#but they still tend to get messy and covered in blood

[melonisopod]

Only exception I can think of is N. Corp Rodion who doesn’t appear to be wearing makeup (she doesn’t have her pink eyeshadow for one).

Girl picked a look and stuck with it.

funny how rodya has the least variation across her ids/ego out of all the sinners. she keeps the same hairstyle, makeup, and sometimes even the same necklace. the girl that wants to stand out doesn't even stand out against her alternate selves.

[cthulhus-curse]

Hopeless

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3,077

Warnings: Dark!Milf!Natasha Romanoff, Mommy Kink, Dub-Con, Drugging, Minor Character Death, Graphic Descriptions of Gore, Kidnapping, Bondage, Ball Gags, Knife Play, Blood Play, Praise, Obsessive Behavior, Jealousy, Stalking, Murder, Scissoring, Fingering, Cunnilingus | 18+ Minors DNI

Summary: Natasha takes her time watching, humming, and preying upon her unwilling pet until at one point she snaps. Taking you away is what she sees fit.

Each day without fail viridescent eyes stared at you from across the street. Covered windows were no match for the hard gaze thrown your way, watching every move and breath you took. They were obsessed — pupils addicted, dilating whenever you dared step from the confines of your home into the world. With a hitched breath, she had to hold onto any nearby surface for support. The unknowing effect you had on your neighbor was catastrophic.

Never would she shake the feeling of love when it came to you. Regardless of how little you’d talked — slight exchanges of words in the morning, the time she took to rummage through her mailbox precisely scheduled to greet you. During each smidge of a second she spent with eyes fluttering across the street, she grew intoxicated, drunk in the liquor that was your existence.

For the most part she was able to keep her urges hidden away in the closet carrying a suitcase with all the pictures, toys, and items she had of yours. The obsessing unconsciously grew exponentially ever since you had moved into the neighborhood less than a year ago. Many times she found herself sprawled over the bed, her hand between her legs with slender digits shoved far inside her sex. With her children in school and her breadwinner wife off at work, the house was hers to haunt.

Weeks passed by and never did she break the incorrigible distance between the two of you. It was an unspoken deal — you were watched from afar and, in her belief, you tease her in return with your pretend innocence. For the images she had of you, there was no denying you wanted her. It was what she told herself each night she giddily went to sleep with a smile plastered on her features, eyes closed with her wife’s arms wrapped around her slim body — the image that it was you instead of the brunette woman got her through a peaceful slumber.

With a secrecy intact, she was content.

Until she wasn’t.

Due to the tending of the children, she was left to pick up after them right as they had left on the bus to school. Crumbs left on the table, food across the floor, she sighed. The small elementary school children were nothing if not messy, but she loved them dearly. They were one of the few things she adored in the boring dull life she carried.

Normally she was to grab the mail around the time the children left, but as she peeked through the front door, her body clothed with a pair of tight yoga pants and a sports bra, her eyes widened.

There stood her wife, who had taken a day off, laughing off across the street. She had gone out on a run long before, kissing the kid’s heads as she dropped off a goodbye. Rather than spend her time at home, the brunette had a hand on your upper arm, getting far too close to the one thing that caused her wife any happiness within her miserable life. The more the two of you interacted, the mightier the anger beneath the small woman grew. Her wife who whispered hotly in your ear, pushing her body uncomfortably close to your own, would not take away her property.

That was something Natasha refused to let slide.

It was a split-second decision fueled by fury, betrayal, and impulsively. From her younger years Natasha still had her favored stash beside your own. She struggled to keep her thoughts normalized, remembering with a foggy mind what the therapist had told her at the hospital all those years ago. Eyes closed, deep breaths, happy thoughts, but all that came to mind as she snooped through the closet was how far she’d have to lodge her knife inside her wife’s chest in order to bring her the most pain.

With her experience, it did not take long to have a body slumped over the entrance of the house when Maria arrived. The first had been at the ripe age of thirteen — a pair of girls, those who made fun of her, followed her home late on a school day. Back then she was easily prone to letting her anger slip away, which led to the disappearance of her fellow students. The acting she had put on at the police station for weeks was Academy Award worthy.

Years after that she allowed herself to grow, to obsess over others and take care of anything that sat in her way. For her violent outbursts she’d been sent to the hospital on two occasions, but never spoke a peep about that ledge of hers that oozed blood. It was her own little secret each time she snuck out from her dormitory in college to bury yet another bag of meat. Although such urges had ceased when becoming wed to Maria, the one who she once believed to be her true love, slipped through the cracks of her shell of a body upon your arrival in town.

Natasha allowed herself to enjoy the sight beneath her. The woman who she once loved lay battered on the hardwood floor, her ocean eyes lifeless as her skin took a pale hue. It was only accented by the various macabre gashes on her chest and stomach — 38 to be exact, one for each year Natasha had been on Earth. The pool of blood beneath the motionless cadaver was mesmerizing.

Bending down, Natasha reached out to brush a finger above the scarlet liquid, brushing away the masterpiece she had created. The bloody tip was plopped into her mouth, the woman groaning at the metallic yet wondrous taste of her favored treat.

“Not bad,” Natasha told herself, kicking her wife’s body mockingly while gripping the handle of her messy knife — she’d have to get a newly sharpened one if she wished to pay you a visit. “Sorry it came to this, baby, but I want a divorce. No one takes what’s mine. Guess you should’ve known better.”

Breathing in the scent of victory through her nostrils, Natasha relaxed. She always did feel alive and exhilarated when watching life blink away from a person’s frail body. Already she found herself excited for her next kill.

Looking out the window with her skin and clothes tainted with red, Natasha smirked manically. She eyed you through the glass, watching as you took your dog out to the front yard before returning back inside. The happy family she had always wanted would be started with you. All she had to do was rid herself of her ex-wife’s body before robbing herself a new toy.

“We’ll be together soon, detka,” she promised. The excitement she had was exuded all across the house. Long months of patient waiting would finally come to an end, and she had no one but Maria to thank. “I promise mommy will be there today. I’ll protect you from all the bad people.” She hummed when remembering to use the other special treat on you. “You’ll never be hurt by anyone but me again.”

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

With a wide smile, freshened up with a hint of a Channel No. 9 perfume after a much needed shower, and her confidence, Natasha strode to your door later in the day. She didn’t need to spend long there, although her hesitation came when she was met with a sight of you, she simply basked in your presence. The way you had appeared through the cracked open door made her swoon.

The expertise she carried got her to swiftly press her front against your back, a syringe’s needle tearing through your skin as she dumped the chemicals inside of you once invited into the house. Hugging you tight prevented your suddenly unconscious body from falling flat on the ground. Strong arms kept you up, dragging you away through the house until she reached the garage. Natasha didn’t imagine you’d mind if she dared take your car for a little ride.

She had to wait a few minutes after having dumped you in the car, knowing there was still someone else she had yet to take away. Natasha wouldn’t dare let her plan fall apart with silly mistakes.

Ropes were tied across your nude body, clothing torn off upon your arrival to the far away land she found solace in. Natasha took her time. She enjoyed every last second, the momentum building up as the drugs in your system washed away every so often. You’d wake up soon, but as a means to leave you all ready, she prepared your body for her to claim.

With such a large amount of free time in her life, being a rather quiet housewife stuck in the neck of suburbia, Natasha’s research had been intensive to make it all perfect for you. She had bought pink ropes which she carefully wrapped around your body. Each little knot made her grunt, breathing out harshly when getting your wrists tied to the headboard, your legs forcefully pried apart and unable to close no matter how much you fought – you’d be far too out of it to even move, but she place safety precautions all over as to never take chances.

Once the ropes were carefully placed on your body preventing an escape, Natasha went on to grab a special toy she had bought the previous week. The selection had been tough, but out of all the ones she found at the store, the woman settled for a heart ball gag, the collar of it a faux black leather tint as the heart dripped with a red hue.

Staring down at her handiwork, Natasha hummed. After countless months filled with insistent boredom, she’d finally get what she wanted.

“Wake up, princess. It’s time to open those beautiful eyes of yours,” she mumbled sweetly. Sitting at the edge of the bed, Natasha cupped your face, slapping it gently until she noticed you stirring. “Let me see you. You’re finally safe with me. Maria can’t hurt you anymore, detka.”

She had taken the liberty to remove her own outfit, the special reward she had hidden for you being far away in the basement. While her gaze dropped to your nude breasts, groping each of them perversely, biting her bottom lip to hold back a groan, your eyes fluttered open. You couldn’t place the walls that surrounded you, your vision gaining a smidge of clarity when noticing your neighbor sitting above you.

No matter how loud you tried to scream, all that came out were muffled noises of fear.

“I brought you to our lake house. Maria used to take me here every summer before we had the kids. I’m sorry we couldn’t do this elsewhere, but I couldn’t let them see you. They mean the world to me, just like Maria did, but baby you,” she shifted over the bed, a hand falling flat on your nude stomach leaving a dry bloody knife on top. “You are my world.”

Natasha tilted her head, eyes landing on the ropes that kept your legs pried apart and wrists attached to the headboard. Tugging at them, she hummed at how sturdy they were. Not the slightest movement could make the tight knots disappear.

“I’ve watched you for such a long time. It’s been so long since I’ve been touched by Maria, but it doesn’t matter anymore. She’s gone and you’re here. I’ve seen pictures of you, the ones I’ve taken I mean.” In her nude greatness, Natasha climbed over the mattress, positioning herself against you, her legs hooked with your own as your cunts ghosted over one another’s. “You have no idea how many times I’ve touched myself thinking of you. In the shower, late at night with Maria next to me…” Natasha’s dark eyes rolled to the back of her head. Groping her own tits, she let out a deep breath. “Oh Y/N!” Your name rolled off her tongue like honey. “Let me make you feel good. I want to watch you bleed under me. Oh I bet you’ve been thinking about this for so long. Your pussy is practically begging to be fucked. Don’t worry, darling, mommy’s here.”

Natasha breathed in your scent, mewling at how drenched you were. The fear in your eyes drove her mad, her own pussy oozing juices as she grazed it against yours. A hand grabbed the knife, wiping the blood against the sheets she’d forever treasure. Maria’s fluids meant nothing to her unlike your own.

There were sloppy attempts to move away, your eyes widened, tears trailing down your flushed cheeks leaving them wet with horror. All Natasha did at that was beam. She ghosted the dull part of the knife against your stomach. The tip was oh so close to you – so ready to tear at your skin and leave you a maimed mess. You couldn’t help but wish to bleed for her.

When you let out a particularly loud growl, still hearable with the gag on, Natasha was quick to lean down and press the blade against your neck harsh enough to leave a small red mark beneath. “Don’t make me hurt you, baby. Please, please don’t do it. I get really bad when I’m angry. Be a good girl for me and behave. I don’t want to do to you the same thing I did to Maria. Please.” She grinded her pussy against your own, moaning at the wetness she felt mixed with her own. “I don’t want you gone.”

Enchantment is all that soaked her body when urging her hips back and forth. Natasha allowed herself to bask on the arousal shooting through her, her clit garnering stimulation from your skin. To be filled up is what she wanted, your digits deep within claiming her as your own. She couldn’t bother untying you though, at least not until she broke you down and built you back up, molding you as her own relentless animal.

“That feels good, huh? You like mommy’s pussy, I can tell. Oh yours is so fucking wet, such a dirty baby,” Natasha giggled. She casually made little cuts along your chest. The knife was substituted by her lips, tongue sticking out to lick the small bouts of blood before she sucked you clean. Finally tasting your essence drove her mad, her brain rebooting as she found the words to speak. “So fucking good. Oh baby you taste divine. And look at how much you’re bleeding for mommy. I’m so happy you want me to have all of this. You’re truly special, my love.”

You didn’t do much by lying there, frozen in place while Natasha tore at your skin maniacally. Each cut forced a wave of heat to drift across your bones. They alternated from soft ones, merely scratches, to deep gashes that turned white before furious bouts of blood dropped out. Soon enough your chest, breasts she groped regardless of the wounds upon them, and stomach were covered in a fluid scarlet blanket.

Natasha was unable to keep up with all the blood, lapping at whatever she could while humping your cunt. Although you were unable to move, you still gave off slight thrusts, closing your eyes at the mix of pain and pleasure which overtook you. She didn’t dare stop for a second. All Natasha saw was red which she deliciously took in.

With a hand holding the dull part of the knife against you, the other drifted down between your bodies. The redhead alternated between stimulating your clit and her own, leaning back to better position herself to better fuck your pussy. Mesmerizingly, your blood drifted down her chin, hands coated with a similar fluid as she lost herself in you.

“Mommy’s close, baby, so fucking close. No one could ever make me feel like this. Only my pretty princess can play with mommy,” Natasha whimpered, her digits desperately flicking the bundle of nerves. The macabre nature of her actions was overtaken by her adorably scrunched up features. “And no one can ever touch my toy. You’ll never bleed for anyone the way you do for me. Just you and mommy against the world. Never forget that, Y/N.”

Natasha only took a moment to garner her breath when she came. Her back was arched, the excitement of the day fueling her need to let go. She nearly slumped down over your bloody body, but instead chuckled, staring down in awe with bloodshot green eyes that would forever haunt your dreams.

Knowing you were close to the edge, the older woman positioned herself between your legs. She licked her fingers clean from your blood before sliding them within your wet tight gaping hole. “My lovebug actually loves it when mommy hurts her,” Natasha noticed as she took in the warmth of your walls, digits pushing down your folds until she reached the depths of your cunt. “If I had known you’d be such a little minx, I would’ve taken you away sooner. I’m so happy that you want me back. Look at how well your pussy takes mommy,” she pointed out, mesmerized by the way your walls clamped down, juices springing from your cunt that sloshed with wet sounds at the slight movements. Leaning in, she lapped at your clit, swirling her tongue around and moaning as she tasted you. “Such a good girl. Oh we’re going to have so much fun together.”

Fingers didn’t stop fucking deep inside your sex until you came. Natasha was drugged within your juices, vigorously drinking them as though it was the Holy Chalice. When you did fall apart with an intense orgasm shooting through you, you were far too tied up to dare arch your back, settling instead for grunting against the gag as you fell apart. Your brain was far too gone with the mix of the drugs and your loss of blood to focus on the woman sitting at your feet.

With your own wife’s body stashed out, Maria herself back home with limbs cut and thrown in several trash bags, beaten to a pulp but still breathing, in the basement, Natasha was elated to train you. Perhaps you could use her favorite tool to take a life with your own hands. She knew it would be thrilling to watch, although the same could not be said for poor little Wanda who sat shivering naked against the concrete, her mind only upon you, relentlessly wishing for your safety.

[hysteria-things]

I also have another idea (if ur comfortable) where like chris is ghost face and reader doesnt know but like she kinda catches him coming home after killing? idk then they like have sex IDKK JS PLEASE HAVE GHOST FACE CHRIS SEX PLS.

GHOSTFACE

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dom!chris x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you uncover your boyfriend’s deepest darkest secret…

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: SMUTTY, swearing, mentions killing, anxiety, blood, arguing (?), chasing, oral (female receiving), degradation, hair pulling, p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it folks)

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1,479

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: for pookie @imwetforyourmom :)

i hope it’s okay that he’s not in the mask when it’s happening but it’ll make sense when you read i promise😭

i’m brewing up A LOT right now i’m so stoked.

chris wasn’t next to you when you woke up, but you’re not surprised. he and his brothers tend to do things late at night because of their work, which makes sense because all three of them are night owls. you, however, are not.

on this particular night, you felt quenched. you get up from under the covers and walk your way to the kitchen in your shared house with your boyfriend. you grab a bottle out of the fridge and start drinking it, then your eyes land on chris’ backpack that’s next to the couch.

he always brings that with him, so he either just got home or forgot it. you shrug and continue to down the cold water, but then you hear the water start running in the bathroom.

you nod your head, taking a mental note that he did indeed just come home. as you start to walk back into the bedroom, a shine of white glistens from the moonlight. you turn your head to it and see that it’s coming from chris’ bag. it’s open ever so slightly.

curiosity gets the best of you, and you kneel to unzip it fully. your breath catches in your throat.

there have been murders happening in towns around you, but you never thought about them because the town you’re living in is very keen on security. you felt safe here.

the news calls the culprit ghostface because of the mask they wear, and that stupid mask does tend to creep you out every time you see it. the way it’s droopy just never sat right with you.

that so-called stupid mask is staring back at you, some blood is still left on it. you can’t help but stare at it, your breathing quickens the more you do so. you have to be dreaming, right?

but you know you aren’t. you grip the mask and march your way to the bathroom, not bothering to knock. instead, you burst through the door. you gasp at the sight in front of you.

chris is standing at the sink, dressed in all black as blood coats his hands and cheeks. it must’ve seeped through the outfit. his hair is messy, his eyes glancing down at the mask in your hand. thinking he’d be mad that you went through his stuff, you stay silent, waiting for an explanation. he smirks instead.

“is this some sick fucking joke?” you scream, gripping the object in your hand even tighter. you can’t fathom what’s happening right now.

“hi, ma.” he greets, turning the water off and walking to you to kiss you on the cheek. “you’re up late.” he carelessly takes the mask from you and walks out into the living room.

you snarl. he’s always been a cocky mother fucker.

out of rage, you go charging at him. “what the fuck, chris?” you say as you push him. he doesn’t go far though since he’s much stronger than you.

he chuckles and turns to you. is it fucked up that seeing him like this makes you more attracted to him?

you shake the thought out of your mind. stupid y/n. what’s wrong with you?

“what… the fuck?” you repeat, this time breathing heavier. tears start to trickle in your eyes. “i can explain.” he says.

you flare your nostrils at him, silently telling him to continue. your boyfriend of a year and a half has been lying to you, and you want an answer now. “i’m not the only one, you know. nick makes the calls, i do the killing, and matt deals with the bodies.”

you pity laugh. “this is crazy.” you run your fingers through your hair. what you feel right now is complicated. yeah, you’re scared, but not of him.

“i didn’t think it was important to tell you.” he continues. “we’ve been perfectly fine without you knowing.”

he cannot be serious.

“you didn’t think it was important to tell me?” you laugh again. “you’re fucking insane.”

you run for the front door and open it, speed walking down the porch steps. “where are you going?” chris calls out.

“anywhere. you are fucking crazy, chris.” you have no other words to say except something along the lines of that.

you hear his footsteps start to follow you, and this time you bolt it. “y/n, seriously? come back!”

the rookie mistake you made was running into the woods that are across from your house. you weren’t thinking, you just needed to run.

you don’t know where you are as you keep running, becoming out of breath from running for so long. arms wrap around your waist and twirl you around. you squeal, clawing at their arms and hands. “get off me!” you kick behind you.

“y/n, relax.” chris says, dodging your hits as you try to squirm free of his grasp. eventually, you stop fighting and let him hold you.

he turns you around so you can face him. “do you think i’d ever hurt you?” he asks.

you shake your head because it’s true. it’s not like you don’t love him anymore. you still do. “but how—”

“shh.” he shushes, taking his red-tinted hands and cupping your face with them to pull you into a kiss.

he leaves a kiss on your jaw before turning you around, your front side leaning on a tree. he takes his pointer finger and reaches under your nightgown. he smirks when he’s greeted with your bare core. “no underwear?” he teases.

you whine, pushing back on his finger. your pussy is aching for more touch. he kneels, getting a full view of your glistening folds. you gasp when you feel his tongue start lapping slowly.

he’s going painfully slow, so you whine and grind your hips back. he gets the memo and works his tongue faster, your hips still grinding to match the direction he’s going for more pleasure.

when his nose starts to touch your clit, you moan out a swear. chris starts sucking when he finds the right spot. you grip the bark of the tree and throw your head back. “right there, chris. fuck.”

your legs start to twitch when your orgasm rips through you, spreading your juices all over his tongue. he continues licking until there’s no cum left, and you whimper at the sensitivity.

you hear him unbuckle his jeans. they plop at his ankles, and he scrunches your nightgown to the small of your back and holds it there with one hand.

he moves your hair to the side so he can whisper in your ear. “i wonder what people would think of you.” he starts to go into you, and you gasp at the feeling. “not only dating the famous ghostface killer but getting fucked like a whore by him as well.”

he says that as he thrusts just his tip. you let out a choked moan. “please.” you whine. “fuck me.”

chris pushes down the front of your pajamas so your tits bounce out. he’s still thrusting when he squeezes them with his unoccupied hand.

“come on.” you groan, getting impatient. “please.”

he sighs, placing his hand that was on your breasts to your throat, bringing your head back so it can lean on his shoulder.

a loud moan falls from your lips when he starts to fuck into you from behind. his eyes look at your face that’s contorting to pleasure with each thrust. even though it’s dark, the dry blood on his face is still visible, and you find it so hot.

tears come out of your eyes from the overwhelming pleasure. since you both are standing, the angle of his dick is upward and hits your g-spot repeatedly.

your eyes roll back, mouth hanging open as pornographic sounds are not only coming from your mouth but from the sounds of your pussy taking chris’ cock as if it was made for it.

“hugging my cock so well.” he coos. “you’re clenching, ma.”

a hoarse cry leaves you. “oh, f-fuck.”

your entire body shakes with ecstasy, your orgasm streaking down his shaft. he takes the hand that was on your throat and grabs your hair. “you gonna let me cum in you?” he pulls. “huh?”

you try your best to nod frantically with his grip on your head, sobbing out whines. “here it comes, slut.”

for his last thrust, he pulls out and slams back it, making sure you take all of his release.

he wraps his arms around you so you don’t fall. he’s still buried inside of you because the both of you need to catch your breath.

he finally pulls out of you slowly, letting out a shaky sigh when he looks at what he just did. “i think we both need a shower.” he says sheepishly, lifting you off of the ground and walking through the trees to get back to the house.

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

@bunbunbl0gs @lexisecretaccx @thy-mission @angelic-sturniolos111 @sophssturn @mattsneezing @janiellasblog @blahbel668 @meg-sturniolo @hearts4chris @mattslolita @sturnbaby @imwetforyourmom @tillies33ssss

[multi-fandom-imagine]

A Lucanis x reader where the reader gets severally injured by one of the false gods, which leads to an angry and worried mess of a man half bent of revenge and worry for the reader on surviving the night { she does! }

A/n: best boy 🥹

Lucanis felt sick as he held you close, you've lost so much blood, everything happened so fast. You had taken a blow meant for Harding and while they might have been able to take one of the false god's down none of that mattered to him. Not when he had the prospect of losing you.

Taash had taken you from him long ago, the Quin and Harding along with Bellara tending to your wounds.

His hands were still covered in your blood, his clothes covered in your blood. Everything was screaming at him to go out and slaughter the other god, for harming you.

Spite screaming at him to do something, to stop being such a coward.

You were hurt! How could he allow you to get hurt?!

What if he lost you? What would he do? He finally found love, finally found someone that understood him!

This was his fault, he should have been faster, stronger and now you were fighting for your life because he was not good enough. Gritting his teeth he slammed his fist against the wall.

"You should change?" Neve's voice broke his messy thoughts. "I highly doubt they wish to see you covered in their blood."

"She's awake!" Lucanis jumped to his feet, heart pounding in his chest.

"Change then go see her." Neve gave him a nod then turned her body away as she left his room.

The world was spinning, your mind still clouded. You weren't quite sure what happened but you did know you nearly died as Harding did her best to stay strong in front of you.

Bellara healed you, the best she could anyways but it was good enough.

"Mi amor!" Lucanis breathed a sigh of relief as he rushed to your side. His hand grasping yours as he brought it his lips. His eyes were bloodshot, hair a mess, clothes wrinkled but he didn't care as long as you were okay. "I thought I lost you." His voice was weak as he held your hand.

Fighting back a wince, you forced a smile as you placed your free hand on his cheek. "Not even a god could keep me from you."

Brushing a stray tear from his cheek, Lucanis rested his head against yours. "I will protect you, nothing will keep you from me." He whispered.

[lotties-ashwagandha]

CLEANSED IN STILLNESS

valeria garza x reader

word count 1.2k, requested by my pickle peter @elaci

valeria gets cut by her own knife during the interrogation of a hostage, but you're there to tend to her wounds.

As you slipped through the halls of Valeria’s estate, you found peace in the silence. It was a blessing after the last few hours you’d been put through. 

A hostage had been given to Valeria by her men in the aftermath of their conflict with the Mexican Special Forces. Valeria put him in the basement, and he had been given a chance to talk of his own will, but after an hour of refusal your girlfriend had gotten impatient and things began to get messy. You were able to hear it as the man had begged for his life, and you had heard every cry of agony, every scream that cut through the tranquil stillness of the rest of the house. 

Now, silence had returned. The only noise plaguing the mansion consisted of your footsteps as you sauntered contentedly toward the kitchen. You glanced briefly down the stairs that led to the basement on your way, and an ache settled in your chest — you missed the company of your girlfriend and despised the man who had occupied her attention all day. Even if he had ended up dead, you still believed him privileged to have been her immediate focus for such a long time. 

Though she had been out of reach for a while, Valeria would be coming up from the basement soon. She had people to clean up the mess left by the interrogation so she didn’t have to. They would prepare it for the next to fall. 

You paused at the start of the next corridor. The light in the bathroom was on, and the door was left open, and you could hear items slamming about in the medicine cabinet above the sink. You jumped at the sound of something landing on tile, and a moment later Valeria’s voice filled the mansion, curses spilling out into the halls freely. 

Concern surged through you at the sight of her as you moved to the entrance to the bathroom. Blood ran down her left hand and wrist, rubbing off onto the sink as she dug through the bathroom to find something to use as a bandage. 

Valeria startled when you stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. She paused, looking down at her own injured hand with an expression akin to embarrassment. 

“What happened?” you asked, and attempted to grab her arm but she pulled away. “The man you were talking to, did he do this?”

“No,” she answered dryly. She moved her gaze back to the medicine cabinet.

You noticed her knife at the edge of the sink and took it. Blood tinged the blade, and you began to understand – Valeria was masterful with knives, but she was also prone to recklessness, and in the basement interrogating a soldier of the enemy was the perfect situation for accidental wounds. 

Valeria snatched the knife from your grasp. She put it back on the edge of the sink, giving you a sharp look. “You shouldn’t be playing with knives.” 

“Apparently, neither should you,” you said, and nodded to her hand. “Let me see it.” 

She hesitated. You knew she was embarrassed of herself for the accidental cut, and you waited patiently as she took a moment of apprehension before slowly extending her arm to you. 

You found the cut at the palm of her hand. It wasn’t deep, but it stretched the entire distance of her palm, and the blood that covered her made it look gruesome. Some of it rubbed off onto your hands as you examined the injury, painting both of you in matching crimson. 

“We need to clean it,” you said as you continued to assess the cut. “Let me help you.” 

“I don’t need any help,” she replied haughtily. “It looks worse than it is.” 

“Maybe, but you’re going to get blood everywhere. And we both know you’ll fuck it up if you try bandaging it yourself.” 

The hint of a smile crossed over her lips at that. She knew you were right, and that if she hadn’t been able to find bandaging for it she might not have fucked with it at all – so with a sigh Valeria relented, giving you a short nod. 

Gently you began to clean the cut. Though you knew it stung as you cleansed it under warm water, you could see her begin to relax. She needed this — to be cared for as exhaustion and stress and every weight she carried began to overtake her. You were content to be her release. In any way she needed you would care for her, in every way she refused to care for herself. 

As you dried the cut, you were reassured by how minor it proved it be. Valeria had been right — it wasn’t nearly as bad as it looked. Yet still you cared for her, and suppressed a smile at the slight crankiness in her expression as you glanced at her before turning to the medicine cabinet. 

“Bandages aren’t in there,” Valeria said with a huff. “I already looked. I think someone stole them.” 

You found bandaging next to the gauze, and took both of them out of the cabinet. Valeria watched with surprise, brows furrowing as if you’d done a magic trick she was trying to find the secret to. 

She was patient as you bandaged and wrapped her hand. What remained of her stress melted away and she watched you contentedly. It felt natural to be tending to her, your hands cradling hers, protection she didn’t need that you would always offer anyway. It felt more natural than breathing. You would spend an eternity watching over her, caring for her every need if it would present to her any breath of joy that you were able to give. 

She watched you with admiration as you wrapped her hand. You were too engulfed in it to notice, but love danced in her eyes as she let herself be vulnerable to your ministrations. It was no small feat to her that she allowed herself to put such trust in you. 

“Now, don’t fuck with it,” you warned when you were finished and gestured to the bandaging. 

She smiled mischievously. “You know I would never.” 

Incredulously, you shook your head. You knew her hand would be unwrapped by the time you went to bed. But you weren’t bothered, because it had made both of you happy that you’d taken care of her. 

Valeria pulled you into her arms, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. Her features illustrated contentment as she stood with you, her arms wrapped around you. Even as she pulled away to examine her hand again one of her arms was still looped around your waist. 

“Thank you for this,” she said quietly. Her gaze was still fixed on her hand. “You didn’t have to.” 

“I did,” you insisted with a small smile. “Like I said, otherwise you would have gotten blood all over our bathroom. You’ve already decimated the sink.” 

She muttered something under her breath about how the sink was fine and you were just being dramatic. You pretended not to hear it, amused by her embarrassment. 

As the two of you began to clean up the bathroom, you were already devising ways to tease her about the knife accident – the jokes you would make while she cut the ingredients for lunch would be unparalleled. 

[katnissdoesnotfollowback]

What do you think Katniss and Peeta’s unexpected turn ons are? Like a small innocent thing about the other that drives them wild just because they really love them so much? And makes the other one go “really? 😉”

This was way too much fun to answer and got out of hand. I could probably think up a thousand more of these if I had the time.

<3 kdnfb

Canonically, Peeta cannot lie to Katniss and look her in the eyes. When she figures out that he still can’t post-mj, she uses it to her advantage. She can always tell when he’s trying to fib his way out of accidentally revealing an innocuous secret or a surprise he’s planning, like what he’s getting her for her birthday. And it drives her a little insane. Like “either look me in the eyes when you try to lie to me or take me to bed right now, since you won’t give me my present right now.”

Katniss is a consummate caretaker, to an almost annoying degree. Fortunately for her, she husbanded someone with a caretaker kink. That boy was dying of blood poisoning, raging with fever in a deathmatch arena, and he was still laying down the lines and making her laugh. Every time she fusses over him or bosses him around when he’s got a minor injury or just a little sniffling cold, that man is in full on flirt mode and dragging her into bed with him. “I’ve got a surefire way you can make me feel better.” “If we have sex, will you stop whining and get up so I can wash the sheets afterwards?” she sighs in exasperation as she’s stripping off her clothes and crawling under the covers with him.

Meanwhile, Katniss goes feral whenever Peeta gets a little protective of her. Some whackadoo from the Capitol comes out to Twelve to check on the progress of the new medicine factory and brings a limousine with him on the train, but the roads in Twelve are not made for cars like that and the idiot almost runs people over. So of course, Peeta wraps his arm around his wife and bodily lifts her out of the path. One second she’s walking through town, reciting her shopping list, the next she’s pressed up against a storefront with Peeta’s body caging her in and some idiot driver is careening past, honking his horn. And if you think Katniss doesn’t almost climb him right there and he has to toss her over his shoulder to drag her home before she tears his clothes off, I cannot help you.

Both of them become unhinged morons whenever the other one is a complete mess. 

By this I mean Katniss comes in from tending the garden, her shirt all sweaty and clinging to her. Her hair’s a mess and she’s got a little sunburn on her nose and cheeks and Peeta’s already naked, demanding she take him on the spot. 

Similar response when she comes home a little disheveled from a hunt. “At least let me put the meat in the freezer first, Peeta.” Nope. She gets railed up against said freezer and can’t keep a straight face when they have to invite Haymitch over to eat all this meat because they had to cook it immediately after or it would’ve gone bad.

Peeta starts coming home from the bakery deliberately a little messy. Flour in his hair, sugar stuck to his neck. A random smear of frosting on his arm. Why? Because Katniss starts squirming the instant she sees him and honestly, he really likes it when she mounts him in the hallway because she couldn’t make it the five extra feet to the bedroom.

He’s lost count of how many times they’ve had sex because he didn’t get all the paint washed off his hands before a meal or before bed. And he almost never notices the smear of paint or pencil dust that winds up on his left temple because he brushed back his hair at some point while he was painting/drawing and why is that so hot? She has no clue, all she knows is that she wants to bathe in him. Usually, she manages to wait a little while for that one, mainly because she wants to see what he was painting before she jumps him. What he was painting often dictates the flavor of their sex.

He doesn’t paint the Games as much, after the first time she tells him “Real,” but when he does, the sex is tender and usually happens in the art studio itself, on a paint splattered sofa or on the floor, rolling around on his floor tarps so that both of them are smeared with paint afterwards.

If he’s painting her or other people that they love, they’ll make it up to the bedroom before clothes start flying, laughing and teasing each other the entire way. Katniss will be laughing so hard she snorts while she’s moaning and coming at the same time. Peeta lives to make her snort laughing while she’s coming, btw. Huge turn on, switch flipped to feral mode as soon as she's done coming, and Katniss feels like she won’t be able to walk straight for a day after he finishes inside her.

He uses her as a canvas? Well eventually he's gonna wind up covered in paint too. They go until the paint starts to dry and by then, they're sleepy and content and can barely move anymore.

Painting landscapes and nature scenes? Absolutely feral pig sex where the neighbors worry about them and ask each other if they should… knock? Make sure everyone is still alive in there? Katniss really can’t walk straight for a day after that, but she’s not complaining. Instead she’s demanding her husband carry her around, because he did that to her, after all.

Sadly for Katniss, Peeta carrying her around is something she absolutely loves for the tenderness and silliness of it, but also at times it turns her into a raving madwoman "take me to bed and throw me on it then fuck me this instant before I pull out all my hair, husband!"

And ho buddy, when the two of them come home all sweaty and gross from rebuilding the district? Round one on the floor in the entryway. Round two with skin squealing on shower walls and borderline screaming moans echoing off the bathroom walls. Hair pulling, biting, clawing sex. Let me inside your skin, ten minutes later we’re still actively sweating well damn it that shower was fucking pointless in terms of getting clean sex.

Katniss eats her pie backwards, crust first and Peeta doesn’t know why, but for some reason, he thinks it’s adorable and needs to have her instantly. Haymitch wonders why he no longer gets pie on nights when he eats dinner with them. There’s always dessert… but no pie. So Peeta starts baking Haymitch his own pies and dropping them off, because he’s not giving up his absolute need to toss Katniss on the table and eat her out like he’s a dying man whenever she eats her pie like that.

Peeta looks like he’s solving all of the world’s problems when he’s brushing his teeth. So serious. Sometimes, Katniss will throw small objects at his prosthetic until he notices and giggles when he does, looking at her like she’s an annoying brat. Sometimes, she sneaks up behind him and makes faces at him over his shoulder until he laughs and spits out the toothpaste. Other times, her hands on him are incredibly naughty and the next thing he knows, he looks like a rabid animal in the mirror while he’s bent over the sink, holding on for dear life with her hands on his dick, unraveling him one caress and stroke at a time. But whatever she does, it ends with their sheets an absolute wreck and both of them naked and sweaty and staring at the ceiling going “Wow. So that… happened…”

Katniss bites her nails when she’s nervous and Peeta fixes it by snatching her hand and kissing her from her fingertips up her arms to her neck… where he blows a raspberry until she’s laughing. Do smutty things happen after that? Depends on the setting.

Peeta still flirts with her. Like blatantly, let's see how red I can get my wife’s face flirting with her over the bakery counter or in the town square, in front of literally everyone’s salad. And Katniss just melts like a loon but is secretly plotting how to get him naked asap. She’s not against throwing him against the nearest tree if only there weren’t so many people in the district. Oh but she’s absolutely savaged him against several trees in the woods because he was flirting.

Peeta whistles when he’s working in the bakery. Katniss thinks it’s adorable and sexy as hell. She sings in the shower and Peeta never misses the show, sitting on the toilet or just standing against the sink just to hear her sing. It’s the only time he manages to move silently.

Katniss cannot keep her hands out of Peeta’s hair. Girl is obsessed. And Peeta finds it at turns, adorable, adorably annoying, a mild turn on, or holy hell hot. Like “pull my hair again when I make you come” hot. Conversely, she absolutely loves it when Peeta brushes and braids her hair for her. He’s trying to have a tender, loving moment, and she’s often “are you done yet because as soon as that hair tie is on, i’m gonna be all over you.”

Both of them absolutely love it when the other one laughs. It’s not always a turn on, per se, but when it is… lord have mercy they broke a whole ass bed one time because Peeta laughed at something Katniss said.

Peeta wearing loose, soft pajama pants or the like. Katniss is all hot and bothered and “i’m not that big you can definitely fit me in there with you…” Peeta looks at her like she’s lost it, but they actually do try it once or twice. Numerous pairs of pants have been ripped and sewn back together in this pursuit, and not because she couldn’t fit in there with him.

He’s long since accepted that if they’re dressing up for some occasion, he has to get dressed two hours early. To give Katniss enough time to rip it all off and have her way with him and still have time for them to shower and get dressed again so they’re not late.

Anytime Katniss wears one of his shirts, sweaters, etc, he’s pretty sure he’s going to die unless he gets his mouth or hands on her and then his cock inside her because half the time, she’s not wearing a bra or pants with them, just panties, and he just… has to have her. NOW. While said garment is still on her body. Especially a particular red sweater he was wearing the day they had sex the first time and she wore it the morning after.

She absolutely has a sunset orange nightie that nearly gets removed (or not removed) every time she wears it, but removed or not… either way, Katniss can’t feel her toes after Peeta makes her come as many times as he can whenever she wears it. 

[anonymous-dentist]

Inspired by @comfymoth’s wolfbit au

-

Cellbit wakes up on Roier’s couch.

On top of a sleeping Roier.

Naked.

Oh, fuck.

Frozen and completely mortified, Cellbit listens to Roier’s heartbeat, his ear pressed against Roier’s very firm chest. He is pressed against Roier’s chest, held firm by a possessive arm slung over his back. Their breaths come in sync.

At least Roier is clothed. At least. Because, frankly, Cellbit would be more concerned if Roier was also naked after the kind of night they probably had. Because the night before was the full moon, and the wolf really wasn’t supposed to be out of the basement.

Carefully, Cellbit extricates himself from Roier’s very tight grip. He’s known Roier for long enough to know that he sleeps like the dead, so at least there’s that.

Roier only grumbles a little as Cellbit frees himself. He rolls onto his side, arm falling off of the side of the couch, fingers grazing the carpet; it’s coated with dog hair, shit.

Very, very calmly, Cellbit picks up a throw pillow to cover himself with. And then he takes off running up the stairs and to Roier’s bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him and locking it.

Okay. He keeps spare clothes in Roier’s closet. Okay.

His hands shake as he buttons up his shirt. But it’s fine. It’s fine! He can just run home and Roier will never know it was him.

A dull-sounding knock at the bedroom door: a single thud, and then a drawn-out, annoyed-sounding groan.

“You’re fucking loud!” Roier whines, and Cellbit freezes, the top few buttons of his shirt still undone. “And you’re stealing my shit? What the hell, man?”

Technically, it’s Cellbit’s shit. But he can’t say that because he at least still has some plausible deniability if he stays silent. He can jump out the window and suffer the broken ankle and limp home and answer Roier’s inevitable phone call and apologize for not picking up sooner, I came down with something, sorry!

But then Roier says, “I’m starting the shower. I don’t want you downstairs until you’re done smelling like shit, okay? I can smell the animal guts from out here.”

…Yeah, he knows. Cellbit doesn’t know how, but, well. Roier’s a genius, he just doesn’t like to show it. Of course he somehow figured it out.

Cellbit listens to the shower get turned on in the bathroom next door, and he waits for Roier to head downstairs again before skulking out of the bedroom and into the bathroom.

With a sigh, he starts unbuttoning his shirt again.

Roier was right. He does smell like animal guts.

-

There’s breakfast waiting when Cellbit sulks his way downstairs. It smells good. Shame he can’t eat any of it.

He sits down at the table, anyway. He lets his hands settle in his lap, and he hangs his head to stare at them.

Roier, across from him, is quiet. He’s eating, and normally he likes a good conversation with his meals. He loves to talk, and Cellbit loves to listen. But now? Silence.

A few agonizing minutes in, Roier says, “You brought me a dead squirrel.”

Cellbit winces. “Sorry.”

“Nah, don’t be. You ended up eating it.”

Of course it did. Animals tend to do that.

Another moment of quiet as Roier continues eating. His fork scrapes against his plate.

Then:

“Are you okay?”

Cellbit’s head snaps up. “What? Of course.”

Roier nods, unconvinced. He has sauce dripping out from the corner of his mouth; it almost looks like blood, but that’s fine. He still looks good.

He looks… tired. Dark circles, messy hair. God, did it keep him up all night?

Cellbit frowns. “Are you okay?”

God only knows what the wolf did to force Roier to stay awake. It’s a biter, he knows that. If it bit him…

Roier cracks a grin. “I’m fine, man. You, though?”

He clicks his tongue disapprovingly, shaking his head with a put-on playful little frown.

Cellbit saw himself in the mirror upstairs. It was fogged from the shower, but he didn’t look much worse than he usually does after the full moon. Only difference is the lack of bruising on his fingernails and a less sore throat.

He locked the basement, didn’t he? He locked the door and he put the key on the top shelf where the wolf can’t reach it and he sat on the floor and he waited. So why is he here?

Sighing, Cellbit slumps back into his seat and presses his face into his hands.

“Can we just forget last night ever happened?” he mumbles.

“Do you even know what happened?”

“No, and it’s better that I don’t. It won’t happen again.”

“Why not? It was fun!”

What.

Cellbit peeks out from between his fingers. Roier looks genuine, but he’s also got a killer poker face.

“Roier,” Cellbit slowly says, “I’m a werewolf.”

Roier shrugs. “So what?”

“‘So what’?” Cellbit’s hands fall from his face in shock. “It could have killed you!”

“What? Nah, all we did was cuddle and watch Spider-Man.”

No way. There’s no way.

Roier must pick up on Cellbit’s disbelief because he rolls his eyes and pulls his shirt off.

Cellbit immediately flushes and averts his eyes. (He’s seen Roier shirtless before, of course, but… now? Really?)

“Look, gatinho. No damage.”

Hesitantly, Cellbit risks a glance upwards. True to Roier’s word, his skin is, as always, perfect. Not a single scratch on his perfectly-toned body.

“Ahm,” says Cellbit, who may or may not be staring. “Uh. Yes.”

(He’s seen Roier shirtless before, but he’s never been able to keep his brain from melting every time it happens. What he would give to…)

Roier smirks. “My eyes are up here, gatinho.”

Cellbit nods. “They sure are.”

(They aren’t even together [yet], but Cellbit wants.)

This is a distraction. It has to be. But it’s a damn good one.

Roier clears his throat, and Cellbit tears his eyes away from Roier’s bare chest to look him in the eyes.

“I’m fine,” Roier gently says.

Cellbit swallows and looks away again. “Yeah, but you might not be next time. I’ll make sure that it doesn’t bother you again.”

He’s going to spend the entire next moon cycle fixing up the basement door with a new lock. Maybe Forever would be kind enough to lock him in from the outside, but Felps would be less likely to argue about it. He’s used to Cellbit acting like a monster.

“Considering this is the fifth full moon you’ve come here, I dunnoooo…”

Roier’s voice is light and teasing, but horror settles in Cellbit’s bones like frozen lead. He can’t breathe.

“What?” he gasps.

He risks a look at Roier. He still doesn’t look upset. Why?

Roier nods. “Oh, yeah. Last night was just the first time you’ve slept over.”

He beams. “That just means you like me, eh?”

He winks, but Cellbit can’t so much as blink in response. He always thought it was weird that the door has been cracked open when he’s been waking up in the basement, but he figured it was just him acting in the fuzzy twilight stage between himself and the beast that happens around dawn. But maybe that’s just it but in reverse, maybe it’s the sunset. He loses himself around then, so…

Roier’s face falls. “Cellbit?”

Cellbit just shakes his head in response, sinking back into his chair, the world just the tiniest bit more distant than it was a moment ago. Roier could have died.

“I’m sorry,” Cellbit hoarsely says. His voice shakes. Is he crying?

Roier’s eyes widen in panic and he scrambles out of his seat and around the table, crouching in front of Cellbit with an unsure smile. Shirtless.

“Calma,” Roier softly says. “Look at me, gatinho.”

He gently cups Cellbit’s face in his hands, thumb wiping away the single panicked tear making its way down Cellbit’s cheek.

“How long have you known it was me?” Cellbit asks. He has to know. If Roier has been lying to him-

“Honestly? I figured it out this morning. You snore so loud I can hear it in my sleep.”

“Oh my God.”

“Hey. It’s fine.” Roier lightly slaps Cellbit’s cheeks. “Wolf-you is just as sweet as people-you, I promise. All you ever want to do is snuggle or play fetch. It’s cute.”

Cellbit feels his face heating up. His hindbrain basks in the praise, he can feel it. He hates it.

He smiles, anyway. He can’t help it. Roier just has this effect on him.

Roier’s own smile widens. “Ayyy, there he is. You’re much more handsome when you’re smiling.”

Cellbit sniffs out a laugh and looks to the side. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m ridiculous? You’re the one that smells like wet dog, what the fuck? No wonder you never shower, you smell just as bad after.”

Cellbit annoyedly shrugs his way out of Roier’s hold. “Fuck you, man!”

“I’m just saying-”

“Put your shirt back on, too, what the fuck?”

“Do you really want me to?”

“Yes!”

Absolutely not, and Roier knows it. But he winks, and he pulls his shirt back on, and he stands and shuffles back to his side of the table. He sits, and he picks up his fork and knife like Cellbit isn’t being embarrassing across the table from him. Again.

“But seriously,” Roier says after allowing Cellbit a brief moment to try and compose himself, “if you want, you can always come here when you’re all… furry.”

“But don’t want it to hurt you,” Cellbit says.

“And you won’t,” Roier replies. “I trust you.”

And that’s the problem, isn’t it? But.

“I’ll think about it,” Cellbit lies. But something tells him that he won’t get a choice in the matter.

Roier knows he’s lying. Roier always knows he’s lying. But he accepts it because he’s literally the best friend anyone could ask for (Cellbit just hopes that they’ll be something more someday, too.)

“There’s a plate on the counter for you,” Roier warmly says. “Eat before going home, okay? It’s a long walk.”

“You could just drive me,” Cellbit says, standing and going to get the mentioned plate. The food looks good, as always.

“Fuck no, I’m going to sleep as soon as you’re gone. Because I was so rudely woken up this morning.”

Roier sniffs, affronted. Cellbit rolls his eyes and lightly smacks him on the back of the head as he walks back to the table.

“Cállate,” he huffs.

Roier idly smacks him back, but he laughs, and Cellbit finds himself laughing as well.

What a fucking morning.

(When Cellbit gets home that evening, he first feeds Richarlyson. Then he texts the group chat to let everyone know he’s alive. Then he texts Roier a blurry selfie of him holding up the middle finger in front of his face. Then he rolls up his sleeves and sets to work on fixing the lock on the basement door.

Next full moon, he won’t be so stupid.)

[fields0felation]

Basic sleep token hcs...

An// Nearly all of these have reasons, either from songs, stage costumes, etc. i think about sleep token lore a little too often. The boys also use he/they/it.

Tws// monster vessels, they are not human. Mentions of human sacrifice, also mentions of cannibalism? Kinda? They aren't human so like, cannibalism adjacent

✦sleep is a lady. Or at least fem presenting. I don't care. I do not have a reason for this it just is.

✦her possession or prolonged heavy influence causes mutations to the body and mind

✦most commonly claws, sharpened teeth, hunger for blood/flesh, patches of grey and black skin

✦sleep prefers human sacrifice, as seen in Nazareth.

✦He's sleep's preacher. Also her preferred vessel, his body does not react as severely to her possession.

✦He has the widest emotional range of the vessels, as seen in the music.

✦Has six eyes, each set is a slightly different color, his mask highlights that feature.

✦While you would think humans would feel comfortable around him, they tend to be off put by him.

✦His prey drive is the lowest, it's rare to see him randomly hunting, prefers to give offerings in other ways.

✦He is a lot more mellow than any of the others, has the lowest emotional range. he's also more logical. He does have moments of being more expressive though.

✦He tends to plan a lot of the things related to the cult. He's sleep's second hand, despite being the second choice for a vessel

✦He has no mouth, the skin there is completely smooth, as seen in his mask.

✦He feeds through a proboscis-like appendage that sprouts when he's hungry. Because of that his “bite” is the least messy and painful. I do not have a reason for this but??? I cannot think of how else he would eat.

✦He also speaks telepathically. The ability also allows him to manipulate people's thoughts to a certain extent, similar to mind control.

✦He's sleep’s hunter. His prey drive is massive.

✦Not only does he thoroughly enjoy making his own sacrifices to sleep via hunting, he's also the one to pick and take the sacrifices for group rituals.

✦He's a horribly messy eater, looks like something straight out of a horror movie. When iii feeds nothing is safe from the blood stains.

✦He's the most sadistic vessel

✦Flesh on his torso + arms and upper thighs is zombified. Not too bad, but it looks worse than it is

✦When he was human he had tattoos all over those areas, they're still visible, albeit subtly

✦He's covered in a lot of piercings, iv gave him most of them

✦While his main form of offering is sacrifices, he also gets piercings/dyes his hair whenever he still wants to give her something but he isn't feeling as violent.

✦He doesn't quite have a role in the cult yet, though he has picked up habits from the other three boys

✦Sleep has noticed that iv does the best with new members, likely due to how human he seems to remain

✦His lasting humanity has also managed to enchant the other vessels. They're often more protective of him than each other (which is saying something)

✦The odd mix of humanity and monstrosity also has a siren-like effect with the humans. Vessel and his words draw them into the cult, and iv's presence is what makes them feel safe enough to finally join the cult

✦His main monstrous features haven't formed yet, mostly due to a lack of possession, but he does have the basics. (Claws, sharp teeth, etc.)

✦the results of the past three attempts of sleep getting a fem vessel

✦they are spirits that died during sleep's possession.

✦because they died during possession they are essentially tethered to sleep, and are often found where her presence is the strongest

[regretsofaghost]

Day 30- My love for you is true, I swear it is, it just will kill you in the end

AO3 link to chapter 30- here Tumblr link to chapter 29- here Tumblr link to chapter 31- here

Word Count- 1000 words

Edwin did not burst into tears, did not scrunch his face in a show of beautiful sorrow, nor did he have tears fall silently down his cheeks like summer rain.

There was no beauty in watching his best friend fall apart.

Edwin, as he tended to, was silent. He buried his face in Charles’ chest, and Charles felt the wetness of tears begin to soak into his polo, with hardly a shudder going through Edwin’s body as he cried.

Hell had taught its lessons well, after all, and the most important one was silence. No one cared to hear the tears of a boy who did not belong there.

Leading Edwin was possibility the hardest thing Charles had ever done.

Edwin was covered in blood, eyes wavering and misty, lost, as Charles tried to keep up his commentary, tried to get the other to focus on him, to not think about the creature or all the memories the thing was trying to make him think of with every change.

Charles did not recognize them all, but he recognized Niko, saw her with the blood spilling out of her chest from where Esther had impaled her with magic, the paleness of her face as blood soaked her white outfit.

Charles could not let Edwin see that.

Charles could not focus on that.

So he kept asking if Edwin trusted him, as that seemed to make Edwin focus if only slightly more, a furrow in his thick eyebrows as if wondering why Charles would ever think otherwise.

“Always.”

“Of course.”

“I always do.”

It hurt, to hear. It felt like trickery, to have Edwin wax his praises after Charles had kissed him multiple times, all while Edwin was clearly still under the effects of that awful potion. All after Edwin had looked so lost, so resigned, as if the kisses meant nothing.

They mattered, so much, but Charles had to take care of Edwin first, and that meant getting them away from the wraith that had become fixated on Edwin.

“I’ve got you.” Charles murmured into Edwin’s hair, holding him closer, burying his face in the other’s messy hair. “It’ll be okay.”

“I-don’t know why I’m crying,” Edwin’s voice was wrecked, soft, little more than vibrations against Charles’ chest.

“Doesn’t need to be a reason, does there?” Charles pressed a kiss against the crown of Edwin’s head. “Just the two of us here.”

There were little hitches of breath, as Edwin pressed his nose against Charles’ chest, uncomfortable for both no doubt, but Charles wouldn’t ask Edwin to move.

It was a relief, when Charles led Edwin through the mirror back to their office, away from the wraith, Crystal safely on her way home with Charlie’s help.

It wasn’t a lie, when he told her that it would be best to allow him to help Edwin alone.

Charles was just, pretty sure Edwin didn’t want anyone seeing him in this state.

Hands holding hands, Charles led Edwin to the couch, guiding him to sit before reaching for his backpack, intent on finding flannels. Edwin’s hand tightened in his for a second, as if needing Charles’ contact, and well, Charles would not fail Edwin again.

It was a bit harder, to find what he needed with one hand clenching Edwin’s, but Charles would always make due for his friend.

Sure, the blood would eventually disappear, but-

It was an awful sight, blood covering Edwin’s chin and front, splattered and smudged on his dress shirt and sweater vest, hand completely covered in it as well.

There was little Charles could hope to do about the clothes without Edwin’s help, but their medical supplies always worked.

“I miss her, so much.”

“I miss her, too.”

Charles watched the way Edwin’s eyes grew heavy, gaze following his movements as he wiped away the blood from his chin and neck, making sure to be gentle.

“I-I worry, she died for me-“

“She- she died for us mate. Both of us were in there, trapped.”

“She- shouldn’t have had to be brave for us.”

Edwin’s lips were swollen from their kiss, his teeth now worrying the tender flesh as Charles got closer to his mouth with the flannel.

Edwin tasted like gin, the vague memories of pine needles and fresh flowers.

“Niko shouldn’t’ve.”

“I, I am also angry, at her.”

“…”

“She, she didn’t even say goodbye.”

Charles wondered what Edwin would taste like underneath the gin.

“She didn’t. Proper rude, innit?”

“…quite.”

The hand was next, and it was so much worse now. Charles couldn’t ask, couldn’t interrogate the other, not without that awful monster of anger lashing out.

There were two deep bite marks, a new one on his thumb, the old one just below it worsened.

Charles was gentle with Edwin’s hand, careful, as he wiped up the blood, revealing brilliant purple bruises that covered a good portion of his hand now.

It wasn’t the time for questions, it wasn’t the time to ask.

Not with Edwin’s sad, lost eyes.

“Did, you visit her?”

“…no.”

“Would you want to?”

“… I would not want to impose.”

“Can’t impose, grave’s for the living, innit?”

“We are not living Charles.”

“Then, grave’s for those left behind, innit?”

Edwin’s eyes followed Charles as he stood up, getting Edwin to his feet as well before laying on the couch, pulling Edwin on top of him.

Edwin made a noise of protest, but Charles wrapped his arms around him anyway.

“Please mate, just, let me help you.”

Charles laid there for a second, then another, then another. Right when he believed he overstepped, that they did not do this any more, did Edwin’s arms slowly start to wrap around Charles’ middle.

“I missed this.” Edwin’s voice was soft, sleepy, sounding as young as his sixteen years of life, rather than the hundred years of death and torture.

“I missed this too,” Charles replied, holding Edwin tightly, rubbing his nose in the other’s hair.

Edwin’s hair smelt like vanilla ice cream and old-fashioned pomade.

[maria-crossover]

† The Believer †

After months I was able to finish the concept sheet for my Outlast Trials OC ^_^ I'm still working on her lore and the description of the Trials but in the meantime I'll give you some information about her...

General information | Prime Asset backstory | Trials | Dialogues

「 Prime Assets 」

“Someone is desecrating the body of one of God's children? How disrespectful… You better start repenting and stop, unless you want your pretty hands cut off!” —María Carmichael

Appearance (Physical Description)

Height of 1'55 cm (5'8) is a young adult with the appearance of a teenager due to genetics and probably a slow development in hormones. The age isn't identified due to her bones and teeth, also due to the subject's lack of memory and behavior (Has somewhat sharp front fangs). Her clothing includes a long-sleeved black shirt with gray stripes, a gardening overalls with black jeans stained with white paint, black boots and a gardening glove on her left hand. Short messy black hair with curls. Unlike the Ex-Pops, she doesn't show signs of having undergone surgeries or changes presented by the infirmary. The girl only has a scar on her right cheek, on her neck and bleeding bandages on the hand that carries the deployable sickle, also, night vision glasses that connect to a modified car battery that she carries inside a small black backpack.

There is also Manny, it's part of the subject that possesses and controls. It has a humanoid appearance, almost a "ghost", but it is made of ashes, gunpowder and nanomachines with some blood from the girl and previous people it tried to possess. When the believer climbs the walls and ceilings, you can see that her arms, legs and abdomen are covered by a black smoke that is clearly the Walrider helping her and providing her with unique abilities like those.

Personality

María is the only one of the Ex-Pops who is more sane, but she is very insecure, paranoid and easily manipulated, so much so that she sees the Reagents as sinful enemies. She suffers from a hero complex, telling herself that she is God's chosen one and Manny is an angel who will be helping her at all times so that the world can seek its redemption while getting rid of the sinners. However, she constantly exhibits violent behavior towards any human being, especially adults. She tends to be a bit open-mouthed and rude when it comes to hanging around the Trials when the Reagents or an Ex-Pop are present.

She is mostly rude around the Ex-Pops because they are "adults", but with Franco she is more polite. This is due to a post-trauma that she suffered during her kidnapping in her childhood, her greatest fear and hatred will be adults from then on, however, as Franco shares characteristics of an infant she doesn't say anything because she trusts children more, seeing them as vulnerable and unconscious beings. In fact, María divides between "normal" people and the sick. Her behavior varies to normal adults, seeing them as hostile and potential sinners, she doesn't usually trust anyone. However, with sick adults she sees them as harmless, the sick refers to those who are mentally disabled. One reason is that she sees Franco as vulnerable, his behaviour. But she also doesn't deny that he resembles a child and She sees him a little weaker. Although Manny doesn't think the same and is of the idea that all people, humans in general, are equally hostile and disgusting. Except with Maria, since it have a close bond with her.

Having the Walrider inside her, almost always ruins her brain by sharing a body with an entity. Since her violent tendencies and bad mood are due to the pain of having something in her body, her bones and the mobility that she has not had completely in her body before. Which leads to suicidal tendencies, with clear depressive thoughts of "goodbye" to her life and perhaps abandoning it at the hands of her friend Manny.

Despite being somewhat sane, she displays sadistic tendencies when it comes to torturing a Reagent, whether in a chase, attack, or execution. This is due to the adrenaline and anger she feels, at the traumatic memory, the injustice she witnessed in childhood, and a helpless desire to cause pain to those she considers harmful sinners.

Maria mixes her language with English, being of Argentine blood, mostly when she insults and apologizes when doing so. Also the songs she usually hums while wandering through the darkness looking for Reagents. She uses Spanish as for insults, taking advantage of many who do not understand her language to be sincere with her thoughts and regardless of her feelings. She is very indifferent to speaking openly and honestly about what she has in mind, politically, economically or religiously. But when it comes to her past, the many families she may have been in, she keeps her words to herself so as not to speak.

Despite being very aggressive, she is obedient and makes an effort with Manny to get him to follow her. Besides having a great adoration for Jesus and God, she trusts (in a small part) Dr. Easterman. Although most of the work she does is to seek approval and earn respect or adoration from him, which she desires, a consequence of the loving absence of her parents and generating emotional dependence on Easterman.

Since the first meeting with Clyde Perry to talk, she was always cautious and distrustful. She has never spoken or trusted with any human being, unlike the Walrider. She mostly talks to herself, but she actually talks to Manny who occupies her body and is the only the living being she can trust to talk to and feel safe. Walrider always protected Maria, not only for the body but for the company she offered throughout the journey. Supposedly she can hear it speak, only her, since she shared her body she is the only one who hears his voice, as inside and outside her body. Maybe a connection or a consequence of sharing her brain and hearing the voice through her thoughts.

Weapons and Skills

Like the Reagents, but unlike the Prime Assets, she can see in the dark and climb walls with the help of Manny. The lenses of the glasses change color from green to red when she finds a Reagent. In addition to that, she can climb ceilings or walls with the help of the Walrider. She uses a deployable sickle, modified to be stored while climbing ceilings and only takes it out when she is standing on the ground to attack.

Walrider, or known as "Manny" by María, is part of her abilities. Providing her with greater mobility in the test, strength and support when executing a Reagent. The Walrider also grants her a temporary levitation ability, when she lets go of a wall or ceiling. But when a Reagent uses a stun module, it not only affects the girl, but Manny as well. And after recovering, she shudders along with the cold sound of her bones adjusting, showing that the Walrider is readjusting inside her.

Trials

Ruin the wake

Burn Jesus

Kill the Father

Poison the followers

[volturiprincess]

Day 4: Four Calling Birds

Alec Volturi x fem vamp reader

Warning: mentions of blood and alcohol

Word Count: 699

(Moodboard)

I cannot believe he is actually wearing it, he looks so….normal, so human. And to top it off he looks so handsome like this, messy hair with some flannel pajama bottoms and a black long sleeve. I should have asked him to do this long ago because I would never have suspected how good he would look, it's giving me flashbacks to when he started to wear leather gloves for the first time. He stood in front of me with a slight pout as I stared at him with my lips slightly parted and my eyes thunderstruck. I can't seem to look away or even want to, he's too good to look away from.

“Cara? Please say something, your starting to worry me”

I finally make my journey of staring him down to meet his handsome face, I throw myself into his arms as my hands bury themselves in his dark locks. I look into his eyes with the most smitten look I could muster because I am after all swooning over him. He still has his little pout as I still haven't said anything to him, I trace the contours in his cheekbones, down to his jawline which made his lips part slightly at my touch. I continue to trace any dip in his face to any sharp angles his face has to offer, to outlining his plump lips that are still agape. His eyes eventually closed as I continue to explore his face with my finger, he looks so relaxed and is practically clinging to me as if I were to leave him at any given moment. 

“I'm still waiting”

“Let me finish here first, love”

“Fine”

My hand goes to his exposed neck and deciding to tease I wrap my small hand around it and give him a slight squeeze. He made a fake choking sound as his eyes opened in annoyance but failed to contain it as he laughed wholeheartedly. 

“You little devil, trying to go there this early in the day? Let's go out first then we will see after, hm?”

“Okay but only because I want to make snow angels with you, my angel boy”

“Angel boy? That's a new one”

I giggled slightly as I booped his nose, his face quickly turned into a dumbfounded look which only made me laugh out loud as his innocent face. He pushed me away playfully as he walked to the closet to get ready for the day. I sigh as I realize he's going to change out of his pajamas. I think I will end up having to buy one of each color of those flannels because he looked too gorgeous to not appreciate it more.

I quickly get ready as I meet him by the door, he interlocks his gloved hand with mine as we make our way outside. As soon as the cold breeze hits us a small smile comes to my face, as we step foot on the snow covered steps. I never knew after centuries of dealing with hardships in my bond with Alec would lead to this, where we are at peace with one another and we finally have a deep love that keeps getting stronger every year. We ended up in an area where there was grass but is now covered by untouched snow, it felt like it was meant to be at that moment.

“So is this what you had in mind?”

“It's perfect”

We lay on the out backs in the snow as we started to make our snow angels, as we stood with ease I drew a small heart between our angels. I smiled up at him as this time he booped my nose, my face turned to a look of surprise from his sudden act of affection.

"Pay back cara”

I scoffed playfully as we made our way back to the castle. We tend to end our Christmas day by the fireplace with our respected wine that is combined with blood. As so that’s how we find ourselves right now, me cuddled to his side, drinks in hand and to top it off he is back into his pajamas that I love so much.

[crystlizabeth]

You know that

Simon Riley x Black!femreader

Warnings: kinda Angsty, fluff. Talk of past abuse(not a lot) call sign is Mav short for Maverick, reader also has a son, kinda occ Ghost, tbh this write feels messy n everywhere lol so there’s your warning. Not proofread.

Summary: Simon never understood why she was so talkative to him, but he never mind to listen. He knew he was bad for her so he kept his distance though she never made it easy for him. So when a bandage change becomes more personal he takes his chances.

Stressful week not even a week weeks, the team had been on deployment for almost a month now somewhere in Mexico. Thought she wasn’t a soldier she was one of the field nurses, she spent night and day stitching and feeding meds to the boys her and the other girls were there to make sure nobody died.

As of right now it was a more slow morning for they needed to lay low for the next 12 or so hours, soldiers going in and out having bandages changed and pain killers in their system. The smell of coffee running through the camp, “here babes.” The darkskined nurse said to her.

“Thanks Aniyah, hey has anyone changed ghost bandage yet?” The woman asked, the other girls look and her shaking there heads their expressions a little spooked at the mention of his name.

“Has anyone seen, Ghost?” She asked the cup of coffee in her hands.

“I think he’s down buy the water I overheard Him talking with Johnny.” Aniyah said tossing her braids back into a low ponytail.

Great.. now she had to hunt him down so his wound wouldn’t get infected, knowing he had to come in yesterday morning but never did. The other girls where kinda scared of his diameter well as most were. The recruits thought the lieutenant was an asshole, and again intimidating. She let out a sigh grabbing her coffee and supplies leaving the tend going to find the Lt.

As Aniyah said he was down by the water pretty far from the camp, Ghost sat in the grass smoking a cigarette. Her body started the walk down to him, he obviously heard her because he turned his head to see who it was. Ghost eyes scanning her, she wore forest green scrubs today a black long sleeve covering her arms. She always had her arms covered he’s never seen her arms bare but he never questioned could be the simple answer of just another layer to keep blood off her. Her curls worn in a half up half down style her coils frizzed yet still looked amazing, her edge laid meaning she had enough time this morning for herself.

“You know Ghosts is rude to stare.” She said walking up next to him. The contrast from the sunrise complementing Her melanin complexion perfectly.

He turned his head away from her, “What can I do for you Mav..” his tone empty.

She sat down next to him putting the kit down as well as her coffee “well i dont mind you avoiding me though it dose bother me a bit.” She admitted, “but, you need your bandage changed.”

He glanced at her taking another hit of his smoke “I changed it..” he said.

“Mmhm right, non of the girls have seen you come in or out of the infirmary don’t lie to me.” She sassed lightly, he eyes lingered on his lower face his mask sat above his lips no further than that though. She’s seen his face once before but she always couldn’t help but stare how one of his scares trailed from the top of his lip down to his chin, a few spots that healed leaving smaller but deeper scars.

His eyes met hers, “ya know it’s rude to stare.” He mocked her.

A light scoff came from the woman “oh please if you can get an eye full so can I.” She smiled at him, leaving him only to shake his head.

He put the smoke in his mouth going to lift his shirt, revealing the two bandages one on his back near his shoulder and the other on his lower side. “There.”

“Thank you.” She said grabbing the kit first going to the bandage on his side.

Peeling the bloody bandage of his stitches looked a bit irritated, she cleaned the area gently scraping off some of the crusted blood. “I wish you came to the infirmary soon, if not me one of the girls could have cleaned you up.” She spoke her voice slight worried because he’s let his wound get slightly infected just so he didn’t have to face her, she didn’t know why but she couldn’t let it bother her.

He let out a muffled scoff “those girls are scared of me, well besides Aniyah and you obviously..”

“Why didn’t you ask her?”

“Because I didn’t want her to..” he answered simply.

She signed she wanted to ask but she wasn’t sure if she wanted to know the answer. “What on your mind?” He asked.

Her eyes connected with his their gaze lingered before she finally spoke “You know you’re not as bad as everyone makes you out to be..” she said avoiding her original question.

Her eyes moving back to his wound taping it down, his eyes now focused on her. Those words hit something in him making him feel vulnerable, and god knows only she could make him feel that way. But she said it as if she knew something more, she knew that he felt that way and that it actually bothered him. They now sat in silence nothing uncomfortable but silence as she worked on his other bandage.

She soon finished pulling his shirt down going to sit next to him her eyes stayed on the moving water in front of them. “Why do you keep your arms covered?” He asked.

“Sorry if it’s personal..” he muttered hoping the wasn’t the reason.

“I have tattoos they make me feel less professional I guess and my Ex never liked them… not that care what he thinks anymore but it kinda just turned into a habit.” She answered taking a sip of her coffee.

“Less professional, you realize almost everyone here has them.” He said, “why didn’t your ex like them?”

She shrugged, “I don’t know im guessing he just wanted me to be more proper not seen as some..” she stoped herself.

“Never mind im not here to talk about my fucked up relationship.” She shook her head.

“Why do you cover your face?” Her voice sounded hesitant.

“Scares lots of them, some from my child hood and not their not very pleasant to look at.” He explained.

Not very pleasant to look at… she thought, she thought he was simply gorgeous. For only seeing his face once she took in every detail even the fact he was a blonde. But he didn’t know that.

“I was gonna say something personal but I’m not gonna cross that line..” she said.

He put another cigarette up to his mouth lighting it. “Please do.. you seem like you need to talk about something..” he spoke blowing smoke out his mouth.

“My ex isn’t a good person, god.. put it simply he was an abusive asshole, tore me apart for years. Physically and emotionally I only got out because I couldn’t live that way with my son.” She spoke, talking the smoke out of Ghosts hand as he offered it to her.

“Is that why you wear sleeves as a sense of safety, hate to make this about me to but maybe we’re the same in that way..” he said looking over at her as she took a drag of the cigarette.

“Mmhm, and you wear the mask because of im gonna take a guess, child hood abuse?” She spoke, he nodded.

“My Father..”

“My mother.” She said after.

“That woman couldn’t stand me, especially after my father passed not to mention when i got pregnant.” She laughed to herself.

It may have not been a funny moment but she was nervous she never really opened up about her abuse but now it was something she could talk about so easily, maybe because he had same type of experience? So the conversation went on as the shared the cigarette.

“I never will understand how a parent could do that to there own child… and then someone who you thought saved you from the situation only hurts you more.” Ghost spoke his head tilted up.

“Yeah well turns out my save was an ex marine with a drug problem.” She scoffed, “and yet I still find myself liking men in uniform.” She glanced over at him noticing the corner of his mouth.

“What? Whats got you all smirking Simon.” She pushed his arm lightly.

“Men in uniform?” He snuffled a small laugh.

“What can I say” she lifted her shoulders shrugging.

“God I haven’t even thought of a relationship for two years now up until recently.” She admitted.

“Oh?”

She felt the hair in her arms stand up at the way that rolled of his tongue, maybe she did find him attractive but doubt always sat in and the fear of said past relationship. But Simon would never put a hand on her. And she knew that.

“Yeah but I gotta focus on myself and my son.”

He hummed, so time is what she needed and he couldn’t blame her for it she went through hell and back but he was willing to wait.

“Better head back up. I got more boys to attend to.”She said.

He nodded, he stood up offering her a hand “lets go then.”

They stood there a minute a sweet smile displayed oh her lips. Her hand reached up to his face, his first instinct was to normally stop her but he didn’t feeling her bare hands touching his scared skin her thumb running gently over the scar on his cheek over to his lip. Her body close to him leaving barely any room, he could smell the cigarette smoke and coffee linger on her.

“You know for what is worth, you really are beautiful Simon.” She spoke barely above a whisper as she let her thumb run over his bottom lip.

His hand reached up grabbing her wrist, he didn’t move it but he held her. Something in him was crumbling under her touch he craved it not in a sexual way but in a way he needed the comfort. He felt his body let itself relax, She didn’t know how she made in crumble how she could anticipate his mood, she did know how bad in that moment he wanted to kiss her.

His eyes never left hers, she could see through him if she really desired to. She was truly astonishing.

But he could never giver her the world she deserved.

Here is one of the Ghost works!

[dioslesbianwife]

Hi I think your villain headcannons are well thought out. I’m not too familiar with the other vaillains frame of thinking but I could talk for hours about Dio’s brain because I think too hard about stuff like this 💀 anyways I think your writing is great and I get excited whenever I see you post and I look forward to things in the future ^-^ (I was referencing your crushes one for some fanfic I’m writing at the time too).

My question for the villains is how would they react to snow/cold/winter? I was wondering how Dio would feel about it and I’m on the fence between not caring enough to have an opinion and hating the cold. Maybe he would like. I don’t know.

Of course! This is a great headcannon idea. Also thank you so much for the kind words :) , I’d totally love to check out that fanfic! Also you’re my first headcannon request so thanks again, tried to make these a bit longer than my usual headcannons, (totally agree that dio’s one of the most interesting characters to analyze)

Jofoe Winter Headcannons 🤍

Dio

Loathes the cold. He’s already cold all the time, so winter weather feels like an insult to his existence. He sees it as nature’s cruel mockery of his frigid, undead body. He dramatically declares that the weather conspires to weaken him but cannot succeed, yet refuses to step outside unless necessary.

If he has to go out, he wears the most extravagant fur lined coat imaginable, looking like a 19th century aristocrat. He treats the occasion like a royal event and expects everyone to admire his impeccable taste.

He’ll complain that “humans are such foolish creatures” for building civilizations in places where it snows.

To compensate, he’ll demand a roaring fire in every room and might even force “convince” some random person to keep it going 24/7. Complains constantly about drafts in the house, though he never fixes them himself. Instead, he demands the others tend to his comfort.

Despite his distaste for the cold, he secretly finds snow beautiful. He’ll stand by the window at night, admiring the way moonlight reflects off the snow.

Spends long winter evenings in front of a roaring fire, reading old books or sipping blood/wine.

Kars

Kars is unimpressed by cold weather. He views it as just another part of Earth’s natural cycles, just another challenge for lesser beings, and adapts without complaint.

He doesn’t feel the cold like humans do but finds snow mildly inconvenient for walking or hunting.

Secretly appreciates the beauty of untouched snow and might spend a quiet moment observing snow covered landscapes.

He doesn’t feel too strongly about cold weather though he does enjoy seeing some of the others not being at their best due to the low temperatures.

He appreciates the hushed serenity of winter nights, where everything feels still and timeless.

Yoshikage Kira

Kira finds cold weather to be peaceful and enjoys how it makes everything quiet and still. Winter appeals to Kira’s love of quiet and order. He appreciates how snow blankets the world in stillness, muffling the noise and chaos he dislikes.

He meticulously layers his clothing to stay warm, dressing impeccably for the cold, with perfectly tailored coats, scarves, and gloves. All the pieces match and complement each other.

Prefers to stay indoors and sip tea by the heater, reading or listening to music while ignoring the chaos anyone else may cause.

He despises anything messy, so slush, mud, or salt stains in the house are a nightmare for him. He’s particular about keeping the house clean during winter, and he’ll passive aggressively remind everyone to “wipe their shoes properly.”

Kira enjoys winter traditions in moderation, such as watching an old film or reading by the fire, but dislikes overly festive activities like loud holiday parties or messing around in the snow.

Enjoys watching snowflakes fall while standing outside, feeling a rare moment of calm and connection with the world.

Diavolo

Diavolo is not a fan of winter. He finds the cold annoying and views snowy conditions as nothing but a hindrance. Sees it as yet another obstacle in his already convoluted life. Snowstorms, icy roads, and freezing temperatures are just disruptions.

He refuses to dress for the weather, insisting on wearing his usual clothing, even if it means freezing.

Diavolo despises the festive cheer of the season, avoiding any holiday gatherings or traditions.

Enjoys the eerie silence of snowstorms. It reminds him of the isolation he prefers.

Doppio

Doppio enjoys winter a lot more than Diavolo. Doppio is practical and down to earth about winter. While he doesn’t love the cold, he handles it with a quiet sense of responsibility.

He’s bundled up despite Diavolo muttering that he looks ridiculous.

He probably slips on ice a lot but laughs it off quickly. Snow doesn’t tend to settle long where he’s from in Italy (as far as I know), so he’ll take advantage of it and try to enjoy himself.

Doppio enjoys winter for the moments of peace it brings. He likes sitting by the fire with a cup of coffee, catching up on personal projects or reflecting on the year and business in Passione.

Enrico Pucci

Pucci views winter as a time of reflection and spiritual renewal. He sees the snow as a metaphor for purity. He finds a lot of meaning in the season’s challenges.

He remains calm and composed, unfazed by the cold weather. If anything, he uses the season as an opportunity to deepen his faith through prayer and meditation. He may even take some time to fast.

He maintains his composure in all weather, dressing appropriately but without extravagance. His winter wardrobe is simple yet elegant.

Prefers to spend winter evenings reading religious texts by candlelight or sitting by a fire, contemplating his plans. He dislikes excessive holiday celebrations, seeing them as distractions, but he might participate minimally.

He greatly enjoys the solitude of snowy evenings as it’s perfect for introspection.

Likes the way snow transforms the world, making everything look clean and untouched. A visual metaphor for his ideals.

Funny Valentine

Valentine treats winter like it’s a symbol of resilience and pride. He gives rousing speeches about the strength of enduring cold weather for the greater good. He embraces the season as an opportunity to showcase strength and perseverance.

He’s well prepared for winter, dressing in layers of elegant coats and scarves. He oozes an air of authority even in the harshest snowstorm.

Enjoys hosting grand dinners by the fire during the holiday season, using the occasion to strengthen alliances or spread his patriotic beliefs.

Valentine dislikes the inconvenience of icy roads and sidewalks but won’t complain openly, considering it beneath him.

He’ll talk everyone’s ear off about how when he was younger, he’d shovel snow or how back in the military he’d gone through cold weather training. These things build character, strengthen the spirit, etc etc.

Secretly enjoys writing in the snow with a stick, leaving messages or symbols that only he understands.

My Dumb group Headcannons:

Doppio starts a snowball fight, having always wanted to try one, but Dio escalates it into all-out war. Kars refuses to participate but critiques everyone’s aim. Kira and Pucci go back inside. Funny Valentine builds a military grade snow fort but by the time he’s done everyone’s already gone inside.

Pucci insists on a tasteful, minimalist approach to holiday decorating, Dio adds gaudy decor after Pucci leaves the room, but Kira and Diavolo don’t want any decorations and team up to take them down.

Kira quietly takes charge of cooking, ensuring everything is perfect, while Valentine waits till Kira leaves the kitchen to make some dishes he’s personally familiar with because he’s extra like that. Dio complains if his preferences aren’t catered to.

Diavolo refuses to shovel the driveway, leaving Doppio to struggle with it while Kars criticizes his technique, explaining how easily a superior lifeform like himself could do it much faster, making Doppio’s eye twitch in irritation.

•••••••••••••

Hope you enjoyed! I love these weirdos.

[thoughtsonhurtandcomfort]

Shun the Light - Ch 16 - Claws

Slow Burn | Refuge | Decision | Mend | Hunger | Thin Mints | The Garden | Philip | Moments | Full Moon pt 1 | Full Moon pt 2 | Tend | Absolution | The Talk | Scars | The Bunker |

Author's Notes: Another full moon? You betcha!

I hope things aren't moving too fast...I really want to get to the Big story moments, but I also worry I'm going too fast and missing some of those little day-to-day moments. But those also don't make for good chapters on their own so I try to slip them in with other things. That said if anyone has any questions about anything that might happened in between, feel free to message or ask!

Content Warnings: werewolf whumpee, painful transformation, imprisoned (voluntarily), self loathing, hand/finger/nail whump, blood, bruising, headache, angst

----

Dante shuts and bolts the bunker door with Matteo inside. As an additional precaution, at Matteo's request, he barricades it with a heavy desk he dragged from upstairs.

It feels wrong to trap him like this. The space is small and bare, no windows, nothing but concrete and metal. Even someone who isn't particularly claustrophobic would find it stifling.

But there's no point questioning the plan now. The full moon is minutes away, and Matteo insisted he wanted to do this. Now all Dante can do is wait.

-

The hours pass slowly and nothing Dante does to try to distract himself is enough. He pauses every so often to listen for sounds from downstairs, but is met only with eerie silence.

That shouldn't be a bad thing - the whole point is to keep the wolf contained - but regardless, Dante is restless and uneasy all night. The old house feels too much like it used to and he is forced to admit to himself that he enjoys Matteo's presence.

-

At dawn he is waiting, sitting on the desk in front of the door. This should be his bedtime, and even with all the curtains drawn getting to bed might be tricky, but he has to let Matteo out. When the warm glow of morning finally peeks under the door at the top of the stairs he is quick to jump down and shove the desk away, unbolt the door and fling it wide open.

Immediately his gaze falls on the figure collapsed face-down on one of the bare metal bedframes. Matteo is naked, having insisted that clothes were pointless and would just be destroyed. He is bruised, shaking, and Dante smells blood.

He sits at the edge of the bed and lays a hand on Matteo's back. To Dante's surprise, his skin is as warm as if he'd been laying in the sun for hours.

Matteo startles at Dante's cold touch. He opens his eyes and looks around blearily.

"Wh...where 'm I?"

"You're in the house, in the fallout shelter. You're safe."

Matteo closes his eyes and groans. "Ow..."

"What hurts?"

"Everything," Matteo chokes out, his emotions bubbling over as he wakes more and his pain comes into sharper focus. "M-my head, m-my whole - whole body - "

Matteo's head ends up in Dante's lap, face pressed against his stomach as he sobs. Dante's fingers end up in his hair like they belong there. He combs through the messy curls and scratches at his scalp with tenderness he didn't know he still possessed.

"You're safe," he repeats, "you're safe."

Matteo gradually calms. After a moment he lifts his head and tries to sit up.

"We should have - ah - left the mattresses on," he mumbles, rubbing at an indent where part of the metal frame dug into his bare skin. "That's worse than the forest floor."

Dante barely hears him.

"Your hands..."

"Huh? O-oh - "

Dante cradles Matteo's trembling hands in his own. His fingertips are torn and bleeding; some nails are cracked and others missing entirely.

Matteo whimpers, looking like he might break down again at any moment. He looks around the room and Dante follows his gaze across the walls, covered in bloody claw marks.

Dante's heart sinks. He really believed that Matteo would be safe here. What he didn't consider was that a trapped animal will gnaw off its own leg to escape. The wolf had tried to claw its way out, and when that didn't work, it had rammed the door several times, leaving Matteo with bruising across his back and shoulder.

"Dante," he pleads, and he doesn't need to say another word. Dante sinks his fangs into Matteo's wrist and gives him just enough to ease the pain. When Matteo starts to droop against him he stops, getting an arm around him and hauling him to his feet.

"Let's get you upstairs."

-

Matteo is silent while Dante cleans and bandages each of his fingers. He stares at the ceiling and tries to focus on breathing. He aches all over, his head hurts, he's hungry and thirsty...all the old familiar feelings he's had to begrudgingly accept.

But there are new feelings, too. A couch is so much better than the ground, the dim lighting so much easier on his pounding head than sunlight, he's covered in a soft blanket...and he's not alone.

"There. How's that?"

Matteo holds his hands up above his face. He bends and unbends his fingers and the bandages hold. The pain has dulled significantly.

"Good," he whispers. "Thank you..."

"What else do you need?"

Matteo sighs and lets his hands drop to his stomach. He tries to muster up a smile for Dante but falls short.

"To be put down, probably," he replies. "That's what people do with suffering animals."

Dante frowns. "You're not an animal and I'm not a people - I mean, a person. You know what I mean."

That gets a chuckle out of him. "Of course you're a person."

"Well then so are you."

Matteo gives in. "I guess...I'm pretty hungry. I got some stuff at the store last week, it's in the - the kitchen..."

He starts to sit up but Dante eases him back down by his shoulders. Before Matteo can argue a pair of shining silver eyes meet his.

"Rest," is the gentle command. "I'll get it."

Matteo has no choice but to lie back and be cared for. It's all he ever wanted on those mornings he woke up hurting and alone after a full moon. Dante, though shy and uncertain, is a calm and steadfast presence. He never complains, not even when he is visibly thirsty and tired himself. Guilt begins to gnaw at Matteo's heart, and with it, a question he has been afraid to ask:

Am I taking advantage of him?

[theslvttysimp]

》MC's Addicted Parents LUCIFER 《

TW: Substance abuse, hoarding, abandonment, arguing, throwing items in anger.

Scenario: You are a MC who grew up with parents who abused substances. Though you've been on your own for a while now, the trauma you've dealt with in the past still follows. Here is how Lucifer would react.

Lucifer was making his rounds doing his weekly room check. He'll pop his head in everyone's rooms to ensure no one is hiding forbidden items and to make sure no one's room is a wreck.

Of course your room passes, you can't stand a messy room. A messy room brings back memories you don't ever want to remember. Lucifer gives you a smile after checking your room and leaves, only to cone back 15 minuets later.

" MC, while doing room check I have noticed how much a pig sty Satan's room is. You will be going to his room and help him clean it up. He shuts the door, leaving you to get ready to tend his brother.

You automatically start to panic. You didn't like going in Satan's room. It's such a mess to the point where you can't even see the floor. You rub your face in acts to calm yourself down, pushing your memories to the back of your head. You grab a few rags and a broom to help him clean and make your way to Satan's room.

Once arriving at Satan's room, you notice Satan and Lucifer arguing over the condition Satan has allowed his room to get. Books scattered all over the floor, dust piling up, cats toys covering his bed ( yeah, Lucifer found the cats and his pissed.). You feel your heart pounding, trying to drown out the yelling going on, and start cleaning.

The yelling of both Satan and Lucifer is making NOTHING better. Memories of your parents high on drugs arguing comes flooding back to you. You feel like you're 13 again, frantically cleaning your house as your parents argue in the background. Tears start to roll down your cheeks, but you push through.

It's only when the Avatar of Wrath gets so angry that he throws a book across the room is when you finally snap. You drop whatever books are in your hand and cover your ears. You scream on top of your lungs " STOP YELLING! STOP STOP STOP! I CANT TAKE IT!" Your scream is blood curdling, you fall to your knees holding your ears, yelling and sobbing " NO MORE NO MORE!"

Satan and Lucifer slam to the floor ( your pact following your command, telling them to stop.) They both fall letting out a big grunt. Satan is lashing around on the ground trying to get back up, blind with rage. Lucifer, laying on the floor with his head turned looks at you with wide eyes and his mouth slightly agape. What happened? What has gotten into you?

You run out of Satan's pig sty, sprinting down the hall and go straight to your room. You slam the door shut and sit in the corner of your room. You're hugging your knees to your chest and sob. You feel like how you did years ago, stuck in your room. You used to sit in your room with your parents out of their mind on drugs arguing, hugging yourself for comfort in the quiet on your isolation. Voiceless and alone.

Half an hour later ( after Lucifer was able to stand up again), you hear a knock on your door. You reply with silence,but Lucifer comes in anyway.

Lucifer closes the door behind him and stands in front of you, assessing your condition. You keep your head on your knees, still silently crying to yourself.

He sits next to you on the floor with his back resting against the wall, leans the back of his head on the wall and looks straight ahead. " I assume you were displeased with the arguing beforehand. Is there something you want to speak about, dear?" His voice is so gentle. He remembers when viewing your records that you didn't have the best childhood.

You take a deep breath in and let out a long sigh. You try to calm your mind down and lift your head up, resting the back of your head against the wall. Lucifer takes this moment to take a glance at your face. Your cheeks are soaking wet from all the crying you've been doing. He grabs your hand and holds it, resting your held hand on his lap.

" When I was a kid, my parents were great. They used to play with me, take care of me, cook me meals all the time. They were so happy. Once I became a teenager..... they both started abusing substances. They stopped taking care of the house, they both lost their jobs, they stopped taking care of themselves..... and stopped taking care of me...." Your lip starts to quiver and your voice is shaky. " they would argue all the time.. I would try and keep the house clean, but I c-couldnt do it by m-myself." You start crying again.

Lucifer pulls you to an embrace, your bury your face in his chest and sob into his shirt. He rests his cheek on the top of your head and let's you cry it out. He doesn't care how loud you cry, how wet his shirt is, or how long you need to sit here. He wants you to let it out.

After a long time of crying, you finally calm down. He's rubbing your back up and down and whispers to you, " I am deeply sorry for invoking bad memories for you. That wax never my intention. I love you so very much, and I will never abandon you like your parents did. I am right here, I will always be right here."

You hug him tighter. The feeling of knowing you'll never be abandoned again brings you comfort. He kisses the top of your head and rests his cheek back on your head. You listen to his slow, loud heartbeat. From all the crying you did, you are oh so tired. The sound of his heart beating in your ear puts you to sleep in his arms.

Lucifer lets you sleep in his arms for a little while longer before picking you up and bringing you to his room. He lays you on his bed and tucks you in. He kisses your forehead and brings whatever paper he needs to do on the bedside. He begins doing paperwork next to you, ensuring that when you do eventually wake up, he'll be there to comfort you more.

He makes a silent promise to himself. He will never unintentionally make you feel thay way ever again, and he will never leave your side. He will never make you feel unwanted or abandoned, for you are stuck with him forever. It's his personal obligation to make sure you feel loved and appreciated for all eternity.

[hearthouses]

for the fic writers ask:

9. Do you write every day? If you wrote today, share a sentence of what you’ve written! //

10. Is there a fic that got a different response than you were expecting? //

13. How much planning do you do before writing?

9. Do you write every day? If you wrote today, share a sentence of what you’ve written!

I am trying to get into the habit of writing every day, but it doesn't always pan out like I've hoped. I am doing a lot better than last year, so there is that. Here's hoping it improves! I did write this today for my long fic I am working on:

Dean manages to carry Sam across the foyer and into the living room, his weight sagging onto Dean, but not all of it, strength still left in his legs to help Dean until they make it to the couch. Sam drops onto the plush cushions, sprawling out and groaning as his breath evens out and slows. His brother is covered in blood, a trail of it left behind, stark red against the gleaming hardwood. His nice suit is cut to ribbons, like something raked its claws down his chest and his shoulders, deep red gashes staining the ruined fabric. Dean runs his fingers down the center of Sam’s torso, seeking out buttons or an edge to start pulling, peeling off the remains to get at Sam’s skin. “Eager?” Sam gasps out, forcing a grin. Sam’s mouth is slicked with bright crimson against his skin, smudged around his lips, smeared on his cheeks and dripping down his chin—a messy eater. True to his word, it’s not his own blood, at least not there.   Dean rolls his eyes and pulls at his dress shirt, tearing it open, pushing away the ragged edges. “Funny, I don’t think you’re in any shape for that.” Sam chuckles—or tries to, his laughter dissolving into a harsh, hacking cough that sounds too wet to be anything good. “Give me a few minutes and I’m all yours.” 

10. Is there a fic that got a different response than you were expecting?

My expectations of the response my fics might get vs. what they do get are always at odds, honestly. Sometimes I think a fic will get more attention and it gets less, or like a fic I didn't put as much effort into is more beloved by people than others, so it is hard to pinpoint which fic would answer this question. Lately, I've been lucky to get a few comments on any fics so I've learn to adjust my expectations accordingly.

13. How much planning do you do before writing?

I tend to know the beats of a story and the general trajectory, but I often cannot outline because I need to be able to "discover" the story along the way? I'm very much this quote by George R. R. Martin:

I often said that writers are of two types. There is the architect, which is one type. The architect, as if designing a building, lays out the entire novel at a time. He knows how many rooms there will be or what a roof will be made of or how high it will be, or where the plumbing will run and where the electrical outlets will be in its room. All that before he drives the first nail. Everything is there in the blueprint. And then there's the gardener who digs the hole in the ground, puts in the seed and waters it with his blood and sees what comes up. The gardener knows certain things. He's not completely ignorant. He knows whether he planted an oak tree, or corn, or a cauliflower. He has some idea of the shape but a lot of it depends on the wind and the weather and how much blood he gives it and so forth. No one is purely an architect or a gardener in terms of a writer, but many writers tend to one side or the other. I'm very much more a gardener.