#bro could not keep his tongue from tripping

[iamactuallysocute]

SAJA BOYS x HUNTR/X’S ASSISTANT!READER 2

Pasta. Small talk. The period topic because it had to come too. Super senses. But you’re not exactly out of there yet. Less misfortune for you now, at least. Part 3 here

cw: menstrual cycle and talking about it, still implied fem reader, use of Y/N, another ton of cursing, Romance’s idea of flirting in general, could be a hard read there and there but it’s on purpose!! awkward conversations make the best relationships or whatever they say

AN: guys I promise this is not Romance and Abby centered, it’s just their nature to be always on your dick—y’all will get more of the others too, but they need time to come around!!

Honestly? They’re kind of dumb.

Not in a tripping over their own feet way. Not that dumb, but still not the sharpest knives in the drawer.

They’re good at this—the keeping you here part. The manhandling. The mind fuck that keep you pacing your room at night, jumping at the way Baby sometimes just… appears. They’re good at being demons. Good at playing with you like a cat does with a bird.

But smart?

That’s a generous word.

Abby, bless him, is basically the muscle brain ever. His biceps arrive before his thoughts do. And sure, he can lift you like a dumbbell and still smile, but when he talks? It’s like being dropped headfirst into a gym locker room.

Romance is smarter, in that street level, scammer way. He’s slick, talks fast, moves faster. But his brain is wired for one thing and one thing only: women. You. Them. Himself in the mirror. If it’s got a curve, he’s distracted. If it doesn’t, he’s bored. He can strategize, technically. He just doesn’t unless the reward is worth it.

Baby’s different. Not loud. Not muscular. Not flashy. But the thing is—he’s mean. Not necessarily with words, because Baby rarely speaks unless it’s worth it. But you feel it. The kind of low-level, ambient danger that simmers under that baby-faced grin. He’s not dumb. He’s just petty and doesn’t care to try harder than necessary.

He doesn’t need to know what the capital of Switzerland is when he knows how to make you panic with just a glance.

Mystery… Mystery is a different species altogether. Half-feral, part-theatre kid. You don’t know if he’s smart or not because he doesn’t talk. Just growls. Attacks. Watches you.

Never attacks you, though. Only the boys. Respect for that.

Once you saw him reading a book upside down. For twenty minutes.

And then there’s Jinu.

Your only real threat.

Because Jinu listens. He thinks. And unlike the others, he doesn’t laugh when you try to outsmart them. He watches you. Quietly.

He knew you were hiding a pin under your tongue before you even tried to pick a lock. He knew you were faking sleep before your breathing even slowed. He knew not to touch you when you were crashing out, not because he was scared of you—none of them are—but because he understood.

Understood the human part. The fragile, messy, emotional mess they’ve taken in and turned into their favorite little chew toy.

He might be the warmest.

The others mess with you because it’s fun.

Jinu’s the one who might actually understand what he’s doing to you.

You’re not even sure which is worse.

For an example, once you were walking past the kitchen, and you heard Abby in there, trying to explain to Romance why you can’t toast eggs.

“It’s not the same, bro.” he was saying, voice full of conviction. “Like, they’re both breakfast but one’s, like, a solid and one’s like… an egg.”

Romance, clearly entertained, just nodded. “Okay, but what if you did toast it, though? Like, what happens?”

You froze behind the doorway, staring into the middle distance.

You heard a wet splat. A hiss. A beep that did not sound like it should be coming from a toaster.

Baby walked past behind you, muttering, “Told them not to microwave the shell.” before disappearing.

You didn’t even have the strength to ask.

Smartest captors in history? Absolutely not.

Most dangerous because they’re unpredictable dumbasses? Tragically, yes.

And you’re stuck right in the middle.

Send help. Or maybe a better toaster.

Now though, the kitchen is quiet.

No distant grunting from Abby bench-pressing the living room coffee table. No bone-deep growls of Mystery body-slamming someone for breathing too loud. No Romance humming some song into your ear just to see if it’ll get you to slap him again (he lives for it).

Just you. And a pan. And some half-decent pasta.

The water hisses gently on the stove. You stir the noodles with a slow rhythm. It’s almost domestic. The life you once had before being stolen away.

You’d found the pasta by accident, digging through their absurdly stocked pantry—who even bought this stuff? You doubted any of them cooked. Or even knew what half the ingredients were.

So pasta it was.

Then, the sound of a door slamming open.

Laughter.

Footsteps.

“Angel?”

You don’t even have to turn. That voice is unmistakable. Smooth, way too close, Romance.

Then he’s right there, chin hovering just over your shoulder, arms caging you between him and the stove.

“Is that for me?” he breathes, voice dropping into a murmur that’s clearly meant to make your skin crawl—in a good way. “You shouldn’t have, sweetheart.”

“I didn’t.”

Then, “Y/N?”

This one’s louder. Dumber. Friendlier.

Abby.

He leans on the counter like he’s helping, but mostly just manages to look huge and tragically eager.

Romance sighs dramatically beside you, stealing the spoon right out of your hand. “This isn’t how you stir it.” he mutters, absolutely lying. “Let me show you. Elbows in, baby.”

You snatch it back. “I will strangle you with linguine.”

“Threaten me again.”

They’re unbearable.

Abby grabs a piece of uncooked pasta from the counter and crunches it loudly, nodding. “Mmm. Chef’s kiss.”

“I hate all of you.”

Romance presses in closer, whispering so only you can hear, “Say that again but slower.”

You elbow him in the ribs.

Then behind them, near the arch that leads into this part of the house, you catch movement.

Mystery.

You look at him. He doesn’t say a word—does he ever?—but he nods. He nods a little.

He wants pasta.

You blink. That… was actually really cute.

You shouldn’t. You really shouldn’t. They’re evil. Not just morally—they’re emotionally evil. Sadists with pretty faces. They’ve kidnapped you, tortured you, kept you trapped.

They shouldn’t get pasta.

But then your mind does that thing again—betrays you with kindness. You think of all of them, hundreds of years old and utterly brainless, probably never having had someone make them dinner just because.

When was the last time someone fed them with genuine love? When was the last time anyone saw them hungry and gave instead of demanded?

You don’t have to ask to know the answer.

So you sigh. Loud. Dramatic. But you reach for another pot anyway.

“Fine.” you mutter, already boiling more water. “But I swear to god, if one of you breathes on me while I cook, I will throw this spoon.”

Romance grins, settling back like he orchestrated the entire thing. Abby lets out a victorious whoop, clapping Mystery on the back, who merely blinks at him, probably wondering why humans—and their hybrids—are so goddamn loud.

They linger.

Abby tries to help by opening the jar of sauce like you’re weak. Romance throws a towel over his shoulder and starts calling himself “Chef Daddy.” Mystery does nothing, which is somehow the most helpful of all.

You keep cooking. Because fuck your empathy. And maybe fuck all of them too.

But also… maybe not yet.

Because Romance had this look on his face like he just caught scent of a very interesting meal.

It was you.

He leaned against the counter, spoon still hot from the pasta pot in your hand gently tapping at his shoulder, which he absolutely refused to take as a rejection.

You didn’t budge. Instead, you reached up with the spoon and nudged his forehead with it.

“Back. Off.”

He stepped back obediently—exactly one step. Then came right back in again, eyes dark and dancing. “Why? You’re so fun when you’re bossy.”

You shoved the spoon at his chest again. “I will put this boiling water in your pants.”

“I’d consider that pleasuring.”

“Out.”

“Make me.”

So you started to. Not seriously—more of a push than a shove, the spoon becoming your makeshift weapon as he kept leaning in, melting into your space. Every time you pressed him back, he’d disappear for half a second, then return, closer.

You shoved.

He smiled.

You swatted.

He leaned.

This went on for an embarrassingly long time.

It became a game. Not one you agreed to, of course, but it was entertaining. You pushed with the spoon, he came back with a wink. You stepped on his foot, he gasped, but it didn’t hurt him.

Abby didn’t help.

He stood by the fridge, watching with unreal levels of enthusiasm. Loved the show, really. Eating handfuls of raw pasta while at it.

Meanwhile, across the room, Mystery was sitting on one of the stools, elbows on the counter, watching the chaos with unsettling patience. Every now and then, he tilted his head slightly.

When you glanced at him, he blinked. Nodded.

“Don’t worry.” you said to him, half-exhausted, half-warmed by the tiny approval. “You’re getting your pasta. You’ve been good.”

Romance sighed, letting his head drop back. “God, I love it here.”

“Yeah,” you muttered, “I can tell.”

Then Jinu came into the kitchen too. After a shower, you’d guess, he looked fresh. Yeah, def a shower.

He was unbothered by the heat in the kitchen, or the chaos of Abby biting dried pasta again like a literal caveman. His eyes immediately went to the pot, then you, then Romance standing far too close with the grin of a man who had never been told no as many times as he had today.

“Everything fine?” He checked.

“I got harassed.” you replied dryly. “Repeatedly.”

Romance waved. “Hi.”

Jinu didn’t ask further. He never needed to.

Meanwhile, Baby finally showed up too—he was probably in his room—plopping down on the sofa with the smugness of someone who knew the pasta would appear eventually and refused to waste energy until then.

He didn’t say anything, of course. Just snorted at you as you turned back to the stove, one hand keeping Romance at bay, the other stirring the pot.

You were feeding demons now.

And they loved it.

“You know,” Romance purrs, voice smooth. “if you ever get tired of stirring that pot, I could give you something else to—”

You press the wooden spoon flat against his chest without even looking. “Do not finish that sentence.”

“Baby, I was just gonna say knead. For dough. You really think so low of me?”

You press the spoon to Romance’s forehead.

He lets it rest there, unbothered.

“I’d make it good, you know. I’m not all talk.”

He wants that cookie.

You shove the spoon against his mouth. “Back. Up.”

“Feed me and maybe I’ll consider it.”

Abby’s laugh booms in the background. He’s practically vibrating from how funny this all is to him.

Romance leans his chin on your shoulder. “We could have a normal evening too, you know. You and me. Candles. Lighting. Towels.”

You elbow him in the ribs, again.

But he doesn’t move. He just stays there, chin balanced lightly on your shoulder, humming quietly and beautifully to himself, spoon still resting against his lips where you’ve frozen mid-shove.

It’s ridiculous.

Romance drapes himself halfway across the counter now, cheek in one hand, the other idly tracing little circles in the air as he watches you with a look that says he thinks this is foreplay. Slow blinks. Loose lips. That permanently lazy, sinful smirk.

You jab the spoon into his chest and shove.

“Back.”

Romance stumbles half a step but returns instantly.

You do it again.

Push. He retreats.

Returns. You push.

Retreats. Back again.

“Oh, angel, so rough.”

Push.

“Is this what you’re into?”

Push.

“You and me, we could have rounds, baby.”

You pause at that one.

He grins. Real smug.

Yeah. He said it. Or no—offered it. Boldly.

He wants that cookie BAD.

(He absolutely needs that pussy I’m not even kidding.)

You jab the spoon harder this time, jamming it right between his ribs with a grunt. “You’re disgusting.”

“Hm.”

Abby’s behind him, absolutely wheezing, not even trying to hide how much he’s enjoying this little routine. He’s got one hand braced on the fridge, shoulders bouncing.

So that’s two pasta bowls. Well, three, if you count Romance, though he seems far more interested in eating you than anything with carbs.

You roll your eyes and keep stirring. This used to be your job, after all—feeding hunters. You were the background person. The gear girl.

Jinu moves past Romance and Abby—giving neither of them more than a glance—and reaches for a glass of water.

“I could help.” Romance says, leaning in like it’s a secret. “I’m good with my hands.”

You swing the spoon up so fast he flinches.

Abby cackles.

You turn your back to him just to focus on plating, but you’re smiling. Just a little. Because for all the bullshit, the teasing, the chaos—they’re… oddly easy to fall into.

Then, instinct. Like muscle memory, like the part of you that used to trail behind the girls and silently hand them this and that. The part of you that feeds people because that’s just what you do.

So even as you’re fighting off Romance with a spoon, your mouth betrays you.

“Do you guys want some too?”

Silence. Immediate. Unforgiving.

Even Romance pauses. That grin still carved across his face, but for a fraction of a second, he blinks—once—like he’s recalibrating something.

Your face burns.

Too late to take it back.

Jinu, standing near the sink now, glances up from his glass of water. His eyes find yours. Level. Patient. You brace for some kind of comment. Anything. A joke. A smirk. A deflection.

Instead, he just tilts his head slightly, and nods once.

“Yeah. If you don’t mind.”

That’s it.

Of course, the moment Jinu answers, Baby perks up from the couch. You don’t even have to look. You can feel it.

You glance over, and sure enough, he’s got that same unbothered look on his face. One knee pulled up on the couch, head resting against the back like he was born lounging. His chin lifts just slightly, that lazy sort of nod. Like he’s saying, “Yeah. Me too. I’m not about to say ‘please’ though.”

You sigh. “Okay. Pasta for five it is.”

Romance reaches out to touch your skin.

The spoon swings.

He dodges. Barely.

The garlic sizzles, sauce heating up in the pan. Mystery is still lurking by the counter, calm but observant. You wonder, sometimes, if he even eats human food. Or if he just likes the idea of it.

Meanwhile Romance is watching you with his chin propped in his hand and that usual look—smug, flirty, lazy. Except it’s not just lazy anymore.

It’s lingering.

The way you move, the little sounds you make when you stir the sauce, the way your nose wrinkles when you pout. You look like every girl he’s ever wanted to seduce and none of them at all.

He watches the way your shoulders roll when you lean over the counter, the way you slap Abby’s hand away when he wants to eat dry pasta again.

He could be in love with you.

Could be in love with you for a whole night in a king-sized bed for sure.

But also?

He’s starting to think he could be in love with you a little longer than that. A little slower.

His chest actually aches a little when you hum while plating the food.

He likes you in a way that makes him feel… young. Human. Almost stupid.

Abby, despite the meathead bravado and the shit-eating grins, watches you like someone who’s never really been taken care of.

He sees you move with purpose. The way you mutter numbers under your breath, checking the water levels, making sure everyone has a plate, a fork, a goddamn napkin. You’re on autopilot, maybe, but it actually means something to him.

You’re a little addictive.

He flexes near you sometimes. On purpose. Sure. He enjoys the way you roll your eyes and tell him his ego’s bigger than his chest. But deep down? There’s something grounding in you.

You’re tiny. Mortal. Fragile. But you got this way of swinging that spoon and facing five demons like you’re not even scared.

He likes that.

He doesn’t think about love. Not really. But if someone asked him to pick a girl to guard for the rest of his immortal life? Yeah. You’d be on the list.

He wonders if you’ll ever cook like this for someone who loves you. Really loves you.

And he kind of hates the idea that it won’t be him.

Mystery doesn’t understand half the shit you do. Not in a language sense—he gets the words. But the meaning, the little things, those human rituals, are harder.

Still, he watches.

You interest him. He’s never had anyone that close before, not without claws drawn, not without blood on the floor.

He watches how your chest rises when you sigh, how your fingers flinch when oil spits, how your neck tenses when the others crowd too close. He likes when you fight them off. That fire. That bite. You’re small, sure. Delicate, in that mortal way. That makes him feel better about himself.

He’s just watching. Not creepy. Not really.

Curious.

Your towel moment earlier still replays in his brain. The way your legs moved. How soft your thigh looked when you kicked Abby. He remembers softness. Barely.

You made him not want to snarl and want to snarl at the same time. Though the second one might be just because of all the new feelings.

Baby hasn’t said a word. Not a real one. He’s sprawled sideways on the couch with his knees up.

But he’s watching.

You don’t see it, not really. He’s good at being lazy. Detached. But every time you move, his gaze tracks you. He doesn’t flirt like Romance. Doesn’t joke like Abby. Doesn’t hover like Mystery.

He just watches.

And when you bend forward to grab the plates, the tip of your shirt riding up just an inch

Yeah. He’s looking.

You’re so… human. In the exact way he’s forgotten people could be. You breathe like someone who expects to wake up tomorrow. You speak like someone who knows how the world works. You make pasta.

He doesn’t even remember the last time he was fed without being manipulated.

Maybe he never was.

So yeah, he’s watching. And the look he wears isn’t just perverse. It’s intrigued. Interested.

You’re growing on him, whether he’ll ever say it or not.

And then there’s Jinu.

Still by the sink. Still sipping water, though the glass has been empty for a while now. He’s not thirsty. He’s thinking.

You’re an anomaly.

When he first saw you—struggling, kicking, furious in Romance’s arms—he figured you’d scream yourself hoarse and eventually give up. People collapse under pressure.

But you sulked. You bit. You kept making breakfast.

He sees it in your eyes—quiet intelligence, ruthless practicality, and something else he can’t quite pin. Compassion, maybe. That doomed, bleeding-heart sort of strength. It’s frustrating. Admirable.

And he feels something pull when you scrape sauce into the pan. Something small. Maybe stupid.

He’s glad it was you.

Out of all the humans. Out of all the possible options.

He’s glad you’re the one here.

He wonders, briefly, what your life might’ve looked like if none of this had happened.

And then he hates that he cares.

You click off the heat, twist your wrist, and scoop that steaming, creamy, cheesy pasta into mismatched bowls.

“Alright. Eat. Before I dump it all in the trash.” you say, loud and so fucking clear.

They’re moving.

You don’t even turn around to look anymore—you can feel them converging. Sharks to blood. Hyenas to bone. Fuckass demon boys to pasta.

Romance sighs loudly, arms up like he’s just come home from war. “Ugh, I knew I was in love.” he says to no one in particular, grabbing his bowl and practically moaning after the first bite. His idea of a thank-you. You roll your eyes so hard your neck cricks.

Abby ruffles your hair on the way to the counter—big hand, too warm. “You’re the best, short stack.” he grins, teeth gleaming, before lifting two bowls (his and Romance’s, obviously) with one hand and strutting off, Romance right behind him.

Mystery just slides up, grabs his bowl, and nods once—slow and respectful. A knight’s gesture. His way of saying, I won’t growl at you for the rest of the night.

High praise, honestly.

Jinu is last. He doesn’t rush, ever. But when he takes his plate, he meets your eyes again, gives a small smile—a real one, soft and rare like a whisper—and murmurs, “Thanks.” Just like that. Quiet. Real.

And then there’s Baby.

You glare at him already as you pass him his food, just because.

He doesn’t say thank you. Doesn’t even nod. Just takes the bowl like it was owed to him, curls his pretty lips into that tiny, smug smile and stabs his fork into the noodles like he’s trying to kill it.

You mutter, “You’re welcome, Your Highness.” and storm off before you throw something at him.

You slip into your room and shut the door with your foot.

Click. Lock slides in.

The room is still warm from earlier. Your bed is unmade. The little hoodie you haven’t worn since the first week lies forgotten on the chair. You place your plate down, sit on the floor, and finally take the first bite.

Perfect.

But that’s not what gets you.

No, it’s the absurd realization—once again—that you just made dinner for five demon boys who kidnapped you.

And worse?

You’re the one who told them to eat.

You.

You did that.

Fucking hell.

And yet… you chew slowly. Rest your head back against the side of the bed. And breathe.

It’s quiet now.

For once, they’re not poking, teasing, calling through the door. No flirtatious taps, no dumb scratching, no towel-related things.

You can almost pretend for just a second that you’re here on purpose.

Like you’re a roommate.

Or a girlfriend.

Or…

No.

You stopped that now.

…

(idk how to make a timeskip w vibe)

It’s about an hour later.

The house is quiet now, blessedly dim. The kitchen has gone still, bowls left half-eaten in the sink because of course no one cleaned up. Baby probably tossed his fork onto the floor just to annoy others. Romance probably left his somewhere suspicious, like on the bathroom counter. Abby probably flexed at himself in the hallway mirror on his way to his room.

But none of that is your concern right now.

No, right now—you’re in your room.

Alone.

In peace.

Your sanctuary. Your cell. Same thing, honestly.

Oversized T-shirt that falls just barely past your hips and a thong. You’re not trying to be a slut, just comfortable. Your skin’s clean from a quick shower. Your limbs are warm and soft and your book is finally open in your lap, spine bent.

You’ve finally exhaled.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

You freeze.

You already know who it is. You don’t need him to say a damn thing. That knock is practically trademarked.

“Hey.”

Yep. Abby.

His voice is cocky, light. Way too familiar. “Can I come in?”

You stare at the door. Your face scrunches up like you just smelled something rancid. You don’t even get up.

“No!” you call out, still seated cross-legged with your book. “You can’t. I’m literally in a thong!”

THUMP.

A thud, really.

A full body collision with your door.

Followed by—

“FUCK—”

Groan. Pained.

That was Romance.

You blink. Your jaw drops. You clutch your book.

Did… did he just run into the door?

Did the word “thong” break his entire sense of spatial awareness?

Outside your door, there’s shuffling. Coughing. Romance muttering something like, “My fuckin’ nose” followed by Abby’s absolutely delighted, obnoxious laughter.

You can hear it so clearly.

There’s the sound of a scuffle outside. A shuffle again. Possibly a slap. You imagine Abby’s smacking Romance in the back of the head, because that’s definitely what you would do. You already know Abby’s face is pressed against the doorframe, smiling, arms probably crossed over that ridiculous chest of his.

You shut your book and slap it on your lap, expression blank. Then you shout again, louder this time “GO. AWAY.”

There’s a pause. And then: a muffled giggling sound. High-pitched. Unholy. Absolutely not okay.

You hear shifting.

A breath.

A low hiss like someone just whispered something they shouldn’t have.

You close your eyes and let your head fall back against your pillow.

They’re grinding into the fucking door, aren’t they.

You sit up just enough to yell, “I swear to God, if you’re humping the door, I’m out of here!”

From the other side, laughter. Messy. Guilty. Absolutely unapologetic.

“Just the idea of you in a thong, babe.” Romance groans. “Why would you say that? Why—why—would you tell me that?”

You glare at the door. “BECAUSE I THOUGHT IT WOULD MAKE YOU GO AWAY.”

You sit there for a good one minute from that, doing your best impression of someone who is not highly aware that two overgrown demon boys are still stationed just outside your bedroom.

You don’t even try to read anymore. You know they’re out there even if they’re silent.

Romance had gone silent, but not gone. You know that much. And Abby? Abby has the subtlety of a grenade. You can hear the occasional, suppressed laugh. A little foot shifting. A deep sigh of exaggerated suffering.

You throw your blanket off with an annoyed grunt.

You’re so done. Beyond gone.

You stomp across your room in your stupid big shirt and even stupider thong, muttering curses under your breath. Fists clenched. Eyes narrowed. You reach the door. Breathe.

And open it.

Immediately, a body drops to the floor.

Romance, apparently, had been sitting right against the door. Probably with his ear pressed to it. Definitely waiting to ambush you with some stupid line or desperate plea. Instead?

Now he’s laid out on the hardwood, one leg awkwardly folded under him, hand still up like he’s trying to casually greet someone if u know what I mean.

His head turns. His eyes lift.

And there you are.

Standing over him.

Towering.

In nothing but your big shirt.

And your thong.

And his face is exactly level with the sacred, forbidden place between your thighs.

Romance gasps.

Like, literally gasps.

He’s not even trying to be subtle about it. You watch the awe crash over his face like a wave—lips parting, pupils dilating, body going completely slack on your floor. Utterly starstruck.

You don’t even cover yourself. You just blink down at him, tired. So, so tired. “Are you done?”

He doesn’t answer. His eyes are still locked on the space where your thighs part. You swear you can see the popcorn pop from his eyes.

“ROMANCE.”

He blinks.

“—Huh?”

“Get off my floor.”

He doesn’t move.

Behind him, leaning coolly against the hallway wall, Abby is just watching. Arms crossed. When he sees your eyes flick over to him, he raises a brow and smiles.

“Hey, cupcake.”

You step over Romance’s splayed body—he whimpers, actually whimpers as you do, and you don’t even ask questions anymore—and plop down onto your bed.

“Alright.” you mutter. “What do you want?”

Abby shrugs and walks in. He flops down beside you, his weight making the mattress dip, knees spread, like this is his bedroom too and you’re just the guest.

Romance finally drags himself off the floor, but not before another try of sneaking one last look under your shirt. He gets an angry look from you for that. Not that he minds. Probably because of it.

Then he slides onto the bed too, flopping dramatically across the mattress. His arm brushes yours. His skin’s warm. His head lolls onto your shoulder and he sighs, dreamy.

You should tell them to leave. You should throw them out. But they’re warm. They’re here. And for once, they’re not demanding, or teasing (well, not a lot), or plotting.

They just… wanted to be around you.

They’re not here to flirt.

They’re not even here to torture you, mess with your head, or demand information through grinning teeth and “accidental” touches.

They’re just… here.

With you.

And they don’t know how to do it.

Romance, still curled at your side like he’s never sat this close to another living thing without grinding against it, shifts and says:

“So, uh… how do you feel about… blood?”

You blink. Look at him.

He blinks too.

Abby chokes on a laugh. “Dude. No.”

“What? That’s a conversation starter.”

“That’s a fucking threat, man.”

Romance frowns. “I’m trying.”

You sigh. Push his forehead gently back with two fingers. “You sound like you’re trying to eat me.”

Romance’s eyes sparkle. “Would that work?”

“NO.”

“…Okay but if I said it softer—”

“Romance.”

“Alright.”

They fall into silence again. Not the heavy kind. The awkward kind. The what do we say now kind.

And it hits you:

These ancient, powerful demons who’ve probably fought gods, torn souls from bodies, destroyed empires—don’t know how to have a normal conversation.

They’re smart in ways that count when there’s fire and blood and strategy.

But here? In a bedroom?

Absolutely no idea what they’re doing.

They don’t say it outright—god forbid they ever just say what they want—but it becomes clear pretty quickly: they didn’t come in here to grope you, tease you, or steal your panties for some demented demon ritual. (Although if you left them out, you’re pretty sure at least two of them would still risk it.)

No, they just… wanted to hang out.

“So… do you, uh… eat?” Romance asks, voice unsure, like he’s never asked a real question before and isn’t sure he’s doing it right. “Like, for fun?”

“…What?”

Abby snorts.

Romance frowns. “You know. Like… just… eat? Even if you’re not, like, starving?”

But his face is earnest. So serious. So confused.

You realize it’s a genuine question.

They’re trying.

Clumsily. Awkwardly. But really trying to have a normal, human conversation with you.

And failing.

So painfully failing.

Abby adds something next, equally off the rails: “Do you… sleep flat?”

“Like, on your back?” Romance says, suddenly invested.

You blink twice. “Do I what?”

Abby shrugs, trying to play it cool. “Just wondering.”

This isn’t torture. This isn’t manipulation. This is… two demon boys who don’t know how to people.

They’ve been around humans before. Of course they have. They’ve scared them, maybe seduced a few. But this? Not a chance for them.

“I can teach you.” you say softly, watching them both lift their heads like dogs hearing a treat bag crinkle.

Abby’s brows arch. “Teach us what?”

You smile, gentle and a little mocking. “How to talk to people. Like… humans.”

Romance sits up, leaning in like you’ve just told him the meaning of life. “You’d do that?”

You shrug. “You want to know, don’t you?”

They nod.

“Okay.” you say, folding your legs under you and facing them fully. “First step, small talk. Start with something simple. Like ‘what’s your name,’ or ‘what’s your favorite color.’”

Romance blinks. “…That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“That feels stupid.”

“That’s the point.” you say. “It breaks the ice.”

Abby leans in now, elbows on his knees, studying your face. “Alright. You’re the expert. Let’s see it.”

You smile sweetly. “Ask me something.”

Romance clears his throat. “…What’s your name?”

You grin. “You already know my name.”

He glares. “I’m practicing.”

“Okay, okay.” you laugh. “Try again.”

He nods solemnly. “What’s your name?”

“Y/N.”

“What’s your favorite… animal?”

You tilt your head, considering. “Hmm… cats, maybe.”

Abby is watching you with a rare softness. “…Do another one.”

“Alright.” You think. “Ask about hobbies. What do they like to do in their spare time.”

Romance cocks his head. “What do you like to do in your spare time?”

“I like…” You pause. “Stand up paddling. SUP. Have you ever heard of that?”

Both of them stare at you.

“…S’what now?” Abby finally asks.

“SUP. It’s like a big board. You stand on it. Paddle across water. Lakes, the ocean, whatever.”

“That’s… real?” Romance asks.

You nod, grinning. “Very real. I love it.”

They both just… watch you. And not in a gross way. Not even in that I want to undress you with my eyes way Romance usually leans into.

They’re watching you like you’re the moon. Like you just said something impossibly beautiful, and they don’t know what to do with it.

“If you want to talk to a human girl—or anyone really—you start by asking something normal. Like… what music they like. Or what they had for breakfast.”

They both blink. That’s it. Just blink.

“…You ask people what they ate?” Abby asks, genuinely confused.

You nod. “Small talk.”

Romance looks concerned. “Isn’t that just a weird way to track someone’s dietary weaknesses?”

You groan. “No, it’s not about poison, oh my god.”

They watch you like children learning how to hold a crayon.

You soften.

Okay. So they’re terrible at this. But they’re trying. In their own… wrong way.

And that—that does something to you.

So you sit back against your headboard, legs tucked under you, and begin teaching them how to talk.

“Okay.” You clear your throat. “When you want to talk to someone, especially someone you… like” you choose your words carefully “you ask about things they care about. Things that make them light up. Memories. Hobbies.”

Abby raises a hand.

You squint. “Yes, muscle-for-brains?”

He grins. “What if the thing I care about is you?”

You groan, but can’t quite hide your smile.

Romance leans in closer. “Okay, okay—so like, I should ask you… what makes you happy?”

“Exactly.” you say, stunned he got it. “That’s actually… yeah. That’s right.”

He beams. And it’s annoyingly beautiful. His eyes crinkle. His lips curve.

“Damn, I’m good.” he says proudly.

“Don’t get cocky.”

Too late.

You look between the two of them and sigh again. But this time, there’s something warmer in your chest. Like… pity, almost. But gentler. Familiar. Like watching stray cats try to figure out how to meow at the right pitch to get someone to feed them.

“Alright.” you say. “Let’s practice. Abby, ask me something a normal person would ask someone they like.”

Abby sits up a little straighter.

He thinks. Really thinks. You can almost see the gears creaking in his skull.

Then, with all the confidence in the world:

“If you were an animal, would you let me ride you—”

“Try again.”

“Okay. Fine. Uhh…” His expression softens just enough that it surprises you. “What’s the best thing that’s happened to you this year?”

You pause.

Then blink.

Huh.

“That’s actually… really sweet.” you murmur.

Romance nods. “Yeah, man.”

You smile. And you answer, just a little. Just enough to let them practice. They listen. Like, really listen. And when you give them a pointer—“don’t interrupt,” “smiling helps,” “use their name sometimes”—they actually nod, soaking it up like sponges, eyes wide, brains buzzing.

Romance, who usually can’t keep his eyes above chest level, is just… listening. Watching your mouth move. His hands still for once.

Abby, isn’t smiling now. He’s watching. And when you catch him doing it, he doesn’t look away.

“Okay.” you say after a small breath, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your shirt as you glance between them—two demons sitting awkwardly on your bed, desperately trying to look casual and not like they’re both on the verge of falling in love with the same girl. “Now it’s your turn to answer.”

Romance perks up immediately, cocky little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Ask me anything.”

Abby just nods, one arm slung lazily over his knee.

“Alright.” you say, drawing in a breath. “What’s your favorite color?”

Romance: “Red.”

Abby: “Black.”

You blink. “Alright. What’s your favorite food?”

Romance immediately: “Whatever you’re cooking, baby.”

You shove him lightly, biting back a smile. “Seriously.”

Abby hums, thinking. “I had pizza once. It was… stupid good.”

You blink. “You’ve had pizza?”

“I’ve been around.”

You try not to picture that. The demon boys—scattered across decades, slipping in and out of cities, tasting food for the sake of curiosity, hunger, or just to feel something. It’s weirdly intimate, knowing that some of their experiences are so… ordinary. And still out of reach.

“And you?” you ask Romance.

He leans in a little. Not to flirt, not this time. Just… leaning. Like he wants to be closer to whatever this is.

“I remember once,” he says slowly. “there was this stall at a market in… I don’t know, Prague maybe? Early 1800s. Meat pies. They were greasy. Burned my tongue. I liked that.”

You study him for a second. The way his lashes lower just a touch.

“How long ago was that?” you ask gently.

He shrugs. “A while.”

You nod.

Abby watches you with quiet eyes. He hasn’t said much. Maybe because he doesn’t know how. He’s all strength, sure, but even now you can see it—that lost-boy softness under his armor. The way his shoulders settle just a little when he looks at you.

So you ask him something next. “What do you like to do for fun?”

He snorts. “Fun?”

You nod, a small smile on your lips. “Yeah. Not fighting. Not seducing. Not soul-selling. Fun.”

He looks down, thinking hard. And it kind of breaks your heart that it’s hard.

Romance takes over. “He likes lifting heavy shit.”

“I like punching Romance.” Abby mutters.

You laugh. “That’s a hobby?”

Abby finally meets your eyes. “It is when he squeals like that.”

“Bitch.” Romance murmurs, shoving him, and you giggle.

They’re not just bad at human conversation. They’re bad at being human. Period.

Somewhere between the centuries of war and death and demon deals and killing things, they forgot. They forgot how to talk without needing something. How to touch without taking. How to exist without destroying.

And it shows.

It shows in the questions they ask. In how slow they talk. In the way Romance stares at your lips a little too long, not because he’s being a flirt but because he’s trying to figure out how you make words sound so soft. In the way Abby looks down when you smile, like it’s too bright, too much, like he’s not worthy of being seen by something that pure.

They’re so old. You feel it.

Not in their faces. Not in their bodies. They’re still stupidly hot, of course but, they’re tired.

So tired.

You wonder when the last time was they sat on a bed just to talk. You wonder if they even remember what normal feels like. You wonder if—

“You alright?” Romance asks suddenly, tilting his head, brushing his knuckles against your knee.

You blink, coming back to now. “Yeah. I just… I was thinking.”

You don’t blame them. Not really. Even after everything. Even after the kidnapping, the torture, the mind games, the way they keep you like a pet in a house you can’t escape. Because you see them now. A little clearer.

You’ve always been too soft for fucked up things.

“What else?” Abby asks, voice quiet now.

“Ask someone what they love.” you say, swallowing a lump in your throat. “That’s a good one. What they love doing. What makes them feel like themselves.”

And the room goes still. Not awkward. Not tense. Just… quiet. Like they’re both thinking the same thing.

That they don’t know the answer.

That maybe they haven’t felt like themselves in a long, long time.

And you sit there between them, quietly wondering… if demons can fall in love the way humans do.

And if so—

Are they starting to?

You sit back, resting your palms on your lap, the hem of your oversized shirt draping over your thighs.

“You guys are actually really fun, you know?” you say, words a bit shaky from the weight of your honesty. “I know that’s not the goal here or whatever, and I know none of us asked to be in this whole situation, but… you’re funny. And weird. And charming.”

Romance’s mouth opens like he’s about to make a joke out of that, but nothing comes out. Just this little twitch at the corner of his mouth.

Abby looks surprised. Not stunned. Just… touched. Like maybe he hasn’t heard a compliment that didn’t involve his biceps since the civil war.

You glance down at your knees, then back up, slowly. “I mean it. You make me laugh. And you make me feel… less alone in this, I guess. And this—” you wave your hand in the space between you “—this is communication, too.”

They both blink.

Romance squints slightly. “What is?”

“This.” You gesture again. “What I just did. Sharing feelings. Being honest. Not in some dramatic, cry-on-the-floor way, just… expressing something real. It’s a kind of language.”

“Oh.” Abby says slowly. “So that counts?”

You nod. “That is communication. Just like when someone tells you what they like, or don’t like. Just like when they laugh at your jokes. It’s all part of… understanding someone. And being understood. I think you can be good at this.” you say softly. “You’re just… rusty. Out of practice. Maybe no one ever taught you how.”

They’re quiet again.

You glance toward the clock. Then flop back on your bed with a sigh, resting your head against the pillows.

“I’m also communicating,” you say after a beat, one arm thrown dramatically over your eyes. “that I’m tired.”

They both blink.

Romance points at you. “That’s communication?”

“Mhm. This one’s going to kick you both out in a second.”

But they don’t move. Not yet.

They just sit there—on your bed, in your space, in your warmth—looking at you like maybe the last few hundred years didn’t make sense until this exact second.

Romance’s brows pull together like he’s got something stuck between his teeth—something that might be a thought, or a feeling, or both. “So like… how do you know when you’re communicating too much?”

You raise an eyebrow. “When the other person stops listening.”

They both nod slowly, absorbing that.

Then, as if choreographed:

Romance: “I’m listening.”

Abby: “Me too.”

You groan. “I’m tired. This is me saying leave. This is me—communicating.”

Romance puts a hand to his chest. “I respect that.”

And then lies back beside you on the bed.

Abby follows, sitting against your headboard.

You sit up halfway, eyes narrowed. “This is not respecting anything.”

Romance grins, eyes already closed. “Just communicating how comfy your bed is.”

Abby lets out a deep breath. “Communicating how I might nap.”

But you don’t tell them to go again. Not yet. Because maybe you like teaching them. Maybe you like the feeling of giving something small and kind to creatures who’ve only known blood.

Maybe… this is your own form of rebellion.

So you reach over, grab your pillow, and throw it over Romance’s face.

…(cutie timeskip again guys how do I make it look good w this form of writing paragraphs)

They had slept in your bed. You had every intention of kicking them out. You swore you would. And then… warmth. Just a little shoulder pressed into your back. A breath falling slow and steady beside your neck. A chuckle that rumbled into your spine. It was nice.

They didn’t even try anything, for once. Though Romance had definitely tried to stretch that definition when he asked you, point blank, “so… does spooning count if there’s tongue involved?” He got a pillow to the face for that, obviously. But otherwise that, they just stayed close. They liked you. You could feel it in the way Romance stilled when you shifted in your sleep, like he was ready to grab you if you fell off the bed. You could feel it in the way Abby woke up before you and pulled the blanket a little higher over your body, like his muscles had finally found a use other than threatening or flexing.

It was… hard to process, actually.

Romance curled into your back, breathing softly against your neck and humming now and then like he was thinking of a song only he could hear. Abby had been your wall, broad and solid, warmth radiating off of him. You didn’t speak much. None of you did. There wasn’t really anything to say.

But god, it had been nice.

You’d woken up warm too, with one leg flopped over Romance’s hips, Abby’s hand lazily curled around your wrist even in his sleep. Neither of them commented on it in the morning. Just… yawned, stretched, and let you walk away.

That was two days ago.

You don’t let yourself think about it too long. Here you are again, crossing through the living room on your way to the sauna.

You’ve got a towel tossed over your shoulder, a bottle of water in one hand, and your flip-flops make quiet thwack-thwack sounds on the floor. You’re in your comfiest shorts and a top that might be a little too fitted, but you’re past caring. It’s your me-time.

You glance up as you pass Baby, slouched on the corner of the couch like a little prince. He looks like he doesn’t give a single fuck about your existence, and yet… his eyes are locked on you. He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t move. But he’s listening. You know it. You don’t bother saying hi. Neither does he. That’s the rhythm between you two.

Jinu’s in the kitchen, doing something quietly, back turned.

A tug on your leg.

You freeze mid-step.

There’s a hand on the fabric of your shorts, right near your thigh, tugging just enough to make you stumble. You turn slowly, your towel sliding slightly down your shoulder.

Mystery.

He’s curled on the couch, one leg up, looking up at you.

“How was your day?” he asks.

And your heart? It does this stupid thump thing, because this is Mystery. The one who growls more than he speaks. Who communicates in grunts, body checks, and the occasional perfectly-timed, absolutely terrifying death stare.

God. Okay. You breathe out a laugh that comes out a little breathless. He’s trying. He’s actually—trying.

“It was… fine.” you say softly, eyes narrowing just a little. “Yours?”

He opens his mouth, pauses, seems to forget what words are—and then his head darts sideways, toward the hallway.

You follow his gaze.

Romance and Abby are standing just far enough down the hall to be out of sight for you, but not for Mystery. Both of them pressed flat to the wall, not even hiding the way they’re watching like proud moms.

Romance gives a big, exaggerated thumbs up.

Abby nods like he just watched his kid graduate college.

You look back to Mystery. He hasn’t moved. Still holding the edge of your shorts, still looking like you might eat him if he messed this up.

Oh. Oh.

They taught him.

They used the shit you taught them and passed it along. Mystery, who probably had never asked someone about their day without also threatening to eat them, had practiced this. Had agreed to it. Had tried.

Your chest tightens with something warm. Too warm.

“It was actually a little boring.” you say, crouching down just enough to make eye contact. “I read. Napped. Thought about breaking a few things. But now I’m going to the sauna.”

Mystery nods, slow and satisfied.

And then, miracle of miracles, he lets go of your shorts.

You press your lips together to keep from smiling too much. “That was small talk, you know. You did it.”

He tilts his head. “Was it good?”

“Yeah.” you say, genuinely. “It was really good.”

Mystery leans back, curling his leg underneath himself again. You watch as his fingers twitch, like maybe he’s already mentally rehearsing what he’ll say next time.

You shoot one last glance down the hall.

Romance is clapping silently. Abby does a little victorious fist-pump before turning and vanishing from sight.

You keep walking.

Since that, life had been… weirdly manageable for the last couple of days. You’d found a rhythm: dodging Mystery’s curiosity, swatting Romance away with wooden spoons, pretending not to notice when Abby flexed on purpose just because you happened to be walking by, letting Jinu pretend he wasn’t watching you. Even Baby, asshole that he was, started giving you something like respectful silence. Not kindness—but he hadn’t licked your spoon just to piss you off in like, three days. A record.

Until you got your period.

You sat there on the edge of your bed for a full five minutes, blinking slowly into the void, your body already starting to get that annoying cold-sweat feeling. You debated it. Debated and debated it until there was nothing left but the obvious.

You have to ask.

You have to ask Jinu to go buy you tampons.

Because he is the only one out of the five who would a) not flirt with you during this humiliating mission, and b) actually come back with the right size and not lube or condoms just to be funny. Romance would definitely buy you a vibrating tampon “for the experience.” Abby would get lost in the aisle. Baby wouldn’t go. Mystery would growl at the store clerk and end up on a watch list.

So. Jinu it is.

You pull on a hoodie over your too-large sleep shirt, dragging your feet down the hall. His door is half open, of course—he has that habit, always just slightly ajar.

You knock anyway.

“Jinu?”

“Come in.”

You do, hands wringing at the sleeves of your hoodie, eyes not quite meeting his. He was sitting on the bed, elbows on knees, phone in one hand. Calm. Alert.

That bigass cat/tiger is next to him, watching you. You like that fatass but haven’t really had the chance to interact with it yet. It comes up to you sometimes. You talk to it. It walks away. That’s the usual rhythm.

“Hey.” you say, almost sweet. “So, um. This is kind of awkward, but…”

Jinu just raises a brow. “You need something.”

“Yeah.” you say. “Kind of a… girl thing. I mean, obviously. I just—could you maybe go out and get me—”

“You’re bleeding.” he says, not unkindly. Just… factually.

You pause. “Oh. So you believe me?”

Yeah, you might have tried to pull the period card a few times to escape. Obviously, it never worked.

He sets the phone aside. “I can smell it.”

“Oh.”

Jinu just looks at you, serene as always, and adds, “We all can.”

FUCK YOUR LIFE<33

You groan into your hands, your entire body folding in on itself. “That’s disgusting.” you mumble.

“It’s biology.” Jinu replies.

You peek up at him through your fingers. “So what, everyone’s been just… casually aware?”

“Probably. They haven’t said anything.”

“Oh good.”

“I’ll go.” he said, already reaching for his jacket.

You exhale, finally letting your body slump against the doorframe in relief. “Thanks, Jinu.”

“You’re welcome.” he says. “Take something for the pain while I’m gone.“

“I owe you.”

And then he left, just like that.

Jinu, please come back fast.

You made it back downstairs somehow. You didn’t know how. You disassociated at some point around the base of the staircase and came back to yourself in the kitchen.

Of course, that’s when Baby walks in, gives you a once-over, snorts, and keeps walking. Not a word. Not a single syllable. Just that awful, knowing look. The smugness.

Followed by Mystery, who tilts his head slightly in your direction and does that sniffling thing you now recognized was NOT a cold.

You want to cry.

And then.

Then came the worst.

Romance.

Leaning on the fridge.

“Y’know,” he said casually. “some cultures think it’s a sacred time.”

You don’t even look up.

“I will hit you with a tampon. Don’t test me.”

“Do I get a choice in where?”

“Romance.”

“Fine, fine.” He raises his hands in surrender. “Just saying. Nature’s got you glowing.”

You reach for the nearest spoon.

He backs off immediately, chuckling all the way down the hall.

Abby, mercifully, hadn’t shown up yet. Probably off lifting a car or doing squats with Mystery on his back. That was good. Abby was not known for his subtlety. You did not need to hear anything about “female cycles” in that big golden retriever voice of his.

Jinu, true to his word, returned an hour later.

He told you he asked a lady there and fans followed him around.

God.

Fuck him for being good at everything.

This life was ridiculous.

But the heating pad worked wonders.

Anyways, quick topic change,

Humans were foolish. That had always been true.

Weak, irrational, predictable, full of desires they couldn’t control and attachments they couldn’t explain. Obsessed with meaning, choking on dreams. And the boys had learned that the hard way, over and over again. Humans screamed and cried and made art and made love and still, in the end, they died as soft and breakable as they had arrived.

So yes. They were above most humans. Far above.

They couldn’t afford to love humans. Not anymore. Because loving something that would die before you even began to understand it? That was suicide on a hundred year timer.

But you made silly expressions when the stove was too hot. You muttered sarcastic threats when they teased you. You tried to cut fruit perfectly symmetrical. You thought of everyone else before yourself and cursed yourself for it later. You were soft in a way that didn’t weaken you, but opened you instead. You spoke gently when they were awkward. You taught them things without mocking them. You saw the worst of them—kidnapping you, locking you up, testing you—and you were still nice. You helped them learn how to ask, “How was your day?” And maybe, for you, it was just a moment. A kindness. A lesson you offered like a flower you didn’t mind giving away.

But for them?

That was the first goddamn flower they’d held in centuries.

Romance told himself that it was just lust. At first.

Of course it was. He was Romance. He lusted. He loved. He prowled.

He would’ve hit it, honestly. He’d hit it seven times in one night in a king-sized bed with candles and jazz and let you ride his face into the afterlife.

It had started with your face. Sure it did. He’d been watching you since the night he dragged you out of that shower, your mouth open in shock and your wet hair dripping down your back as he told you, so gently, so intimately, to speak or be stolen.

You hadn’t spoken. He’d never loved you more.

That was new.

And exciting.

Abby, sweet dumb Abby with muscles for brains and that golden glow that always made you sigh.

He didn’t get his feelings. He didn’t try to.

He’d been worshipped before. Respected. Feared. Adored. But he started standing taller around you. Tried to be funnier. Nicer. Lighter.

He just liked seeing you move. You were so small, so alive. Tbh he missed when you used to run. That first week? When you’d slip out of your room in the middle of the night, sprinting barefoot down the hall? When he’d catch you, laughing like a fucking idiot, spinning you around while you kicked and screamed and cursed him?

Yeah. He missed that.

He liked what he liked, and what he liked was you.

He knew that when you smiled—like, really smiled—it made him want to do pushups until the world ended.

And that he couldn’t say no to you. Ever. Not even once.

He didn’t have the words for it, not the way Jinu or Romance would. But he knew this: you made him feel full in a way taking souls never did.

Mystery didn’t process it like the others. He just… stared.

You were interesting. You moved differently. You didn’t fear him, even when you should have. Even when he growled, bit, scratched—tested your patience—you treated him like a person. Not a weapon. Not a dog. Not a threat.

He followed you without meaning to now. Watched you stir your coffee. Tried to figure out why your heartbeat changed when you read romance books. Sniffed at your shampoo when you walked by.

He didn’t know what to do with any of it.

And when you answered his awkward “How was your day?”—his first ever attempt at small talk—he felt something shift in him. Something… warm.

Something that hadn’t existed in him for a very long time.

Baby would never say anything.

Ever.

Not to you, not to them, not even to himself.

But he watched. He always watched.

You were good. A much better person than him.

He still wouldn’t thank you. Still wouldn’t talk about it. But when he walked by you in the hallway and bumped your shoulder with his as lightly as possible?

That was something.

He didn’t talk to you much, no. But he listened. He always listened. And the fact that he’d now killed three spiders for you without a word?

Total love language.

Jinu… Jinu didn’t fall.

He chose.

And in you, he saw something—bright, determined, stubborn and sweet. Something unselfish.

He didn’t think it was love. Not yet.

But it was something.

And in all the centuries he’d walked this cursed earth, there hadn’t been many somethings worth keeping.

You? You might be the first.

They were demons.

Older than a lot of religions. Tired of the cycles. So tired.

And then came sweet, stubborn, soft hearted you.

They had no business loving you.

What could a human ever offer them?

What did you matter, with your little hands and your sleep-stuffed eyes and your soft, stubborn heart that kept beating even when they broke it open a little?

You didn’t even fight them anymore. Not the way you used to, at least. There was no more throwing things at their heads, or trying to crawl through the vents (twice, and Mystery bit you the second time), or crying to be let go in that hoarse, desperate way that used to make Abby’s jaw clench.

Now you woke up quietly. You padded around the apartment with tired, careful feet. You cooked. You spoke softly. You answered questions with dry sarcasm and patience that stretched longer than they deserved.

You were sweet.

Too sweet.

And that sweetness did something to them that centuries hadn’t.

But how long can they keep that to themselves?

~ thank you for all the support! tags: @lasa27 @limerenceisserenity @zoeisdreaming6 @killinkiwi @xxying-yangxx @bubbleishiaaa @prettylittlelavvy

[fridgemissionmaster]

Can’t Sleep, Love: You can’t sleep and bug your demon about it (bros)

It was too hot. Well, your body was, the world beyond your bed freezing. Your mind could not stop racing, paranoia screaming at you to turn on the lights, look around the corner, to not keep your back to the door. Stress squeezed your lungs, breath shuttering.

It was the middle of the night, and you could not sleep. Even if you tried something deep in your belly knew it’d be restless, nothing but nightmares.

Was this any better though, being stuck in your head, waiting through every agonizing second, eyes flickering to the clock just waiting for morning to come.

Stomach churned, acid threatening to crawl up your throat, that disgusting aftertaste clinging to the back of your tongue, the stress of… everything, making you sick.

You just… could not stand to stay in bed anymore. What then though? Doom scroll knowing you’d only get a headache and placing the final nail in the coffin of you getting ANY rest at all?

Warnings: Lucifer: alcoholism, Leviathan: references to lesson 16, Satan: allusions to death/murder, Beelzebub: references to lesson 16

Lucifer

Surely the workaholic was still awake, signing papers meant for the prince, responsibilities not his own being shoved his way.

Your heart raced, was it the wide awake-exhaustion or the paranoia pricking at the back of your mind, you couldn’t discern.

Foot falls quickly and quietly padded across those wooden floors.

You weren’t sure why Lucifer’s office was hidden away, everybody knew where it was, it practically being treated as another common room like your bedroom or kitchen, yet there was still something… enchanting about having to tug on the out of place book to make the bookshelf jolt, before sliding to the side, just enough for the entrance way to be revealed as well as that staircase beyond it.

You froze for a moment on the top of those steps, those piercing eyes already on you. You expected to find them possibly leering from the desk, but no.

An arm lazily draped over the backrest of the couch, head smooshed and resting against the shoulder he peered over to you, face completely flushed, just about as red as his eyes or his nail polish.

A piano and violin duet drifted through the air.

He just stared for a while before a dopy smile slowly drew on his lips.

The sleeves of his button-up were rolled up, gloves discarded on the table beside bottles, several knocked over empty of their contents.

You knew the man had some alcoholic tendencies but…

You hoped it wasn’t as bad as it had appeared in the moment and that he was just very stressed from whatever nonsense Diavolo discarded for Lucifer to clean up this time.

He made no move but those eyes following after you as you crept down those steps. Once you couldn’t be followed any more, he turned around, grabbing one of those bottles, almost knocking another one over in the process before filling that empty champagne flute.

Cheerily he held it to you, the glass slightly tiled, off kilter in hand, that blue liquid almost spilling out. Quickly you took it, fearing Lucifer would lose his grip.

Those fingers twitched as they brushed against your’s, a soft sigh escaping him as he reached out, a hand on your own feeling that warmth. Delight played across his face as he squeezed your hand. A little giggle came spilling out, lightly jostling himself much more than a giggle should.

His breath reeked of this pungent fruitiness, practically burning as it hit your skin.

You let yourself be pulled in by that weak tug, the pair of you swaying across the room, the situation feeling almost dream-like.

He looked to you smiling ever so bright, so unguarded. Even as he tripped back, not crashing with you there to pull him up, his head thrown back in uproarious, almost hysterical, unnerving laughter. It was a new angle to see how sharp his chin was from the underside, his neck surprisingly thick and sturdy, shoulders broad, hair pulled back obscuring none of his face.

He did not refuse as you pulled him close to sway, his face flopping into the crook of your shoulder, a light pitiful laughter still escaping him, almost like crying.

Somehow you managed to drag him along, the man stumbling and humming all the way, the pair of you still in a dance. You regretted going up the stairs, Lucifer almost falling back, making you swear you got a heart attack from the incident.

Finally you managed to get back to his room. It was easy enough to get him to take those last few steps to bed.

You felt the bed bounce under you, Lucifer’s grip on your shoulder tight as he did as told. Even laying down he still swayed a little, incoherent mumbles melding into soft hums.

He felt so pliant under your touch yet you didn’t have the heart to pull away, not with THE avatar of pride nuzzling into your neck, holding you meekly like he didn’t have the strength to but wanted to keep you close. You couldn’t pull any quilts or sheets over yourselves but you did manage a throw blanket.

He melted and crooned as your fingers carefully brushed through his hair, brushing it out of his face. You shushed him sweetly as he tried to speak, you both needed rest.

WARMTH!

He awoke with a start, almost obliterating the intruder beside him before he saw, it was you.

You were beside him on the bed.

Sleeping soundly.

With a groan Lucifer clutched his head, it pounding and throbbing, that awful pain pulsing through it.

You

That wasn’t a dream, dancing together, not this time. But it was always a dream, having that quiet moment in the late night hours. It HAD to have been! Otherwise!

Desperately he tried piecing together those fragmented moments.

What the hell did he say to you in his drunken stupor!? Did he scream out his love for you? Did he say something unbecoming or beg you to stay with him or…

With a sigh he laid back down.

Just what were you doing up so late…

He didn’t like the dark spots under your eyes. Did he keep you up, had you only started getting sleep in the early morning hours to make sure he didn’t get up and do something stupid?

Holding you close he decided it was best to simply wait and rest after placing you back in your own bed. He could inquire about the night once he sobered up and you hopefully forgetting the incident, thinking it simply a delirious dream.

Mammon

He always broke into your room, why couldn’t you do the same to him. It was only fair.

Dashing down those empty halls, tripping over the stairs, you practically sprinting to his room.

It was always surprising how bright the man’s room was at night, soft glows from game systems, lights in display cases, and most notably of all the ones in the headboard of his bed, keeping the area around it gently illuminated more than the rest of the room.

It was easy for one’s eyes to adjust to this unlike the harsh florescents of Levi’s fishtank.

With a flop you fell on the bed, it shifting more than you expected, but you had awoken your first man, him practically leaping out of the thing with a loud, cutoff yelp.

Damn, and you wanted to poke his sleeping face, it’d of been funny.

Buggy eyes stared at you, your hand clamped over his mouth, a finger over your own, after all if the eldest caught you two surely he’d lecture you both the whole day through, for breaking bed time curfew, DESPITE YOU BEING GROWN DAMN ADULTS!

He glared, the look having no bite before it quickly melted away as it always did.

WHAT TH-

A hand clamped over your mouth before that squawk could escape you, Mammon trying to keep in his cackling, shoulders trembling, a bright smirk on his face, dewy sleepy tears in the corner of his eyes.

He LICKED you hand! THE CHEEK OF THAT MAN!

And you were too slow, seeing the glint in your eye and pulling back, leaving you to look the fool with your tongue sticking out.

Damn it, that smile and laugh too infectious, you couldn’t help joining in as much as you wished to stop yourself and feign indignation at his antics. Then again, you did kinda start this from his point of view, didn’t you…

You fell over, face landing on his pillow. Your demon looked to you, confused. He studied you, Mammon always did, why would anyone not want a closer look at the most precious treasure?

…

He laid down next to you.

Mammon always had that rugged charm, even with hair tussled and drool dried to the corner of his mouth he looked handsome. It was hard to read his expression in that moment, but there was definitely something. Calm… serious perhaps? Well dragons always took guarding their hoard seriously.

And he got up and left?

You sat up, watching as he went up those steps, pausing for a moment tilting his head to the top before continuing.

Well… what else was there to do but follow?

A door to his Demonio open for you, him already behind the driver’s seat, an arm hanging across your seat. But wasn’t this car THAT one? Literally the first thing he ever bought after…

Normally, being in such an expensive and sentimental piece one would be nervous to touch the thing fearing hurting it, and it’s owner’s feelings, however… just like ALWAYS, Mammon made you feel comfortable, relaxed.

He quirked a brow as you just stood there before smirking and coaxing you in.

That sort of… confidence, or whatever one wanted to call it, that sort of soft cockiness. That was one trait one could never deny the man had, even under all that impulsive recklessness that got him dismissed, that stride, that swagger of a man with the whole world in his pocket. A jewel to be held only in a velvet case. Strong, and soft.

Those eyes slightly droopy from sleep and unguarded.

Truly a beautiful contradiction of a person at first glance.

Smile sharp, a fang on full display, giddiness beginning to overtake him. He gripped the wheel tight, the pair of you were going to have to peel out of there fast once the garage door opened, the thing a bit too loud, especially in the middle of the night.

Engine roared the moment his foot slammed on the pedal, tires screeching for but a moment sharply turning!

Colorful lights raced by, the car slowly slowing down after that sudden burst. You were at one of the high paths, the heart of the city seemingly far down below, the castle now in the distance the only thing near your level.

Neither of you reached for the radio, the purr of the engine enough.

 Soon lights disappeared, fading into the distance, roads slightly bumpy, gently rocking the car, the occasional soft bump disturbing the consistent movement.

… Were the seats heated? Or had it just been that long since you had last been in a car at night, you didn’t remember it being this cozy though. You looked to Mammon as if that’d magically give you an answer. He still faced the rode, yet he was looking to you too from the corner of his eye.

Actually where were you going anyway?

It didn’t matter really, whatever plan Mammon had, you’d follow, just as he would for you, hell, you didn’t ask questions when following him to the car, so why would you now?

It was nice though…

The road ahead seemed endless.

Damn his neck hurt. As comfortable as his 666 Lexura was, it wasn’t meant to make for a good bed.

Maybe for a demon at least, you seemed just fine.

…

Good, the dark spots under your eyes faded some.

He leaned back, taking in that gorgeous moonrise. He was so tempted to startle ya, it was only fair after the scare you gave him, but… he couldn’t, you were finally asleep after looking so exhausted.

He’d just get his revenge later. For now, since the pair of you were out anyway, where should you go next? Maybe just keep driving, he’d run into something you’d like eventually.

Leviathan

At the very least, you knew with almost certainty that you weren’t the only one awake.

Up the stairs, around the corner that place was not far.

It was almost instinct to knock and recite those phrases when standing before that door, however on nights like these, you had to use a different key. Before even leaving your room you sent ‘.’ in the group chat, then when arriving at that door it was already open a crack.

You always had to cover your eyes when sneaking into the room, the screens and fishtank too bright and blinding, the space no different than it would be during the day.

Keys softly tap, tap, rapped away, the only sound other than the hum of the computer and tank.

You took a minuet to sit on the floor behind that thick bookshelf, it’s shadow blocking just enough so it all wasn’t as much of a strain on the eyes.

It these moments you really got to take in Levi’s room, usually whenever you were here you were dragged straight before some screen or there was an emergency, it was rarer to just… BE there.

Watch as the reflection of the water above shimmered and danced across the floor. It always felt so cold there, but it wasn’t bad like air conditioning blowing directly on you in a winter’s day. No, there was no movement constantly reminding out of it, the feeling hung still in the air tenderly enveloping you.

Occasionally a warped shadow would come by, it broken up into what seemed like many and you’d look up, being greeted by Henry happily swimming along.

Eventually, when you were no longer blinded you’d creep out of that space, taking a blanket out of the tub as you made your way to the beanbag chair in the corner.

His back was to you still, so your gaze drifted back up to those hypnotic waves.

Not long and you heard his voice say something, assumably to the mic on the headset.

In that cozy console corner Levi always had your game within arm’s reach. There was a time when you were here almost every night with the only other one still awake in that haunting house so it was convenient to not have to dig it out every time.

Even after it’s long since been the time of Belphie’s return, and sleep choked your lunges, mind terrified to rest, something screaming this would be the last, there was always a place for you here, every night, no matter what.

A calm farming game…

What were you doing last? It had been so long you had forgotten.

Levi’s character kept waving to you, and you waved back. After taking a few steps away he waved again. Might as well follow.

Through the tunnel, onto the boat, it then dawned on you. You and Levi just unlocked a new farm land.

And so you followed him around, gathering materials and cleaning up the land while he ran around finding whatever was near by.

…

He played thousands of times before you were even born, and yet he always seemed so excited, running around your character and taking you someplace like the waterfall that had that rarer ore or to show you one could recharge more stamina when there were capybaras in the hot springs.

It was a long time after you started to play this together and a long time ago when Leviathan once admitted to you this was one of the first games that really made him happy, no matter how rough the day, it was this one that made things easier, that was why when you came to him that very first time, he brought out this one. You just didn’t want to be alone and would have been content with just sitting beside him… he couldn’t stand it.

All the files were filled and he ended up deleting them all, telling you they were all completed and he’d be needing more room to play again anyway some time soon.

Even this time there was only one file, all the others still empty.

The game wasn’t tedious, but there were repetitive tasks like watering the crops until you implemented sprinklers or petting the animals while gathering their products. The daily pattern was calming, engaging enough to keep your mind away from your thoughts but easy enough you could just… do them not over think about it.

Levi would collect you by the time you were done, give you a meal to recharge your stamina before taking you on an adventure, sometimes a side quest for one of the town’s folk, sometimes going to the woods to befriend a new monster to add to your ranch, sometimes to actually continue the main story of the game for once, sometimes you arrived at a festival or friendship event.

Honestly such a peaceful life, it was no wonder this was once of Levi’s favorites.

It always caught you by surprise when Levi save at the end of the day before quitting, not continuing to another day. Gently he pulled you up before filling his tub with blankets and pillows before leading you inside, and…

…

It was always easy to tell when you were falling asleep, and he didn’t want a repeat of that first night together when he kept you up the whole night and Lucifer ended up getting mad at you for napping in class.

He never went back to gaming too quick, paranoid you’d stumble into a nightmare soon after closing your eyes. He’d simply watch you for a little bit.

Truly a filthy, disgusting person, wasn’t he. To like knowing you’d go to him out of all his brothers, even if it was only for the convenience that he was already awake. Didn’t even have the confidence to tell you he couldn’t play that game without you, with you in his life, he didn’t need the escape, that you brought him more joy in the time spent together than all the happiness accumulated in his endless life.

Pathetic.

The least he could do was keep watching over you, play on one of his portable systems as to not be a TOTAL creep, keep his headphones off and volume low to hear you, glance over to check just in case.

Satan

There was just a chance, maybe Satan had gotten so absorbed in a book he hadn’t realized the time and was still awake too. But did you really wanna risk death by angry demon or collapsing mountain of books?

…

Yeah, you did, better than this torture at least.

Scampering down the halls, holding your breath you tried remembering that light spell, you certainly were not going to attempt going in there blind, you weren’t that eager for eternal rest.

You just hoped no books blocked the door as you tried getting in, you couldn’t stand being stuck in that echoing, creaking hall for long.

Perhaps you used a bit too much force for those imaginary books, the door easily slamming open, before immediately shutting due to the pile behind it collapsing.

…

So it was now an excellent time to run for your life!

Hell, even get caught on your own foot and crash down the stairs, certainly much faster than running down them, right!?

Fumbling in you practically threw your door shut.

Wait…

HE PROBABLY HEARD THAT!

Damn it, and you couldn’t even remember if there was a light in his room or not, did you just wake him!?

HOLD ON maybe, maybe he’d just assume it was a cat??????

OF COURSE HE WOULDN’T WHO WERE YOU KIDDING, YOURSELF!?!?!! AS IF!

Look, he liked you, you’re special and get privileges, maybe he wouldn’t be too mad… Even so you weren’t sure you could look him in the eye. Hi Satan I couldn’t sleep so I thought to wake you up about it. That was just rude and annoying, wasn’t it.

You proceeded to scream into your pillow from the anguish of it all.

Why couldn’t you just sleep like a normal per-

creek

…

RUNRUNRUNRURNRUNRUNRUNRURNRUNRUNRUNRUNRNRUNRUNRUNRRN

Items knocked to the floor, window thrust open with such force for a moment you wondered if it cracked before throwing yourself out hearing the door crash open.

Okay, OKAY woods! Woods are good! Hell, Satan literally got lost in em and thought the pair of you would never make it back in them! PERFECT!

Breath caught in your throat, heart pounding, vision blurred you kept running, even as your bare feet hurt, howls and scratches rang out, branches snapping you kept running.

You j-

Air was knocked out of your lungs as you were tackled hard in the back, yet never did you meet the ground.

And you… fell back? Your view was filled with leaves and branches, the occasional light of a star peaking through as the wind swayed that dark green curtain back and forth.

You didn’t dare move, strong arms trapped you, squeezing you, but not too tightly. Hot breath crawled across your neck in puffs. You could feel a pulse beat against your back.

And there you stayed for a long time, you thought at least, it certainly felt like it.

Slowly you were sat up.

There you were, in Satan’s lap. His eyes, they seemed feral, pupils sharp and thin that dark reflection somehow wider and brighter, his gaze boring through you.

And they closed before nestling his forehead against your’s. His jacket was draped over your shoulders. Despite his slim figure he seemed to lift you up with ease, carrying you along.

Funny how this time it was like he knew the woods like the back of his hand already getting the pair of you out. Admittedly the House of Lamentation was a little off in the distance but still. Of course after that incident he’d memorize the place like the back of his hand.

… Wait, then shouldn’t he have caught you sooner!? How did you get so far!? He seemed to know what you were thinking, his little proud smile shifting to something charmingly smug, simply holding you closer somehow.

It was going to be a lengthy walk back. You were tempted to tell Satan you could walk on your own and he didn’t have to carry you, but something in you knew better.

Under his breath he muttered a spell, any nicks and scratches on your feet and ankles going numb. You almost missed it, his voice so quiet amongst the sound of insects chirping and humming around.

And warm… he felt so warm against the cold.

With you he looked up to those shimmering stars above.

Huh…

He could wake up like this every day.

You and he in one another’s arms, warm and cozy in the quiet.

Idly he smoothed a hand up and down your back watching your peacefully sleeping form.

It was cute how when he tried placing you in bed you still held on to his neck, who was he to refuse your wishes.

He had plenty of time to ponder why you decided to start that little game of cat and mouse last night, but he had to admit after the initial worry that something was wrong and he saw you simply couldn’t sleep and wanted to play a game, he couldn’t help but hug you tighter, a twinge of excitement sparking in his chest!

You could be so cute, did you know that?

But now what? He knew for certain he wouldn’t be wanting to let you go any time soon. Maybe, you were trying to ask for attention in a round about manner, it’d only be fitting to ask you out and get away for the day.

For now, maybe he’d try getting more sleep, a moment like this with you was rarer what with his brothers always around so he should take advantage of this opportunity to simply be with you.

Asmodeus

No, you couldn’t. Asmo was very particular of his routines, including his beauty sleep, you couldn’t interrupt that.

…

..

.

Then again, how was he always able to fall asleep like clockwork? Maybe it’d be alright to just wake him up for a moment, ask, then let him go back to sleep. It’d be like nothing happened!

Quickly you tiptoed across the house, making sure not to make a sound as you passed the other’s rooms.

It was easy enough to slip in, no curses to keep others from getting in to pull pranks, steal things or some such.

The only light there was came from moonbeams through the window casting the place in a soft, pale, ethereal glow. Honestly whith how particular the man could be about his athletics he probably arrange for his room to look as such at night purposefully. That and all the flowers around and for a moment your mind genuinely wondered if you had accidentally stumbled into a fairy’s garden for a moment.

… You couldn’t help that twinge of annoyance that even when dead asleep the man was gorgeous. When he was trying he was beautiful but even when he’s NOT trying he still is! Or did he manage to make sure he always slept in the most perfect way to be oh so alluring to any possible passersby…

Who were you kidding, he probably did, if you didn’t know Lucifer you’d think Asmo to be the world class workaholic in the family.

His perfection had always been eerie to an extent, maybe it was something like ‘too good to be true’ that there had to be a catch to all this, you felt getting too close would spell your doom, that this moment was simply a trap. Yet still you dared to sit on the edge of the bed and… just took it in for a moment. The peacefulness.

And you poked his cheek. Very soft. Very squish and plush. 10/10 would poke again, and so you did a few more times, just to temp fate and prove to yourself that your anxiety was panicking over nothing.

It was funny seeing him unconsciously and languidly bat at whatever kept poking him. He was a surprisingly deep sleeper, you just needed to pause for a minuet before he seemed to be knocked out again for you to keep up your timid, ticklish assault.

You froze when those eyes cracked open.

He seemed confused blinking once, twice slowly. Then a pout formed on those lips. Your face cradled in the palms of his hands, thumbs pressing over the area under your eyes.

Did you have dark spots? Could he see them even in the dark? The moon’s borrowed light was at your back casting you in shadow so surely he couldn’t have noticed such a minor difference so easily, right?

With a little high pitch groan and stretch he sat up, an airy sigh escaped him, the one that always did when he had to state the obvious.

Of course he’d notice, he could never overlook a single thing about you even if he wanted too.

Before you could speak and ask your question you were gently shushed, Asmo weakly tugging on your shoulders. Not sure what else to do you followed that force laying down on the bed, silk sheets and fluffy quilt draped over you.

Leaving a peck on your forehead and he was gone.

It was not long and he was back by your side, tugging on your arm. The moment you got up a fluffy robe matching the one he wore was wrapped around you.

Of course it fit you perfectly.

He hung off your arm, leading you along out the house.

You often forgot there was a whole garden here, it was rarer for you to ever come by it, when chores were doled out Beelzebub almost always volunteered to look after it so it was not like you ever got a chance to work on it, and you certainly never had the free time what with angels, demons, monsters, reapers, ghosts and all manner of other beings fighting for your attention for you to take time to properly explore the place.

Rose archways, wall shrubbery, patches of various flowers you didn't know the name of, even a little pond water reeds grew out of. Simple compared to the sprawling maze like gardens of the royal palace that you had grown accustomed too but it seemed lovely all the same, you really needed to make time to properly explore it at some point.

It was nice though, to think there were still things for you to learn of this place and the brothers.

The pair of you stood under one of those archways, Asmo inspecting those closed buds, eyes half closed, an arm still loosely wrapped around your own. After picking a few you were taken back to the house.

Placed back on the bed you waited for him as he disappeared into his bathroom.

A warm moist towel was draped over your neck, a light floral scent drifted from it, likely from those little dark petals.

You didn’t question it as Asmo sat behind you, his hands finding purchase under the towel and robe on your shoulders, his thumbs slowly rubbing circles into you. It felt nice…

When was the last time you just… did nothing like this.

Oh, and when did this cutie crawl into his bed?

It took a moment of admiring you to notice not you or him things like the towel almost falling off your shoulders and those petals…

Did you two do something last night? Surely he would remember, but he couldn’t…

Wait!

…

Nope, still nothing.

But he did recognize those petals and that scent Midnight Bloom Roses, his go to whenever he couldn’t sleep, the scent so relaxing, but what were they doing around you? You looked perfectly well rested and relaxed but were you already like that or was it the flowers?

Well, you seemed content so what did it matter, he’d let you sleep, in in the mean time he could prepare some things to pamper you! You’d surely have the best, most relaxing morning with him setting everything up for you! You deserve it~

Beelzebub

Well, you might as well as wait for him.

You laid in bed, a couple of the hanging lights above you lit, watching as shadows danced through that colored glass.

…

..

.

Or would he.

Sometimes he managed through the night. As much as you wanted to see him, you hoped you wouldn’t, it’d mean that maybe, just maybe, no nightmares came to torture him that night, that his stomach didn’t eat him alive, that… that he wasn’t hurt again.

Knock knock knock

It was very soft, so soft that even in deafening silence where one could hear only their breath and the house’s silent groans one could have missed it.

Slowly you got up and made your way for the door.

There your gentle giant stood, he too seemed conflicted about your opening the door, but since you were together, you might as well as make the most of it.

The wall shared by your room and the kitchen was surprisingly thin even after Beelzebub tore it down so you always heard him when he went on one of these midnight kitchen raids. It was actually rather comforting hearing him in those early months into the exchange program, knowing your friend was awake and nearby.

How many times had you done this you wondered.

Beelzebub raiding the fridge while you found something from the snack cupboard. Sitting on the counter, picking at some dried fruit while Beel devoured all that was placed on the table. Eventually on the floor in the corner huddled beside one another trying to not grab something else to fill the void. Quiet talks about everything and nothing that only existed in the moment never to be brought up again.

How many sleepless nights had you been there for one another?

He used to apologize thinking he was too loud and had awoken you which… yes he did sometimes, but he long since learned that wasn’t the only reason you’d be up.

How at times it was… easier to spend time with one another under the shadows of night, his face obscured, his shared eyes behind darkness, hidden away so you could be with only him, in the present.

Only one time did he try apologizing for his twin but you immediately cut him off. Beelzebub had no reason to feel guilty yet he still did all the same like he had hurt you.

This was a mutual need, this time together.

Even after so long and getting on better terms with his twin, it was just hard to sleep some nights, school overwhelming or chaos wrought the day prior still buzzing around in your head.

It wasn’t always like this, before the incident it was because you were unfamiliar with the Devildom, Beel actually ended up giving you a lot of advice in those late nights like how it was rude to look ghosts directly in the eye or if one ever got lost in the Devildom they needed carrot tops or wheat grass on them to find help.

Sometimes it was still like that. But there was something about the night that tended to make one’s mind wander to darker thoughts. And tonight seemed like it had been a rough one for your friend.

Warm milk and honey was simple enough to make, and it was harder to tell if any had gone missing unless the jug was finished. The man was practically perched on your shoulder once he saw you pouring some milk into that pan.

It was more a off hand comment, but he did tell you once the drink was special for him, after all it was the first thing you had ever made for him. You didn’t know he had awoken from a nightmare, that it felt even worse with his twin gone yet somehow you knew he was hurting and made some for the pair of you, you admitted you were hoping to sneak some without anyone noticing to help you sleep, it was hard to what with being in a new place.

Once the milk was heated and divided into mugs Beel set about washing the pan while you mixed in the honey, something he could do for you as thanks.

A deep hum rumbled in his chest taking that first sweet sip, watching as steam gently drifted up, wispy and shaking from the cold.

He wrapped an around you, pulling you close. He was practically a heater, no matter the weather, hot to the touch, in the human world his touch may have been unbearable in the summer or day time, but in the eternal chill night of the Devildom it was so comforting.

… Hesitantly you reached up a hand, wrapping your pinkie around his. With a gentle squeeze he finished his drink before quickly washing and putting away your mugs.

Some nights neither of you wanted to be alone, your silent signal to ask the other to stay a while longer.

If felt childish sometimes however you knew Beel wasn’t a judgmental person and you never judged him whenever he asked the same of you.

Once pinkies were linked he refused to let go, even after you got into bed.

By morning he’d be gone, it was for the best really, his brothers would throw a fit if they found out about these moments and would demand the same. But you couldn’t, this was something for just you and Beelzebub.

There were times where still you couldn’t sleep, but the time didn’t feel as long or the world so harsh. However it seemed like this time maybe you would.

In your bed with you, Beel could understand Belphie better. Body refusing to move, too comfy despite knowing better.

He always hesitated, staying a bit longer than he needed, worrying about making the wrong move and waking you up. And so he watched for any sign, a twitch, an unhappy face, for mumbles in your sleep. Only once he was sure you were resting well could he manage to get up.

He’d sneak away for his early morning stretch and run.

He couldn’t help smiling every time upon his return, breakfast ready and you looking fine and well, if a little sleepy at the table chatting with his brothers or eating something delicious looking.

He could never help reaching out, patting your head as he walked by to the kitchen or nudging your shoulder as he sat beside you. He was just too glad you seemed better and had to do something about it.

Belphegor

The Avatar of Sloth, literally who better to go to when one could not sleep.

It was nostalgic skittering up those hidden stairs, heart racing from the strange shadows that chased after you as you made your way.

The door was already partly open, and peeking in you spotted your prey.

Ironic how he was so desperate to escape and now he freely came back for sleep most of the time…

You noted to yourself to bring this up to Satan, very cat like behavior.

Despite the attic becoming a new lounge area for the brothers it was still about just as dusty as you found it the first time, the dust tickling and getting a few sneezes from you. At least the bed wasn’t with how often Belphegor came to it for rest… Although in the end he was usually covered in dust.

With an unceremonious flop you crashed onto the bed beside him. All you had to do was turn your head a little to see him from the corner of the eye.

Gently you rocked him, calling his name. For you at least he tended to get up more easily than he ever would for any brothers not named Beelzebub.

Now that you thought about it though… you don’t think you ever seen Beel wake Belphie. Maybe something to try some time just to see, if he gets up instantly the info would be good for future emergencies.

Running a hand through his hair got you nothing, poking his cheek got you nothing, shaking his shoulder got you nothing. Odd usually at this point he’s at least grumble something about letting him sleep in a little longer.

If it were anyone else you might have felt guilty for going to extreme measures but, this was Belphegor, he’d just fall asleep instantly again in a minuet and it’d be like nothing had ever happened.

You warned him that if didn’t get up you’d do whatever you had to get him up.

Still no response.

…

So, time to shove him off the bed!

He was surprisingly much heavier than you had expected. That meant you should not have been as surprised as you were at the volume of that thud, yet still it caught you of guard a little.

Leaning over the bed you asked Belphie to wake up once again only to be taken aback!

He was schmunzling! AND DOING A BAD JOB AT HIDING THAT SMI-

WAS HE AWAKE THIS WHOLE TIME!?

Finally that snickering burst out of him and he cracked an eye open to see your ridiculous expression. He playfully groaned about how mean you were, how could you do this to him, so cruel, and at such a late hour too.

It was only fair that he got revenge.

And that was how a pillow was chucked at you with so much force you too fell off the bed.

HOW WAS HE STRONG!?

Already he was curled up on the bed looking at you oh so innocently all the while smirking! What a puntable face, just BEGGING to be smacked, yet he dodged your attack!

Even as you leapt up, going in for a swing, he blocked it with a new pillow!

War broke out! Swings from all directions, blow after blow of fluffiness crashing into another, war cries dissolving into fits of giggles and laughter leaving one out of breath and vulnerable to attack! Truly one for the history books.

Unfortunately so caught up in this little game you fell for Belphegor’s trap, him tackling you knocking the air out of your lungs.

You laid there a moment trying to breath despite all that dust flying about.

Belphegor was surprisingly heavy as you had learned that night, plenty of time he had used your shoulder or lap as a pillow, but it was something else to have all of you be his pillow. Or perhaps mattress would be a more apt word.

Try as you might to push or toss him off the man would not budge. And just as you thought, he was already asleep.

So was this your life now, to be stuck here forever unless the ever napping demon awoke?

…

The demon snuggled into you, so warm and soft, mindlessly you brushed your fingers through his hair again, it wasn’t like there was much else you could do other than follow his lead and try closing your eyes.

What a racket.

He tried ignoring the yelling and crashing that came from down stairs. It’s your fault really, he used to be able to tune out their antics but ever since you arrived and stuck your nose in every one’s business and made the house actually peaceful, disruption from that was harder for his mind to unconsciously gloss over.

For once you were not being dragged around some place or another, his brothers needed to learn that you needed to rest too, aka take more naps with him.

Maybe this scare of you being missing would teach them something about appreciating you and giving you the time and space you need to recharge, hell, they all got you so wound up he had to exhaust you to finally force your body to let you sleep.

And guess what, if you wanted rest, the only demons you could be with without you being dragged into some other world ending crisis was him and Beel, just a coincidence really.

So he let himself drift back off with you. You better remember this favor though, it’s not everyday he sees fit to put effort in for just anyone you know.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Besotted 8

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, virginity loss, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: your new neighbour brings intrigue and a bit of danger.

Characters: ex-con!Bucky Barnes (silverfox)

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

“Ugh, you have no idea how much I needed this,” you say as you plant the umbrella in the sand. 

“Isn’t that what you said about the old man?” Angelique scoffs and pinches your ass. 

You swat her away, “were you not just asking me to hook you up with one of his friends?” 

“Whatever. A girl’s gotta eat,” she giggles as she sits on the beach blanket and flips the lid of the cooler. “And drink.” 

She cracks open the ready-to-drink long island iced tea. You opt for a fruitier option as you settle onto the blanket across from her. You flip down your sun glasses and sigh. 

“What about the others? I know it’s an exclusive trip but I doubt it’s just us.” 

“They’re coming,” she catches a trickle along her chin with her tongue. “Now you’ve been baptized, maybe you might find a hottie around here. Let me tell you, young dick is something else.” 

“Oh and you would know,” you roll your eyes. “I mean, don’t all dicks feel the same once have so many.” 

“Shut up,” she throws sand at you. 

“Matching energy,” you hum and push in the tab of the can. 

“Did he fuck air into your head?” She chirps. “Jeez, you’re a fucking bitch now, aren’t you?” 

You just laugh at her. She’s salty over everything. She never liked not being the better of you two. You don’t think it’s really all that different than before, she just has less to tease you about. 

“Angel,” Colin’s voice ripples over the beach. Angelique sits up and squeals. You didn’t know she invited him. “Hey, baby, you look good.” 

She jumps up, leaving her can planted in the sand, and skips over to him. She sends more sand your way. You shield yourself as his entourage traipses up behind him. 

“So do you,” she pets his hairy chest as she stands on her toes to kiss his cheek. “Took you long enough.” 

“Had to get the party favours,” he gestures behind to the keg carried between two of his bros and the bluetooth speaker better suited to a night club. “Huh, is that who I think it is?” He glances over at you. 

“Colin,” you greet sardonically as you lean back on one arm. His eyes drift down your body. You cross your legs subtly. He’s never done that before. 

“That a new suit? Looks good on you.” 

You narrow your eyes behind the tinted lenses, “sure is.” 

“Yeah, her tits never stop. She snapped the last top like it was tooth floss,” Angelique snickers and shimmies her pert chest at him. 

“Hey, Ang,” Harley calls as she unfolds her beach towel, “who’d you fuck to get this beach house?” 

“Oh, shut up, slut,” Angelique snakes around Colin and punches Harley’s arm. The two of them could be twins; tall, slender, high tits, even the same pedicure. 

You bend your legs and sit up straight as company files in. You know them all. The typical crowd. Colin, Ryan, Trent, and Sterling, who prefers Steez. Either way, he sounds like a douche. Then Harley, her sister, Hazel, Tracy, and Kissie. 

You put aside your drink and distract yourself with the bottle sunscreen. You should put it on before the sun’s too high and you’re too tipsy. The voices garble around you as you rub the lotion into your legs. 

As you reach for the bottle, it’s scooped out of your grasp. You look up at Colin. 

“Can I get your back, kitten?” He winks. You furrow your brow and glance at Angelique. She’s groping Hazel’s tits. They look bigger, not that you took measurements. 

“Fine,” you turn and let him smear the lotion on your back. You can’t reach and trying will only have you pushing out your already oversized chest.  

His hands run up and down your back. Tendrils spread over you and you hold back a shudder. Calm down, girl. You’re not that thirsty. 

His hands slip around and suddenly scoop up your tits. You smack him and yelp as you spin away. 

“The fuck, guy?” You sneer at him. 

“I was checking if they’re real. Hazel’s aren’t.” He chuckles. 

You grimace, “Colin, you’re such a perv.” 

“Never said I wasn’t.” He stands and snaps the elastic on his trunks. “Finish that drink and I’ll be back.” 

You curl your lip and grab the can. You flip him the finger and search for your bag. You pull out your phone. Low bars. You shove it away and stare out at the water. 

“...some old guy. Grey hair and everything...” Angelique’s voice wafts over. 

“Oh,” Tracy struts up, “I heard you’re a slut now.” 

You look at her and take a drink. You shrug. “I have a lot to catch up with around you guys.” 

She giggles and sits on the end of the beach blanket, “tell us everything.” 

You look at Angelique and she smirks. She’s such a bitch. 

“It was just... you know. Whatever,” you shrug. 

Hazel and Harley sit beside Tracy and Kissie hovers behind them. 

“How old?” Harley asks. 

“I don’t know--” 

“Like fifty,” Angelique says. 

“He doesn’t look that old,” you counter. “Or fuck like it. It was like hours. I’m still tired.” 

“Hours? Sure.” Trent scoffs. “Old guy blew and rolled over to get his five o’clock nap.” 

“Fuck off,” you wave him off. Colin peers over as he turns his hat backwards. You sigh. “Here.” 

You take out your phone and search for the picture that was your background until that morning. The one of you and Bucky. You show the girls. 

“Shit, he’s fucking hot!” 

“And jacked, look, you can see his chest--” 

“Guess he worked out in prison,” you joke. 

The girls go quiet. Kissie speaks first, “prison?” 

You frown, “I don’t know. He’s got tattoos. He mentioned something. I mean who hasn’t done a night in jail?” 

“You,” Angelique accuses. 

“Drunk tank isn’t prison,” Ryan snorts. 

You shake your head, “well, he’s not in there now. And it was one night. Who the fuck cares?” 

“I didn’t know men his age came in that flavour,” Harley wiggles on her knees. 

“What are we? Chopped liver?” Colin snipes. 

“One pump chump,” Harley retorts. 

“Like you would fucking know,” he turns away. 

The girls laugh. It’s a bit ridiculous now it’s done and over with. It’s not that big of a deal. Fun, sure. Just the thought makes you want to moan but it’s not life-altering. Nope, you’re over it now. Now you can focus on more important things. 

Like getting fucking hammered and going swimming. You don’t want to think about work or your neighbour or your rent. You just want to have fun. 

👙

The sun adds to the effect of the vodka. There’s that haze around the edges of the vision, that looseness in your body. You feel good. Lighter. 

You run alongside Hazel into the tides and she squeals as the waves crash over you. You plunge under as you feel the top of your tankini slipping. You pop up over the surface and catch your chest as the straps hang down your arms. 

You giggle as you search for Hazel. She’s adjusting her bikini as she wades around. She grins at you. The other girls come crashing through. 

A shadow lands next to you. You look over as the frisbee floats on the water. You pull up the straps of your suit and fix the cups. Colin chuckles as he swipes up the disc and flings it. Trent hollers as it flies errantly through the air. 

“Hey, need some help with that,” he tugs on the straps and your chest bounces. 

You smack his stomach, “god, you’re the fucking worst.” 

“How long we’ve been dancing around each other, huh?” He plays with one strap and you nudge him away. 

“Colin, don’t start with me, alright? I’m not interested and until two hours ago, neither were you.” 

“What? I'm not ancient enough for you? How would you know if you try something... fresher?” 

“I know, okay?” You back up. “I didn’t come here for that. I’m on vacation.” 

“What else are you supposed to do on vacation?” He asks as he catches your arm. He pulls you closer. “We could find somewhere in the trees...” 

“Ew, okay, stop,” you push on his chest. 

He bends suddenly and picks you up. He plunges under with you and the water floods your throat. He brings you back up as you hack and cough, wriggling in his arms. 

“Ugh, you two, no one wants to see it so go somewhere else,” Kissie chides. 

“Yeah,” Angelique agrees and you glance over to find her glowering. 

“It’s not going to happen,” you shove on Colin until he lets you go. 

You splash down and his hand brushes your ass. You swipe him away again. You stomp through the water, fighting through the depths, and come up onto the beach. 

You need water. Three drinks was way too much. So much that you’re half-considering Colin. He’s a creep but you’re getting a bit antsy. You should’ve known vodka was a bad mix with half-naked hotties. 

You sit down on the blanket and untwist the cap of your water bottle. You chug about a quarter then wipe your mouth. Someone drops down beside you. You peer out at the water in confusion before you look over. 

Bucky sits on the other side of the blanket. The sun shines over the silver streaks in his hair as he wears all black; tee and jeans. He’s unbothered by the sweltering rays. 

“So why didn’t you mention you were going away?” He asks as he rests his elbows on his knees and rubs his hands together. 

“How-- what are you doing here?” 

“I don’t take too kindly to being ditched,” he looks at you, his jaw clicking. 

“Ditched? No, Bucky,” you look away. “I... I had this planned for a while, I just... forgot to say. I mean...” you pick at your lip. “Look, it was a lot of fun. You and I,” you smile at him. “But like, that’s it, right? I mean, we’re neighbours, we don’t want it to get weird. And I’m a bit young for you--” 

“I said that. I told you that,” he hisses as a lock of hair falls forward. His eyes swirl like the lake. “I begged you to back off and you said you wanted me.” 

“Bucky...” 

“No, you told me I was perfect for you.” 

“Perfect in the moment, but--” 

“This isn’t a fucking game. I’m too old for that. I spent enough time locked up that I’m well-past this bullshit,” he snarls and you wince. You’ve never seen him like this. And the mystery of how he even found you has you reeling. 

“I’m sorry if I wasn’t clear--” 

“You fucking started this. You,” his lips trembles. “I warned you. I told you to stop over and over. Don’t make me the bad guy.” He shakes his head as his eyes search the horizon. He brings his hands to his cheeks and drags them through his stubble. “Then I fucking see you out in there in the water with some fuckhead--” 

“Bucky--” 

“Let’s get one thing straight. It’s not over. Not fucking close,” he growls. He leans forward and pushes himself up. He stands over you, a blight against the bright blue sky. “I’ll be fucking watching. Understand. You have your fun but not too much.” He balls his tattooed fist. “And that boy touches you again, I’ll break every single fucking finger on his hands. Then I’ll slice his dick off.” 

You stare at him, stunned. You’re confused. Is this some hallucination? Is the sun playing tricks on you? 

“You’re fucking mine and I don’t mess around with my territory.” He grits down at you. “I’m your first, your last, your only.” He points at you. “Doll.” 

He marches away, unhindered by the sand in his thick-treaded boots. You turn to watch him and shudder. You look at the water. The rest are perfectly ignorant, splashing each other, tossing the frisbees, diving under. None of them have any idea that he’s there. You suspect if they find out, it won’t be good. 

[evelyns-envy]

Hi, I really liked your account <3. Could you make a hc of Daisuke with the reader being Swansea's daughter? But I understand if you don't want to :>

(sorry if the writing is bad, English is not my first language and I used the translator ಥ_ಥ)

YES YES I WILL HAPPILY WRITE THAT (your english is better than mine and english is my first language lmfao.)! this is such a cool idea though and i never even thought of it. this is my first req ever im so excited tysm!!

✎ "but daddy i love him!" (i'm havin' his baby, NO IM NOT but you should see your faces ;)) -taylor swift

warnings! - SMUT HCS + SFW!, vibrator, pegging, reader being swanseas daughter and getting w daisuke, MY FIRST REQ GUYS BE SO PROUD, evelyn is freaky 😼

SFW!!

oh jesus this is certainly a concept

you're there for almost the same reason daisuke is, for in internship.

however... daisuke is there since his parents are rich asf and paid for him to go, you're there because you've been rejected from your dream job and went into a depression due to it.

swansea knew he wouldn't let his daughter suffer, so he asked if you could been an intern on the ship for Anya.

the Pony Express executives were hesitant at first, but caved when Swansea offered for them to renew his contract for longer.

your first day aboard, you make fast friends with Anya and faster friends with Daisuke.

you ended up having to share a room with daisuke, in bunk beds.

a flirty/silly argument about who got top bunk, ending with daisuke going “what if we just share?”

he knew damn well

taking advantage of your stunned face and mind, he jumped up on the top bunk and stuck his tongue out at you.

��i was just joking, mini mechanic.”

100% calls you mini mechanic for the rest of the time on the ship even though technically HES the mini mechanic but wtv let him have his fun

is actually so glad you’re relatively the same age as him, and was really excited to be able to talk w you about younger and occasionally inappropriate stuff

UNTILL he found out you’re his boss’s daughter..!

tries to keep the dirty jokes to a minimum, but fails miserably

it was always pretty obvious that he had a thing for you, even before yall got together

would be asking swansea abt you 24-7 and your hobbies and favorite things only to be met with “stay away from my daughter, juarez.”

is now 10x more scared

and you’re also 10x more attractive to him since he knows he can’t have you

intentionally gets his finger jammed in something while helping your dad so he can go to medbay and see you

once you’re about a month into the trip, you two have regular staying up late and YAPPING sessions in your room

he’ll occasionally come down from his bunk and sit on the floor next to your bed if the topic is deeper, until you notice he looks uncomfortable on the metal floor and tell him to come sit on the bed

anddd thats how babies are made folks! the end!

nah jk anyways you two talk until the early hours of the artificial ‘morning’ on the ship

when yall finally run out of things to talk about, you realize he’s laying next to you and you’re laying on his arm

oh nooo how did that happen (fuck already damn)

“comfy there?”

”shut up.”

”make me, mini mechanic.”

”now is not the time to bring up my father, dai.”

you playing w his hair and growing to understand how much he loves when you do that

eventually falling asleep in each others arms

you cannot tell me this mf isn’t SO comfy to sleep on be so fr

waking up to YOUR DAD 🤗 banging on the door demanding that daisuke get up and come help him fix smth in the storage

getting jump scared and shaking dai awake bc bro is knocked out and snoring

him opening the door and yall having to act like you weren’t wrapped in each others arms, entirely consumed in the other

holy shit that was fuckin poetic

awkwardly waving bye to him, both of you having a knowing smile tugging at your lips

he eventually asks you out, VERY awkwardly and in the middle of one of the routine late night talks

you accept happily (no shit)

doing basically everything together

always bringing dai along when you’re in front of your dad js for funsies and to piss him off a little

even while swansea doesn’t seem like he approves of the relationship, he secretly loves how sweet and gentle daisuke is to you

+ his parents are rich so you’re set!!

always telling Anya you need to go ask your dad something when really you js wanna see your pretty boyfriend

you both love each other so fucking much it’s insane. and getting your dad to approve is next level

NSFW….!! (watch out 😛😼 ‘ya girl evelyn is a wee bit freaky)

if you’re a little bolder, you definitely jerk dai off under the workbench where both he AND YOUR FATHER are working (this hc isn’t mine i saw it somewhere else on tumblr btw i js love it sm)

ok listen. dai is a sub at heart, but a bratty sub.

tries to talk back to you? his ass is getting bent over the nearest surface and fucked stupid by your strap (it’s always close by 😼)

also jacking him off while another crew mate is nearby, one i think would be good is curly’s bday celebration. jacking dai off as he’s trying so hard to focus on making the cake while all you can focus on is his slutty noises spilling uncontrollably from his mouth.

going down on him while he’s talking abt his usual unluckiness when trying to find a girl to truly love him, and now js his money. slowly unzipping his jeans while he keeps ranting, breath slightly jagged now.

“they alway-.. (y/n)? uh- what are y- mhmmm. never mind. feels good.”

he says as you gently tug his pants down, letting him fall around his ankles as you look up at him w those fucking eyes. shit. he’s a goner.

leaning back against whatever wall you undoubtedly have him pushed against, head thrown back as his trimmed nails run through you hair, egging you on.

you’re totally in swansea’s office change my fucking mind and he’s sitting on your dad’s desk 😋

“don’t mess up any papers, pretty. don’t want my father finding out you were gettin’ all ruined by his daughter on his desk, now do you?”

“n-no.. don’t mm- don’t want that.”

“then keep quiet and be good.”

he’s so fuckin freaky he’s defo an exhibitionist

you’re a girl- so you obviously brought a vibrator be SO fr w me rn

you definitely press it against his tip while slowly licking up the base

he is SO vocal that you have to tie his hawaiian shirt around his mouth so that he won’t YELL

gets cum on an important paper and yall have to throw it away lmfao

swansea being confused as shit abt where the document went and has been searching the Tulpar and asking all the crewmates if they’ve seen it

oopsies…

[kill4luvina]

"Face down, Ass up"

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Producer!Erenx Rapper!Reader

Summary : Eren is your one and only producer and you both seem to be having a creativity block while out on a trip looking for creativity and Eren has the bright idea that you two should fuck it out.

Warning : Smut, Reader using N-word, Alcohol, not proofread, (might be more but im not sure).

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦

"I'll treat any bitch like a whore, Cause it's the way I like to fuck, It's face down and ass up"

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦

"Eren.." You'd say in attempt to wake him up from his short nap he had taken in the uber. Tapping him a few times as she groaned opening his eyes. "Nigga wake up!" You'd raise your voice getting out of the uber as he followed behind you tired. Putting into the pin into the Air Bnb door as your entered turning the lights on making eren groan again. "I don't know why you being like that, you've been sleep in there for the past hour." you'd roll your eyes annoyed as you went into the kitchen.

You both had been out all morning and nothing sparked your creativity, you wanted to write but you litterally had no ideas. Grabbing one of you're left over bottles of 'Diva Vodka' from earlier you slip off your black leather rick owens sneakers tossing them to the side before pouring yourself a cup. "Why you been so stressed?" Eren would ask walking up with his own glass cup as you poured him some too.

"Bro, We've been here for bout' I wanna say a week and I haven't written anything yet!" You'd rant starting to chug down your drink as he watched you in shock. "You gotta chill-" you'd look at him before putting the bottle away as you made your way up to your room. Once agan Eren would follow you bringing the shoes you had left up with him. Making it to your room he'd put them with the rest of your shoes.

"Yk, I got an idea on how we could maybe get rid of that art block..." He'd say on the edge of your bed looking down at his glass cup, noticing you get slightly excited he turn around a gave you a kiss catching you completely off guard. You had him had has sex a few times so he knew you were alright with it as soon as you started kissing back.

"REN WAIT!!" You'd moan feeling him full enter you at once, holding onto your pillow tightly at the feeling of him completely stretching you out. Tears welling up in your eyes as he kept your ass up leaving you in a perfect arch as he slowly started moving completely demolishing your pussy as your cried out trying to run. It was just too good, and your were struggling to handle it. Eye's rolling back with your tongue out drooling at the feeling of him drilling ya' shit holding you down in that position.

"You like that ma?" He'd ask holding you by your neck bringing you up as he place kisses in the crook of your neck as you cried not even know what was going on anymore, or who you were. "FUCK!" You'd moan even louder feeling him hit your g-spot over and over completely abusing it. The way he was fucking you had you imaging maybe getting married to this nigga if dick would always be this good. "Cmon mama, tell me how good I'm doing or I'll stop." He'd whisper in your right ear leaving kisses behind it as you whimpered shivering from the contact in the sensitive spot.

"Ren! Y-Your doing so well! Fuckkkk- fuck me jus' like that!" you'd continue to babble and moan crying feeling like you were on the edge not wanting him to stop. It was completely game over the moment you felt his fingers touch your clit, throwing you off the edge as you came, creaming all over his dick. Twitching and crying as you felt him keep going overstimulating you like never before. "Too much!" You'd moan throwing your head back on him as he quickly pushed your head back down fucking you even harder.

Feeling him start to twitch in you was the sign he was about to cum, but so were you. Again. Crying loudly into the pillow as you felt yourself completely fall off the edge again you'd feel a warm liquid leave your body, as you squirted all over eren dick as he pulled out cumming on your ass. "Damn, since when could she do this?" Eren would ask chuckling as he gave your pussy a kiss before tappin that ass one more time and walking to the bathroom to run you a bath and clean you up.

"Omg! I have a great idea!" You'd mumble to yourself, but to your suprise eren heard. "See, I told you it would help!" He'd say from the bathroom making you giggle as you fell asleep after telling yourself you'd just quickly rest your eyes.

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[devilbrew-69]

Lucas Lee x Male Reader - A lustful Massage

Words- 792

Tag- Smut, gay erotica , yaoi/Bara, gay fiction, blowjob, oil massage

Being the personal assistant of Hollywood's biggest heartthrob meant that you were seriously busy most days of the week. You had to schedule meetings, get his morning coffee, talk to directors, and a whole bunch of other chores that would drive the average man insane. You didn't mind it though. Being so close to Lucas was a dream come true. 

You got to touch all of his dirty laundry that he made you clean even though it's not technically in your job description.  A steadily growing collection of his smelly socks and underwear are hidden in your room. Lucas has an entire walk-in closet stuffed with designer clothes so it's not like he'll notice. There's tons of people who would kill to own Lucas' sweaty clothes and you get to have them for free.

You also get to live in an upscale mansion with him so you can wait on him hand and foot at any moment. This included giving him naked oil massages every week. What more could you ask for?

" Mhmm you have awesome technique, (Y/N). You really know how to loosen my muscles." Lucas said as you rubbed lemongrass oil onto his perfect skin. He was laying on his stomach which gave you a perfect view of his broad shoulders, muscular back, and ginormous ass. Lucas was a living model of the perfect man.

You slathered the lemongrass oil across his wide back before smoothing out the tension in his shoulders. You kneaded the muscles gently yet firmly, making sure you gave your lover the treatment he deserved. His gruff moans entered your ears and made you feel a burning heat between your legs.

" That really hits the spot, bro. What's the agenda for today? You know I like keeping myself busy."

You cleared your throat and began to speak. " You're scheduled for a 40 minute skate session in the skate park followed by an autograph signing at a local cafe. You'll probably end up taking off your shirt and flexing your muscles like you usually do. Then have a meet and greet with several other actors who want you on their podcast. You'll then go to a sauna, watch a baseball game, go star in a sports-wear commercial...."

You read out a long list of activities that never seemed to end. It was no secret that Lucas needed constant mental stimulation to keep himself from getting bored. He was the type of man that only knew how to live in the fast lane.

" Mhmm sounds like a perfect schedule. Add in a trip to the gym and a tan salon in there. Gotta look my best for the camera." Lucas said.

You glided your hands lower on Lucas' body. He flipped over so that you could tend to the front of his body. Your took your time fondling his huge pecs, squeezing them tightly and even nibbling on the nipples. Lucas snickered and caressed your chubby cheeks. It was love at first ever since you were hired as his assistant. You were an attractive and friendly worker with beautiful dark brown skin. Lucas couldn't have asked for a better assistant.

Once the pecs were done, Lucas already knew what was coming next. You gripped his long girthy cock and began to gently stroke the shaft. Your fingers rubbed and caressed every inch of skin they could. Lucas laughed  and casually rested his hands underneath his head.

You fondled his balls while jerking him off at a quicker pace. Loud squelching noises circulated in the air, bringing pleasure to your ears. You gently tapped the cock on your salivating tongue before making the entire length disappear like a magic trick. Your head bobbed violently, sending saliva flying in every direction. If it was for the hottest guy in Hollywood, you'd gladly become a throat goat.

Soft moans escaped from Lucas' lips. He patted you on the head while calling you cute pet names while you sucked his soul from his dick. You were surprised you could manage to fit that monstrosity of dick in your mouth. Maybe that's the power of love. Your tongue coiled around the length while you fondled his balls and puckered your lips at the end of the shaft. Streams of saliva heavily poured from your mouth. The two of you locked eyes in an intimate encounter. Lucas eventually orgasmed all over your face like he usually did. He thought that your were the cutest with his semen covering your face.

Lucas took out his phone he kept on the counter and snapped your photo and added it to the ever growing collection. " You gonna have to rearrange my schedule, babe. You gotta make sure we get enough personal time~❤️"

[hummingbird24220]

May I please request part 3 of Swordsmith!reader but make it Reader x Shanks? Reader meets back up with Shanks and his crew but this time the only thing his sword can talk about is how Shanks kept talking about them. Reader is very flustered but tries to keep their cool but the red haired pirates are teasing their captain about Reader infront of them. Shanks of course has no shame about it and joins in by flirting with Reader.

(Also I have ideas about a part 4 with smut if interested)

(Keep up the great writing!)

- <3

SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG

Rereading this to write part 4 , i dont think smut would fit into it. Its more of a crack fic lmfao.

(if you want Shanks smut lemme know ok)

ANYWAY. Heres part 4. Enjoy!

Sharp Tongues, Sharper Blades (Part 4)

One piece x Swordsmith!Reader

You were not supposed to see Shanks again.

Not because you didn’t want to. But because your soul had only just recovered from the last time—when his sword had read your aura like a moonstone horoscope and he handed you his legendary blade like it was a fruit bowl. The man radiated Yonko energy and dad-on-vacation vibes in equal measure, and your nervous system was not designed for that kind of duality.

And yet.

There he was.

Again.

Docked on the same island you were passing through—pure coincidence, you swore—his massive ship perched like a lazy predator sunbathing on the sea.

You could’ve kept walking.

You should’ve.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you climbed the gangplank like a moth to a very smug, red-haired flame.

You were halfway up when you heard it.

“Ohhhhhh they’re back,” came the dreamy, melodic whisper of his sword. “Our little forge spirit is BACK.”

You winced. “Please don’t start.”

“I never stopped,” the blade purred. “He’s talked about you every single day since you left. It’s been adorable. And deeply concerning.”

You froze. “What.”

“Shanks this. Shanks that. ‘Do you think they’d like this mango wine?’ ‘Do you think they’re sleeping well?’ ‘Was it too much when I winked?’ And don’t even get me started on the mango carving he tried to do with a butter knife—”

You walked faster.

Too fast.

You nearly tripped onto the main deck.

And that was when you heard the laughter.

“Look who’s back,” came a familiar voice—Lucky Roux, leaning against a barrel with a grin that could split ships.

“Ohhhh,” Yasopp sang from the rigging, “the little swordsmith finally returns.”

A third crewmate gasped, clutching their chest. “Wait—is this the one he won’t shut up about?”

You blinked, stunned. “Excuse me?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Benn Beckman said, strolling by with a cigarette between his fingers. “Every time he drinks—‘Do you think they miss me?’ ‘They’re so good with swords.’ ‘They fixed my emotional damage with one mango.’ Like, bro. Bro.”

Your face was now ten degrees hotter than the sun.

“HE SAID THAT?” you hissed.

“Oh,” Yasopp grinned, upside down now, “he said worse.”

And then—

From the upper deck—

“Hey, sunshine.”

You turned, and there he was.

Shanks.

Red hair tousled, cloak fluttering lazily, smile wide and utterly without shame.

You cursed under your breath. “No. No, no, no—”

He jogged down the steps, looking every inch like trouble wrapped in charm. “You came back.”

“I didn’t mean to!” you blurted, flustered. “This was a travel accident!”

“You accidentally climbed onto my ship?” he asked, amused.

You crossed your arms, trying to look unaffected. “Your sword’s been tattling.”

“Oh yeah?” He leaned in. “What’s it been saying?”

You pointed at him accusingly. “That you talked about me.”

He raised a brow. “A lot?”

You fidgeted. “Nonstop.”

He smirked. “Did it also tell you I’ve been practicing my aura since you left?”

“Oh my god—”

“Or that I tried to sketch you from memory and gave up halfway through because the ‘cheekbones were too emotionally complex’?”

You covered your face. “PLEASE.”

The crew exploded into fresh laughter.

“You drew them?” Benn cackled.

“From memory?” Yasopp wheezed.

“I bet it looked like a mango with arms,” Lucky Roux howled.

Shanks grinned, absolutely unfazed. “It was a beautiful mango.”

You looked up at him through your fingers, cheeks glowing. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re back,” he said softly, eyes suddenly warm. “Which makes today a good day.”

That shut you up real quick.

A beat.

Then his sword whispered, conspiratorial: “He also smelled his pillow and said it still smelled like you.”

“OH MY GOD.”

The entire deck erupted.

You turned on your heel, marching toward the edge. “Nope. I’m leaving. Goodbye.”

But Shanks caught your wrist gently before you could bolt.

His grin was cocky.

His eyes were kind.

“I missed you, y’know.”

You swallowed. Hard.

“…Yeah,” you muttered. “I missed you too.”

The crew went “Awwwwww” like a chorus of gremlins.

You turned around and hissed, “Shut up!”

Shanks just laughed, and without letting go of your wrist, gently pulled you back toward him.

“Next time,” he murmured, voice low, “just stay.”

You blinked. “On your ship?”

He leaned in, teasing. “With me.”

Your heart did an Olympic gymnastics routine.

His sword giggled. Giggled.

You covered your face again.

“I hate you,” you muttered into your palms.

He chuckled. “No, you don’t.”

“…Fine. Just a little.”

“Good. I can work with that.”

And when he looped his arm around your shoulders, leading you into the chaos of his laughing crew and smug sword, you let him.

Because deep down… you had missed him.

Even the sword.

Kind of.

Maybe.

Shut up.

You didn’t say a word.

But your smile said enough.

-

Life on the Red Force was… warm.

Loud. Messy. Strangely domestic, like a floating tavern filled with glorified uncles who could burn down a navy base between drinks. The Red-Haired Pirates welcomed you like an old friend—even the swords.

You’d spent the last few days floating between conversations and clangs of steel. Fixing a chipped saber here, oiling a dagger there, dodging sentimental serenades from Shanks’ blade (“you have the softest hands of any gremlin I've ever met,” it whispered once).

They fed you well.

They teased you relentlessly.

And through it all, Shanks was…

Soft.

Not tame. Never tame. But gentle, in the way ocean waves could be. In the way someone very dangerous lets down his guard just long enough to hand you his wine glass without asking.

He didn’t press. Not really.

But you caught the way his eyes lingered when you leaned over a blade, hair tied back, fingers smudged with soot.

You caught the little gifts.

A mango (of course).

A polished whetstone with a golden fleck (“found this on Elbaf—figured it might sing to you”).

A small scrap of folded parchment, left quietly beside your bunk: a sketch. Clearly yours. Awful. Charming.

And yet…

You didn’t belong here.

Not really.

You didn’t fight with them. You didn’t drink like them. You didn’t chase bounties or lay claim to grand schemes.

You weren’t married to a cause.

You were married to swords.

To voices only you could hear. To steel that whispered and cried and made you fix its trauma with fire and patience. Your life didn’t fit into anyone’s crew.

Especially not his.

You felt it in the way you woke up before the others, cleaned your tools, touched each blade like a goodbye.

And so—

You left.

Not without a word.

Not without a goodbye.

Just… gently. At dawn.

A small dinghy borrowed. No ceremony. No fuss. Just a note left on the deck table: Thank you for the stars. I’ll see you in the steel.

And one of his coats.

Because obviously.

You were halfway to the horizon when the bell clanged on the Red Force’s deck behind you.

Footsteps pounded. Shouts echoed.

And then—his voice.

“You absolute thief!” Shanks called from the rail, half-laughing. “Is that my coat?!”

You turned on your little boat, coat three sizes too big, flapping dramatically in the sea breeze like a cape.

You gave him a lazy salute. “I’m emotionally attached now. It’s mine.”

His grin stretched so wide it cracked into something tender. “You’re coming back.”

It wasn’t a question.

You shrugged. “Maybe. If the swords don’t drag me somewhere else first.”

“They better not.”

A beat.

Then his sword whispered—clearly intending for you to hear: “He misses you already.”

Your throat tightened.

You waved again.

Then turned your back to him, sailing into the sea, the wind carrying you forward.

You didn’t look back.

Because if you did…

You might’ve stayed.

And there were still so many blades left to fix.

-

You weren’t expecting company.

The sea had been quiet, the waves steady beneath your little sailboat, Shanks’ oversized coat wrapped around you like a weighted memory. You were headed nowhere in particular—just following the quiet tug of swordsong on the breeze—when another ship approached from the side.

Small. Fast. Flying a flag you recognized immediately.

Whitebeard Pirates.

Your stomach dropped.

You sat up straighter in your boat, every sense on high alert. You’d just come from a Yonko. Did the universe think this was a game?

The ship drifted closer, close enough to see the figures aboard: big, sun-bronzed, half-laughing, half-serious men with coats slung over their shoulders and weapons that hummed in your mind.

The tall one at the front waved. “You the sword whisperer?”

“…Depends who’s asking.”

“We are,” the man said—Thatch, if you remembered your bounty posters right. “Heard you were seen near Island X. We’ve been looking for you.”

You blinked. “You… what?”

“We need your hands,” another man added—curly hair, a big grin, twin swords at his side. “Some of our blades are falling apart. The old man’s especially.”

The pit in your stomach didn’t fade. But curiosity cracked it open.

“…You came all this way for me?”

Thatch grinned. “Every sword we passed told us where to find you.”

You squinted. “They gossiped about me?”

“Loudly.”

Goddammit.

You hesitated. Then sighed, tugged your coat tighter, and stood.

“Fine. Let’s see the damage.”

—

The Moby Dick was massive.

A floating fortress. A ship that shouldn’t sail but did, with sails like wings and a figurehead that loomed like a titan over the sea.

You tried to keep your cool as you stepped aboard, senses bombarded by everything. Dozens of blades humming, chattering, excited to be near you. A few remembered you from somewhere—a tavern, a battlefield, a dream.

But all of that went quiet the second you saw him.

Whitebeard.

He was huge. No—monolithic. A mountain of a man, scars across his chest like they’d tried to fight him and lost. He stood at the helm like a storm waiting to be born, his bisento resting nearby.

Your mouth went dry.

His aura was like gravity.

And then—

You looked at his weapon.

You saw the cracks.

You saw the chips in the edge, the fractures spiderwebbing through the shaft, the ancient steel screaming like it hadn’t been given proper care in decades.

And something inside you snapped.

“Oh my god,” you said, stomping forward without thinking. “What in all the Hells have you been doing to this thing?!”

The entire deck went quiet.

Someone choked.

Someone else dropped a crate.

You barely registered it. You were too busy inspecting the blade like an outraged doctor.

“These aren’t battle scars,” you barked. “This is neglect! This blade is crying! CRYING!”

Whitebeard raised a brow the size of your entire face. “You talk to blades, huh?”

“I scold them when necessary,” you snapped. “But this one’s too tired to argue back. This is practically sword abuse.”

You dropped to your knees beside the weapon, already tugging supplies from your pack. “I need a forge. I need a space. I need—wait, that guy.”

You pointed at Marco, who had been leaning nearby, arms crossed.

“You. Flame boy. Fire me up.”

Marco blinked. “You want me to what?”

“I need phoenix heat. That flame of yours could get the steel soft in seconds. Please.”

He squinted. “I’m not a campfire.”

You locked eyes with him.

Your gaze said: I have worked with blades older than your bones. I have rebuilt swords from ash and spite. I will not hesitate to forge a blade with your pride if you get in my way.

Marco raised his hands. “Alright, alright. Flame on. Damn.”

With a burst of brilliant blue, the forge blazed to life.

You wasted no time—laying the bisento across the supports, inspecting every scar with calloused fingers, whispering soft apologies to the ancient metal as you worked.

The crew watched in stunned silence.

Whitebeard—Yonko, legend, mountain—tilted his head.

“Got a hell of a fire in you, kid.”

You didn’t look up.

You were too busy breathing life back into a blade that had only ever known war.

But under your breath, as the steel began to glow again, you muttered, “Someone’s gotta take care of you stubborn giants.”

And if Whitebeard smiled at that—just a little—

Well.

The steel remembered.

-

The forge crackled.

Marco’s blue flames roared hot and steady, licking around the base of the makeshift anvil like a spirit reborn. You’d stripped off Shanks’ coat and rolled up your sleeves, arms glistening with sweat and soot as you hammered Whitebeard’s bisento back to life.

You were in the zone—mind focused, steel singing in your hands, ancient metal crying out then quieting under your care.

You didn’t hear the footsteps.

Didn’t register the shift in air, the spark of something new joining the forge.

Until someone whistled low from behind you.

“Woah,” came a warm, slightly rough voice. “You must be the sword-whisperer Luffy mentioned.”

You paused, mid-strike.

Turned.

And there he was.

Ace.

Freckles. Fire. That casual, sun-warmed charm that clung to him like heat haze. He had a rolled-up shirt slung over his shoulder, sweat glistening on his chest, and that lopsided grin that said he probably hadn’t intended to look cool but accidentally pulled it off anyway.

“Luffy mentioned me?” you asked, returning to your work.

“Yeah. Said something like, ‘they’re weird but cool, and they yell at swords.’ Sounded about right.”

You snorted. “I prefer the term ‘blacksmith with opinions.’”

Ace stepped in beside you as Marco ducked away with a relieved sigh, muttering something about “finally getting to sit down.”

“Need help with the fire?” Ace offered, snapping his fingers and conjuring a fresh burst of heat that glowed gold-orange instead of Marco’s blue.

You blinked. “That’s… actually perfect.”

“Told ya.” He crouched down near the base of the forge, one hand outstretched, feeding the flames with gentle control. “So. Fixing Pops’ weapon?”

“Mending it,” you corrected. “It’s more than fixing. It’s listening. Healing.”

Ace gave a soft hum. “Didn’t realize blades could carry that kind of pain.”

“They do. All of them. Yours too, probably.”

He glanced at the twin knives at his hip. “They’re not talkative.”

“They’re watching,” you muttered. “They know you’re reckless but kind. The flames make them feel protected.”

Ace chuckled. “That’s weirdly flattering.”

You smiled. “Swords like you.”

“…Most people don’t.”

You didn’t answer that.

The metal sang again. You struck it with a practiced rhythm.

Clang. Clang. Clang.

The sparks danced. The fire glowed. You worked in comfortable silence, Ace beside you, steady and present.

Then, softly, he asked, “You’ve met Teach?”

You didn’t stop hammering. “Yeah. Briefly.”

Ace’s jaw tensed.

You glanced over. “He didn’t know I could hear them. His blades, though… they whispered.”

Ace’s voice was low. “What did they say?”

You paused.

Then shrugged. “They said they’re scared. That he doesn’t listen. That he collects swords like trophies. That they remember who he’s killed.”

Ace’s eyes flickered. “Sounds about right.”

You turned the blade, inspecting the glow of the steel. “Wouldn’t it be crazy,” you said softly, “if someone like him… I don’t know… killed a crewmate before he left?”

Ace didn’t move.

“Wouldn’t it be even crazier,” you continued, your voice distant, measured, “if someone—say, a hotheaded, fire-fisted older brother—went after him anyway? Ignored the warnings? Got caught. Got dragged to Impel Down. Was set to be executed in Marineford.”

You didn’t look at him.

You didn’t have to.

“Wouldn’t it be insane if he died… protecting his little brother?”

The flames didn’t move.

Neither did Ace.

The only sound was the soft hiss of metal cooling.

Then—finally—he exhaled.

Slow. Careful.

“Yeah,” he said.

Just above a whisper.

“…Crazy.”

You nodded once.

Then struck the blade again.

Clang.

Ace didn’t leave.

Didn’t say anything else.

Just kept the fire burning steady beside you—his arm steady, his eyes far away.

And for that moment, nothing else in the world mattered but steel, flame, and the ghosts you didn’t speak aloud.

-

The days aboard the Moby Dick stretched into weeks.

You never meant to stay that long—just patch a few swords, fix a legendary weapon, maybe scream at a cleaver or two and leave—but time had a way of slipping between the cracks when you were around people who fed you, laughed with you, and handed you new blades like gifts wrapped in responsibility.

Somewhere between dodging Thatch’s kitchen knives (“Don’t critique my paring dagger, you demon!”) and dragging Vista into debates about edge geometry, you’d started sailing with them. Helping. Staying.

And Ace?

Ace stayed near.

Not clingy. Not needy. But present.

Sometimes he’d help fuel your forge without being asked.

Sometimes he’d sit beside you during sunrise, shoulders just brushing, saying nothing at all.

He’d joke, smile, eat your last mango without remorse, and keep your tools safe when you fell asleep at your workbench.

And maybe… just maybe… you caught him looking at you a little too long when your hair was tied back and your sleeves were rolled up, soot streaked across your cheek like war paint.

One afternoon, you were sitting cross-legged near the prow, a stack of parchment in your lap and scissors in your hand. Ace strolled over, flopping down beside you, shirt already unbuttoned halfway like it was a lifestyle.

“Whatcha doin’?” he asked.

“Business,” you replied, tongue poking out in concentration. You held up a small slip of white paper, edges curling slightly. “Vivre Card.”

He blinked. “You’re making those?”

You nodded. “Been handing them out. Clients, mostly. Return customers. You’d be amazed how many swords want follow-up checkups.”

He squinted. “So, what—you’re just giving pieces of your soul to everyone you sharpen for?”

You shrugged. “Think of it like… a blacksmith punch card.”

Ace laughed. “So what, ten sword tune-ups and they get a free polish?”

“Exactly.”

“Did you give one to Teach?”

You grimaced. “Absolutely not. I like my soul untainted, thanks.”

Ace snorted, tipping his head back against the wood. “Y’know… Luffy told me you were magnetic.”

You paused, raising a brow. “Did he?”

“He said something like, ‘they just pull people in. You’ll see.’”

You smiled faintly, snipping another slip of parchment. “He’s not wrong.”

“You think that’s your Devil Fruit?”

“No. That’s just my vibe.”

He chuckled. “So now you’re magnetic and people can track you.”

You grinned. “Yeah. I’m basically a portable blacksmith GPS.”

Ace tilted his head, watching you. “You’re really giving people little pieces of yourself, huh?”

You looked at the slips in your hand. Crisp. Glowing faintly with the warmth of your spirit.

“…Yeah. I guess I am.”

Then you smirked. “Which means if I ever die, the sword world is gonna throw a riot.”

Ace whistled. “World’s most wanted funeral.”

You tapped one of the cards to his chest. “You want one?”

He looked at you, eyes flickering. Serious for a moment.

“…Yeah.”

So you slid it into his hand.

And he held it like it meant more than directions.

Because maybe it did.

-

Word always gets out.

Especially when it’s about you.

Somewhere between reforging Whitebeard’s bisento and collecting Vivre Card clients like trading cards, rumors started to ripple across the seas like waves off the Grand Line’s gossip engine.

And those rumors? They had a name now.

The Swordsmith of the Seas. The Blade Whisperer. The Blacksmith Magnet. (One poster called you "Sword Mom"—you tried not to be proud.)

So it was no surprise when the mail started arriving.

A pile of letters began to accumulate on the Moby Dick, handed off by curious seagulls, rogue News Coos, and at least one delivery crab. You opened them slowly, sitting cross-legged on the deck while Ace leaned against a barrel nearby, pretending not to read over your shoulder.

The first was unmistakably from Shanks.

Handwritten. Sloppy. Mango-scented.

“Heard you’re Whitebeard’s favorite now. I’m not jealous, just emotionally inconvenienced. Hope his sword appreciates you properly. Also, my other coat smells like you still. I’m not giving it back.”

You rolled your eyes and tossed it at Ace, who promptly laughed and held it up like evidence. “I knew you took one of his coats.”

“Sentimentally,” you grumbled.

The next was from Usopp. Neatly folded. Full of exclamation points.

“OMG YOU’RE ON THE MOBY DICK?!?! Tell Whitebeard I’m brave and handsome and amazing in battle. If he asks about my bounty, round up a little. Okay, a lot. Also, you’re the coolest. Please don’t forget me when you’re famous.”

You smiled. “I’d never forget Usopp.”

Ace chuckled, reading over your shoulder now. “He wants you to be his PR manager.”

“I already am,” you muttered. “He just doesn’t pay me.”

Then… the last one.

You turned the envelope over.

It was glittery.

Oh no.

You opened it slowly. Warily.

It exploded in a small, nonlethal cloud of confetti and sparkles.

Inside, in the boldest, most self-aggrandizing handwriting you’d ever seen:

YOU. ARE. INVITED. To witness the one and only, the legendary, the devastatingly handsome— BUGGY THE CLOWN!!! Live and loud, baby. Also I heard you’re good with blades. Come fix mine. Maybe make new ones. Bring a forge. Bring your ears. Bring respect. PS: I’m totally a Yonko now. No takebacks.

You stared.

Ace leaned over again. “…Is that real?”

You held it up. “It sparkled. Of course it’s real.”

He blinked. “You’re really going?”

You shrugged, stuffing the letter back into the envelope with a sigh. “Well… yeah. I gave him a Vivre Card once, back when he thought I was a birthday party entertainer. Might as well make good on the branding.”

Ace laughed, then sobered slightly. “You’re always going, huh?”

You looked at him. Softly. “I have to.”

He nodded, smiling just a little. “Then go do your thing, magnetic blade whisperer.”

You stood, stretching your arms, the wind catching your coat as you turned toward the sea.

“Welp,” you said. “Next adventure calls.”

And if Ace watched you for a little longer than usual, firelight dancing in his eyes as you stepped toward the next horizon—well.

You didn’t hear him.

But you felt it.

In every sword that hummed softly as you passed.

And every whisper that followed in your wake.

“There they go again.”

[blue-slxt]

Kinktober 21

🔞Minors Do Not Interact🔞

Kinktober Masterlist

A/N: I love pervy Lo'ak. It's delicious to me for reasons that I will explore more with my therapist lol. I hope you guys enjoy! All characters are aged up.

Pairing: Lo'ak x Fem!Omatikaya!Reader

Warnings: Pervy!Lo'ak, Masturbation (F and M)

It had been 3 days since Neteyam had gone away on the hunt with Jake, Lo’ak, and the rest of the hunting party. You knew it was going to be a long trip, but what you weren’t ready for was how needy his absence would make you. Even his scent was starting to fade from your skin. It’s torturous being without his touch for so long. He never leaves you so long by yourself. Your need burned deep in your belly like forest fire. Tonight, you’re once again searching for relief with your fingers which did little to satisfy you in any real way. Still, you try your best letting your mind fall into a haze of flashbacks. Neteyam’s hands and the way he would grope and massage at your body. Your chest, your thighs, hips, ass, everywhere. His warm breath against your skin while his tongue licked along the insides of your thighs. The way the tips of his fangs would tease over your hardened nipples.

A soft moan passes your lips and it finally feels like your body is remembering how to melt into ecstasy. You curl your fingers up to press against the spongey part of your walls and the sound it makes has your cheeks turning violet. Small waves of relief roll over you and your eyes roll a little letting yourself release a deep breath to open you up more for your fingers to hopefully reach deeper.

Unknowingly, when you shift your position on your mat, your foot accidentally hits the throat comm that Neteyam had given you for emergencies. The tiny device quietly hums to life under your weight.

On the other end, Neteyam and Lo’ak are out searching the ground for where Neteyam had dropped his throat comm and ear piece.

“Bro, are you sure it was over here? We’ve been looking for forever already. I’m ready to go to sleep.” Lo’ak says with an exasperated eye roll.

“Go back if you want, but I’m not leaving without it.” He responds still keeping his eyes trained on the ground and searching through the dense foliage.

Lo’ak huffs to himself almost ready to give up and let his brother continue his search on his own. He probably would have went back if it weren’t for the fact that he knew their dad would chew him out for leaving.

He takes a few steps further in the direction that they were heading and proceeds with pushing random leaves and bushes and things out of the way. Suddenly, his ears perk up with the sound of a low, almost imperceivable hum. He moves closer to where the sound is coming from. After digging through another bush or two, he finally locates the comm and ear piece. “Finally” he breathes to himself.

When he picks up the little devices, he can hear the low static sound that usually means someone is on the other end, but there’s no voice. That is until he hears a sound through the small ear piece.

“Ahn…Neteyam! Mmf!” followed by a wet, squelching noise.

His face flushes immediately recognizing your voice and realizing what you were doing. This may be the most confusing boner he’s ever had. In some ways, he regarded you as a best friend and someone he often got up to no good with. But at the same time, he could recognize that you were still a beautiful woman and the thought—the knowledge that you were just on the other side of this tiny speaker burying your fingers into your wet cunt and squirming around in pleasure had his mind going to obscene, disgusting places.

“Ffffuck, right there! Right there please!” your breathless pleas hit his ears and all the blood races directly to his cock. Fuck, what’s the right thing to do? Clearly, you didn’t mean to call and he should give the throat comm back to Neteyam, but…you just sound so pretty. I mean, it’s not that bad as long as no one else knows, right?

With a quick scan of his surroundings, Lo’ak quickly pulls his tewng to the side and starts to palm himself. His tip is already slick with precum which he uses his thumb to swipe and make the glide easier.

“Shit…” he growls lowly to himself. He can already feel that he’s not going to last long. Not with the sound of your drenched pussy ringing in his head.

“Oh Great Mother, please don’t stop!” you call out and he imagines that it’s him you’re begging to make you feel good. That he’s currently thrusting into your tight heat instead of his fist. Your ankles next to his ears, fingers gripping at the mat under you, a thin layer of sweat making your skin glisten, and the gorgeous flush of your face…it’s extremely enticing. He knows that he shouldn’t be thinking of such things about you, but something about that fact makes it even more thrilling. The high of getting off to the sound of you playing with yourself without anybody being privy to his actions is getting to him.

“Ahn~ oh, I’m gonna cum!”

“Fuck! Yes, baby, cum for me. Wanna feel you…” Lo’ak can’t help but mumble to himself feeling his own composure slip.

“Ah haah ah….AAH!” your moans are sinful and unrestrained while you come undone on your own fingers, slick running down your knuckles. Little did you know, at the same time, you had driven Lo’ak right over the edge and made him make a mess of his own hand.

While coming down from your high, clearly you must have moved your foot again because the device cuts off and it goes radio silent in Lo’ak’s hand. He tries to steady his breathing while also mentally coming to grips with his own perverted actions.

There’s little time for self-reflection now as he hears Neteyam getting closer. In his panic, he quickly tucks his dick back into his tewng which is a sticky, uncomfortable mess, but it’s all he has for now.

“Still nothing over here. Any luck?” Neteyam asks as he’s approaching.

Lo’ak quickly walks his way holding up the small communicator. “Be more careful with your stuff bro.” He drops it into Neteyam’s hand and keeps moving forward needing to put some space between them so he can go clean up.

Neteyam glances at his brother and his throat comm wondering what his deal was, but shrugs it off as Lo'ak just being cranky at the end of a long hunt. Doesn’t matter. All that matters to him is that they’ll be coming home tomorrow and he can finally see you again.

Kinktober Taglist: @pandoraslxna @ashlatano7567 @sincerelykaib @jamies-wh0re @quaritchsluts @jakescumdump @delacruzyari @onlyloaksgf @skywonder @taintedlovesworld @myloveforyouisforever @angie-1306 @moodays @childofgod-05 @hadesbabygurl @daddysmurfslefttoenail @loaksulluyswife @y4sm1nsstuff @thewhiltedpeony @lovefrommeelise @neteyamssyulang @rosyjn @imintoomanyfandomscuzihaveadhd @anaclaudiasugar @xxwelshqueenxx @hania11 @xylianasblog @idkanymoregirl @eyrina-avatar @biscuitsaredelish @quinn-sadilla @the_mourning_moon @eyweveng @puddleswimmingnerd-blog @xaxsir @jakesullyfatjuicypeen @navilover24 @sulieykte @iameatingmyhair @leaveitbythewave @ntymavtr @fifilynn16 @kiri-tuk @mstocky78 @neteyamyawne @randumfanfics @sliqeramx @bluewonder @the-morning-moon @nerdfacesposts @vip-btxch @neteyamsyawntu @teyamsatan @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @dixonjunkie

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[bandgie]

Predator and Prey

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

a/n: not the last chapter I lied :( but chapter 5!

warnings!: oral (m.receiving), fire, unspoken death (idk how to say it), angst??? I dunno bro just read it please,

3.4k words

It's last day staying with Meredith at her bar. You and Nyryx had been taking cover at the village for enough days, and you're still on the run from killing the famed monster hunter. Still, you've managed to enjoy the company of the family. Meredith and Sammuel with their opposite yet perfectly blended personalities, the energetic and mischievous younger sons, and Abigail who was a lot more stubborn and outspoken than you originally thought.

Meredith had packed you a bag for your trip that included gloves, dried food, herbs, and other necessities for long distance traveling. "I suppose I should give it to you now," she told you. "I will be gone in the early morning, and I wanted to make sure you were ready for your journey in the morrow." You hugged her, taking a last deep inhale of her alcoholic sweet smell before you pulled away, "Thank you."

Now you laid in bed after a long day of working. There was an increase of customer, new faces, even more fights. You were tired from the long day, but you were still eager about what was to come tonight. You and Nryrx had talked about helping his urges so he doesn't lose control, though you don't mind it.

You wanted to be prepared for when he came, so you stripped into a plain long sleeve with cross cross patterns on the upper chest with underwear on. Now it was a waiting game, and truthfully you were anxious. You had never planned on what to do with someone when it came to being intimate, it just kinda happened. This, however, is calculated. It's purposeful, for god's sake it's your plan. The rapid beating of your heart, the queasiness in your stomach, the way you feel as though you can't take a deep breath...this is not just a twisted booty call.

Before you could fully go into panic mode, you could hear the flapping of large wings. Nyryx grips the edges of the window frame, eyes searching the room briefly before he sets his gaze you. Slowly, quietly, he crawls into your room. One leg after the other, head ducking in to fit before he crouches on the floor, eyes never once leaving you.

It's predatory in how he stalks you, how he entered the guest room. He stands, not at his full height though since he would hit the roof. He eyes you weirdly, noticing the nervousness in the air, "Is everything all right?"

You shake your head from his previous movements, "Yeah, everything's good sorry." He walks closer, eyebrows furrowing at your words, he doesn't believe you. "Was it the bar?" Nyryx voice is concerned, "Did you not have a good day?" You smile and laugh quietly, shaking your head again, "Dude, stop. I'm fine, just a little nervous." Nyryx expresses a small ooh sounds before sitting on the bed, it barely creaks under him.

"I see," he starts. "Do not worry. I am a little curious on what you have planned." He smiles widely at you, eyes turning fully black. "When should we begin?"

-

You kneeling before him, sitting in a prayer position with him sitting on the bed with his legs open. Nyryx is completely nude, his grey skin glittering in the moonlight and his cock half-hard. You had teased him through his shorts, ignoring his frustrated groans and irritated words. It's clear he's never been teased before, always used to being the one in control.

You rub your lips on his length, tongue occasionally peeking out to taste him. It's your first time giving him head, and his size is daunting. You can clearly see his protruding veins from where you sit, his dark colored cock growing his each swipe you give him. He clutching the edge of the bed, obviously resisting from gripping the sides of your head.

You drag your lips up and down, kissing his tip when you reach it. You decide not to you use your hands yet, keeping them on his thighs. You look up from your lashes you watch his expression, and he almost looks pissed. His nose is scrunched up, lips pressed tightly, eyes barely open as he looks down at you. You smile on his cock, licking the underside of him.

He groans quietly, "When will you take me fully prey?" You pull your mouth away from his cock, holding back a laugh when his hips thrust upward to catch your warm mouth. You replace it when your hand, gently stroking him. "When I want to," you voice is teasing. "Or I could stop right now, if that's what you want." His eyes shoot open, face suddenly serious and almost offended, "No, continue." You nod and tighten your grip around him, "That's what I thought."

Your previous nervousness was completely gone, instead you found confidence in your movements and his impatientness. You could hear the slick sounds he produced while you pumped him, resisting the urge to suck his tip. You were getting wet as you felt his smooth, hard dick between your fingers. This is what has been inside you, this is what makes you feel so good it almost hurts. You tights your thighs, applying pressure to the place between your legs as some relief. It's not a lot, but it will do. Nryryx is more important, or his cock is at least.

You gaze your thumb across his slit, smiling when he moans. You decide to tease his tip, paying extra attention to it by rubbing, stroking, and smearing his precum all over himself. It's clear that Nyryx is struggling, drool seeping from his mouth as he looks at you. His hips buck at your movements from sensitivity, hissing when you gently squeeze the tip of dick between your thumb and forefinger.

You pussy is drooling, mouth salivating at the sight on him. Nyryx could easily over power you, take you as he wants, but he doesn't of course. He finds the strength to let you do with him as you please, finding the bed the only thing he can grip. "You're doing a great job," you praise. Nyryx locks his eyes with yours and gives you a weak smile, "This is quite a tough teaching."

You laugh, "Is it? I should go easier on you then." You lean forward to take the first few inches on his dick in your mouth. You purr as you taste him, your hand at the base of his cock. Nyryx almost loses his composure, letting out a loud groan that has you worrying about waking everyone in the house up. You feel so warm and wet against him, it's a much smaller version of a pussy.

Nyryx decided it's okay to let one hand touch your head, brushing your hair back and coaxing your cheek with his talon. You look up at him with his cock shoved in your mouth, eyes wide and lips wet. You looks so pretty like this, he thinks. For a moment just for a moment, Nyryx is happy you're taking the lead. He would've blown right past your lips, not bothering to admire your lustful gaze. This dynamic gives him the opportunity to appreciate your expression, your swollen lips. Maybe he should have you between his legs more often.

You look away from his eyes to focus at the task at hand, trying to fit his length down your throat. It will be impossible for sure, but your hand can manage the rest. You relax the back in your throat and take deep breath, exhaling little bits of air the deeper you take him in. You can feel how your mouth leaks with his and your fluids, how your throat contracts at his girth. You gag when he touches the back of your throat, almost pulling away completely. You let an inch leave your lips so you cam stroke him with your hand, the other playing with his balls.

You use the slobber as extra lubrication as you stroke him, moving your head with a fluid motion. Your eyes are closed as you concentrate, but your ears pick on his moans. Nyryx usually grunts when he takes you, deep and guttural. His moans though, are a little higher pitched, like a desperate howl somewhere deep in the woods. His eyes are on you, though you can't see. He keeps his hand gentle as he caress your skin, loving the goosebumps that rise when he does.

You can feel your sticky underwear, shifting uncomfortably and needy. Still, you're determined. You don't know if you can make him cum from your lips, but you at least want to see how far you can push him. He's doing a good job so far, though he occasionally pulls on your hair when you suck harshly on him. You were debating on deep throating him again when you hear a scream outside your window.

You pop his dick out your mouth as you turn around, but Nyryx is already standing at the window. It's hard not to stare at his proud cock, but his fierce gaze makes you realize there are important things happening. You slowly stand to you feet and walk to to window with him, the fire in your stomach disappearing as you see actual flames outside.

A house not too far is set ablaze, men in armor are holding torches, families are crying as the watch their home turn into ash. You gasp, tears quickly meeting your eyes as you watch the scene. You don't notice Nyryx shove his pants on, grabbing a pair of wool pants and shoes that he presents with you. Your eyes are stuck on the scene though, it's not until he shakes and calls your name that you finally snap your of your spell.

"We need to go," his voice does not have any room for questioning. You don't ned to ask what's going on, those men are looking for you and Nyryx. You overstayed your visit, you put a village in danger, you put Nyryx and yourself family in danger. You grab the pants and put them on, the shoes next, then you see the bag Meredith packed you. You halt your fast movements for a second, picking up the bag.

"We can't leave them," your voice quivers, furiously wiping the tears away. You can already hear Nyryx preparing to argue, so you keep talking, "Nyryx we can't. They fed me, housed me, they-" Nyryx growls threateningly, cutting you off. He walks close to you, his clawed feet splintering the wooden ground beneath him. "You misheard me, I said we need to go, not them," his black eyes are menacing.

More tears slip past your face, voice breaking into a sob, "Please. I can get them out of the house and-" Nyryx doesn't listen to what you say next, instead slipping the bag you had in your hands across his shoulder. The screaming outside was now unbearably loud, you could hear Sammuel yell for his family to wake up. There's a possibility they can make it out themselves, leave the village before is completely on fire. You need to see it though, it just can't be a possibility. You need to see them leave safely.

Nyryx grabs you, throwing you into a bridal position as you squirm and cry against him. You're begging, pleading, then yelling at him. He ignores all your slaps, vicious words, clawing, and tears. Nyryx perches himself out the window looking down at the snow covered in flames, blood, and bodies. He can hear the guards shouting your name, questioning people as they destroy their homes. It truly is a sad sight, but he can't risk it. He can't risk losing you. So if you temporarily hating him is what needs to be done so ensure that, then so be it.

Neither of you had heard the door swing open, neither of you noticed the presence of another person. You did, however, hear the way your name was called, almost in disbelief. You turn and see Abigail standing at the doorway, eyes wide in shock and mouth agape. Her eyes are panicked, body trembling in flight mode, but she can still stumble out one word, "What..."

Without a thought, Nryrx takes flight. He ignores your resumed weeping, your scared eyes as you look down at the ruined snow beneath you. You can't stand the sight, so you bury your face into his chest. It helps protect your face from the harsh, freezing wind, but it doesn't stop your crying.

-

You knocked out in Nyryx's arms, and he was silently grateful to no longer hear your weeps. It was cold this dead in the night, too cold. He couldn't leave you in the snow to rest properly nor could he chance taking coverage in a different town, not this soon at least.

You shivered when he laid you on pile of snow and leaves temporarily. Nyryx searched for dry sticks, creating a two large lumps of what was soon to be a bonfire. It might alert where you both are hiding, but he can't risk you getting sick when you're this close to getting home.

Nyryx inhales deeply, letting his chest heat up and feeling the nearly unbearable burn before exhaling, flames escaping his mouth with a foul burnt smell. He did the same to the second one, immediately feeling the heat that radiated from them. He backed away and made his way to you. Nyryx's chest ached seeing your tear-stained face, your slightly purple lips, and tired expression.

It's a shame really, he knew you were really enjoying yourself in that village with that family, but all good things come to an end. Nyryx wasn't sure if you'd understand what he did, why he did. There was no one other than you to blame for thinking he could spare the compassion he had for you with others. Nyryx was a demon, and it was only death that could free him from his curse.

You woke up to the feeling of rough hands picking you up, warmth immediately filling your body from Nyryx's body heat and the fires your sleepy eyes saw. The woods was eerily quiet, and it didn't not help that you Nyryx was silent, in thought. You were curious about his quietness, but you did not speak.

You were still reminiscing about Meredith and her family. How you betrayed Abigail and snuck in a demon in their house. You could blame Nyryx for the possible demise of that family all you want, but it was you that opened the door (and your legs) for him the very first night. You were the one that begged to stay at a village despite knowing you are being pursued. Nyryx is not to blame, at least not fully.

You wiped the stray tears that fell down your face, sniffing quietly. Nyryx's head looked down at you, finally realizing your wakefulness. He sat with you in his arms near the fire, eyes with an expression you couldn't possibly began to unfold. He looked away from you, face catching the reflection of the fires before you both. Nyryx looked beautiful, truly. In this moment, you could finally understand that he was a creature of the night.

His skin blends perfectly in the dark sky. Without the fire, you're not sure if you would be able to see him despite being right in front of you. His dark eyes throw back the reflection of the flames, giving the impression that he must have night vision. His talons were meant for shredding, yet he holds you so carefully, so tenderly. Nyryx's appearance screams predator, but the way he keeps you near him is anything but.

He notices your staring, shifting almost awkwardly with you in his grasp. He clears his throat, "Tomorrow night will be the full moon." Nyryx keep his eyes on the fire, as if he is uninterested in what he said and what you might say. You can tell though, he's nervous. He stiff, on edge, he's a statue. You nod against his chest, feeling his shallow breaths and his quick heart beat.

"Yeah," you also take a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves. There is no denying in what is to come, what is to be left behind. It's scary, thinking about returning to your normal life when you've experienced such an unbelievable two weeks. Is it even possible?

"I'm scared," you confess to Nryrx. He finally looks down at you, eyebrows furrowing and lips parted, "Of what?" You snuggle closer to his frame, unsure of how to start. There's so many things you're fearful of: things that have happened and things that haven't happened yet.

"Of leaving you," your voice is barely a whisper. You're sure it was carried away by the soft wind, but his eyes widen as he hears you. "You're scared of leaving me?" He sounds almost in disbelief. It wasn't long ago that you were cursing him, crying at the top of your lungs about his lack of empathy, his demonic self. Yet here you were, on the verge of tears at the mere thought of leaving him.

It almost made him smile.

"I...I don't know what's gonna happen. Won't those people be looking for us? For you? We're in this mess 'cuz of me, and imma be leaving to have you deal with it all by yourself-" your rambling is cut off by Nyryx laughing. You raise an eyebrow, unsure what part of what you were saying was the punchline.

"Prey," his nickname call your attention, "I believe you have other things to consider than my safety. I have the capability to take care of myself just fine. Do not allow 'my safety' to hold yourself back from going to where you belong."

His words were meant to be comforting, but you still can't shake the way he said 'where you belong'. You were never meant to find that cave, to run into that mansion, to meet Nyryx, to feel such a conflicting way towards him. You don't belong here, you don't belong with him. You couldn't help the tears the spilled past your waterline, wetting his chest. Nyryx was quick to wipe your tears away, not bothering to bring them to his lips to taste you.

Why did your family have to go to the beach for Easter? Why couldn't they have gone to a public garden nearby? Why did you have to be curious and go into the cold cave? Why do you have to go through this?

It would be better to forget, to tell yourself that this didn't happen and that it's all pretend. You should have never left your family's side, this would have never happened. It would have been better, you wouldn't have to deal with this pain.

Opposing thoughts and questions infiltrates your thoughts. Would it have been better though? Ignoring the chill from the magical cave, ignoring Nyryx's call for help. He would still be in that cage, out in the cold. Who knows what would have happened to him, what animal they could've treated him as. Neither of you will know though, because that didn't happen. You did save him, freed him of a fate he so desperately needed to escape. That alone, made this entire ordeal worth it.

Nyryz was quietly talking to you, whispering words of solace to you. You weren't fully listening to what he was saying, but it's still soothing to hear his voice against your ear. You took a deep shaky breath, finally coming to your resolve.

"Thank you. Maybe it's stupid, but I really thought we could save everyone you know?" You titled your head up to him as you spoke. He only hummed in understanding and nodded, placing a soft kiss on your forehead. You could feel how your stomach fluttered at his action, the brief increase of your heartbeat.

"It was...a foolish thought, but endearing nonetheless," Nyryx had a mischievous smile as he replied. You clicked your tongue and rolled your eyes, smacking his chest in the process. It was much too soon to joke like that, but you decided to ignore it. You opted to make your self comfortable against his chest, relishing in his touch.

Tonight is the last night you will ever sleep in his arms, in his world, in his embrace. The thought tempts you to cry again, but instead you screw your eyes shut. Right now, in this moment, all the matters is you against him. You can allow yourself one tearless night.

a/n: I feel so bad bro I keep edging you guys but next chapter should be the last one. I just write and I can't stop cuz I'm setting up the mood or scenario idk man. I have a problem

taglist: @whatamidoing89, @panda-wolf, @fatgumsbby

[redgoldblue]

rolled some rainbow d10s for you for the fanfic writers ask game: 17, 10, 84, 44 🌈

🌈 ❤️ 💕

17: what is your favorite line you’ve ever written?

MAN. BRO. DUDE. GIRL. SIS. i have written so many hundreds of thousands of words in the last. uh. 13 years? that i cannot possibly give an even remotely definitive answer to this. i'm going to give a handful of the ones that come to mind, from both fanfic and original.

(let's start with the stalwart. fanfic, state of disrepair)

Danny spreads his hands in what he thinks is an appropriately ‘what the fuck are you talking about’ gesture, and follows it up by saying, “Harry, what the fuck are you talking about?” “Were you two ever going to discuss the fact that you’re in love with each other, or are you just planning to keep muddling along in the hopes that one day you’ll trip and fall into bed together?” Before Danny can come up with any kind of response to that, Harry raises a hand and amends, “No, sorry, you’re already in bed together. In the hopes that you’ll trip and fall onto each other’s cocks.”

(original, weird lit-esque almost-comedy i've yet to get published)

“Do you think we’re nearing the end?” Death stubbed out his cigarette on the Formica tabletop. “The end’s always near. Time hasn’t been constructed yet.”

(fanfic, the post-canon White Collar fic I started like, 2.5 seasons before finishing the show. this probably won't stay in favourites, particularly, but I have a lot of emotions about this fic right now)

“I’m sorry too,” Neal says eventually. “Is that enough?” The length of Peter’s body is warm and solid beside him. The question isn’t asked with despair, or desperation, or even particularly hope. It’s the same simple curiosity that drives him to crosswords and crime. 

(original, absolutely absurd superhero parody comedy that is published)

“Look, Bill, I’m your employer, not your friend! I pay you well, I give you dental insurance, I’m not required to come to your little office barbeques, alright?” “Wait, you guys have dental?” Joe asked. “Of course,” Dr. Eadful replied. “Just because I’m a supervillain doesn’t mean I should ignore union demands.”

(fanfic, The Honesty Affair)

“I’ll take the couch.” Illya watches Napoleon’s turned back as he walks away, feels his pulse thud and lurch in his stomach and throb in the rope burns on his ankles and do somersaults in his throat and his aching shoulders. If you want it, ask for it. At least from me. “Don’t.”

(original, queer cowboy-thief romance, published)

Between the dark and having just emerged from sleep, the world was a little hazy, but Jack’s lively green-brown eyes looking into his were clear. Clear like a galloping horse kicking up grass and dirt, at the kind of breathless speed where all you could do was hold on and laugh and let the world blur around you.

(fanfic, Finding A Cure In You. porn alert)

He bites down on the corner of the denim, pushes at the button with the flat of his tongue. Briefly wonders if the words 'Levi-Strauss' would be branded on it if he stayed like this long enough, and why he likes that thought, before he realises it's just about the permanent imprint of Hutch and the button slips free.

(original, The Novel. The Great American (Australian) Novel, otherwise known as 'The Nanny but make it gay', otherwise known as The Kid's Guide To Romance, otherwise known as IKEA family after the last lines)

“If I could just pass as a straight white man-” “Oh, hang on,” Liza interrupted. “I love fantasy worlds. If I had wings and a tail…” “Shut up.” -

“You – and Isa too – you’re, you’re just pieces of timber and nails, and I have to put it all together myself. I don’t know how to do that.” “We’re IKEA at this point, at least,” Rob replied. “You don’t have to put it together alone.” “That’s worse! Do you know how many relationships have broken up over IKEA furniture? I’m terrible at following instructions!” “I think you might be overextending the metaphor a little,” Rob said with careful solemnity.

10: at what point in the process do you come up with titles, and how easy or hard is that for you?

For fanfic: on average, I think, probably actually early-midway through the writing process? And when it is then, it's usually pretty easy, because it means. well, it probably means I've listened to a song while thinking too hard about it.

For original: usually the end. not infrequently, ten minutes before the relevant contest deadline. it is. more difficult. Having said that, the most recent (last weekend) was named at about 100 words in and with a minimum of suffering.

84. said: overused or underused?

In general trad-pub? fine. neither. In fanfic and self-pub? probably underused. But having said that, I do think people can get waayyy too ferocious about never using other tags, and they usually only actually get tiring if a) you're never using said or b) you're using a tag on every single piece of dialogue.

44. any writing advice you want to share?

Proper use of paragraph breaks can be your best friend, and something I learnt relatively late.

'Write what you know' and 'show don't tell' can both, I think, be best conceptualised as 'think about what your characters are feeling (emotionally, or with the five senses) and write that' - deliberately, not just using cliches.

TROPES ARE TROPES FOR A REASON. there are only five original stories (or however many you have in your idiom), and that's because those plot structures work; similiarly, tropes only became popular because they're enjoyable. Play with them, of course, invert them, but also respect their existence. The disdain for tropes is a real thing in both fan and original writing spaces, in different forms, and it. makes me mad.

writing asks!

[dc-polls]

"That Really Happened?!" DC Comics Tournament Entry #14

Domestic Abuse Ghost Possession

[ID: Two page comic spread of a giant Sinestro head smiling with tongue wrapped around Green Lantern John Stewart's leg. Figures below pose in anguish and dark buildings appear in the background. John yells, "You're dead, Sinestro!" To which Sinestro replies, "Not any more!" /END ID]

What Happened?

Jesus. Okay. SO green lantern: mosaic is already a really weird comic. The creator (who we don't talk abt and also was in prison until a couple of years ago) literally said (paraphrase) "Mosaic is the book I write when I get confused writing my other books". Like bro. Anyways it follows John Stewart (Green Lantern) as he tries to establish a peaceful society between a bunch of species (humans included) taken from their homeworlds and forced to coexist on this plant. Standard comic plot. NORMAL, even. Or so you'd think.

It's revealed that John is being possessed a times (blacking out) by the ghost of Old Timer, an evil Guardian (so like a smurf looking alien) who brought all the people to the mosaic in the first place. Plot-wise this still makes sense, GL: Mosaic is a spin off and this whole plot was kind of established in the main comic. It makes sense.

AND THEN YOU GET ISSUE NO. 3. John is inexplicably in a relationship with this woman Rose. This happens completely off panel and without explanation (although they did have some chemistry in the main GL title, it was a very complicated dynamic and there was even a joke about them NOT being in a relationship) [the joke was that rose's town was super scandalized bc they thought she was dating John (because aaaaghhhhh interracial relationship or whatever [this is like 1992] and shes from rural West Virgina and was all like no guys its not LIKE that (but like it actually wasnt)) so idk that was a thing that happened

But ANYWAYS in Mosaic #3 John and Rose are dating for some reason???? And then he picks her up and flies up and then drops her and laughs as she screams and falls. He also kicks her around and like beats her up in front of her son while she pleads with him to stop. So VERY much domestic abuse 👍love some absolutely insane fucking mischaracterization what the actual hell. Also he keeps using weird nicknames like calling her Rosie and himself Johhny or Daddy while possessed(?) SO I don't fucking know what that was the fuck

Anyways it's then revealed that this behavior was because of the GHOST! who could have thunk? However instead of the ghost CANONICALLY inside his head that was literally possessing him THE ISSUE BEFORE, turns out it was SINESTRO'S GHOST! how the fuck did he get in johns head you may ask? I could not tell you! He's just there! At this point I'm wondering what the actual fuck is going on and also how many ghosts are possessing John Stewart. Like HONESTLY. I've either entirely lost the plot by now or am just in shock over what is happening. Likely both.

Anyways John goes in his brain to fight the Sinestro ghost (who like ties him up with his tongue and calls him boy (and Sinestro daddy this time) and all sorts of insanely weird awful stuff) And then his girlfriend (who he ISNT DATING) forgives him because "it was the ghost". Absolutely incomprehensible arc. This happened in ONE ISSUE of this comic. The first ghost is not mentioned at all during this story

Also the worst thing abt this whole ordeal is that this is a spin off of an arc in the main GL title which was actually REALLY FUCKING GOOD. like it was great, I loved it. And yet somehow the author (may he die gruesomely) managed to forget what HE HIMSELF WROTE and all knowledge of characterization and turn his hero into a horribly mischaracterized domestic abuser in a plot thay makes no sense.also there was def some racist wack ass shit going on with this fr. The whole comic is honestly an ego trip for the writer it makes no fucking sense and every letter page is just two pages of him talking directly to the readers and telling them how smart he is. This is issue 3 and is as far as i got. Listen to me and do not read this comic

--

Tournament polls will be posted after all entries are up. As always you can find all posts related to the tournament using #dc-polls-trh

[brutal-nemesis]

E&T: A Truly Slothful Start

*points at Erebus* Bro is NOT built for this lmao (btw I drew the sloth demon a v long time ago enjoy)

Suggested battle music: Grandma (Destruction) from NieR: Automata (spotify | youtube)

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Ingredients: combat whump we fight monster, amputation hehe (not gory tho!), slight drowning, undescribed eye whump

PART III: Untitled World

The things that hit him first were the suffocating darkness and the awful chill in the air.

Erebus knew he didn’t belong here. All around him, strange rock formations jutted out every which way, no sign of life among them. There didn’t seem to be any source of light, and yet everything was clearly visible, casting hardly any shadow. The silence was nearly absolute, pressing in on his ears. The only thing he could hear was the freakishly loud sound of his own heartbeat, amplified by the collar around his neck.

Wait, the collar-he reached up for it, fingers closing around the awful strip of leather that he’d been forced to wear since the start of his captivity. He had a sword, he had claws, and N...no one would make him wear another one if he broke it. So he should take it off, right? He should destroy it. He’d always hated it, the way it meant he was owned, how it let-let people put leashes on him and lead him around like a dog. She...she’d said it herself, that he had to wear it so he wouldn’t forget that he belonged to her, but now they were...not together. So it shouldn’t matter. 

But he couldn’t stop thinking about when she’d taken it off for the procedure with the envy demon, about how utterly, embarrassingly exposed he’d felt without that stupid collar. Maybe the feeling would pass, and he would just have to get used to being without it. He hadn’t worn one for the vast majority of his life, so it should be easy to adjust back, right? Besides, it was more than just a collar, it was a way for her to know if someone other than her was touching him, and that was violating, it was...it was a way for her to know he was alive. Assuming it worked, assuming whatever signal it was could be sent to another world.

Erebus lowered his hands, still chained together, as he blinked away tears. He-he was really here, in this other world with only a slim chance of ever going back. He’d take every tie to his old life he could get, no matter how painful. And if the spell on the collar worked, then…he owed it to her to let her know he was still alive. He could wear the collar for a little while longer. The muzzle, on the other hand...he didn’t mind tearing that off and throwing it away in the slightest.

Shakily, he stood, grabbing the sheathed sword in front of him. Being expected to fight was…strange. But, looking at himself now, he was practically designed for this, almost every modification giving him some sort of advantage. It made his blood run cold to think about how this had been the plan from the start, how obvious it seemed now. He wanted to lay down and sob and process what had happened, but everything was so different and strange that he didn’t feel safe enough to let his guard down like that. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he buckled the sword belt around his waist and began looking around.

Behind where he’d appeared, there was a bag lying on the ground. Inside was a cloak with holes for his wings, a knife, and a bedroll. Well, better than nothing, but he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do about food and water or lighting a fire. Maybe that demon tongue would be coming in handy, after all. He put on the cloak, grateful to have something to help him keep warm in this place, along with the shoes he still had on from their trip to the desert.

Nothing else here, he began carefully making his way along one of the stone cliffs, leaning on it since there had never been a chance to fully heal the gash in his leg. Progress was slow, and maybe it would have been a good time to think things through, but he couldn’t stop tears from forming in his eyes at the mere thought of what had happened, so instead he just focused on the pain in his leg, flaring up brighter with every step.

Time felt impossible to grasp, as if this place was outside of it entirely, but at some point Erebus reached the end of the maze of stone. He was greeted with what looked like a vast ocean, but the water was unnaturally calm, not a single ripple on the glass-like surface. Had there been stars above, it would have been beautiful, but under the canopy of uniform blackness, it just looked like a cold, empty void. 

Erebus hesitated to step out in the open, no walls to protect him, but the silence was so absolute that he couldn’t imagine there was another living thing anywhere near him. His leg didn’t hurt quite as much anymore despite how much he’d been walking, so he was able to hobble to the water’s edge and investigate, setting the pack down to make moving around a little easier. The sword, however, still hung at his side, just in case. 

The water was clear, and as far as he could tell, there was no sign of life in it whatsoever. It was jarringly different from the seaside at home, where you could hardly take a step without spotting a shellfish or aquatic plant. Here, it was just pebbles, no broken shells or bits of dead coral among them. He crouched and dipped a finger in, finding the water both cold and salty. The ripples created by his finger traveled far, seeming to get bigger as they traveled along. Suddenly, even bigger ripples rushed to meet them from farther out, and Erebus’s stomach knotted in terror as he bolted upright, pulling out the sword, having to hold it with both hands since they were still chained.

He strained his eyes in the darkness, looking for whatever had caused the disturbance. Was that...there was something  in the water out there, he was sure of it. He took a few steps back, sword still held in front of him, watching the strange shape grow larger and larger as it approached. The moment the tip of its nose emerged, the surface of the water erupted, spraying Erebus with cold mist and shooting tendrils out into the open air that coalesced into a large sort of web. Arches of water now crisscrossed all throughout the space, severely limiting how much he could fly around, especially since he never had a chance to practice it much. In the middle of the watery network was a large bubble, and when he saw what was inside it, Erebus’s jaw dropped.

The creature was enormous, big enough to swallow him whole in one bite. Its pale gray body was long, with two pairs of flippers that were almost as big as Erebus and a webbed, spiny ridge going down its back. A cruel, curved hook jutted out from the end of its tail, almost as sharp-looking as its conical teeth. As Erebus looked at it in horror, it turned its gaze to him, its blank white eyes staring into his own identical pair. So this…this must be a sloth demon. He was supposed to fight that? 

He could leave, just run and hide, this thing couldn’t follow him through those rocky canyons, he could stop and take a moment to think, but this was an enemy right in front of him, and no matter how terrifying, it had revealed itself, no more surprises. Erebus tightened his grip. If he could-could beat this thing then he could really rest. It would be safe here. He would be that much closer to going h…somewhere that wasn’t here. He could do this. He had to.

Despite how much he was shaking, Erebus took flight and approached, finding it difficult to do so while he was holding the sword, but not enough for him to fall out of the air. The demon just watched as he flew past the jets of water, and Erebus hated those blank white eyes boring into him, which just made him loathe his own all that much more. How…how exactly was he supposed to attack it? It was so huge and he couldn’t see any kind of obvious weakness, not to mention that it was surrounded by a sphere of water. While he knew his eyes worked underwater, he could only imagine his wings would be a hindrance, not to mention the heavy sword. 

Maybe…maybe he should just retreat for now. Come up with a plan and come back. This was just…it was too much. Reassuring himself that the demon couldn’t follow him, he cautiously turned around and started to weave his way through the tendrils of-there was a sharp jerk on his wing, and suddenly Erebus was being dragged through the air, crashing into pillars of water as he went, barely registering the splash of his sword hitting the sea below as he scrambled to get his wing free of-of-it was that hook it was pierced through the top of Erebus’s wing he couldn’t get it out his fingers were slippery and freezing and useless he had to do something kick his legs flap his wings anything-

Just as those awful teeth came into view, Erebus managed to swing himself back, but the chain on his wrists was caught, wrapped around a tooth, his fall jerked to a halt, he was hanging by his wrists, the hook was gone but his wing wouldn’t work, he had to do something, that eye was so big and so close, watching him struggle, the beast’s throat humming with an ancient growl, hungry, he couldn’t just let this happen, he grabbed the tooth with his left hand and the chain with his right, he could do this, pull himself up enough to-

The great jaws snapped shut, and Erebus tumbled into the water below. 

Cold shocked his system, despite the fact that his left arm felt like it was on fire. 

He couldn’t stay down here. He had to get to the surface.

But, down there, a faint glint. Metal. His sword. His only hope of winning.

He swam towards it, progress slow and painful and-

His left hand was gone. 

There wasn’t time to mourn it. 

His remaining hand wrapped around the hilt of the sword. It was heavy, too heavy for him to swim up with. 

He was running out of air. He had to try. This couldn’t be the end. Not here. Not so soon after-

The hook pierced through his wing again, and it was all he could do to hold onto his sword this time around.

The sloth demon pulled him up and out of the water with its tail, tossing him high into the air as it opened its great jaws to swallow him whole. His wings torn and useless, all Erebus could do was flap them desperately and hope it would be enough, hope he could at least-his foot landed on one of those teeth, holding him for just a moment before he slipped, but it was enough to aim his sword hold it steady launch himself down drive that point right down into the demon’s eye paint that awful soulless white with red hear the roar of agony so loud he could feel it in his bones and now the water was collapsing falling back down the great corpse falling with it he had to get away wrench the sword out jump back splash into the water struggle to the surface to the shore drag himself out of the water collapse on the shore and breathe.

He-he’d won, but just barely, and the losses were-Erebus bit back tears, looking away from the ragged stump at the end of his left arm. There was no way he could survive six more fights like that.

This horrible, hostile place was going to destroy him, and there would be nothing left of him to go back home.

Next→

Tags: @dramaticcollapse @thehopelessopus @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @galaxywhump @as-a-matter-of-whump @mnmlover2002 @tears-and-lilies @yet-another-heathen @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @starnight-whump @unicornscotty @thebewilderer @kixngiggles @itallstartedwithharry @inky-whump @redstainedsocks @lonesome--hunter @his-unspoken-words @susiequaz12 @its-mysweetlittlesecret-blog @whumpasaurus101 @patheticlittleguy @jadeocean46910 @whumpinggrounds @pumpkin-spice-whump @suspicious-whumping-egg @befuddled-calico-whump @whump-in-the-closet​ @pumpkinsncoffee​ @aryreads​

[indie-bard-maiden]

~The Clinic~

(the Vampire story, apart of my short story collection 'The Ballad of Hollowfaye' also available to read on Wattpad).

Synopsis:

A girl notices her boyfriend has been acting quite strange since she had sex with him for the first time during a family camping trip. Eyes turning black, not reflecting in mirrors, head burying into her neck for longer than should be necessary. Even if bro IS a little horny. What is wrong with him?

Little does she know, Bro is going through it. He is, after all, the one with eyes turning black, the one not reflecting in mirrors, the one who keeps burying his head into his girlfriend's neck with an insatiable thirst he's never known before. WHAT IS WRONG WITH HIM???

Genre: YA Paranormal Romance

Word Count: (to be determined)

(Ch. 3)

Her heart was pounding, blood seeping out of her knees and shins. Her sobs didn't mask the sound of the fresh blood pumping through her veins, they enhanced it.

She was talking to him. But he was barely hanging on, barely keeping control, barely able to register her words or their meaning. He couldn't remember to breathe—which scared him...

Then, he remembered he didn't have to, his lungs no longer knew how. For days he hadn't used them, hadn't taken a single breath. Remembering that only scared him more.

What he did know was Litha thought the sex was the problem. She was right.

Something else that scared him? That he'd liked burying his face in her neck, and liked was an understatement. He kissed her all over her body, not just because he wanted to, but because he was scared of what would happen if he let himself linger too long.

And then, as the night drew on, and they were still tangled around each other and their breaths were quickening and their lips swollen from their unbroken kisses and his thrusts were sloppy, he realized it wasn't just her neck.

It wasn't just anything. It was her. The taste of her skin, the pounding beneath it, her scent, her mouth, her tongue. He could taste the essence of it—whatever it was that was drawing him in, but he couldn't get quite close enough to reach it, quite deep enough to sink his teeth in and lose control.

He finished before the thought could settle.

But then he came to with his face back in her neck, kissing along the hard thump thump thump, teeth scraping against her skin, begging for more. The fear came then—that nauseating lurch in his stomach repelling him into rigidness.

Because he saw his father feasting on his mother—full, dense, and drunk—and it still not being enough. His mother twitching, trying to fight him off, fighting for her life—and it still not being enough. Her collapsing in his arms... Weightless, weak, the fight already over.

Whatever was in the air before was lost.

He lifted his head up to look at her, worried she might've heard his thoughts or felt his instincts. She was breathing hard, eyes clenched shut, arms wrapped around his back, pulling him closer as if she wasn't afraid—no matter what he was.

No... It wasn't lost completely, not yet. It would be if she didn't leave. She'd be dead in his arms, and he wouldn't realize anything was wrong until there was nothing left of her to feast on.

What the fuck was he thinking? These thoughts—they didn't belong to him.

She'd be gone before he could explain because it's been DAYS since the uncontrollable, insatiable hunger started, and he still had no idea what it was. He couldn't ask his mom because he couldn't bear to remind her of his father. But he knew this had everything to do with him.

Every single night, the past he'd tried so hard to forget returned to him bit by bit, and every morning his stomach growled with a growing emptiness. The dreams couldn't plague him while he was awake so he no longer slept. 

The hunger though... The hunger was ever-present and deepening.

"You should go, Lith."

The hopeful gleam in her eye extinguished again. Couldn't she see he was trying to save her? Couldn't she see he could barely keep himself in one spot, that he had to fight himself to stay away from her? Couldn't she see that he was losing?

"Then let me go."

He blinked at her tone, at her words, before he looked down to where he was already holding her, ready to pull her into him. By When had it happened?

His mouth flooded at the rhythm beneath his fingertips.

The nauseating lurch fought him back again, and he realized not for the first time that he was indebted to it. He released her as if her touch blistered him and stumbled backward until the crumbling brick scraped his flaring flesh.

The anger that marred her face was replaced by concern again.

"Sol—" The self-doubt in her voice had been replaced by pity for him. It made him sick.

"Litha, please, I'm begging you." She flinched, nearly losing her balance, nearly falling down the ladder. He could see it: the blood seeping from her skull, lifeless eyes staring but not seeing.

"You have to get away from me." His voice was distant, even from him. That couldn't be him talking, could it? He was so far away.

He sank deeper into the mind fog, and there was nothing to grab onto, nothing to keep him from falling. What would he find when he came to again?

"You look terrible, baby," it was an echo in the darkness, "Let me take you to the doctor."

The heat was all-encompassing, scorching him from the inside-out. And it wasn't a mere blaze, it was an empty inferno. The flames yearned for something, something that they craved from her.

"I need... you...to go..." He just barely choked out the words from the smoke in his lungs.

Rattling, cracking, and creaking; then more heat as she wrapped him in her arms.

He'd tried to get away from her. As soon as the dreams started months ago. In the spring of their junior year when he was still applying to colleges, and Litha had wanted to come with him wherever he went.

"Hollowfaye Community College wouldn't be too bad, you know?" One look at his face and she'd laughed, "Except you'd be stuck here for the rest of your life." She lowered her pitch and puffed her chest, trying to emulate him and all the times that he'd said it before.

"I can't stay here," He'd whispered, and their smiles fell because they knew it was true.

Back then, he had to leave before his father found him again. He was too late for that—too late to save himself. Now he had to leave before it was too late for her too.

NEXT PART AVAILABLE╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ HERE

BACK TO MASTERLIST? CLICK ╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ HERE

Thanks for reading! Don't forget to like, reblog, and/or comment if you liked or hated it. Spill the tea. Share your thoughts directly with the source (me.)

[pokemedia-text-dump]

Match Recording: Teraster vs. Kofu

[Video ID: Teraster walking onto Cascarrafa's battle court. Kofu is standing on the other side.

"Oho, ya made it back safe 'n sound! Love ta see it!" Kofu laughs.

"Thank you. The trip back was...pleasant." Teraster says, bowing slightly.

"That sandwich ya made for me and your Pokemon was mighty fine, kid. I could see they enjoyed it almost as much as I did! Heh heh...Don't expect me to go easy on ya because o' that, though!" Kofu says.

"This should not be expected. It is your job to serve as a benchmark for challengers such as me, correct? The sandwich should not affect this." Teraster says, cocking his head to the side.

"...Hm. You're a bit o' a strange one...Eh, as long as you kin show me what you've learned on the battlefield, doesn't bother me none!" Kofu says.

"Ah, but I remember these two little firebrands! Here ta watch this one square off against ol' man Kofu like the both of ya did, are ya?" Kofu asks, looking towards the camera.

"Woag." Teko says from behind the camera.

"...I'd much prefer to not be here at all, but I suppose you could say that." Cera mutters.

"Haha! Well, isn't that sweet! Now then...I think ya gotta be hankerin' for a battle by this point, yeah?" Kofu says.

"That is correct. I have acquired an item that I believe will help bolster our strategy." Teraster says.

"Ooh, a confident one, aren't ya! Well then, don't let me stop ya...Let's get this show on the road!" Kofu says, sending out a Veluza. Teraster sends out a Glimmet in kind.

"Here we go...You got this, bro!" Teko says from behind the camera, as "It's Pronounced Rules" begins to play.

"Now then...Let's serve this battle up right! Open with Aqua Cutter, Veluza!" Kofu says.

"Please use Acid Spray, Ningguang." Teraster says.

The Veluza sprays a thin jet of white water from its mouth, using its tongue to control its flow. It slices downward onto the Glimmet, knocking it down to the ground and expelling several purple crystals from its body. The Glimmet shakily gets back up, then funnels several streams of purple sludge from its petals into an orb in front of its face. It sprays the sludge from the orb, splattering the other end of the battlefield in purple puddles, incidentally hitting the Veluza with some of the sludge.

"Let's keep this goin', Veluza! Aqua Cutter, again!" Kofu says.

"...Please attempt to use Ancient Power, Ningguang." Teraster says after some thought.

The Veluza spits out another jet of water, slicing the Glimmet before it can do anything. The Glimmet falls down, KO'd, as Teraster recalls it into a Luxury Ball. He then sends out a Wash forme Rotom.

"Hmmm...Hit this one with Slash, Veluza!" Kofu says after some thought.

"Please counter with Shock Wave, Photoplasm." Teraster says.

The Veluza spews water from the gaps in its flesh, propelling itself towards the Rotom like a rocket. Meanwhile, the Rotom charges up a small orb of blue energy in front of the washing machine's hatch. Right before impact, the Rotom fires the orb as a small beam, knocking the Veluza backwards greatly and causing it to fall to the ground, unconscious.

"Ah, this one's got a bit of a bite to it, eh? But we're not sunk yet...Yer up, Wugtrio!" Kofu says, sending out a Wugtrio.

"Please use Shock Wave again, Photoplasm." Teraster says.

"Use Headbutt, Wugtrio!" Kofu says.

The Wugtrio's three heads withdraw into their rock, then pop out of the other side of the battlefield just below the Rotom. One by one, they bash their heads into it, sending it flying before retreating. The Rotom is left reeling, taking a sizable amount of time to get back up.

"...You appear to have recovered, Photoplasm...Please use Shock Wave once more." Teraster says.

"Headbutt, just like last time, Wugtrio!" Kofu says.

The Rotom charges up an orb of blue energy. The Wugtrio withdraws into its rock again and burrows underneath the Rotom, hitting it three times in succession. The Rotom fires the orb before the Wugtrio can retreat, sending them snapping back to the rock like a rubber band, unconscious.

"Oh?! That Rotom 'o yours is choppin' up my entire team! Hahaha...Somethin' that strong oughta be able to handle THIS!" Kofu says, sending out a Crabominable. He holds up a Tera Orb as it surges with energy, then Terastallizes the Crabominable into a Water-type.

"...Hmm? Well, isn't that a sight...Your friend's sparklin' like the ocean on a good day! ...The little guy is okay, isn't he?" Kofu says, turning towards the camera.

"Look, man, he did it before...We're just used to it at this point." Teko says from behind the camera.

"Please continue to use Shock Wave, Photoplasm." Teraster says.

"Hmmm...Try Slam, Crabominable!" Kofu says.

The Rotom charges up an orb of blue energy inside the hatch on its body. The Crabominable holds up its pincers and scuttles towards it, nimbly maneuvering around the Toxic Spikes and puddles of acid on the ground. The Crabominable brings its pincer down like a hammer at the same time the Rotom fires the orb from inside its body. Both Pokemon are knocked back, the Crabominable more so than the Rotom.

"It isn't lookin' good for ol' Kofu..." Kofu muses. "Let's try Rock Smash this time!" he says.

"Please attempt to counter with Shock Wave this time, Photoplasm. Teraster says.

The Rotom charges up another orb of blue energy inside its body as the Crabominable scuttles towards it again, its pincers glowing white. Right before impact, the Rotom opens the hatch on its body and lets loose a beam of blue energy from the orb, shattering the Crabominable's Tera Jewel and knocking it unconscious.

"Nyahahaha! Yeahhh! THAT's how you do it!" Teko cheers from behind the camera.

"Well, Vauntin' Veluza! Ya served us but good, kid, didn't ya? That battle was a sight to behold!" Kofu laughs.

"I still say he just got lucky...But, in the event that he actually DID show some skill, I GUESS I can concede he did...okay." Cera says.

"It isn't every day a challenger's able ta get the best of me, ya know...The way you an' that Rotom of yours stayed calm even in the raging waves of battle was somethin' else!" Kofu continues. "I say you've earned this more than anything!" he says, handing Teraster a badge and a Water-type TM.

"Thank you. I enjoyed the match greatly." Teraster says, bowing, as he places the Badge in the front pouch of a Bag.

"Hmm...One, two, three...Oho! This here would be yer fourth Gym badge, right?" Kofu says, looking inside the pouch of the Bag containing the other Gym badges.

"That is correct. Does this event have any special significance?" Teraster asks.

"...Well, ya seem like a real strong sort, kid...My advice is ta try an' look into gettin' a Tera Orb pretty soon. They offer classes over at the academy to help people learn the ropes, and this Gym badge of mine means that yer eligible!" Kofu says after some thought.

"...This is the threshold for earning a Tera Orb? Perhaps it is meant to incentivize already strong Trainers to become stronger...Regardless, I will pursue this as quickly as possible.

Teko runs up to Teraster and grabs him by the shoulder. "Well, what are we waiting around HERE for, huh?! Let's get ready to go right away, so you can get even more powerful!"

He runs back to the camera with Teraster in tow, before grabbing it as the video cuts out.]

[neriyon]

I tried making a neat little graphic family tree buuuut fitting all these kids in is a pain so.... rip that idea I guess

Unnamed grandmother Puu - lived with her daughters/grandkids until her death (some time before Hawu'li was born). Unclear if she left her own parents to start the Puu family, or if she stayed to continue their traditions, as she never really talked about her origins. - Had 3 daughters: Hawu, Khona and Masha

Hawu Puu, Hawu'li's mother and the current matriarch of the Puu family. Strict and strong mother who rarely has trouble keeping the big gaggle of kids in order nor kicking out any troublemakers. Still participates in some hunts despite her age. - Had 7 daughters and 3 sons: Hawu'a, unnamed daughter 1 & 2, Hawu'to, Nhagi, unnamed daughter 3 & 4, Hawu'li, Poki and Una

Khona Puu, middle sister of the ladies running the Puu family. Phenomenal tracker, who seems to know the woods like the back of her hand, but also which herbs and plants work best for poisons and antidotes. - Has unspecified number of daughters and a single son, Khona'a.

Masha Puu, youngest of the original 3 Puu sisters. Sharpest eye and aim of the whole family, she used to be the one to lead hunting trips with Hawu until having her own kids. Nowadays she mostly focuses on making and maintaining weapons the family uses, but sometimes joins the younger generation on hunts if not busy with her girls. - Has 3 unnamed daughters, who are youngest of all the cousins.

Rest just get thrown on bulletpoint list:

Hawu'a is the oldest of all kids, and without a doubt Hawu's favorite. He's a strong, stoic and a great hunter, so pretty much the perfect son in her eyes. Still lives in the Shroud and visits home regularily, bringing gifts from his hunts every time.

Hawu'to is complete opposite of his older bro - smart and studious with a sharp tongue. Ever since he started showing less intrest in hunting and more in studying, he and his older brother have been at odds. He eventually left for Sharlayan, where he's still living and working as a scientist. Never visits, has "frigid at best" relationship with his mother and outright hostile relationship with Hawu'a.

Khona'a is the one who first taught Hawu'li magic! He's about the same age as Hawu'to, and left the family sometime after him (but on better terms). Huge sweetheart but a bit of a trickster, he learned some minor spells on his travels, and while visiting home showed them to his younger siblings and cousins. Also the one who encouraged Hawu'li to learn more magic, especially healing, as "world could always use more of those".

Nhagi and 2 of the unnamed older sisters of Hawu'li have left the family to start their own. Nhagi specifically is the one Hawu'li sees most, as she lives in Gridania and has a kid she often asks Hawu'li to babysit (when he's not off saving the world lol)

Other 2 unnamed older sisters as well as Poki and Una (twins) still live home with their mother. Older two mostly handle hunting, as well as teaching it to the younger two.

2/13/25

#wolquestion #wolqotd

What does your wol(oc)'s family tree look like?

[dilfl0v3rss]

hiii, I love your work, just wanted to ask if you would do the “shes busy bro” text thing with the baldies

i’m so slow bc this is not what you meant but i made the texts too don’t worry😭

she’s busy

𝑜𝑛𝑦

it wasn’t your fault that the waiter was flirting with you while ony was using the bathroom, but he still took it very personal. you knew how he felt about that “friendly” attitude you seemed to have towards people. and even though the waiter had no business trying to get your number while he was in the bathroom, you had no business giggling and smiling in his face like you were going to give it to him. you were both wrong, but since ony can’t deal with the waiter tonight, he will deal with you.

“ma stop wit the runnin. you not goin nowhere.” ony groaned, yanking your hips back to him as you tried to crawl away from his relentless backshots. “i-i didn’t even d-do nun” he chuckled at your weak defense, thrusting back into you at full speed to shut you up. “and ian doing nun right now either. you lucky ion got yo ass cuffed up. daddy bein nice” ony jingled the cuffs in his hand before putting them down and continuing his brutal thrusts, your stomach brushing the sheets as he held your back down with one hand. you decided to just shut up, because little did he know you gave the waiter your number. to you, ony was just overreacting. he seemed like a genuinely nice guy to you so you gave it to him hoping the two of you could become good friends.

*ring ring* the sound of your phone snatched the both of your attention. ‘please don’t be him please don’t be him please don’t be him’ you repeatedly thought as ony picked up your phone. of course the guy had one of those automatic contacts with the picture so ony immediately knew it was him. “oh so this what we doin now?” he mumbled, dick still fully hard inside you as he showed you the screen. “i-it’s not what it looked like baby. i wanna be his f-friend”

ony scoffed as he answered the phone, smirking as an idea popped up in his head. the next thing you knew he was starting his quick pace up again, pounding you into the sheets as he spoke normally through the receiver. “yo?….you looking for my girl?……nah nah nah it’s all good. she right here” he put the phone towards your mouth before thrusting into you even harder, making sure to get each one of your pitiful moans through to him. “d-daddy pleaseeee m’gonna….fuckk m’gonna cummm!” you screamed as you felt his dick kissing your cervix. he brought the phone back to his ear, hearing nothing but the man’s breathing on the other line. “she busy right now…..move your fucking hand ma m’not playin wit you….delete this number or your next shift at that lil restaurant gon be your last” and with that he hung up the phone. you already know you were gonna get it as soon as you heard the sound of metal clanking. the fur of the cuffs brushing against your ass while ony spoke.

“gimme your hands mama”

𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑛𝑖𝑒

“you can do it mami. just give me one more and you can get a break ‘kay?” connie said before dipping his tongue back inside your awaiting pussy. you came home from work with tears in your eyes as you explained to connie the rude words your coworker uttered to you. sentences like “what are you, stupid?” and “jesus you can do anything right” thrown your way all day as your frustrated colleague used you as a punching bag.

in order to help fix your sad face, connie decided to change it into one of pleasure. sitting in between your thighs for hours as he gave you words of encouragement and reassurance to help uplift your spirits. “you not dumb mi vida. smartest girl i know so don’t even trip over that . papi gon fix it” connie’s mouth worked wonders on you, kissing, licking, and sucking orgasm after orgasm to keep you from thinking about the harsh words said to you.

the vibration of your phone took connie’s attention. the contact name “charles (coworker)” was calling you. connie brought the phone to your face, giving you time to read the name as he continued pleasuring you with his fingers. “this him?” all it took was a singular nod from you before connie had the phone answered and at his ear. he could hear the man trying to apologize almost instantly. “listen y/n. m’really sorry about how i was actin today. i was just frustrated and you were the closest person to me. please let me make it up t’you with dinner or something”

connie looked up at you, pretty eyes all glossy and low as you tried not to scream from how heavenly connie’s fingers fucked you. he mouthed a “you wanna talk to em?” smiling as you quickly shook your head no. “didn’t think so” he said before putting the phone to his ear. “this her man. she s little preoccupied at the moment” connie quickly flicked his tongue on your clit, digging quicker and deeper into you with his fingers to draw out a loud moan. “auughhh ohh my goddd” your back arched off the bed as you felt your release coming close. connie continued to finger you while he moved his mouth from your clit to speak. “uhh she most definitely will not be having dinner wit your punk ass tho so you can dead that shit. m’not gon fuck you up cause she told me how much you need every check from that lil job, but if she come here crying again cause of you ima break your jaw”

𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑛

“fuck keep suckin it jus like that mama” aran groaned as you were hard at work on his living room floor. knees burning from being in the same position for so long as you sucked the life out of aran’s dick while he sat on the couch. were you supposed to be here? fuck no, but there was no way you were turning down going to see the d1 athlete just so you can be home arguing with your bum ass ex boyfriend.

aran has been trying to get at you for awhile, and you would’ve been with him too if your ex would just hurry up and move out. he’s been purposely dragging his feet when it came to getting his shit out of your house, always lingering on the couch when you have company over to keep you from moving on. you don’t want to put aran through that so the two of you just settled for this. coming over to his place and getting the best dick if your life every weekend.

you had both of your hands wrapped around his thick dick. stroking him with a tight grip as you sucked on his tip. your eyes trained on his beautiful physique as you watched his big pecs move up and down with each breath. “shit girl you gon make me trap you” he chuckled as he watched you slap the head of his dick all over your tongue, spit dripping all over him as the both of your brown eyes locked. “do it daddy” you sighed before taking his full length down your throat. “oh i will”. the sound of your ringtone went off into the air, the both of you ignoring it as you continued, but it didn’t stop there. whoever was calling must’ve been dying or something because after the call came a bunch of notifications, then it rang again.

“man who the fuck-” aran mumble, his annoyed face quickly becoming one of mischief as he read the name on your phone. “s’randy” he said with a smirk. you rolled your eyes as you released his dick with a pop. “gimme i’ll just turn it off” you went to reach for the phone, but aran pulled it out of your reach, a petty smirk on his face as he answered the call and put the phone to his ear. before you could protest, his big hand found the back of your head, pushing you back down on his dick for you to continue.

“wassup randy. how you been nigga?” you rolled your eyes as you continued to let aran guide your head up and down. your tongue running along the underside of his dick while he continued to talk to your ex. “who is this? tell y/n it’s time to come home. m’hungry and i need her to cook something” randy mumbled, probably sitting on the couch surrounded by bear bottles and filth. “she busy. eating right now as we speak. how it taste mama?” aran said before pushing your head all the way down, his dick hitting the back of your throat as you gagged loudly into the receiver. aran brought the phone back to his ear with a smirk before letting go of your head. it was time for payback so you wrapped both of your hands around him again, quickly stroking him before roughly sucking his sensitive tip. “ooouu shit man we gotta go”

𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑎𝑘𝑎

“ohhh my godddd i’m about to give you a baby” tanaka groaned as he watched your skillfully bounce on his dick. large inked hands gripping your hips as the two of you moaned in unison. “want you t’nut in me daddy. cum in this pussy” tanaka’s eyes rolled at your words, the thought of him filling you up bringing him closer to his climax. he was the best bff you could ever ask for.

you’ve been having some issues with a guy you were talking to. he couldn’t seem to be able to grasp the fact that you are a bad bitch and could easily replace him if he didn’t act right. so that’s exactly what you did. you “replaced” him with tanaka. posting him and going on little “dates” with your best friend to get his attention. the two of you never expected to actually fall for each other. letting your true feelings take over as you plopped yourself repeatedly on his dick. you had forgotten all about your ex.

you knew he’d come crawling back one of these days, and you couldn’t wait to break the new to him that you were intact in love with another man. *ring ring* ‘just on time’ you thought as you snatched up your phone on the first ring, picking it up as you began to bounce harder on the man below you. “s-shittt who it that?” tanaka grumbled, but you ignored him. listening to the man on the other line beg for forgiveness. “listen baby i didn’t know it would be like this. i was stupid to think i didn’t need you. you were the best thing that every happened to me please give me another chance.”

a giggled escaped from your mouth before you put the phone to tanaka’s ear. “it’s my ex” you said before letting tanaka listen to the pitiful man beg. a smile planted on his face before he quickly brought your face down to his by your neck, thrusting up into you quickly. you tried to swallow your moans but he was just fucking you too good. “fuck daddy s-slow downnnn” you moaned, eyes rolling back as tanaka held the phone between your faces on speaker.

“stop bitchin, she can’t even talk right now. too busy getting fucked by her new man”