the bed beside you.

“Why?”

“Please.”

“You haven't wanted me near these last few weeks. You've been rather cross with me.”

“I'm scared. I'm desperate. Please.”

He reads you like an open book, he says, but you pray he feels sorry enough for you to ignore any warning signs. Dr Kry sighs, removes his lab coat, leaving him in his blue scrubs, and lays down on the side of the bed. His bare arm brushes yours. He's weirdly warm for someone so cold.

Carefully, he directs your head to lean on his shoulder without a word. You close your eyes and pretend to sleep, opening your eyes every now and then to see if he's asleep. He's bigger than you. Maybe the pill was too little for someone his size? Or maybe the caffeine in the coffee balanced it out?

“Doctor”, you whisper after a while. “Doctor Kry?”

He doesn't respond. You lift your head from his shoulder, leaning on your hand as you push yourself up on one arm. You realise that you've never seen him sleep. He looks content, peaceful almost.

It makes what you're about to do so much worse.

You glance at the leather straps that have left permanent marks on your wrists from his discipline. Carefully you scoot over and lean over him to grab his right wrist, fully ready for him to grab you at any second. But he doesn't. Slowly, you fasten it to the side of the bed with the buckle straps. And then the other. You get off the bed and back away, taking in the sight. It makes you nauseous.

You walk over to the cabinet by the corner and pull over his stool to get a better look at the purifier. One hand covers your mouth and nose as the other twists and turns the little box, looking for the poison. Nowhere. This close, it looks harmless. 

You make your way down and over to his desk, looking through the drawers. There’s only papers. And documentation. You look throughout the room, but the poison is nowhere to be found. How can you ever get well if you don't even know what you've inhaled?

You have no choice but wait for Dr Kry to wake up. You sit down on his stool, waiting. It's tiresome, long, boring.

His eyes finally flutter open two hours later. You hold your breath. He blinks for a second, feeling something wrong. His hands tug at the restraints. 

“Y/N.”

You've never heard his voice like that spoken your way, only those few unfortunate times he has shown that dark side of his. But then that voice was never used against you.

His chest rises and falls with heavy breaths. 

“What have you done?” he asks. “Release me. Now.”

“Wait”, you say. 

“Get me out, Y/N. I'm not joking.”

“You have to listen to me first.”

“How did you manage to do this? You—...I see. You did something with the sleeping pill. Your little joke is not funny. Release me now and I will forget about this.”

“No, you have to listen to me!”

“I have to listen to you? With these kinds of methods you have?”

“Doctor, please.”

He looks at you for a second before clenching his jaw, leaning back slightly. He doesn't say anything, doesn't accept it, but he doesn't reject it.

“Where's the poison?” you question.

“Poison?” 

He looks straight at you, cold blue eyes sending ice throughout you. Anger is so unlike Dr Kry. Maybe this wasn't a good idea.

“Should have asked me when I was free, sweetheart”, he bites back. “I can't move. I can't show you.”

“You have a mouth. You can speak.”

“And you have one too, that's how humans work. One that works without having to tie me down.”

“You wouldn't have listened to me. And if you would have, you wouldn't have taken me seriously.”

“And you think this helps your cause? Because, to me, this looks like the doing of someone who's not well. Who can't be reasoned with. Who's too sick to take care of themselves, and that's why I have to.”

“I'm sick because of you! I want to know where the poison is.”

“Why? So you can go to the cops? I'm sorry, sweetheart but they won't be able to help you. That poison is of my own doing. There is no antidote on the market and if they want to figure out what I've put in it it'll take years to develop one … and who says they'll actually be able to? It's not unusual that new, untested substances make you worse. Face it, I'm the only one that can heal you.”

“You don't have an antidote.”

Kry scoffs. “Don't I? Do you think I'd be so stupid to develop a poison for my beloved, and not create an antidote in case something goes wrong?”

“Where is it?”

“Not in here … but I can show you.”

You hesitate. You're not sure if it's out of pure desperation, need to get out of the situation or the poison clogging your brain, but you move towards the bed. Unsure lying, as if you're waiting for a thought clear enough to stop you. Nothing comes.

You unbuckle one of his wrists. He immediately moves it in circles to massage it, grunting. As soon as you've loosened the other, he doesn't waste time. He flies up from the bed and in one motion, grabs hold of your jaw with his hand and forces you backwards. The grip isn't painful, but it's firm and unyielding. You've known that he's strong, but not like this. 

You stumble backwards until your back finally hits the wall beside the bathroom door. He towers over you, looking down at you in a way he's never done before. It's anger … mixed with something. 

He holds your jaw with one hand, thumb and index finger digging into your cheeks. He tilts it upwards, stretching your neck. You stare wide eyed, fear exploding in you like fireworks.

“What was that?” he hisses. “Do not ever do that again, do you hear me?”

“Let go!” 

“Y/N, don't you realise what could have happened if you hadn't released me? You're not well, you need me, precisely because of these kinds of things. See what happens when you think for yourself with that clogged head of yours?”

You try to turn your head away but he doesn't let you. His grip is still not harsh, just firm.

“You're irrational, hysteric”, he hisses. “And you think I will release you? When you act like this? How will you survive? Antidote or not, you're a danger. Both to yourself and others, clearly.” He thinks for a moment. “That's it.”

Swiftly he lets go of your face, bends down and picks you up, hoisting you over his broad shoulder. You yelp, trying to steady yourself against his back.

“Since you can't be trusted, I have to use your own tricks against you”, he says, walking back to the bed.

He places you down on the mattress carefully, supporting both your head and waist before roughly taking one of your wrists and fastens it to the belt buckle. He tightens it enough for you to not wiggle, on both sides. You stare at them, trying to move. Dr Kry grabs your chin, making you look at him again.

“Are they too tight?” he asks firmly. “If you can't answer verbally, nod or shake your head.”

You nod quickly. He gives the restraints a quick look, trying to decide if they truly are. He then stands straight.

“You'll be fine.”

He turns back to his desk and pops out another sleeping pill and grabs your glass of water that stands on the nightstand. He holds your face, forcing your mouth open and placing the pill on your tongue. Before you can close it, the glass is tilted against your lips. Water floods your mouth. His hand holds your jaw throughout it, refusing rejection. When the glass is removed, he tilts your head upwards.

“Don't fight it. Swallow.”

With the angle he has your neck in, you have no choice but to swallow the sleeping pill. You cough. 

“I despise having to use these kinds of methods against you”, he says dryly. “But if you refuse to listen to what’s best for you and behave, then I have to. I will put you back in your place, and that’s not to be mean. It’s to protect you.”

But then his eyes soften and his shoulders fall slightly. He sighs heavily, the anger running off of him.

“You should catch some sleep”, he says lowly. “You've been up later than usual. It's not good for your health.”

He tucks you in, jawstill clenched, but not angry. Not visibly. It's hard finding a comfortable position when your wrists are pinned.

“Y/N”, he says. “Don't do this again. Honestly. Don't.”

He gives off another sigh and leans down to kiss your forehead. You don't say anything.

“Sleep well”, he says.

He leaves the room, locking the door behind him. As soon as he's alone in the corridor, he leans against the wall, running a trembling hand over his face. This could easily have been avoided. He'll make sure it never happens again. If he has to feed you the medicine himself from now on, he will. Never again will he be put in that spot again.

[nikkento-writes]

It starts with a distasteful joke from Gojo. "I bet Nanami's pretty vanilla in bed, am I right?" He nudges you playfully as he sips on his lychee mocktail in the restaurant. Your boyfriend excused himself to use the bathroom and Ieiri went out for a smoke, leaving you alone with Gojo, who you met for the first time just a little over an hour ago.

You're shocked that he'd even ask such a personal question, especially since your relationship with Nanami is still four-months fresh. Unsure how to respond, you simply laugh, not answering. When he continues to stare at you through his blindfold, your smile falters. "You're being serious?"

He smirks, clearly egging you on. "I just can't imagine our little strait-laced salary man being very fun in the sack. No offense."

You're torn between changing the subject all together into something less inappropriate and defending your lover's honor. And unfortunately for you, as the anger inside you begins to bubble at Gojo's tactless words, you choose the latter. "If you must know, he's very, very fun in the sack." You cross your arms over your chest, glaring at him. 

He shrugs, the shit-eating grin still on his face. "I just can't see it. But as long as you're satisfied, that's all that matters."

"I am very satisfied, thank you very much!" you emphasize, cheeks hot now, annoyed. Before you explode on him, Nanami and Ieiri return, so you try to contain your rage as much as possible throughout the rest of dinner.

You intend to keep his outrageous comments to yourself, not wanting to start any unnecessary drama, especially with Nanami who is above this type of ridiculousness. But remembering Gojo's smug expression makes you irate all over again. That night, while you're cuddling with Nanami, you share the story. "So, Gojo said something funny to me while you were in the bathroom." As you recount the short conversation from earlier, you keep it light-hearted, laughing about it as if it doesn't grind your gears (which it does). In all honestly, your sex life with Nanami is amazing, and while it's nobody's business but your own, you can't help being bothered that certain people think otherwise. 

When you're done, Nanami doesn't respond right away, processing it all before he speaks. "Interesting." His voice is steady, though you can sense a hint of annoyance in his tone. "He's an idiot," he adds, holding you closer, grazing his lips on your forehead. 

You giggle, snuggling into his chest. "I know."

"But...you are satisfied, right?"

The waver of uncertainty in his voice breaks your heart and you almost regret telling him. "Of course I am! You know I am!" you answer confidently, peering up at him.

He kisses your forehead. "You promise?"

Grabbing both his cheeks, you smooch him on the lips. "I promise."

Gentle kisses soon turn into sloppy ones as Nanami rolls on top of you, surrounding you in his strong and muscular body. It happens quickly; the blanket is shrugged off, clothes are stripped and scattered on the floor, your legs are spread wide for him as he eats you out voraciously, proving how much fun he can be in bed. He makes you orgasm twice like this, getting it nice and wet for his hard cock, throbbing in his fist as he strokes it. “Ride me,” he demands, laying on his back, licking his lips while you mount him.

You oblige, sinking down on his cock slowly, adjusting to his size. “Fuck, Kento,” you whine, wiggling on his lap until he bottoms out.

“Feels good, huh sweetheart?” He traces your mouth with his thumb, teasing it.

“Yes. So fucking good.” You suck on his fingers, rocking back and forth on his lap. 

He fucks you like this, his feet planted on the bed, bucking his hips up into you at a steady pace. Suddenly, his phone rings, interrupting for a moment. He glances at it, his expression tensing, showing you the name displayed on the screen: Gojo Satoru.

"Answer it," you say, grinding on him with a wicked smile on your face. "Prove him wrong."

For a split-second, he looks at you like you're crazy. But something in him snaps, probably the same thing that made you so angry earlier. Sometimes, you just want to prove yourself right. 

He picks up the phone, putting it on speaker. Gojo's voice rings out. "Nanami, I feel terrible. I said some inappropriate things to your girl - "

"Fuck me, Kento," you whine, bouncing on his lap as he thrusts up into you faster, entire body hot and electric with pleasure. 

Nanami has the phone in one hand and the other that was just in your mouth playing with your clit now. Through labored breaths, he says, "Sorry Gojo, I'm a bit busy being an absolute bore in bed. Isn't that right, kitten?" 

He holds the phone closer to you while you moan your boyfriend's name, your third climax of the night approaching quickly. "Kento, Kento, fuck me Kento!”

Satisfied, Nanami sets the phone down on the bed, gripping your hips to pound up into you, the squelching of his cock pummeling into your wet cunt so erotic and lewd. “Gonna fill you up, sweetheart. Gonna breed this slutty little pussy.” Over the edge now, he shoots his load inside you, letting out his own husky moans. He hastily lifts you off him to eat you out one last time, his cum leaking down from your cunt onto his chin as he sucks on your swollen clit until you come on his face, moaning obscenities incessantly. Completely spent now, you pull off him to cuddle, kissing each other messily as you both come down from your high. 

"Ahem." Gojo's voice startles you as you realize that neither he nor Nanami bothered to hang up the call. Horrified, the two of you wait with bated breath for his response, noting the suggestive ruffling in the background. "I apologize. I stand corrected."

[comically-callous]

Can I request headcanons for Kurt, Remy, Logan, and Wade finding out that his gn s/o has never dated anyone else before him please?

X-Men requests YAYYYYY YAY YAY YAY YAY!!!!!!!! 🤸🏃🤸🏃🤸🏃🤸🏃🤸🏃

Wade, Logan, Remy, and Kurt with a s/o who hasn’t dated anyone other than them!! <3

Warnings!: cursing ig, reader is referred to as pretty (I consider that gender neutral, but wanted to put it here just in case), and that’s it!

A/n: Want them all ngl 😞 If it wasn’t already clear, I’m delighted to have my first X-Men request. And I also really like this prompt (definitely not because I can relate to it. Haha, shut up). Also, requests: OPEN 💜

Wade:

He straight up thinks you’re lying when you first tell him. He even laughs because he’s convinced you’re just messing with him.

But, then he realizes you’re not laughing and he’s like “Oh, shit. Really?”

He’ll apologize for laughing and probably say some shit like “Sorry, I just didn’t realize a smoke show like you was capable of being single”

And he means it. He was fully under the impression that you’d been on more than a few dates because you’re HOT

Definitely teases you about it. “Is that why your hands were so sweaty on our first date?”

Don’t be afraid to (playfully) smack him.

Despite all of the teasing, he makes sure to let you know that it doesn’t bother him. In fact, he thinks it’s cute

He’ll say that you’re “new to dating” even if the two of you have been dating for years

Starts calling you a rookie. And he ends up saying it so much that it just becomes one of the many pet names he has for you

And, yeah. When you’re not around he’s probably giggling and kicking his feet over how he’s your first boyfriend 🤭

Logan:

When you first tell him, he just looks at you for a second, not saying anything before going “You’re serious?”

“And you decided I’d be a good first pick?” He says it like he’s teasing, but, in reality, it does confuse him a bit.

Like, wouldn’t you want someone sweet and kind for your first relationship? Not a grumpy, old guy with knife hands???

Nonetheless, he’s grateful (and even honored) to be given the title of your first boyfriend

He doesn’t make a huge deal out of it. He’ll occasionally bring it up, maybe ask a question or two about it. But, it doesn’t really change anything about your relationship.

Or, at least, that’s what you think for a while.

One night, he returns from a long mission and he crawls into bed next to you, and you think he’s just gonna immediately go to sleep like he does every time he comes back from a mission. But, then he mumbles something.

“I wish I’d had someone like you as my first.”

And before you can even process it, he’s asleep.

You ask him about it in the morning and he says he doesn’t remember saying it. You can decide whether or not you think he’s lying.

Remy:

You tell him that you want to tell him something, and he can tell you’re nervous about it.

“What’s got you so nervous, chère? You know Gambit don’t judge nobody. ‘Specially not you.”

And you confess to him that you’ve never dated anyone and he’s like. “Oh. That’s it?”

He doesn’t mean to sound apathetic. He was just expecting something bad.

He asks you to clarify what you mean by “not dating anyone before him” because he thinks he somehow misunderstood you

“You telling me no one ever tried to get with a pretty thing like you?” And then he smirks. “Or were you just ignorin’ all of ‘em till Gambit came round?”

He also teases you about it from time to time. Makes little comments about how he’s your first.

But, it’s just because he loves it.

He often thinks about how he’s the only guy who’s gotten to take you on dates and do all this romantic stuff with you

“Don’t no one else know what they missing out on….”

Kurt:

He doesn’t even try to hide his surprise. He can’t.

“I’m really your first? But, how? You are so beautiful!” He’s just upfront with why he thinks it’s absurd.

He needs to hear it a few more times before he finally accepts it. And that’s when he starts getting giddy.

“I am your first lover?” He grins. “I like that, I think.”

And now everyone has to know. Sorry.

He will gladly go around and tell people that he’s your “first love” (as he likes to say). Is it usually embarrassing for you? Yes. But, it’s Kurt. So, it’s okay.

So, yeah. You definitely don’t have to worry about whether or not he minds it.

Of course, now he has to ask a bunch of questions about it too.

“So, was the first date you’ve ever had with me?” If you say yes, he smiles before asking. “Was it good?” Like he doesn’t already know the answer.

He’s just over the moon that he was the first person that you really fell in love with. And he wants you and everyone around you to know how happy he is with you.

[gilverrwrites]

Discretely touching them down there to their parts and gently squeezing when no one is looking and them not being able to do anything (since it's in public).

Ft. Bruce, Dick, Jason, Tim, & Roy. AN: Anon you're a menace and I love ya!

Bruce

You get exactly one, which he acknowledges with a stern pout and a cocked brow. Flawlessly concealing the fire you’ve ignited but for his laboured breathing and blown-out pupils. You’re walking a thin line, behaving like a brat in front of Gotham’s elite.

If he sees you reaching for him again, and trust, he will see; it will take him precisely 0.8 seconds to lock you in an unsuspecting death grip and pull you close. He wants you to feel the increased tempo of his heart against your chest. To feel the growing stiffness of his hard-on grazing your hip as he tells you assertively to; “Behave.”  

Dick

Dick sees your game; he raises you tenfold. He knows you’re up to something when he clocks the determined bite of your lips as you survey the subway car, and the mischievous glint in your eye as you look back at him. When your hand snakes under this shirt, caressing his v-lines, he juts his hips forward, presenting himself to you; daring you to take it further.

When you sink your fingers below his waistband he sucks in a deliberately loud breath. You freeze to survey your surroundings, but Dick does not. Dick starts grinding on you until he senses you growing nervous. He locks a sturdy hand around your elbow just in time to prevent you from pulling away, leans in close and whispers; “What’s wrong baby? Thought you wanted to play?”

Jason

“Is that a gun in your pants, or are you just happy to see me?” You giggle at your own joke, because Jason is always packing some form of heat. He might have laughed too, might have trapped your wrist in his hands and rocked against your outstretched palm if you’d been at home, or the club, or even the casino. But not the fucking grocery store, you little perv.  

“Are you drunk?” He offers you an out, glaring down at you with a gaze fierce enough to make a nun blush. You respond with a brazen-faced shake of your head, and he can’t help but imitate it out of disbelief at your cocky attitude. You stay like that, locked in a stare of, rock vs hard place, until Jason cracks first, noticing a couple rounding the corner at the other end of the aisle.

He grabs your arm with an unapologetic level of force, spinning you around and trapping you between his body and the trolley. Hiding his hardness by pressing it against your back. “You’re in for it later.”

Tim

Tim is the most taken aback. His pale blue eyes are rapidly examining your surroundings the moment he feels your devious fingers ghosting over the top of his thigh. He’s cute when he’s flustered, with pink cheeks and blown-out pupils. Nobody is looking, too focused on the conference speaker.

“What are you doing?” He hisses, but before he can get his words out, your hand is gone, casually pulling a non-existent thread from your sleeve.

You don’t reply, you just smile and shoot him a playful wink which puts him even more on edge. So much so that when you abruptly return, this time cupping his half-hard cock through his jeans that he fucking flinches. His knee hits the chair in front, and he sucks in a loud breath, earning him many pointed glares from multiple members of the audience.

“Babe.” Be tries to warn, but his hushed breathy tone makes him sound exactly as aroused as he feels.

Roy

You get it, you do. It was a long trip, and he’s starving but you’ve really been feeling his absence over the last few weeks, and the fact that you’re currently sat in a Burrito Bucket, watching Roy devour a tray of tacos, instead of being at home and watching him devour you, is a problem.

He seems to have noticed your sulking, but too late. “You okay ho- “

His question is halted by your foot tactfully situating itself between his legs. His gaze flits between his food and you, defiant eyes watching you through a mop of shaggy hair. A knowing grin spreads across his queso-stained lips as you answer faux-sweetly. “I’m fine, baby.”

“Right.” He huffs, breath hitching, freckled cheeks turning red when you press your toes down and something firm pushes back. He knows what you want, but he just loves to play dumb. So, he takes another bite, jerking every time you tap or roll your foot but never acknowledging what you’re silently begging for. “Is this one of those things where you say you’re fine, but actually you’re not fine?”

“I’m going home.” You finally concede with an exaggerated sigh, dropping your foot back to the floor and gathering your things.

“I’m coming with you.” He’s on you the moment you stand, draping his arm over you and placing kisses to the side of your neck, your face, whatever he can reach as you struggle to move with his deadweight over your shoulders. Notably, there’s still half a tray of uneaten tacos left on the table. “Funnily enough, I’m hungry for something else now.”

Taglist: @wandalfnation

[aurumalatus]

genshin situationships making excuses to see you

feat. childe, xiao, scaramouche, alhaitham, kinich. could be interpreted as slightly weird/toxic in some cases (it's all fiction though so have fun!). but also you do not wanna have situationships with half these men...stay safe out there.

childe keeps coming to your work. the first time, it’s cute—he brings you your favorite boba, he’s smiling and chatting you up, he buys something and leaves. it’s a sweet interaction to brighten up your day! …..except he won’t stop coming. he starts coming every single day. your coworkers think he’s homeless, and you’re too embarrassed to tell them otherwise. walks in and says “i’ll have my usual!” thinking it’s really cool and slick…someone please humble him

xiao pretends he got free tickets to see your favorite artist. he didn’t, and it’s super fucking obvious based on the way he’s acting—cheeks reddened, unable to make eye contact. it’s cute though! don’t question him on where he really got them though, because then he’ll have to tell you about the absolute ticketing HELL he experienced. three laptops and two phones on a friday morning, he was locked the FUCK in. even got his roommate to help him, now NO ONE is having a good time lmao

scaramouche doesn’t think he needs an excuse. it’s annoying because it’s true a lot of the time. you are (unfortunately) into him and he knows it. but he’s real forward about inviting himself to your apartment because of it. there’s a knock on the door at 4am…guess who. doesn’t text or anything to let you know, you’re opening the door in your pjs with drool dried on the corner of your lip. he’s raising a brow like you should’ve been prepared…BLOCK HIM!

alhaitham starts going to the gym that you frequent. it’s nice at first actually, because he’s usually so busy and it’s something casual and productive that you can do together. he’s a bit of a nerd, so you think it’s your turn to teach him a few things…except it turns out he’s kind of a gym rat himself on the side. can you blame him? with as much reading as he does, he knows just how important it is to stay active! “you really need to work on your form i think…” ….. are you sure you like this guy?

kinich keeps giving you things that you’ll have to return to him. so really, he’s making YOU come see HIM…okay. lends you a sweater even when you say you’re not cold, gives you his jersey to wear to soccer games, lets you borrow his notes… half your shit is his at this point. it backfires on him though because you’re lowkey forgetful, so now he’s missing half his closet and his grades are a mess….maybe he didn’t think this one through well enough