#but writing reader insert is fun

[bookwormscififan]

Sorry to bother you! I just wanted to say I love your blog and was wondering if you happen to roleplay by any chance?

Hi! Thanks for sending in an ask!

I don’t do role play mostly because I’m uncomfortable with that. I do however write reader insert fics if you ever wanna read those!

[swordsandholly]

Double Date - Double Down

NSFW | MDNI

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Fem!plus size!reader

Word count: 4.9k

Summary: When you get a call in the middle of the afternoon from your friend begging you to fill an empty spot on a double date your initial instinct is a hard no. After all, no one wants to go on a blind double date and be surprised by the fat friend. It doesn’t help that this Simon guy is stupid fucking hot and obviously doesn’t like you - if his lack of talking is anything to go by.

A/N: Just a fun little oneshot I used as a warmup between working on chapters of future multi chapter projects.

“I said *no*.” You snap, angrily folding the washcloth in your hands.

Your friend splutters from the other side of the phone, the desperation in her voice only growing now that she’s on her fourth ask. “*Pleeeaase*! Steph backed out last minute and no one else is free-“

“How do you know I’m free?”

“You just said you were!”

You huff. She’s got you there. When she first called, you admitted you didn’t have anything going on but that was *before* she told you the plan for the night. Before she mentioned that her very, very conventionally hot military boyfriend wanted to do a little double date with his friend and one of hers. Plus, you take a least a little offense to being second choice. Really, last choice, it seems.

“Cass, you can’t just set up a blind date and take your fat friend. That’s not-“

“You’re not fat, love. You’re beautiful.” Her words drip with turned honey. You make a gagging face to yourself in the mirror. “You just need more confidence!”

You sigh loudly, pinching the bridge of your nose. You could try, for the millionth time, to explain to her the nuanced ins and outs of dating as a fat woman. The rules and stats that could rival even the most complex rpg… or you could be petty. It takes less time to be petty. “If I go, you’re paying for my drinks.”

“Johnny’s friend will probably-“

“Yeah, and when he leaves you’re paying for my tab.”

“He won’t-“

“We got a deal?”

She clicks her tongue. “*Fiiiine*.”

At least you can get wasted for free either way. A small consolation. She texts you the time and location, barely leaving you with enough time to shower and turn yourself into something presentable. Not that you really care. It’s going to be shit either way, most likely. Staring yourself down in the mirror, you suppose you could at least try to look somewhat attractive. If you’re about to get rejected (or possibly shouted at, you’ll never forget *that* horrendous interaction) you might as well feel your best.

The pub is small as you push through the front door. Casual. A couple pool tables, some darts, a large bar and few booths with stools on the outer side. You scan the room, searching for Cass’s familiar face.

“Over here!” Cass waves with a wide arc at you, a grin plastered from ear to ear. At least she’s having fun.

You take a long breath, bracing yourself for whatever is about to happen. Cass introduces you to her boyfriend - who is somehow even hotter in person. You can see why she’s so smitten with him. Johnny looks you up and down as he shakes your hand. He doesn’t comment, or make a face, or really react in any particular way, but you can feel a shift. Something in his eyes…

Maybe it’s just your imagination. You’ve always been a little over sensitive.

“Si will be back in a sec. Stepped over tae get a drink.” He flashes a grin.

You hum, quietly folding your hand as Cass pushes a cocktail for you that she preemptively ordered. Criticize her as much as you like, she knows her mixes.

“There he is.” Johnny grins, turning slightly.

You follow his gaze, heart sinking as your eyes settle on the man approaching your table. He’s massive. Tall and wide. Total brick shithouse. His face is mostly covered by a black surgical mask. A few years ago you might have questioned it but at this point you couldn’t care less, especially when his dark eyes meet yours, small flecks of gold honey catching the low bar lights. Barely styled tufts of blonde hair stick up from his head. They look like they might curl if he let it grow a little longer.

All in all, wayyyy out of your league.

He settles into his seat with all the confidence of any military man - back ramrod straight. He extends a large hand. “Simon Riley.”

You murmur your name, somewhat enthralled by the half lidded, almost bored look in his eyes. Now that he’s closer you notice a large scar splitting his left eyebrow and light, newly forming crows feet in the corners of his eyes.

“S-so you’re military, too?” You stutter, eyes trained on his the massive hand holding his glass. It’s nicely vascular, his nails are well groomed but it also looks like he could snap you in half with it.

Not that that’s entirely a bad thing - whatever that may or may not say about you.

He nods. “I’m a Lieutenant.”

“Oh! Officer position. So you’re smart, then?” You try to be charming, to give him a sweet smile and keep your body language open.

“Enough.” He deadpans. It takes a few beats for you to realize he’s not going to say anything else.

“Uh…” You squirm awkwardly under his gaze. It’s intense - his dark eyes nearly black in the low light of the bar. “I do hair.”

Conversation is slow, to say the least. The longest answer he gives you is maybe five words. He only flips up the mask long enough to take a sip of his drink every so often. You start to talk less, opting toward a group conversation in which Johnny takes the lead, which he is obviously very good at. He regales you and Cass with a few stories of his and Simon’s adventures. Some funny, some brave, some worrying. He’s setting the man up to be a god, nearly, but Simon himself just shakes his head and insists Johnny is exaggerating.

You wonder what he sees in Simon. Alternatively, you wonder what *you’re* supposed to see in Simon. Besides his good looks, of course. He’s… bland. Obviously bored if his constant glances toward the exits and rhythmic, occasional tapping on the corner of the table are anything to go by.

“Want tae go dance, lovie?” You overhear Johnny as he leans in toward Cass.

She glances at you, then Simon, then back to you before nodding enthusiastically. “We’ll give you two some time *alone*.”

In any other situation, you’d probably beg her to stay in desperation for a conversation buffer. Here and now, though, you’re grateful. You can finally let this poor guy off the hook. You wait until they’re gone; fully out of earshot before turning to the man in front of you.

“I…uh… look…” You chew your lip, glancing between him and your folded hands on the table. “Sorry… I know I’m probably not what, uh, what you expected… I get it if you want to leave. It’s - you don’t have to stay, or whatever. Don’t have to be polite…”

He cocks an eyebrow, eyes boring through your skull. “Why would I want to leave?”

“I know what I look like. You don’t have to be nice.”

His raised brow turns into a slight frown. “I think you’re quite pretty.”

You scoff - blushing despite yourself. “Again, you don’t have to be nice.”

“Do I seem like the type to just be nice?”

You continue to gnaw at your lip. He’s got you there. Simon definietly doesn’t come off as the type to bow to polite society. “You’ve barely talked to me.”

He stares for a moment. It’s his turn to avert his eyes, swirling around the whiskey in his glass awkwardly. Almost bashfully. “It’s not you. I’m… not great in public… especially in crowds…”

Oh.

*Oh*.

You’ve completely misjudged him, haven’t you? Shit. He’s just a big awkward lug isn’t he?You sigh, rubbing your temple. “Oh God, *I’m* the asshole, aren’t I?”

He chuckles, “I wouldn’t go that far.”

“I’m sorry it’s just…” you scrub a hand over your face. “Most men don’t really want to be surprised with a fat girl on a blind date. Guess I assumed the worst.”

Simon hums. A low vibration that settles into your bones. He gets up, sliding into the booth side of the table beside you - his massive frame pushing into your space. He smells like spices. Cinnamon and pepper. A little hint of leather and tobacco underneath. It’s heady, and some primal part of your mind wishes you could roll around in it like a dog.

“Some men might like a waifish little thing, that’s their business, but personally…” He leans in, a large hand resting on your wide thigh. “Yeah. I like somethin’ I can get a proper handful of.”

“*Oh*.” You squeak, back stiff. Was that what you saw in Johnny’s face before? Approval?

“‘Ere’s a thought - we go back to mine. S’quiet. Can talk more freely. See where the night goes, hm?”

You smile hesitantly, finally looking up to meet his gaze. It’s honest. Kind. Dark pools of sincerity. It’s against your better judgement. Impractical. Out of character. Even so, you allow yourself to surrender with a warmth in your cheeks and a small nod.

“I’ll get an Uber.” He pulls out his phone, tapping away. “Five minutes out.”

“Want to wait outside?” You offer, nodding toward the front entrance. Simon just nods, following you out close behind. Neither of you say much of anything while you wait, but you watch him out of the corner of your eye. He taps on his leg a few times in much the same way as he did on the table.

He dutifully opens the car door for you, letting you slide in before climbing in beside you, long legs slightly cramped in the small sedan.

“You don’t live on base?” You ask as the Uber drives away from the infamous military housing. You’d been there once or twice - a while ago when you were younger and messier.

“S’too loud.” He shrugs. “Too crowded.”

“Well, at least you’re consistent.” You smile.

Simon hums, resting his hand on your thigh once again. It’s casual, not too high up or too much pressure. Not presumptuous.

“How’d Johnny get you out there in the first place? If you’re so *averse*.” You tilt your head.

He shrugs, “Was supposed to be another Sergeant we work with but I guess he cancelled. No one else was free.”

“Ah, so we’re both last choices, then.”

“Yeah?”

“Made Cass promise me free drinks if I came.”

“Smart girl.” He chuckles, holding out a hand to help you up out of the car upon your arrival. His hand is warm when you take it, and a small part of you feels disappointed when he lets go.

The building is small. Old. All red brick with a thirty year old intercom and an elevator that you’re pretty sure hasn’t been inspected since the place was built. About halfway down the hall, you start to second guess yourself. You don’t know a thing about this guy - you don’t know what’s going to happen as soon as you get on the other side of his door. His weird, bright red door. Wait - why is this whole floor covered in red doors?

“Alright?” He grunts, back turned to you as he wrestles with the lock.

“Uh - why is your floor color themed?”

Simon laughs, wide shoulders shaking with the movement. It’s a low sound, something that vibrates in his chest. Makes you want to press your ear to it, see how it feels. If it will reverberate into your bones as well. “The old lady that owns the building is a bit… unique. Likes to talk about colors and karma and destiny stuff.”

“Ah.” You nod, as if that makes any sense at all. “So you’re red?”

“Apparently.”

His apartment is actually quite homey, as you step into it. From a stiff military man like him you expected something akin to an ikea floor model. Instead it’s furnished with a well worn, green couch. A large TV with an extremely up-to date surround sound system and an entertainment center filled to the brim with CDs sits against the wall. A few movie posters fill the walls. All horror classics - you count three of the scream movies. The first two final destination. There are condensation rings on the coffee table.

Behind you, you hear the door lock and unlock three times, but you don’t pay it much mind.

“Want a drink?” Simon asks, already popping open a decanter full of something gold on a small drink cart beside the kitchen island.

“Sure.” The agreement is automatic - blurted out before you can second guess taking a drink from a total stranger.

You watch a little too closely as he takes off his light jacket, exposing his strong arms and a half sleeve tattoo. It’s a bit tacky, all skulls and military symbols. The black ink has been sun worn over time. The motif of a young getting his first tattoo after enlisting. He settles down on the couch with the decanter and two glasses, patting the spot beside him. You plop down. It’s pretty comfortable, honestly.

His fingers loop into the mask’s straps. You find yourself watching with wide eyes and bated breath as he removes it. His nose is crooked - broken more than a couple times, you think. There’s a scar running from his nose to upper lip that could only come from a cleft palette. It’s charming, in a way. When he turns toward you, you notice a patch on the side of his face that looks like a rather large burn all the way down to his sharp jaw. The roughness of him works, somehow. The scars and tattoos and choppy hair all coming together to create the visage of a life hard lived.

“You’re really pretty…” the words slip from your tongue before you can stop them.

Simon splutters out a laugh, the slightest hint of color appearing across his cheeks. “Didn’t take you for a flatterer.”

“I’m not.” You huff before nodding toward the posters. “Horror fan?”

He hums, passing you a glass. ��Are you a fan? Of horror, I mean.”

“Found footage!” You grin a little too excited. “It’s the best genre.”

“Terrible taste.” He scoffs.

“Wrong! Found footage can be anything you want it to be - slasher, thriller, mystery, mocumentary. Anything.”

“Which makes them messy.” He argues. “Anyone can make one.”

“Yeah! Theres so many hidden gems out there.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Oh, I’ll put you on them. We just need to get you a good one.”

“Askin’ me on a second date already, love?”

“Oh, fuck off.” You shove at his shoulder. He was right, it is so much easier to talk freely out of the bar. Away from everyone and everything. His posture is far more relaxed, laid back into the couch with his hips canted forward rather than stiff as a board.

“We could watch one now?” He offers. If you were more sober, you might have heard the twinge of pleading in his voice. As it stands you’ve already drained the glass he gave you and are perfectly buzzed enough to be ignorant to the subtler parts of communication.

How convenient.

“Okay.” You whisper.

After a bit of debating back and forth you settle on Hell House. After all, it’s been your tried and true method for getting anyone and everyone into the genre. You don’t notice it, at first, but you slowly begin to scoot closer to him as you fold your knees up on the couch. Eventually, tucking yourself under his arm sling across the back cushions. Between him and the drinks - which you’re pretty sure is a rather fancy bourbon - you feel what could only be described as snuggly. Limbs loose and pliant, smile easy and words flowing as you cheer and jeer at the characters together.

At some point, Simon’s dark eyes meet between yours. You lean in, so does he. Inch by inch until your lips meet. It’s tentative, at first. Testing the waters. His lips are soft and move expertly against yours. You part for him has his tongue darts across your lower lip.

It’s easier than it usually is for you. Easy to let him pull you over his lap. To rest your hands on his broad shoulders as you take each other in. Normally, you’re not a person for one night stands. A commitment kind of gal. You can’t exactly say no, though, when you have a beautiful man’s hands traveling over your body like it’s the only thing in the world worth paying attention to right now.

He breaks the kiss just long enough to grunt, “Bedroom?”

“*Yes*.” You gasp between kisses.

Suddenly those large hands grasp under your ass as you’re hauled up. You grapple to hold onto the back of his neck, keeping your weight forward.

“Simon!”

“Yes, love?” He asks as if he didn’t just life you like a sack of potatoes.

“A-aren't I heavy?” You question as he makes his way through the apartment, peppering kisses over your neck and jaw.

“No.” He replies bluntly. Like what you asked was stupid.

You’re placed on a bed with all the gentleness of a rare china plate- one hand cradling your upper back and the other tucked under your thighs. There isn’t any time to take in the room before Simon is kissing you again but you do count approximately five pillows and zero navy sheets.

That shouldn’t be as hot as it is.

Simon leans in close, nose ever so slightly bumping yours. “Before we keep going, I want to establish a rule. Red light means stop. At any time, for any reason.”

You can’t help but smile. “Okay.”

“Say it back, doll.”

“Red light means stop.” You reach up and cup his face. So handsome. So warm.

“Good girl.” He murmurs. “Let’s get these off, hm?” Simon pulls your clothes off deftly - dragging those rough palms over your skin as he moves and kneading at the plushness of your hips appreciatively.

You reach up to tug at his shirt. “S’not fair if I’m the only one naked.”

Simon chuckles and hastily sits back to yank the shirt over his head, giving a lovely show in the process. You think this what people mean when they talk about an Adonis. There’s a comfortable soft layer of his strong abdomen. Something you want to sink your teeth into. Your fingers trace each dip and curve of his muscles, the lovely shape of his pectorals, the raised scars littering his body. Floral shapes from bullets along with slashes and smaller jabs. A particularly nasty one runs down his side, coving his ribs. A burn, you think.

“You’re beautiful.” You murmur. Definitely out of your fucking league. You move to sit up, reaching for his waistband.

His hand pushes your shoulder back on the bed. “Let me take care of you tonight, bird.”

Your face warms. Simon kisses your cheek, continuing down to your chest and taking one of your nipples in his mouth. Gently sucking and nipping at it while flicking the other with his hand. A shameful whimper escapes your throat.

Simon leans up to murmur in your ear, “What do you want, sweet girl?”

“Want you to fuck me…” You murmur, embarrassment making you want to close your legs. His solid hips block you.

“Oh, I will, but first I want those beautiful thighs wrapped around my head.” Simon continues to place kisses down your body, over your stomach, stopping right at your panty line and tracing along it with rough fingers. His arms circle your thighs and in one swift motion your hips teeter on the edge of the bed, Simon kneeling between them. His fingers hook in the waistband of your underwear.

“W-wait…” You sit up on your elbows.

He freezes, looking up at you.

“I, uh, I haven’t exactly *landscaped* in a while… wasn’t really planning-“

Simon huffs out a laugh. “I’m a grown man, love. You think a little bush is gonna scare me off?”

All thoughts related to anything within the proximity of embarrassment come to an instant halt as Simon’s lips wrap around your clit- sucking and nipping and lapping like a man starved. Like he’d die without it. A low groan rumbles through his throat.

“F-fuck!” You gasp, whimpers and moans interrupting any chance you may have at putting words together.

“Taste so fucking good, princess.” He mumbles against you. A shaky moan rattles through you as he pushes a thick finger in, working it gently. His other than grips your hip tightly, pinning you in place. The pet-name sends a shiver down your spine - leaving you rolling your hips and clenching on the finger inside you.

“Fuck, Si…” You gasp, tangling your fingers in his hair.

“I can tell your close, baby.” Simon groans. “Cum for me. Come on, be a good girl and cum all over my fucking tongue.”

The bastard knows the power he has in that voice. He *has* to. That baritone gravel sinks in your veins and all you can do is whimper. Panting pathetically the closer you get. His fingers curl up and your back arches harshly as your climax washes over you. Your legs tremble as he works you through it; stopping just shy of pushing you too far.

“Hey!” You gasp indignantly as a jolt shoots up your spine as he settles a final, harsh suck on your clit.

Simon taps your hip, climbing back over you as you scoot up on the bed. He carelessly kicks off his pants as he goes, toeing them off before settling between your legs. Those dark eyes rake over you leisurely - taking in every inch. Every curve and dip and flaw categorically. He sucks in a breath and sighs. “Bloody ‘ell, look at you… so fuckin’ pretty.”

Your face heats and you look away. “Who’s the flatterer now?”

“Not me. Just bein’ honest.” He places a quick kiss to your soft jawline before reaching over to dig through his nightstand drawer. You don’t miss the gold foil of the condom wrapper.

You can’t stop yourself from licking your lips as he pulls off his boxer briefs. Simon is uncut, already ruddy and leaking and just begging for your mouth. Maybe next time, though. He’s already slipped on the condom, carefully hooking one of your legs over his shoulder and the other around his hip. The man has a laser-focus to him, you’ll give him that.

“Still want t’ keep goin’?” He mumbles, eyes locked on his cock as is drags between your folds.

“*Please*.” You whine pathetically. Simon’s chuckle turns into a gasp as he presses in. It’s achingly slow and you roll your hips in demand for more.

Simon lets out a low groan as his hips meet yours. The stretch is perfect - just enough to feel completely full without pushing you too far. As though your bodies were made to slot together just so. Your head falls back, chest heaving as you beg him to move, to fuck you, just *please* for the love of god-

“Needy little thing.” He gives you a sloppy smile before setting a brutal pace. You find yourself clawing at his back, clinging to him as your back arches and the most obscene sounds are systematically torn from your throat. The angle he has your hips placed causes his cock to bully that sensitive spot inside you - dragging over it with every thrust.

Simon leans toward, bracing himself on his forearms and pinning you under him as he fucks into you. “So fuckin’ good f’me. Knew you would be. So soft and sweet and goddamn *pretty*.”

“*Fuck, Simon*.” You gasp, nose bumping against his as your lips intertwine. Breaths and moans intermingle as you both chase that edge. There’s nothing else, in this moment, just you and Simon and the sounds only he has ever managed to pull from you.

Your orgasm hits you like a train. Out of nowhere and all at once, tensing every muscle into a trembling mess as you clamp down around his cock. Simon sinks his teeth into your neck as his own climax takes him, cradling you close and moaning out your name so muddled you almost miss it.

For a few moments, you stay frozen in place trying to catch your breath as you come down. Your limbs feel like jelly when you finally try to move, body limp and pliable. It almost feels like a loss as he pushes off of you, leaving you open and vulnerable to the cool night air while he ties off the condom.

“Be right back.” He murmurs, slowly climbing off you and heading for an attached bathroom off to the left.

You let your eyes slipped closed only to jump and shoot back open as a dap rag drags between your thighs. A little yelp escapes you as the rough material drags across your oversensitive clit. Simon chuckles at you, tossing the rag back somewhere in the bathroom before crawling into the bed beside you. It’s so easy to curl into his chest and let those strong arms encircle you.

“Have fun, love?” Simon murmurs into your hair.

You just hum happily, smiling against his hard chest.

“Good.”

It’s just as easy as the rest of it to fall asleep like that. To seek out the warmth of his body in your satiated haze and press into him, allowing the night and rhythmic beating of his heart to overtake you. You feel four small taps between your shoulder blades just before tipping over the edge into comfortable nothing.

You wake slowly to an empty bed. The light from the window above you streams in - bathing the room in a light golden tone. It’s cozy. The blankets seem to pull you in, keeping you snugly in place. Distantly, you hear the sound of pots and pans clinking.

Shockingly, you’re not hungover. Well, not much at least. There’s a slight twinge in your head and a not unpleasant soreness in your hips. You dig around, finding your clothes strewn across the room haphazardly. Your underwear are nowhere to be found and you eventually give up with a shrug. They weren’t one of your best pairs anyway.

When you come out of the bedroom, you pause. Simon stands in the kitchen, working on something over the stove wearing only a pair of sweatpants. They hang loosely around his hips, showing off the rises and dips of his strong muscles and well defined waist. This scene somehow feels too intimate despite your activities the night before.

“Perfect timing.” Simon turns, placing a plate down on the kitchen island. The omelette before you looks immaculate, all the way down to a light garnish on top.

Your eyes turn to saucers. “You…you made me breakfast?”

“Course.” He nods sharply as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. As if *not* doing so would be some sort of affront. Either you’re still asleep and this is all a dream or you stumbled upon the perfect man through pure happenstance.

He turns the stove off and on and off twice before standing at the counter across from you while you sit on one of the stools at the island. It’s a comfortable silence as you both eat. Simon keeps glancing up at you as if waiting for your disapproval. Boyish, somehow, despite the size and breadth of him.

It’s perfect. The eggs practically melt in your mouth and the goat cheese and vegetables taste fresh. You can’t help but him happily as you eat.

By the time you’re done, you think you might be a little in love.

Maybe you should text Cass and thank her or something. Maybe a gift basket. “Oh. My phone’s dead.”

“Didn’t charge it before y��left last night?” Simon cocks an eyebrow, chewing on his last bite.

You snort. “It was last minute, remember?”

“What if I’d been some sort of psycho? What was your plan?” He grins as he takes your empty plate. If you were a more impulsive woman you may have gone so far as to lick the damn thing.

“Are you a psycho?”

“Not generally, no.”

“Well then, nothing to worry about.” You grin, watching a little too happily as he rinses down the dishes and loads the dishwasher.

Simon just scoffs at you.

You glance at the time above the stove, disappointment settling deep in your chest. “Shit. I should get going.”

“I’ll get you a cab.” Simon offers automatically, reaching for his phone.

You shift side to side, twiddling your thumbs. “Y’know… we never finished the movie…”

Simon cocks and eyebrow. From the pleased smirk on his face you can tell he knows what you’re implying. He still patiently waits for you to say it out loud.

“Would, uh, would you want to exchange numbers? Maybe… meet up… again…?” Your voice is more timid than you’d like. This fear of rejection is new. Being rejected is nothing new for you, so why does it suddenly feel so high stakes with this one guy you barely know?

You don’t miss the way his eyes light up ever so slightly at the question. “I’d love to.”

[running-with-kn1ves]

Okay but a darling who tries their hardest to "fix" and train their yandere. They put up with every bloody, obsessive shenanigan in the hopes that they can have a semi-regular relationship with the person they thought they were dating. You see, everything was fine the first month of the honeymoon phase-- regular cute dates and normal presents like bouquets and nicknacks-- even if they were overly frequent. It didn't take long for Yandere's true colors to show, possessiveness chaining Darling to their home and rushes in relationship milestones that normally take years to achieve.

By the third month, Darling has moved into their Yandere's home. Sure, it's fast, but how else are they going to alter a bloodthirsty stalkers' bad habits? But Darling didn't realize how much of a chore it would be to handle their Yan 24/7. Other than the constant reassurances of love and physical affection, they have to talk them down from murdering any coworkers or adding a military-grade security system to the home in an event of Darling trying to escape break up with them.

"I promise, I'm not going anywhere."

" I love you, there's no one else, how could you accuse me of that!"

Even with Darling complying continuously, wearing the ankle bracelet their Yan begs them to keep on, not leaving (or atleast, not telling Yan when they do) the house without their loving spouse-- Yandere still has paranoid visions, imagining footsteps at night, clothes that belong to them that they think are from another. But Darling is persistent, denying any sort of sneaking around and consoling their Yan in the process. I mean, who could sneak around when all they do is think of and take care of someone else continuously? And even when Yandere gets threatening, drugging takeout that was supposed to be a fun surprise and keeping Darling in the basement for a week, Darling always waits patiently for them to come back to their senses, to negotiate and bribe their way back out when Yan brings meals and requests cuddle time.

Maybe once or twice they've worried about being murdered, but they know their Yandere just loves too much, has too much affection for them to rationally contain. So they see the beast as tameable, talking them down off ledge after ledge, never bolting even with open doors and free feet. But will that be enough to convince their Yandere, to satiate their fear of abandonement and desire to trap before their prey can even think of escaping?

[teliphone]

Venomous

Jackie Taylor x Fem Reader x Shauna Shipman

Summary: Shauna watches you devote yourself to Jackie. She doesn't understand how you could do that. She loathes being in someone's shadow, but tragically, in one herself. To make herself feel better, her sick mind turns to you. You’re just too sweet and kind… Shauna knows what you want. 

Warning(s): Smut, slight angst, toxic relationships, oral, bullying, degrading, pain

Word count: 3k

-

Shauna crosses her arms, hiding her clenched fists. Her face expresses slight annoyance as she watches her best friend Jackie ignore you again. Shauna never understood why you decided to stay with Jackie, considering how poorly she treats you. She is starting to think it’s some sick kink you have, to be rejected and belittled. 

You stand in front of them, hands trembling, exposing your nervousness. It’s sad how anxious you are to ask your girlfriend on a simple date. It shouldn’t be like this. 

“H-hi Jackie… I was wondering if you're free this-“ 

“I’m not,” Jackie sighs. She doesn’t bother giving you a second glance. Her eyes lock onto her phone, quickly texting someone. Your cheeks turn red from the blunt rejection. You gulp down your sorrow as your eyes flicker to Shauna. She continues to remain silent, just watching your heart break. 

Most of the time, when Shauna sees you, it is you tagging along with Jackie like a puppy on a leash. She orders you around, which you, of course, fully heartedly listen. Bitterness would linger in Shauna’s mouth when she watches you scrambling to grab Jackie napkins at that one dinner. 

Your life evolves around Jackie and Shauna understands. She knows what it is like to live under someone else’s shadow… but why did it seem like you’re okay with it? It angers her how weak you are. She always felt like she had more to life than to live like this. To rule. Own something. To have power.

“Oh… that’s okay! Maybe next time. I’ll wait for you,” You try your best to smile, disregarding how tight your heart squeezes. Jackie smiles back and gently rubs your head like you’re her pet.  

“Thank you. You’ve always been so considerate,” She compliments. You lean into the touch lovingly. Shauna lets out a scoff. She can practically see you wagging your tail at the smallest praise. Jackie removes her hand and averts her attention to Shauna. 

“Come on, let’s go,” She chirps. Shauna watches Jackie strut down the halls before she turns to tower over you. You nervously gulp while silently glaring at her. You didn’t hate Shauna… you were just jealous of her. 

Shauna always gets to do everything with Jackie. Everywhere Jackie goes, there she is. You wish it could be you instead. You beg to spend a full day alone with Jackie. 

“You should stop being pathetic,” Shauna whispers loud enough just for you. Your face scrunches in anger. You ignore the way your heart rate starts to pick up; Shauna is just really good at making you upset. You bite your tongue to stop yourself from snapping. 

Shauna smirks at your inner struggle before walking away to catch up with Jackie. You stand in place, your hands shaking. 

-

It’s been a week since Shauna called you pathetic. The days leading up to now consist of her cornering you and making you feel small. You’re starting to get irritated. Her words consume you. Even when holding hands with Jackie, you can hear Shauna in the back of your mind. 

Shauna stands by her locker with a blank face. She looks around curiously, wondering where her best friend is. Suddenly, her phone vibrates. She reaches down into her pockets and quickly scans the text. She shoves her phone into her pocket and sighs. Jackie texted her to meet her “asap”.  As much as she hates being ordered around, she always listens to Jackie. 

Shauna starts making her way over, ignoring everyone who looks at her. She makes it to one of the classrooms and calmly opens the door. Sounds of soft moans and grunts reach her ears first, making her heart race. Her eyes widen and her breathing stops. 

Inside the classroom are Jackie and you. You’re sitting on top of Jackie’s lap, jerking your lower body against her. Your cheeks are red as you tilt your head back in pleasure. Whiny moans escape your lips while Jackie lazily jerks her fingers in your core. You feel her two digits filing, curling, and pressing against your gummy walls.

“You feel so good,” You moan. Jackie tilts her head up to look at your face. She smiles sweetly at your praises. She pulls her fingers out and teases you by pinching your clit. You gasp and reach down to grip her wrist. Jackie leans forward and licks your ear. You hum sweetly.  

“…Shauna’s here,” She whispers. You immediately tense up. The pleasure vanishes and is replaced with shame and embarrassment. You attempt to get off Jackie, but she tightens her grip on your waist. 

“Give her a show,” Jackie taunts. You shake your head no, words unable to come out. Jackie ignores you and pinches your clit again. You cry out in pain and pleasure. Your hands slide up to hold onto her shoulder, panting into her ear. Shauna bites her lower lip as she feels herself getting hotter. Her eyes never leave your figure. Soaking every reaction your body does. 

“Jackie, stop,” You moan, jerking your core away from her wet fingers. Jackie rolls her eyes. Your pussy is so wet and slippery she doesn’t want to. She wants to shove her fingers in, but decides to stop for your sake. You tiredly get off her lap and scatter to grab your pants. Jackie tilts her head and smirks at Shauna, who hasn’t moved or said anything yet. Jackie brings her hands up to her face and slowly moves them side to side. Examining how your wetness glistens against her fingers. She gets up from the seat and walks over to Shauna, who takes a nervous step back. 

“Shipman,” Jackie chirps. Shauna clenches her jaw at how her last name rolls off her tongue. 

“Why did you do that?” She questions. Jackie softly giggles, tilting her head cutely. 

“You think I haven’t noticed how you look at her,” Jackie reveals, her eyes glaring deep into Shauna’s. 

Jackie had noticed Shauna becoming too quiet whenever she mentions you… It made her suspicious. She started observing how Shauna stares a little too long at you. Or how she whispers to you, sharing secrets behind her back. So Jackie decided to start treating you badly. Just to prove to Shauna that you’re wrapped around her fingers, literally and figuratively. She drags Shauna along to make sure she sees how you still hang on like a piece of forgotten gum.  

Shauna averts her stare, feeling intimidated by Jackie. Jackie lightly chuckles. She bites her bottom lip in excitement. 

“Don’t worry. I’m not that mad… I honestly don’t even know if I love her,” Jackie shrugs. She lifts her fingers to Shauna’s lips. Her eyes dilate as a sick idea pops into her head. 

“She is mine… but it’s kinda funny if you want her too.” Jackie’s fingers, covered with silk, hover over Shauna’s lips. Jackie didn’t want to share, but she is controlling this situation. This is more pleasing to her. 

“Why don’t you get a taste?”

Shauna jerks her head to look over at you. You stand awkwardly by the seat with your head down. She can see your chest moving up and down fast. A red blush on your soft, wet cheeks. 

“Come on… my hands are tired,” Jackie giggles, wiggling her fingers. Shauna dryly swallows before clenching her jaw. She slaps Jackie’s hands away. 

“I won’t play into your game,” She spits before walking out. Jackie stands speechless, then lets out a laugh of disbelief. She couldn’t believe Shauna suddenly grew braver. She slowly turns around and looks at you. You shyly squeeze your legs together. 

“Come here and don’t you fucken dare tell me to stop,” Jackie grunts. 

-

Shauna feels her blood boiling as she walks away from the scene. She ignores how wet her panties have gotten, rubbing pleasurably against her core as she walks. She enters the bathroom and slams the stall door closed. She lowers the toilet seat covers and takes a seat.

“Fuck,” She cusses, fumbling to shove her hands in her pants. Once the tip of her finger touches her folds, she bites her lip. Wetness leaks out, coating her fingers. She starts rubbing her clit urgently. She curses Jackie and your name angrily. Who the fuck does Jackie think she is?! The image of you tilting your head back and moaning flashes in her mind. She rubs herself faster. 

“Fuck you,” She moans. She hates how your body feverishly chases after Jackie’s finger like you’re some type of slut. She hates how whiny and soft your moans are. She hates how you love to praise Jackie for how good she is.

Shauna knows she can be better. 

She imagines herself touching you, making you blush and nervous. Her eyes start to roll back as she gets closer to her high. She rubs herself aggressively a few more times til she comes, biting her lip hard to not make a sound. Her chest moves up and down as she pulls her hand out of her pants. Wetness rolls down her knuckles. She blushes in embarrassment. 

She's furious… you, out of everyone… made her come.

-

Shauna’s bullying became worse. When she finds you alone without Jackie, she would sinisterly smile. 

First, she loves to pull on your hair. She is addicted to hearing you wince in pain as she grips your hair. She forces you to lock eyes with her. 

“Jackie doesn’t even love you. You’re nothing without her,” She whispers harshly. Your eyes begin to water as you try to pull yourself away from her. She doesn’t let go until you're begging her like a sobbing mess. 

Second, she sickly loves to call you names. She would cuss at you for being stupid for no reason. Laughs and calls you a slut. Sometimes she would suddenly call you cute while she degrades you. It makes your mind jumble and glitch. 

It’s worse when she does both at the same time. 

Shauna’s hand aggressively tugs your head, making you fall to your knees. You claw at her hands with your fingers. She chuckles and only grips harder. 

“You’re so weak. Look at you,” She hums, towering over you. She tugs your head closer to her clothed core and lets out a shaky breath. Her eyes dilated from seeing you kneel before her. 

“I can’t wait to fucken ruin you. You’re just a perfect little bitch for me,” She chuckles. Your cheeks turn bright red, ignoring how your core throbs. She watches you clench your thighs together. She rolls her eyes and shoves her foot on top of your core. She presses her foot down, making you wince. 

“Are you getting wet? I can’t believe you’re getting turned on by being treated like shit,” She smiles. She removes her foot and pushes your head, causing you to stumble onto the ground. She then spits a clear glob right next to you. Missing your face by a few centimeters. Your breathing shakes as you lie still. Tears drip from your eyes, but it’s more embarrassing how your pussy aches. 

“Do what I say and maybe I’ll start treating you better,” Shauna says before walking away. 

-

Your relationship with Jackie seems to hit the biggest stumbling block. Your mind is crowded with Shauna. You dream about her touching you and wake up wet. You walk down the hallways with your eyes nervously checking to see if Shauna is heading to bully you again. She has successfully broken you down till you're suffocating and craving her.

Today is different. Just slightly. 

Shauna shoves you hard against the wall. You grunt in pain from the impact. She places her arm over your collarbone, pinning you to the wall. You try wiggling yourself out, but it is no use. She grins sinisterly with her teeth. Her brown eyes were blown out and dilated. She leans her face closer to yours, hovering her lips over yours. 

You seem to shrink under her gaze. You tilt your head down, looking at the closeness between her body. Her thighs are slotted between. Her core rests on top of yours. Every time she would move, her body would grind against yours.

“You’re sad to look at… It’s laughable,” She chuckles. You clench your jaw and glare at her. Tears threaten to fall from the corners of your eyes. It emotionally hurts. Shauna’s word stabs your heart because… It’s true. Everything she has been teasing you about is true… and God, do you feel pathetic. 

Jackie never did care about you. She “forgets” everything about you. She cuts your conversation short, claiming that she is busy. You’ve been pushed by her countless times… it’s truly sad how you still beg for a sprinkle of her attention. 

“Are you crying?” Shauna taunts, lowering her head to examine you closely. You shut your eyes and sniff as a weak attempt to stop crying. Your bottom lashes are wet while you glare at her. 

“Leave me alone. You’ve hurt me enough,” You beg. Tears start to run down your cheeks. A blush appears on your cheeks from embarrassment. You didn’t want to cry in front of her. 

Shauna’s breathing shakes as she watches a tear roll down your cheeks. She finds you so pitiful, it makes her feel butterflies. She lifts her thumb to wipe your wet cheeks. Your breathing hicks at her sudden sweet gesture. You nervously look up into her eyes. They’re soft and dilated. You swore you could feel like she does care in that moment. But Shauna is a wolf in disguise. You knew better than to warm up to her. 

“I didn’t hurt you… Jackie did,” She shushes you. Your lips start to tremble, and tears threaten to fall more. She lowers her face to yours. Her hands softly brush your hair. You sniff, taking in what she said. She watches your face scrunch in confusion. 

“I love Jackie,” You breathe out. You lift your head at the sudden boost of confidence.

“I love Jackie and I don’t fucken care how she treats me,” You snap. Shauna chuckles darkly. You’re so obedient… Jackie is so lucky.

“You like Jackie that much?” She mumbles. You quickly nod your head, hoping it is enough for her to move on. 

It’s funny you thought that was enough. 

“Close your fucking eyes,” She snaps. You flutter your eyes shut before you feel her press her plump lips against yours. You gasp, causing her to deepen the kiss. Her tongue slowly flicks against yours. You clench your fist to limit yourself from grunting. She pulls away, breathing heavily. Her eyes were wide and lustful.

“Imagine I’m Jackie,” Shauna whispers before leaning back in to kiss you. Her hands lower to hold onto your waist. She rubs her core against yours slowly. 

“Kiss me like how you would kiss her,” She says between the kisses. Your heart skips a beat. Your mind and body fight against each other. But once her teeth nibble your bottom lip, all your morals disappear. You moan loudly and start kissing her back. Your hands reach up to grip her hair. 

You think of Jackie just like what Shauna said and it helps. Truthfully, Shauna has been making you sexually aroused for the past week. You can’t help it. 

Your tongue brushes against hers. Feeling her wet, warm tongue makes you turn on. Shauna pulls away and places her hands on top of your head. You attempt to open your eyes, but Shauna stops you. 

“Kneel and praise me like how you do it to Jackie,” She pants. You feel your body heating up as you kneel. You hear Shauna taking off her pants in a hurry. 

She comes back and places her hand back on top of your head. She tugs your head and guides you to her aching pussy. Her arousal scent numbs your mind. You obediently stick out your tongue. Her warm folds slide against your tongue. She cusses and jerks her core into your mouth. You reach up to hold onto her tense thighs. She grips your head harder. 

“Fuck… baby you’re so pretty like this. You like being used?” She grunts. You moan out a soft yes before wrapping your lips around her clit. She places two hands onto your head, digging her fingers into your skull. Your knees start to hurt from the hard floor. You shift a little to get more comfortable. She shoves you deeper into her pussy. 

“Keep sucking me stupid slut. Don’t think of anything else,” She hisses. You flick your tongue against her clit before sucking hard. Her thighs tense and shake. You try your best to ignore the constant leak from your pussy. There’s a high chance your panties have a small, dark, damp spot.

“I’m gonna… you're gonna make me come,” Shauna manages to moan out. She continues riding against your tongue, cursing, and moaning. 

“Open your eyes,” She grunts. You slowly open your eyes to see her red cheeks. Her stomach tenses at eye contact. You can no longer imagine it’s Jackie… instead, it’s Shauna that clouds you. She’s the one you taste. She’s the one who’s going to come in your mouth. 

Shauna lets out a loud moan as she releases her juice into your mouth. You flatten your tongue and lap her core like you didn’t want to miss a single drop. Her silk runs down your chin as you pull away from her pussy. A wet trail connects between her core and your lips. She lazily brushes your hair. Her eyelids are heavy as she smiles. 

“Tell me you love me,” She whispers. She is sick. She feels so much lust for fucking her best friends girlfriend. She can’t help it. She wanted to consume everything that Jackie had to make herself feel better. To make herself feel like she isn’t in Jackie's shadow. You stare up at her with teary eyes. 

“I love you,” You confess. You don't know if you love her or the way she treats you.

[mylovingkiss]

. ݁ ˖ ♯ 𐔌 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒌 𝒊𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒆𝒚𝒆𝒔 𐦯 ⋆ . 𝘥𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘭 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘤𝘳𝘺

# . how they would act if they were starting to fall for someone!

𝒇𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 : 𝐝. 𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐚 + 𝐯. 𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐚

𝜗𝜚 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔 : 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘪𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘧𝘦𝘮!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨. no further warnings.

【 𝐃. 𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐀 . ⊹₊⋆ ✉️ ྀི 】

. ݁ᛪ༙ ݁ ˖ ┊ 𝟎𝟏 :

dante’s not subtle by any means. you’d think he would be. all that dumb charm and pretty boy flirting—but no. having a crush turns him into a mess.

he didn’t know when this feeling began, or why. just that one night, your smile brought an uninvited amount of heat to his face.

and suddenly, all he could think about was that look on your eyes. and how stupidly lucky he’d feel if it was ever just for him.

⤷ 𝟎𝟐

unsurprisingly, he is terrible at having a crush. not in a cute, blushing, ‘let me clean that for you’ way. he just gets louder, harder to ignore. sometimes borderline impossible to shut up.

he’ll interrupt your quiet afternoons with reminders to pay bills, clean your weapons, or find what you two will have for dinner that night.

(like the only way to get your attention is to bother you into giving it.)

he won’t compliment you. but he’ll let you pick the pizza toppings.

he’ll walk the line closest to traffic. he’ll remember how you take your coffee or tea, and bring you one when he “just happened to be nearby.”

it’s not romantic. but it’s the closest you’ll get for some time.

⤷ 𝟎𝟑

and lately, he’s become a little too available for you.

for some reason, he’s always just hanging around.

the shop opens early. jobs get finished ahead of schedule. dishes and laundry magically wash themselves.

ask him about it, though, and he’ll act like it’s a coincidence—sometimes even disappear. leaving you to finish whatever half-assed task he orphaned during his act.

⤷ 𝟎𝟒

jealousy is a new kind of hell for him.

he won’t admit he’s jealous. hello? when does he ever admit fault to anything.

he’ll just sulk. or say something stupid. or pick a fight with someone who so much as breathes near you too long. he is also obnoxiously nosy.

“so. . . who was that guy?” ,, “oh? you textin’ someone?” ,, “no, just makin’ sure they’re worth your time is all—what, can’t be a good role model anymore?”

⤷ 𝟎𝟓

he gets really touchy without realizing it.

but dante has always kind of been that guy. the type to bump your shoulder, playfully shove you toward someone, or sprawl on the couch until you’re squished beside him.

touch has never meant anything serious. it’s just how he is.

but now, when he brushes past you, his hand settles lower than it used to.

his arm still ends up behind you on the couch, but it just feels cluttered. like closer than it should.

and when he guides you through a crowd, it’s not your shoulder he reaches for. it’s the curve of your back. holding you close without thinking too hard about why.

he doesn’t mean to do it. but it doesn’t feel like just friendly habit anymore.

⤷ 𝟎𝟔

he lights up the second you show up to any room.

like, visibly. he tries to play it cool, duh. leaning against the counter, tapping against the wooden surface like he wasn’t just waiting to hear the sound of the door open.

but the minute you come in, his posture is straighter, his smile widens, and voice pitches up just enough.

“speak of the devil, where were you?” even if you saw him two hours ago, he’ll still act like you’ve been gone all week.

⤷ 𝟎𝟕

he defends your honor. like, all the time.

you could sneeze and he’d whip around saying something about—“damn, that means someone’s talking about you.”

he gets so protective it’s almost embarrassing. if someone flirts with you in public, he’s suddenly got an arm around your shoulders and a voice two octaves deeper.

“hey—hey, yeah, this one right here is independent. doesn’t need anything from anyone. mhm-hmm, see. she can sustain herself—what a woman am i right?”

⤷ 𝟎𝟖

he starts to fix things in your room, but he kind of sucks at it.

you once mentioned your lamp was flickering. now he’s deep in there with a screwdriver and handy tools pretending to know the wires do.

“don’t touch it yet,” he mutters, poking at the base. “i almost got it.”

he abso-freaking-lutely does not. you’re pretty sure he’s unscrewed the same piece twice. it’s funny though, he’s got the manual at hand but refuses to use it. he swears it’ll be like new by tomorrow.

⤷ 𝟎𝟗

dante starts asking what you think about basically everything and anything.

his coat, the music he’s playing, how the shop looks, what you want for dinner, etc.

“would it be lame if i changed the sign?”

“. . .it looks fine to me.”

“yeah but a brighter hue might be more attractive.”

he wants your opinion because it means so much—not that it didn’t matter to him before. just that this time he wants every little thing to be tied toward you.

the color you chose, the genre you picked, the pattern that called your attention. dante just wants to impress ‘you’ and remember times spend altogether.

⤷ 𝟏𝟎

he starts asking you to stay a little bit longer. but not directly.

“you hungry?” ,, “wanna help me close up?” ,, “movie’s already started. be a shame if i had to watch it alone.”

devil may cry gets really quiet at night. too quiet. especially after closing hours. and there’s only so many times he can wipe down the same counter before he notices just how empty the place feels when you’re not in it.

he doesn’t think too hard about it. just knows that when you’re around, time moves faster.

and when you’re not, it drags.

⤷ 𝟏𝟏

dante’s never really been the type to stop and think about feelings. not his, anyway.

he runs off instinct. fights. hunger. more fights. half the time he acts before his brain catches up, and that’s worked out fine. . .

that’s why he doesn’t realize he name-drops you in conversations all the time. like everyone should know who he’s talking about.

“she likes that song.” ,, “nah, she’d be so picky about that.” ,, “no, watch, she always does this—who? you mean the most gorgeous, beautiful, down-to-earth, patient, pretty, awesome, kind-hearted woman in the world?—ah, i’m just kidding, no really, it’s a joke—just drop it.”

that and then it’s just excuses piled on more excuses.

【 𝐕. 𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐀 . ⊹₊⋆ ✉️ ྀི 】

. ݁ᛪ༙ ݁ ˖ ┊ 𝟎𝟏 :

one would think on the contrary to dante, vergil would be nuanced about his feelings, except he’s kind of. . . not.

no, he doesn’t voice compliments, or tease. in fact, if you asked, you’d think he actually hated you.

he’s honest, but not the sweet kind. if your voice annoys him he’ll make sure to say it. if your outfit looks bitter and mismatched he’s critiquing it. and don’t even let him hear a beat of sound coming from a jukebox, because it might be the last time you see it working.

but if you paid close enough attention, you’d notice how his actions and words had taken a softer route recently. yeah, he’s still rude, but not as much as to actually bring any distaste or sadness.

so, no. he’s not some master of emotional concealment, but he’s also not an idiot.

⤷ 𝟎𝟐

he doesn’t know how to have a crush. and worse—he doesn’t want one.

humans call it slow-burn. he finds that phrasing juvenile and a sentimental nuisance to deal against.

love feels like weakness. admitting desire—especially human, would shatter the control he’s built his whole life around.

⤷ 𝟎𝟑

he thinks keeping his distance is the best way to stop himself from liking you. like, yeah, in his mind it’s a great idea.

and sure, he’ll ghost your plans or stay conveniently “too busy.” maybe it’s self-sabotage. either way, he’ll disappear for a bit—then come back like nothing happened.

⤷ 𝟎𝟒

vergil’s emotions begin to manifest as impatience.

he’ll start to snap more easily—not at you, but around you.

anyone who wastes your time talking in circles, underestimating you, pulling your attention somewhere trivial. or worse, when someone gets too comfortable around you. when they hand out compliments a little too openly or speak to you with the ease vergil never allows himself with.

and because he’s, well, vergil. it never looks like jealousy. he just ends up looking like a douche.

⤷ 𝟎𝟓

he began to notice more minuet things. the stuff you like for example.

if he sees you smelling flowers outside a shop, he’ll buy a whole bouquet of them. wrapped in pretty textured paper, and a bow just to wrap things up.

a childhood place you want to revisit and eat at? he’ll clear whatever’s in his schedule just to go together.

he turns what could’ve been a fleeting comment to something full of commitment. . . it’s what slowly began to draw you toward him.

⤷ 𝟎𝟔

he doesn’t like when other people talk to you too long—beside the part of wasting your time.

he still claims he’s not jealous—of course not.

but he does check where and who you’re going out with.

he does lower his book whenever someone lingers too close to you.

he does suddenly need your unleveled opinion whenever you’re laughing about a puny man’s joke.

it’s subtle and so, so petty. and honestly beneath him. but that doesn’t really stop him from doing it.

⤷ 𝟎𝟕

vergil starts giving you things he claims he doesn’t find use for anymore.

books he’s already read. a spare weapon (?). an ancient artifact he claims, “isn’t of use anymore.” but it’s always something tied to him. and if you look closely, it’s always something he values.

don’t thank him. like actually. don’t thank him. it’s humiliating for him to feel even an ounce of care or appreciation. less if said words make his skin feel warm.

⤷ 𝟎𝟖

he’ll start to give you unsolicited advice.

not to feel a sort of superiority or call you dumb. (for the most part.)

but because the idea of something harming you—emotionally, physically, even temporarily—makes him feel sick.

“don’t trust that man.” ,, “you’re not eating enough.” ,, “rest is necessary for a human’s weak anatomy.”

⤷ 𝟎𝟗

he’s not great at soft. or subtle. or emotional literacy in general.

so when he senses something’s wrong, he gets so weird about it. . . sometimes cold, sometimes moody, it’s like a 50/50 coin flip between those two.

if you’re upset, he’ll start listing scientific strategies. or ask if you’ve eaten. maybe it’s iron deficiency—gods, who knows. he’ll start talking in riddles and hope you follow.

he wants to help. he just doesn’t know how without sounding like he’s diagnosing some sort of computer glitch.

⤷ 𝟏𝟎

there are many things he wants to say.

compliments that form and wither on his tongue. questions he never had the bravery to ask.

and above all, a desperate, quiet hope that one day you’ll see him—not for what he is, but for what he tries to be when he’s around you.

not the son of a demon, not a man feared by them. but someone learning to accept love. especially yours.

⤷ 𝟏𝟏

beside the top of it all, he appreciates your understanding—a lot.

he often asks himself the question of how could someone deal with a person so secluded, and still offer their trust?

as far as he knew, he could be a bad man. . . but you never made him feel that way.

say, maybe that is what’s making it hard to ignore you and continue on his path. you’re what brings him temporal patience. a quietness in his storm. (no pun intended.)

he enjoys that, maybe a bit more than he’d ever admit.

⎯ׅ⎯⎯⎯⎯۪⎯⎯⎯ׅ⎯⎯ׂ⎯⎯ׅ⎯⎯⎯⎯ׅ⎯⎯⎯⎯ׅ⎯ׂ⎯⎯ׅ⎯⎯

𝜗𝜚 𝒎𝒖𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 : i had to do both bcs i realized the post would’ve been somewhat short otherwise (this is just an excuse to write for vergil. sorry if he seemed ooc!)

work had me stressed outtt, and we’re edging 100 °s in the south. i don’t usually do well with heat ૮ ོっ˕ ς ོ𑁬 however i met a pretty sweet guy that’s frequent in my shop, and for some reason i was like omg… what if the sparda boys started crushing on someone for a little?

how would they act, what would they do, etc!

anyways plot twist cute shyt had a gf, so we have to respect that. still he gave me a really good writing prompt so!

© mylovingkiss. 2025 | feel free to request! but please don’t steal or translate any of my works! thank you ༝༚༝༚

[totallynotashieldagent]

Kinktober - Hate Fucking

Pairing: Hal Jordan/Reader

The slap that cracked across his face shocked his system.

“You almost got us killed with your showboating!” You screamed. “I’m reporting you to Batman- I’ve HAD it with your absolute bullshit!” 

“You did not just fucking slap me, princess-” Hal growled, twisting your wrist back. “I saved your sorry ass.”

“I had it under control!” You snapped at him.

“Like hell you did!” He pushed back, crowding your space until he was pressed against you.

“Fuck you, Jordan.” You glared venomously, taking steps back until you tumbled backwards into a random empty room.

“You know what, pretty? Why don’t you fuck me yourself?” He spun you around, your face against the wall. Punching the door button to lock you both in, engulfing you in darkness.

“The fuck are you doing, Jordan?!” You hissed, trying to push him away but it just ended up you grinding against his bulge.

“You heard me, princess.” He growled against your ear. “Fuck. Me. Yourself.” His ring glowed and you found yourself pinned against the wall with his constructs. 

“Let go!” You gasped, hating how his stupid ring made everything so powerless. 

“Ah- ah- ah-” He laughed, his uniform disappearing, leaving him starkers. “Behave or that mouth will go to good use-” 

“You put your dick near my mouth and I’ll bite it off.” You warned, masking how your underwear was already soaked through. The bound wrists were to your liking. You did that usually with partners. But he didn’t need to know that shit. 

You could feel his constructs undoing your uniform slowly. Your thighs were squished together to keep some form of dignity intact. You were not going to let this asshole know that you- 

“Fuck you!!” You snapped again. 

“I’m getting to it, darling.” Hal chuckled, his palms groping and kneading at your ass. “You, since the day you joined the League, I’ve wanted to fuck that attitude out of you-” 

“Ever since I joined the League, I’ve wanted to cut your throat-” You struggle against the construct.

“Stop fighting it, sweetheart. They don’t call me the greatest for nothing. My constructs aren’t-” He boasted and you grinded against him, his concentration breaking for a moment, the constructs faltering. You used it to your advantage, breaking free and elbowing his nose as hard as you could. 

He dodged the strike, grabbing your arm with a snarl. “Playing dirty, are we?” He twisted your arm behind you and instead of a pained gasp, you moaned. “Well, well, well- I knew you liked it rough.” He laughed against your ear. “You’re such a brat because no one’s ever fucked you right, hm?” 

You jerked your head back to headbutt him but he dodged it too. It wasn’t riling him up anymore. It was just turning him on. And not that you’d ever admit it, you were enjoying it too. For the first time, you were fighting and the other person was able to keep up. 

“I’ll give it to you like you need it, princess.” Hal licked your neck. “I’ll give it just how you need it.” The empty room glowed in green hues as a table breathed into life and he pushed you over onto it. “Last chance, honey-” His hand was skillfully undoing the zippers and buttons, hovering now on your underwear’s waistband. You knew you could stay stop and it would stop. Hal wasn’t the guy who would push after he was denied but-

“What? You a coward too now?” You goaded him. 

“You’re such a fucking bitch-” The smack that came down made your body shiver and your thighs clench. His hand was large and calloused and he hit hard enough that you felt the recoil across your body. You felt the breath get knocked out of you and shudder when he kneaded the tender flesh. “Now, will you behave, pretty thing?” 

“Fuck. You.” You bit out. In hindsight, not the smartest thing to say. Because the second spank that came down was harder. You yelped, trying to push away but his other hand held your wrists tightly at the small of your back. 

“As you wish-” Hal laughed, a pair of green scissors cutting away at your underwear. “Oh- So wet? All for me? I’m flattered-” His fingers teased at your folds roughly. 

“H-Hal-” You choked out but his middle finger was already knuckle deep.

“What was that, princess?” He leaned over your body. His hard cock against your ass. “You have to use your words.” He mocked. 

You clenched your jaw. No way in hell were you going to tell him that his finger felt good. That he was curling it the right way. You breathed through your nose, your forehead against the table, concentrating to not- to not- to not- 

“Oh god-” Oops- It slipped out. You were on your toes, legs were shaking, his thumb was brushing ever so slightly at your clit and you hated that you wanted more. 

“No, no, no, no-” Hal laughed, removing his finger and sucking it off. “You’re gonna hold it until I say you can cum. Got it?” 

“I’ll cum when I feel like it!!” You argued, trying to pull away from his tight grip. 

“Keep squirming.” He rubbed the head of his cock against your dripping cunt. Slowly, teasingly, almost mocking you. The head just almost at the entrance but not quiet. “It makes me want to fuck you harder.” 

“Big words for a man who won’t ev- AH!!” The words get lost in your throat in a cry of pain and pleasure as he plunges in fully. A string of curses left him and you. He stretches you to the brim, no longer holding your wrists, just the flesh of your ass. So tight, you know it’ll bruise later but god he felt so good. 

“Jesus, princess-” He groaned, “If I knew your pussy was this heavenly, I would’ve pushed your buttons sooner.” He started to move. But soon enough, his slow, measured thrusts turned harder, rougher and more erratic. His blunt nails dug into your ass as he moved faster, and all you could do was hold onto the table with desperate needy moans, trying to catch your breath. 

“Hal- I’m-” You tried, your legs were shaking so much. You were sure your toes would be blue with how long you’d been on them. 

“Not fucking yet-” He growled, another harsh smack! connecting to your ass followed with a massage. It just made you wetter. 

“Go to hell.” You moaned, holding the table so hard your knuckles were losing blood flow.

“Yeah? I’ll meet you there-” He laughed, rutting into you with a merciless pace, holding tightly to you. The recoil against your hips was harsh and you gasped every time his cock hit your g-spot so perfectly.

You were biting your lip hard enough to draw blood. Trying to control your noises as much as possible. The man did not need a bigger ego. He did not need to know that he could really back up all his bravado and ego with-

“Fuck- You’re squeezing me up, sweetheart. Gonna cum for me already?” He pistoned harder and you finally couldn’t help it. The sound that escaped you could’ve put a pornstar to shame. Hal groaned, his grip tightening, more curses falling from his lips. 

You knew you were close. You were trying so desperately to hold off. To not give him that satisfaction. To make him live with the fact that he didn’t make you cum but it was getting harder and harder to do. Especially when a construct glowing green hand snaked around and started to rub at your clit. You cried out in pleasure again, the coil in your stomach so taut, you knew it was going to snap soon. 

“Come on, pretty thing- I wanna hear what you sound like when you let go-” He groaned, his pace starting to falter just a bit. He wanted to cum, so badly, but heavens above he’d rather throw himself into the sun than finish first. 

“Fuck you, Jordan!!” You screamed and came hard. Squeezing everything he was worth, your thighs shaking, your back arching as the pleasure cut through you like never before. You hated it, you hated how fucking good he felt and how amazing he made you feel. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck-” He whimpered as his pace became erratic, shooting thick ropes, filling you so much that your needy, swollen cunt dripped to the floor.

He slumped on top of you, both of you breathless and boneless. 

“So, still wanna report me, sweetheart?” He asked after a few beats of silence. 

“Yes.” You mumbled, your pussy still throbbing around his cock.

Kinktober 2024.

[itsabea]

March x Reader | Walking You Home

Description: After the events of the Shooting Star Festival, March walks you home while you try your best to stay awake and coherent. But turns out March's a bit too impatient, and you've become much too sleepy.

Warnings: i started this just after the shooting star festival update and finished it today(aka this might be choppy),

Having watched the stars with March was like a dream come true.. And even the fact that he said yes to your invitation was a miracle in and of itself!

Still, despite March having accused you of messing with him, the night ended up being a memory that you hope you'll never forget. The stars were gorgeous, his face was picturesque as the lights of the stars flew past, and when you had turned to look back at the meteor shower, you caught March staring back at you from the corner of his vision.

But of course, the night couldn't last forever, and turns out, neither could your consciousness. After about your fifth or sixth yawn, March rolled his eyes and told you that he'd be walking you back to your farm. And so here you were, sleepy eyed with your body reacting exceedingly slowly as you tried not to fall off the tree trunk and into the river on the path to the Summit.

Of course, March didn't help much, mostly offering his judgmental stare and a few off handed comments. "Are your legs asleep or something?" He asked, his tone not sounding nearly as mocking and offensive as it usually was.

"Mm.... Sorry, I- Didn't think I'd be this tired.." You said back, stepping onto the grass before letting out a breath of relieve and triumph for still being upright, and most importantly, not in the river.

Continuing on for another step, you stopped to turn back to see where March was, only to find him directly behind you. And in that moment your sleepy state really showed. It took you a good few seconds to react and step aside so that March could also get off the large tree trunk and join you on the other side of the river.

Now following behind March, who was already a third of the way down the stairs, you went down the first step. Placing your foot on the stone made a low echo sound out from the contact it made with your shoes. A very audible sigh left March as you frowned tiredly and looked down at him, watching as he started making his way up the steps again and stopped two steps down from you.

There was a solid moment of silence, and your eyes had the time to slowly blink twice before watching March rather adamantly extend his hand out towards you.

"Like I said.. I won't here the end of it if you fall over and hurt yourself.. So just hurry up and take it..!" March clarified, looking away from you as you smiled and silently accepted the offer by taking his hand. You knew full well that you wouldn't make it home without stumbling over something, which is also fairly likely to happen more than once.

Slowly but surely, March guided you down the stairs as you internally started thinking about how warm and inviting his hand is. While his callouses were rough, and his hand was slightly shaky, it felt so.. Gentle and careful while holding your own.

Neither of you spoke as you got to the end of the stairs, over the pillar-bridge of the lower part of the river, and towards the Museum. Every now and then your eyes would slowly close before you had to mentally pry them open, and each time March would slow down slightly and lightly squeeze your hand that was still linked with his.

After you both passed the massive rock that you'd frequently crack open to get a quick sapphire, March spoke up. "How tired are you?" He asked, not a single hint of mock or accusation in his tone.

It took a whole second for you to fully register his question, and another second to give your answer. "Super tired.... Gonna sleep in till ten on purpose in the morning.." You managed out just before a yawn escaped you as you tried, and failed to stifle it.

After a few more steps in silence, March suddenly stopped, hesitatingly letting go of your hand before crouching on the floor in front of you. March somehow managed to sense the confused frown you wore, as he clarified his actions soon after. "Hop on.. You're taking too long." He said, and although you weren't fully convinced, you awkwardly got onto his back anyway.

Neither of you spoke for a while afterwards, and it was admittedly even more of a challenge to stay awake while being hauled home by March. Carrying the weight of your body seemed like no trouble at all for March, and not only that, but you could also feel the loud thrum of his heart beat reaching you from his back. It started out slow and methodical, but the moment you relaxed further into him, it started racing, almost as if he was panicked.

You didn't say anything, or, at least you didn't intend to. But unfortunately for you, March sounded out in reply. "I can't turn my heart off..! Sigh.. We're almost there, don't fall asleep yet, got it?" He said, making you sigh out a groan at the fact you couldn't fall asleep anymore.

It really wasn't much longer until you both entered your farm. The scenery wasn't quite how you wanted it yet, but it was getting there. March hadn't so much as taken a glance, making a direct, yet casual beeline for your home. It wasn't a long walk, but it did turn out to be long enough for you to start dozing off.

By the time March was at your door and asking you if you had a key, you were fairly unresponsive. The only reply you gave was a few half hearted grumbles and a final huff before weakly trying to kick the door open. March sighed at your attempt of you trying to enter your house, but instead of biting, snapping, or being a pain, he somehow ended up being.. Kind. At least in his own way.

"No key?" He asked, prompting you to shake your head against his shoulder before he opened your door. It took March no time to locate your bed and carry you toward it, and the mattress and blankets looked so inviting to you that you reached out for them so as to flop on your bed.

In the end, you not only landed on your beloved bed, but also took March down with you. And before you could even think about or debate the consequences of your actions, you went straight to sleep.

March, for one, didn't take to being dragged down with you and onto your bed too kindly, but before he could shout out a frustrated, and admittedly flustered response, you had started snoring. It wasn't loud or obnoxious, but it definitely sounded like you were exhausted. For March, it wasn't up to any kind of debate that you should rest, but he would've been lying to himself if he didn't admit that seeing you asleep was a.. Slight comfort.

But nevertheless, March took his leave, walking back to town and up into the Blacksmiths before heading to bed himself. All while not being able to wipe a fond, satisfied grin off his face, let alone knowing it was there. And the worst part? March wasn't the slightest bit aware that Olric had caught sight of him smiling as he headed to his room.

[ddarker-dreams]

Lock I need you to share something about Gojo. Jjk is getting worse with no hope in the future. Plis just a tiny part is god. 🙏🙏🙏🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

Detour.

Gojo Satoru x F Reader x Geto Suguru.

Warnings: Mild not SFW implications, Gojo and Geto are Not normal about you, exhibiting possessive behavior. Word count: 1.2k.

-Index-

"—Excuse me, miss!" 

The exclamation barely registers amidst the crowded street's ambiance. Everyone has a destination they're eager to reach, and you're no different. Unlike those native to the area, however, you're more likely to get lost; hence your current conundrum. 

You examine the mess of squiggly lines, blocks, and patterns intended to function as a map. 

Kagurazaka, Kagurazaka... c'mon, I know this one... it starts with the kanji for god or something, right? 

While you scrutinize the map, the same voice from earlier calls out again, this time beside you. You glance around, not wanting to respond if he’s trying to flag down someone else. In doing so, it becomes increasingly obvious that you’re who he’s been trying to grab the attention of. 

From the looks of it, he’s a man in his late thirties, wearing a suit that could use a good ironing. You can’t recall meeting him before. Then again, you’re not privy to everything that happens back on campus. Meetings with influential figures frequently occur without your knowledge. You only ever find out about them later when Satoru loudly voices his critical view on everyone who attended. You are wearing your uniform, it’s recognizable to those in Jujutsu circles. 

You’d rather not stir up a scandal by unintentionally snubbing a Zenin or someone equally important. With this in mind, you politely inquire, “Can I help you?” 

“That uniform… you’re a high schooler, right?” 

You nod, figuring that this confirms your hypothesis. 

“What year?” 

This question makes less sense. Maybe he wants to know your proximity to Suguru, or, far likelier, Satoru. These types always have their own designs for the pride of the Gojo clan. 

“I’m a second-year.” 

“I see, I see,” he begins rummaging through his blazer’s inner pocket. He procures a business card and holds it out. “How about a job? From the looks of it, you’d make a good fit.” 

You blink. 

Are you… allowed to do freelance work? You’ve heard of specific sorcerers being requested for jobs, but that’s always been through the school. Besides, as a Grade Three, you don’t think you can go on unsupervised jobs. Not wanting to seem rude, you reach out to accept the card— 

—Only for it to be intercepted. 

“Sorry, she’s completely booked,” a voice that sounds the furthest thing from apologetic chimes in. 

Gojo Satoru stands to your right, adorned with his circular sunglasses and trademark grin. He rips the card in half without so much as a second thought. You stare at him, incredulous. Questions swarm around your head. When did he get here? How didn’t you notice him until now? Why does his cursed energy have such an unnerving quality to it? 

He bends down and hangs his arm around your shoulder. “You’re somethin’ else. Ignoring Suguru and I’s calls, chatting up strange men in Kabukichō… I swear, we can’t take our eyes off you for a second.” 

“Wh— I’m not chatting anyone up!” You whisper yell. His infinity nullifies enough for you to jab a finger at his chest. “Why can’t you give better directions?! ‘West of the Edo Castle’ doesn’t tell me anything, it just sounds like a TV drama!”

Satoru shrugs. “Should’ve just asked an auxiliary manager to drop you off.” 

“You might treat them like a personal taxi service, but I’d rather not. Taking the train’s fine.” 

The man finally overcomes the shock inflicted by Satoru’s audacity, taking a step forward. “What are you, her boyfriend or something?” 

“Bleh, no!” 

“Future husband.” 

Yours and Satoru’s responses come out simultaneously. 

“In that case—” 

“Excuse me,” A new presence interrupts the increasingly irritated man. Suguru wears a friendly smile which somehow comes across as more menacing than Satoru’s wolfish grin. He places a hand on the man’s shoulder. “You are aware that it’s a minor you’re trying to recruit, correct?” 

The man flushes at the accusation. “Listen, I dunno what you’re trying to accuse me of—” 

“I’d hate to see you get in trouble for a mistake like that,” Suguru cuts him off again, raising his voice ever so slightly. This attracts the attention of some bystanders. “Who knows what consequences that’d result in, especially for a married man like yourself…” 

Huh. You hadn’t even noticed the gold band on his ring finger. Suguru’s nothing if not perceptive. 

Nearby commuters whisper amongst themselves while eyeing the scene. The man’s gaze flits between a self-satisfied Satoru and an overly polite Suguru, eventually settling on an escape route. Wordlessly, he departs, although you swear you overhear him muttering ‘crazy kids’ and ‘doomed girl,’ along the way. 

“Yo, Suguru. Took you long enough.” 

“Unfortunately, not all of us can teleport.” 

“Your curse did a better job at tailin’ me than you.” 

Ignoring the jab, Suguru dusts his hands off while honing in on you. “You alright? You weren’t answering our calls.” 

“And you’re late,” Satoru whines. He helps himself to searching through your purse, taking your pink Razr hostage. “Huh. Battery’s dead.” 

Suguru appears content. “What’d I tell you?” 

“If she’s blocked me before, the same could happen to you.” 

“I wouldn’t block Suguru.” 

“She wouldn't block me.” 

This time, it’s you and Suguru who speak concurrently. Satoru pouts, putting his hands up like he’s under attack (which he probably believes himself to be). You snatch your phone back without issue, unlike when he last stole it. He unblocked himself and dangled it above your head until you promised you wouldn’t do that again.

“And here I was, about to treat you both to pastries,” Satoru sighs, melodramatic as ever. 

“While we were waiting for you, I noticed creampuffs and macaroons on the menu; which would you recommend?” Suguru inquires, not bothering to acknowledge Satoru’s complaints. 

“That depends on what you want from the experience,” you mimic his decision. “Creampuffs tend to be one flavor, whereas macaroons come in multiple, so the variety’s nice. When I get a variety pack, I always end up disliking one of the flavors and wishing I’d just gotten my favorites instead.” 

Satoru sighs as loud as he can. “Right, right, I’m just a walking wallet. Let’s get going before someone else solicits [First].” 

“Eh?” You turn your head to face Satoru. “‘Solicits?’ As in…?” 

“Se—” 

Suguru slaps a hand over Satoru’s mouth. “What he means to say is that this isn’t the best area for a high school girl to linger.”

“W-Wait, hold on! I thought he was like a… er, how would you say that… sorcerer employer?” 

They both stare at you. 

“You do know what Kabukichō’s famous for, right?” Suguru tentatively asks. 

“Hm? ‘Kabuki’ is a type of traditional theater, isn’t it?” 

“...” 

“...” 

“Let’s just show her what we mean,” Satoru bends down, picking up two halves of the business card he split in half earlier. “It’ll be a good lesson. I’d rather not have to come fetch her in this place again— oh.” 

Suguru inspects what has the power to shut Gojo Satoru up. You watch as his eyes move back and forth, his face shifting while he does so. His lips narrow into a thin line when he pulls back. Curious, you stand on your tiptoes, hoping to catch a glimpse yourself. Thankfully, there’s yomigana above some of the kanji you don’t recognize. This eliminates any possibility of you misreading the card’s contents. 

‘Oh’ indeed, you think. That poor guy…

It’s a business card for the company that oversees AKB48. 

[r7leee]

ever thought of Dominic x famousgf!reader doing it backstage on his concert but the mic accidentally still being on so everyone could hear..?

talk like an angel | d.f.

oh GOD this one wins. this was actually so fun to write, hope this lives up to expectations <33

pairing: dominic fike x fem!famous!reader

summary: after an exhausting show, all dom wants to do is lay down with you. well, maybe more than lay down…

warnings: cursing, smut (duh), fingering, p in v, unprotected sex (WRAP IT BEFORE YOU TAP IT PLEASE), embarrassment ig?? also be warned it’s a very long buildup i apologize 😭😭🙏🏻

word count: 4,580 (i am so sorry.)

@saf-the-great

IT WASN’T SUPPOSED to happen. the media wouldn’t be harassing your privacy, fans wouldn’t be repetitively posting on socials, you wouldn’t be a disappointment to your label if it all wasn’t for some stupid mistake.

arguably, it could’ve been prevented if dominic wasn’t a complete star-stricken mess over you, but you wouldn’t ever wish that. not when he’d coax those pretty noises out you like witchcraft.

which was what he did that night.

between the two of you, it was pretty safe to say you could handle tour. you were both relatively known artists who’d been in the industry for a few years. hopping on a bus and seeing the world for a few months wasn’t hard.

the thing that made it difficult this time was the relationship. it wasn’t an issue for dominic in the past, his tours being relatively small, meaning the homesickness for his past lovers was minuscule.

but, with his new rise to fame, larger venues were booked with more stops. and for some reason, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to go that whole time without seeing you at least once. it scared him.

see, you never had this issue, as you’d been between relationships during tours. this would be new to both of you.

you promised to keep in touch as much as possible, daily updates on life back in the city and how the latest show went. you told each other it could work.

and it did. for a while, at least. you honestly expected it to happen sooner.

it was about four weeks in when you didn’t know much longer you could take it. his side of the bed no longer smelled like him. all the messes he made in your apartment were cleaned. his collection, however sparse, of his items on the bathroom counter were gone. you missed it.

he missed it too. every morning, he would wake up, half expecting your figure to be lying next to him in a half-awake haze, until he realized all that was there was a pillow he’d been grabbing on to.

you especially knew it was time when he started asking for photos. videos. whatever he could get his hands on (literally).

dominic and you had a very…honest relationship. whatever the two of you wanted, you promised to say it. so, when you found the courage to speak to him about taking photos, he wasn’t one to deny.

he found himself enjoying it after a while, reaching over in the middle of his dick practically splitting you in two to grab his phone and take a video of the rapid in and out and how your tits bounced.

so, there was no shortage of photos and videos on either of your phones. which is why it surprised you when the message came down on your screen at a particularly late time at night.

“babyy ik it’s late but i miss your 🍒”

“can i see 😩”

of course, you had no opposition to it: it took you literally two seconds to just lift up your shirt. but, it made you think. he’d never done this before, not in the 8 months you’d been dating. that had to mean a lot.

it was only two days after you decided it was time. you called your manager and told her you were booking the soonest flight to cincinnati. she replied with a dissatisfied tone and a whiny “are you sure?”, but she got over it after your prominent insistence.

you packed about two weeks worth of outfits, your makeup, skincare, and other essentials, before promptly leaving for ohio.

one day later, and you were standing in the cincinnati airport with zero direction of the world around you. you wore a hat and sunglasses as you hunched awkwardly in a corner, texting reed, dominic’s manager.

he seemed surprised you flew all the way there, which you found funny. what kind of girlfriend would you be if you didn’t?

reed gave you the venue he’d be playing that night, promising he’d alert the staff you could get in for free. he also offered to hook you up with a hotel for the night, compliments of him.

you smiled at the courtesy, but told him it wasn’t necessary and that you already booked one before leaving. his reply made you raise an eyebrow.

“good. you’re gonna want one.”

the indication of what that meant was unclear, but you just shrugged. maybe he was simply suggesting the bus wouldn’t be a comfortable place to spend the night.

after everything was arranged, you ended the conversation and stepped out into the summer air. you flagged down the nearest cab and directed it to your hotel.

the whole day, you decided to keep the knowledge of you being in the city to yourself. when dominic texted, you acted like you were at home and he was none the wiser. you found it funny, even if he had no way of knowing.

downtown ohio wasn’t really on your bucket list of places to visit, so you mostly spent the day to yourself. that was until 5:00 pm rolled around.

you’d always cared about your appearance; you wouldn’t be caught dead with a single hair out of place, a fear of the paparazzi making you susceptible to beauty trends. but this wasn’t the fear you normally felt. you just wanted to look pretty for dom.

you weren’t sure why you were worrying. your boyfriend usually didn’t give two shits how you looked; hell, he’d fucked you in the shower with a shower cap on. but, this was extra special. you knew he needed attention, and you wanted to deliver.

it took you an hour to get ready. your hair was done neatly in a style you knew he liked, your makeup creaseless and effortlessly blended (but catered to run if the events called for it), and your outfit was skimpy, but popped enough to be considered chic. you were perfect.

you left an hour early for the show. hiding your face with its usual camera disguise, you called an uber to the venue. as instructed by reed, once you were dropped off, you made your way to the back.

when you pulled up, you could see a long line of people, all fans of your boyfriend. it sometimes shocked you how many people actually listened. it was crazy to know it wasn’t just you sometimes.

the sound of your heels clicked as you walked around to the back. you were sure somebody would stop you, some worker would tell you the area was employees only and you’d have to plead your case.

but, to your surprise, there was nothing: only a dumpster, a semi truck, and a creepy looking alley. you weren’t sure which option was better.

you found yourself sitting on a staircase leading to the back, hoping the dirt wouldn’t ruin your dress. you pulled the material taught to your skin as the sun started to set, causing the air to cool. when was he gonna be out here?

it wasn’t quick, but after a while, a sound from the door behind you emitted. it made you jump, but you immediately calmed down when you saw reed’s tall figure in the doorway.

you gave him a small smile as you stood up, now pulling your dress down. “what’s good?” he asked with a smile, pulling you in for a quick hug. you and reed had gotten to know each other ever since dom and you had been together, and the relationship you had was something in its own category. he looked out for you.

you replied back with a simple, “not much. my boyfriend’s doing all the fun stuff.” you stepped inside as reed shut the door. the area was small, meaning you could hear the chaos of the backstage area outside pretty clearly.

“speaking of,” he started, walking up to stand beside you, “he’s in his dressing room right now if you wanna see him.” he looked you up and down. “sure he’d be happy to see you.”

even just thinking about him made your cheeks flush. “ya, where is that?”

he walked ahead of you, giving you a “come here” motion. he popped open the door, revealing the commotion outside. “i’ll show you.”

you carefully walked out of the door and into the chaos that was the backstage. crew members were running around, making sure the spotlights were working, the band’s instruments set up properly, the mic being adjusted at the right volume.

it’d been a year or two since this chaos was centered around you. and you kind of missed it. but this wasn’t about you. you snapped out of your daydream, following reed, who was now a few steps ahead of you.

a small walk later, and you arrived at a wooden door with the word “dominic” lazily taped on. he gave you a smirk as he tapped on the door. a distinct “what?” came from the other side of the door. his voice was a bit irritated, similar in tone to when you two would be caught by paparazzi.

“yo,” reed called out, opening the door without an invitation. he looked at you one more time. “he’s all yours,” he whispered before walking away, giving you a small salute.

your heart beat fast as you opened the door fully. there he was. messy brown curls and pretty brown eyes angled perfectly to meet yours.

it didn’t take him more than a second to register the fact you were here. right in front of him. his eyes widened, staring like that for a second before he stood up, clumsily, like he couldn’t believe he wouldn’t do it in the first place.

“baby.” that was all he said at first, walking up to cup his hands on your cheeks. you were sure he could feel the heat there.

“hi.” the word made him laugh softly, before immediately pulling you close to his body.

“baby, oh my god. how are you?” his voice was high, in that pitch only you got to hear.

“fine,” you responded, teeth full on display in a wide smile. he kept laughing and shaking his head, not fully grasping onto the fact yet.

he moved his hands to your waist in a simple action before whispering, “come here.” next thing you know, his lips were on yours. chapped and dry and somehow still so perfect. you missed this.

but, much to both your dismay, there wasn’t much time to be catching up. dominic was to be on stage in an hour, and he still needed to get his mic pack on and any final touches.

you still followed him, though, your manicured hand slotting in his. you filled each other in on your lives, how the bus had been and how la was still as hot as ever.

the chatter couldn’t have lasted longer, you thought, as you prepared to watch your boyfriend go on stage. you stood behind him, gently massaging his shoulders. “you’re gonna do great,” you whispered in his ear. as much as he didn’t want to admit it, praise did him wonders sometimes.

he laughed softly, causing you to feel his muscles rise and fall. “ya, i know i will,” he replied, turning around.

“ya, ya. i shouldn’t be supplying your ego,” you teased. he rolled his eyes, both of you knowing he barely had one. suddenly, a voice from beside you caught you off guard.

“dom, you’re up in two,” a crew member told him. you groaned, not wanting him to go.

dominic nodded, replying with a signature, “thanks, man.” the crew member nodded, then ran back to whatever he was doing. dom sighed, turning back to you. “i’ll be back soon enough.”

“i know.” you were staring at the ground before looking back up at him. one last kiss later and a large shriek of the crowd, and he was on stage.

there was something about dominic’s concerts you always loved, and it wasn’t just because he was your boyfriend. there was something so special seeing him perform these songs for people other than you. seeing how his silly little lyrics brought him to a venue filled with intent fans.

at some point, dominic had stopped to take a break. he leaned against the mic, staring out to the crowd. to his success. he stood with a smile, before speaking.

“i know i’ve been thanking y’all for comin’ out tonight…but i also wanna thank someone very special.” his head turned to yours, and when his eyes met yours, you swore it was like the first time you met all over again.

“wanna thank my girl in the wings here.” the crowd cheered, the hardcore fans knowing exactly who you were. some tried to move their position to spot you. if you weren’t so hooked up with your boyfriend, you’d be a little mad.

but all you could focus on was his eyes. his smile. how he was so genuine. he seemed to feel the same way too, ducking his head slightly. “wanna dedicate this next one to her.”

you weren’t sure what to expect when the opening chords of the song started. but, a few seconds later, you recognized the song to be what kinda woman. it was one of your favorites, one he often played while you were falling asleep, resting your head on his shoulder.

during the song, he stole a few peaks at you, singing different verses that held heavy meaning. it made your heart clench.

once it was over, a big smile overtook his face, his gaze still laying upon you. he brought the mic up to his face and announced a simple, “i love you,” before continuing on with the rest of the set.

at the end of the show, you were eagerly waiting backstage. what was going to happen was beyond you, either a tired or a worked up dom ready to approach.

the second dominic got off stage and managed to make his way through the huge crowd of crew, he ran to you. you smiled, running into his arms. he was sweaty and panting but you didn’t care.

“you did so good,” you told him. he smiled at the praise before pulling your head out of his shoulder to kiss you. it was a perfect mix of gentle and passionate.

“thanks,” he replied after pulling away.

naturally, dominic wanted to get cooled down after the show. so, you both headed to his dressing room. he immediately sprawled out on the couch in an exaggerated form, all of his limbs spread out.

you felt the need to do something, so you offered to grab him a water bottle. he replied with a tired, lifeless, “yes, please,” which made you laugh.

you popped out of the room for a couple seconds before grabbing one in a nearby cooler. you walked back to the room, spotting dom still in the same posture. his eyes moved to look at you, your location making it to where he had to tilt his head back. it almost kind of looked like-

“you good?”

two words that made you snap out of your thoughts. god, what were you doing?

with a curt nod and a dry throat, you replied with a simple “ya.” it made his eyebrows crease, the way it sounded so forced.

after a few more seconds of observing his features, you handed him the water. his fingers grazed against yours and you swore your whole body was on fire. now was not the time.

he thanked you while you found a seat on the other side of the room. you couldn’t be feeling like this, but at the same time, you couldn’t look away.

you wouldn’t dare redirect your gaze as his fingers encased the lid and unscrewed it. as he put the bottle to his lips, you could only feel your cheeks getting hotter. your thighs clenching together.

you didn’t even realize you were staring until he warned you, voice slightly raspy from the show minutes ago. “baby? babe, you good?”

your eyes snapped up, similar to a hollywood movie where a character was caught daydreaming. “hm? ya. ‘m good.” your lips suddenly felt dry, your tongue jolting out to lick them.

and for some reason, with some unbeknownst instincts, he knew what was happening. he knew the ache between your thighs from all the nights spent taking care of yourself and he knew damn well he could help.

he also knew he shouldn’t. be he wanted to. and sometimes that was all that mattered.

dominic beckoned you closer, the energy in him minimal. right now, he was saving it all for you.

you crept forward until you were hovering over him. his sweat dripped face and shirt already discarded on the floor weren’t doing you favors right now. “come here.” he patted the area right next to him on the couch.

you hesitated, wondering what would happen. he patted again, louder. “seriously, sit.” you didn’t need to be told again.

the couch shifted under your weight as dominic sat up. your faces were mere inches away from each other now. there were no words exchanged. all that happened was a press of lips to another.

kissing was always something dom was good at. he could sense how to navigate it, when to pull away, when to trail down. and that shone its light now.

the kiss was soft at first. you needed to make up for all the small kisses, after all. all the kisses before rushing out the door, all the kisses of getting home, all the kisses in the mornings…

but that quickly faded. the hunger you both inevitably felt was taking over. it was only natural after being so far apart.

you could barely even feel it, too caught up in the moment, but your back was pushed to lay flat against the couch. when you pulled away, only for more obscene activities, there was a string of saliva dangling between you two. how stereotypical.

dom paid no mind, wiping his mouth with a tattooed hand. his position over you was one you’d longed for months to come. what you missed more, though, were his hands.

they trailed from the back of your head, nestled in your hair, to down your back. his nimble fingers gripped the zipper of your dress with practiced precision.

for a second, he looked at you so sweet and sincere. anyone who doubted him as a nice person was wrong. they just weren’t looking hard enough.

but, the second your head nodded in compliance, it was gone. it took him mere seconds to get the dress off and throw it across the floor, landing on some nearby chair.

you felt under his mercy but at the same time, you almost liked being picked apart like this. you liked how his hands knew just how to get your bra off, liked how he was so fast, so precise.

“god, i missed these.” his breath was raspy as your tits were freed from the confines of the lace. if he were in a calmer mood, he’d likely make a joke about “his girls,” maybe give them a small slap to make you laugh. but he wasn’t exactly in a laughing mood right now.

he slid down ever so slightly, immediately taking a bud into his mouth. it elicited a gasp from you. sure, you’d roll a nipple between your fingers to get you going, but it was nothing like this.

the combined slick of his saliva and slight coolness made you flush bright red. you pawed at the couch behind you as he bobbed his head slightly, letting out little “mhm”s.

after giving ample attention to one, his mouth was only off you for a second before switching to the other. it was like if he was gone for too long, it’d kill him.

his tongue continued to swirl in tantalizing patterns until he deemed it ready. he pulled off with a small “pop!”, then massaged the areas he had his mouth on. almost like he was trying to infect the saliva into your skin. it made you moan.

you watched him, after a few seconds of rubbing, shift downwards with his hands sliding down to your hips. dominic lowered his body down on the ground, knees hitting the cement floor beneath him.

you could barely contain your excitement as his fingers practically ripped your panties down, also now on the floor.

when you were now spread on the couch, naked and vulnerable, all he could do was stare. he got lost in the curves and twists of your body. you were sure he’d gone paralyzed or something, the way he was just gazing.

you laughed, turning your head. “what?”

his eyes immediately trailed up to meet yours. it made your breath hitch. he just had some kind of look that his layers of yearning beneath it. “let me look, k?”

so you shut up fast. let him look at you like a feast he was ready to dig into before his hands nudged your legs wider. he grabbed one leg with his rough fingers and propped it over his shoulder.

with the other, his thumb landed on your clit. it traced a couple seconds, then trailed immediately down to your entrance. it shocked you, making you elicit the tiniest little gasp. you could see a hint of a smile on his face.

he spread your lips open to see the wetness pooling there. it made him groan. “don’t worry, it’s gonna feel so good.”

and without a further warning, two fingers were immediately inside your aching cunt. it took everything in you not to practically scream.

see, there was a difference between your fingers and his. yours were long, but skinny. they hit that special spot with ease, but they could never truly fill you completely. you were always left feeling a little underwhelmed.

but dominic’s hands did just the trick. his fingers were a perfect combo: long and slightly larger than yours. and not only that, but his countless guitar sessions made him experienced with moving. grabbing. thrusting.

so to finally, finally feel them within your walls again was angelic. orgasmic.

dominic’s fingers kept a steady rhythm. in and out, in and out, like the beat of a crude song. you didn’t know what to do, slapping your hand over your mouth. your whines were a stark contrast to the sound of wetness filling the room.

and when his fingers curled up, you swore your body was levitating. out of every lover, every toy, every quick fuck, this was the best you’d ever felt. no sounds came out of your mouth, anything other than basking in pure pleasure being too exhausting.

his words weren’t helping you much, either. “god, still so tight…shit, might have to warm you up more for this dick…you look so pretty…think you can take another, baby?”

which is why when his fingers left, you immediately retaliated. your eyes shot open, hand coming off your mouth. you couldn’t even open your mouth to speak before he cut you off. “don’t whine, ‘s gonna be alright. gonna get this…dick inside you.”

he trailed off, almost confused, but you swore you’d never seen anyone take off their pants faster. the fly was unzipped, button undone, and the whole material pooling at his ankles before kicking them off in a matter of seconds.

he was left in his boxers, earrings, and a necklace with his logo on it as he moved up the couch to lay down. he patted his thigh. “want you to ride it.”

you weren’t one to complain. definitely not when he pulled his boxers down and you saw him completely hard and waiting.

so, you moved to hover over his lap, knees stabilizing you. then, with a wide smile, you sank down. your head was immediately thrown back and a shared sound of pleasure emitted between you two.

you weren’t sure what it was, but right then, you were hyper-sensitive: you could feel everything. could feel your walls tightening, could feel even the smallest veins on his hard dick.

so, it was almost a challenge to move your own hips. but you wanted to make him proud.

you picked your hips up, moving up about halfway on his length before letting your pussy sink back down.

the feeling of it all made you go slow at first. you wanted to bask in the feeling of having him in you, here, right now. but, apparently, dominic wasn’t feeling it.

his hand came around your body to smack your ass. not hard, just enough to send a message. “you can go faster, c’mon.” it was more of a demand than a reassurance. you could tell.

so you picked up the pace. you weren’t sure how you were doing it, his dick penetrating you over and over again feeling like pure euphoria.

and it stayed that way for a good minute. deep moans and wet sounds of hips slapping together until it wasn’t.

you were lost in the moment, when suddenly, a loud bang on the door that could disrupt the deepest sleeper shot you out of your thoughts.

presented with fight or flight in this situation, you froze. your eyes launched open, head moved back in place, and you stayed split open on dominic’s dick. you could barely hear what the person on the other end of the door was saying. “dominic! stop!”

you didn’t recognize the voice, making your heart beat pick up as his head tilted towards the door. “what the fuck do you want?”

“for you to put your clothes on and come to this goddamn door!”

your heart dropped to your feet. you could see it in your boyfriend’s fave, too, as he remained still for a few seconds. “fuck.”

he looked up at you apologetically before rushing across the room to find his clothes. it took him a minute, his hands a little shaky as threw his shirt back on.

he was kind enough to throw you your dress, which you changed into shortly after him. you weren’t sure what was happening, but it was likely the backstage crew had heard you. simple as that.

dominic approached the door and opened it. what you didn’t expect was a crowd of people worthy to make up a whole musical cast to be on the other side. even worse, they all looked horrified. this couldn’t be just a simple leak.

your boyfriend shut the door, but left a small crack. you didn’t want to be caught up in the drama, but you wanted to at least know what was going on.

you stood behind the door, slightly peeking your head out to hear. it was clear you missed some parts of the conversation, but there were lots of words thrown around that were repeated. everyone. malfunction. serious. fuck. why. your name. microphone.

it made you sweat bullets. your body was still in slight shock from the subtle interruption, but the small piece of your brain still working was slowly piecing everything together.

if dominic’s mic pack was still on…and there was an error with the system…wait-

your puzzle piecing barley even registered before your boyfriend was standing in front of you again. his eyes were locked on yours, a look of fear in them.

“everybody in the venue just heard that.”

[serve-corps]

BEDTIME STORIES

Frieren x fem reader

one-shot of two immortal beings vs a normal family

3,635 words 19,726 characters

please enjoy <3

Even after centuries of being married, nothing has changed.

Opening your bedroom door, you saw a lump of bed sheets and pillows in the centre of your mattress, white strands of hair led sporadically like seaweed made of silk.

You pulled back the curtains as your feet dragged along the cold stone floors, the light flooding in on the large lump of cloth, it began to stir and groan with mumbles attached.

walking over to the lump, you sat down on the bed next to it, pulling the cover off of its face, to reveal your wonderful spouse who'd slept in until 12 o'clock. Her face scrunched at the light, and she flipped herself over, hiding her face into your leg.

your brow twitched as annoyance flickered in your mind. 'Haven't you had enough sleep, dear?' you thought to yourself before you squeezed her nose, stopping her breathing. She eventually opened her mouth and snores leaving her body, resorting to you rubbing your temples, trying not to giggle.

sitting up from the bed, you leant against a wall, making the light shine directly on her face, which was once again scrunching up at the brightness.

"Rise and shine. you've got half of the day left." you said quietly with a sing-song voice.

she slowly sat up with her eyes still shut and threw her legs over the side of the bed, pulling her blanket to wrap around her shoulder, the sleep obviously still tempting her to lie back down.

you let a few quiet huffed laughs and walked over to her, gently picking up her hands and pulling her to stand up, the blanket following.

"Reminds me of when we got married, of course, if you showed up at twelve in the afternoon with your blanket as your wedding dress, I wouldn't expect any less." You chuckled as she grumbled sleepily.

She sniffled before cracking open her eyes and craning her neck up to you. Her voice came out grumbly and quiet, her eyes still droopy as she looked at you,

"Well then, you may kiss the bride." she said before she leaned into you for a hug. This brought you into another fit of chuckles as you remembered she barely knew what she was doing when you two got married all those centuries ago.

"Aaalllright. lets get you ready for the day, dear." wrapping an arm around her shoulder, you sit her down on a stool in front of a mirror, leaving her there and shuffling through her wardrobe, picking out her normal outfit, you chucked it at her, she didn't even try to catch it, she just let it flop on her head.

you sighed, walking to the hopeless cause and pulling the clothes off of her head, seeing her hair even messier than before, you snorted. Grabbing a hair brush, you slowly and softly brushed out the tangles.

"When I'm done with this, I'll go get you a snack and you get changed, okay?" you hummed out, raking your fingers through her hair just to check for any final knots.

"mmm..." her head drooping as she responded to you, barely managing to sit up straight.

after you finished taming the mane she had on her head, you patted her and walked out, getting a snack which ended up being a banana, deciding to get her a glass of water as well, you slowly walked back to her room.

Once you opened the door, you walked in on her, just pulling the skirt over her hips. Your cheeks were slightly pink as you looked away and walked towards her, placing the snack and drink on the mirror stand.

she yawned as she spoke, adjusting the skirt, which was the only thing she had left to do.

"Even after all these years, you still blush like that at just the thought of me changing?"

you stuttered and tried to protest, but the warm look in her eyes stopped you,

"That's a good thing for me, I guess." She let out a small smile, she picked up the banana and chomped down on it, eating it quickly, drinking the glass of water as well.

"Hush. two centuries is barely any time for us. we're technically newlyweds!" you huffed, walking through the door, greeting Fern as she was walking in through the front door, deciding to sit down at the table to organise some herbs.

"You know (y/n), you're too soft on mistress Frieren. She should have been up hours ago," she grumbled as you sat beside her, nail varnish in hand, a colour you liked and that your wife also liked.

"Yeaaah, well, she's my wife, so I might as well treat her like royalty." is all you mumbled out, and in return, Fern gave you a disgusted look, making you pause painting your nails.

"What?" you asked, tilting your head. Fern just huffed and continued organising her herbs that she picked from the neighbouring woods, some you weren't even sure if they were safe for consumption.

Sitting in silence with one another, you were painting your nails while she was reading about the herbs she just picked, you were finishing your design with some little white flowers, when Stark slowly opened the front door.

He dragged his feet like they weighed tons, brushed and battered from rigorous training. He pulled up a chair and sat at the same table, slamming his head face-first into the hardwood that did nothing whatsoever to cushion his abuse. His stomach let out a loud rumble, and his voice followed in suit,

"(y/nnn), when are we having foooood?" Crocodile tears were in his eyes as he groaned and whined like a child.

you flicked your eyes over to fern, leaning to her and asking in a hushed voice,

"Do you want some food as well?" If more than one person is hungry, you'll happily get your hands dirty and make some food for everyone.

just as Fern was about to answer, your Frieren strolled in, staff in hand, scraping the floor as she pulled it through the doorway, still rubbing the sleep from her eyes, cute.

"well, I think we should wai-" Fern continued until Frieren spoke up in a groggy morning voice that was slightly more awake than earlier,

"I'd like some food...want some help in the kitchen?"

you snickered as Fern just sighed, accepting defeat. Meanwhile, Stark looked like he could flop onto the floor out of joy, a bit pathetic, actually.

"I'll be alright, dear. I'll just be making something simple for lunch anyways." you say, standing up from the table and rolling up your sleeves, letting the elven tattoos on your arms be visible, smirking as you walk to the kitchen.

"Alright, suit yourself." Frieren plopped herself down onto a chair, watching over Stark and Fern, sometimes offering advice with the herbs, making sure they were not cross-contaminated. She incinerated the earwig on one of them with a high-pitched screech, very audible to you in the kitchen, making you giggle softly as you made some crackers and cheese, using what little of the smoked salmon you have left just as a treat.

handing out all the plates to the arguing children in your eyes, you gave Frieren her plate last and sat next to her, she decided promptly to use you as a footrest, you rested your plate on her shins as she obviously wasn't moving any time soon.

as she shoved a cracker into her mouth, obviously lacking manners, she mindlessly decided to say,

"At first glance, people could mistake us for a family." As soon as she finished her sentence, she clamped her mouth around another cracker, crumbs going down her shirt, making her attempt to brush them off in a hurry.

All that Fern responded with was a firm glare, making Frieren look off to the side with a pout. stark chimed in, trying to not laugh,

"Certainly not a happy one." You covered your mouth and pretended to cough to mask your smile.

"Mhm. whatever. Stark, you're washing the dishes." She stood and walked towards the sink, half hazardly tossing them in there, as a sort of revenge that he'd have to clean it later.

"wha-?! this is straight up bullying!" she retorted, throwing his plate in the sink as well, following after her, comments being thrown his way only for him to throw it back.

silence fell upon the table.

"They're going to be like us." You broke the silence, taking a sip of tea you poured earlier with magic,

"What makes you say that?" she asked calmly, turning to you.

"Do you remember a few hundred years ago, all we would do was bicker? That dwarf that we travelled with every now and again always used to tell us to shut up and get married, or shout that the love birds were fighting." Taking another sip of your tea, you sighed,

"We both looked up to that kind man... now look at us." You looked at the ring on your left hand, a wedding band with a shape moulded that looks like vines and flowers made of pure silver.

"he was right. we really are like two doves that kept flying into each other." You were about to add another comment before your wife cut you off,

"And now the roles have been reversed, we're Cupid's helpers in this situation." She takes your teacup and sips gently, only to place it down and stick her tongue out.

"Bleh. too sweet. I never understood why you like more sugar in your drink than the actual leaves themselves." She ate her last cracker to rid the taste from her mouth.

"It's simple love, you never steal it." You took another sip as she grumbled and threw her legs off your lap. Good thing your plate was empty because you forgot to take it off her. it clashed to the ground, needing you to bend over and get it.

when you stood straight again, you turned around to scold her, but you noticed her eyes shot upwards, like she was caught looking at something. apparently, even this innocent elf wants to look at your ass when you bend over.

placing a hand on your hip and having a smug smirk dance across your face, she looks back at the herbs Fern left on the table, trying to play it off,

"What?" she asks,

"Want me to drop the plate again?" your smirk never leaving your face.

"No, don't damage it." Her face was trying to fight the pink battling to show on her face,

"It's a shame you don't know photography magic, see how it could be useful?" you giggle, sitting back down on your seat, just in time because Fern and Sark walk back in, still both grumbling, mostly Fern.

"hush.." Frieren mumbled to you, kicking you softly on your leg.

Stark sits back down, while Fern picks up her forgotten herbs from the table,

"I bet she's going to poison me with one of those." Stark said, but Fern didn't even acknowledge him, seemingly ignoring him. "Oh come on! you can't be ignoring me, Fern!"

she walked out without even a glance in his direction, "she's so mean!"

he rests his head on the table once more as you turn to Frieren,

"You wouldn't give me the cold shoulder, would you?" you asked with nervousness. She smirked, then her smile vanished as if it were never there. she stood from her seat, picking up her plate and your own, not responding or looking at you, and tossing the plates in the sink.

you pouted and looked down, only for her to walk around your chair and wrap an arm around your shoulders, giving your cheek a gentle kiss, your face feeling warm before she let out a happy 'hmph!' and walked away, following Fern.

you wonder if you need to do a check to see if you're related to Stark because the way you slammed your head into the hardwood table was identical to how he did earlier. scaring Stark almost out of his seat to see you with a bruised forehead, leaving him confused.

"She always does this when no one is looking...." you mumbled into the table.

a few short hours later, stark had finished washing up and you now had nothing to do, your nails were painted, your hair was done up, you've already prepped a meal that can be made in about ten minutes, you're wife is gone, fern's off exploring-

wait.

your wife is gone?

the thought made you stand up, not really frantically but more like 'I miss my wife, where is sheeeeee!' your inner voice cried as you started to look around your makeshift home, checking the bedroom first only to see her absence, checking the bathroom by knocking the door to get no response.

off to find Fern you go. Seeing her in the bar less than a minute away from the hotel you're all residing at, you walk in and sit next to her, noticing her accompanying Stark as he drank to his heart's content.

"Hey Fern, have you seen Frieren anywhere?" you asked, trying to seem bored but failing.

"Please don't forget to use your brain every now and again. Where would she normally be?" she stated rather than questioned, trying to demonstrate that you don't actually need to think that hard when it comes to your wife.

"Right.... to get another grimoire..." Standing from the sticky table that was probably drenched in booze that had now dried, you walked to where the mage's shop would be. seeing the spell books and ingredients in the window.

'oh yeah, she's here.' you thought to yourself, your own voice drowning you in sarcasm.

walking through the doors, hearing the bell jingle as it notified the owner a new customer just entered, you walked up to the front desk.

you were greeted by an old woman in a hood, shrouding her face in darkness, as she had an eerie smile on her face, her nose long and pointy, enough to encapsulate how witches look in fairy tales.

"Hello ma'am, I'm looking for an elf about this tall, white hair in ponytails?" you asked softly to the woman who clearly has a dated view on mages, specifically female ones.

"what's it to ya?" she grumbled, her smile turning into a snarl, a sharp thrust of her head made her eyes visible, one eye looked damaged and the other just looked...crazy.

Sighing to yourself, you calmly spoke to the woman with the same kind calm tone,

"She's my wife. I need to know when she's coming home for dinner because the children are going to be annoying when they get hungry." shaking your head, exasperated. hearing nothing but silence and a weird look from the fake witch at the checkout area, you look around the shop.

"Ah. there she is. Never mind, madam." Walking away, she gave you a huff as you walked away.

walking over to Frieren, who was looking in detail at this chest, you quickly cast an assessment spell. As the spell worked its magic, you now stood next to Frieren, wrapping an arm around her waist and pecking the side of her head.

she looked towards you with a disgusted look, only for it to change to a neutral one when she recognised you. A small smile graced her face as she leaned into you.

your result from your spell took longer than expected,

"Huh. A 50% chance of a legendary grimoire and a 50% chance of a mimic vampire crossbreed." you muttered, now you understand why she was looking at it so intensely.

'Actually, I don't want to think about how a mimic and a vampire breed to make this abomination....ew...' you thought to yourself.

"ill either get a grimoire or make this thing stronger by letting it drink my blood...." she muttered.

"I'm glad you know how drastic this is, come on Frieren, lets go ho-

you were cut off by the sound of her checking out the lock that held the chest shut. She was crouched on the floor with her knees up to her chest. She looked up at you like this was the obvious answer.

"Frieren. back away from it. leave it."

she pouted and stood up, walking away from it,

"Further..." you chided.

she moved further as you asked, only a few steps, but the sparkle in her eyes never left as she kept staring at the chest.

"Further..." you grumbled out.

once again following your demand, she kept walking backwards until she hit the desk where the fake witch was sitting.

sighing to yourself, you turned around to look at the chest again, only to be startled by the sound of coins slamming on a desk. Turning to face it, Frieren had thrown two silver coins on the table to pay for the chest, shocking the fake witch and you.

without missing a beat, you heard the lock jiggle before melting off because of heat magic Frieren used, the smile on her face more excited and evil that that of a adrenaline junkie.

"NO!-" you shouted, however as you lunged to push her away from it, she opened it and it was actually a grimoire, the realisation hit you while you were still airborne so you landed of Frieren anyways, both of you sitting up excitedly to look at the book of spells, she picked it up and ran out of the shop.

you looked around confused, then followed her, running down the street. Some people thought she stole something of yours; however, when you got home, you both rushed to your shared bedroom, jumping on the mattress.

you pulled back the blankets, meanwhile kicking off your boots. Frieren was hopping around on one leg, getting one boot off her foot while holding the book in her other hand.

you led down in the middle of the bed, resting your back against the headboard while the blankets were waiting for Frieren to join.

she plopped herself on the bed, getting between your legs and lying her back against your chest, book raised over her head as you wrapped the blankets around both of you, getting comfortable before you read the entire thing. our version of bedtime stories.

your chin rested on her shoulder as you read silently together in contempt.

a hour or two later, you were both a quarter ways through the book before Fern knocked on your door, nervous to peek her head through,

"Are you both decent?" she asked with a sigh, making you both a little flustered, Frieren less so.

"Yes, fern. you can come in." she said casually, letting Fern slowly open the door before walking in on you both cuddling and reading.

"You know, we're a lot more careful now since... You know... Then." You blushed a bit and turned away.

"Well, that traumatised me, and I bet it still would. I don't need a sequel to my PTSD." she sarcastically returned your comment.

a huffing fern walked towards the bed, sitting down next to you two. you pulled back the blankets as Frieren closed the book before nudging herself over to make room.

if Fern was blowing up a balloon, it would have popped by now because of the sigh she let out for the umpteenth time, kicking off her shoes and taking off her cloak before joining Frieren in the family cuddle between your arms and legs.

pulling the blanket back over all of you, Frieren opened the book again, returning to the page t the one you both were on. another half an hour flew by as you and Frieren were invested before Fern's head finally fell on Frieren's shoulder, completely asleep.

you chuckled softly as you heard another knock at the door, you whispered a quiet 'come in' and in walked Stark who was slightly tipsy from being in the pub earlier, he walked on over, taking his own shoes off and sitting next to you, on top of the blanket and falling fast asleep on your shoulder in record time.

you and Frieren looked at each other and giggled.

"whaddya know. we are like a family." she muttered, closing the book and leaning her head back onto your chest with closed eyes.

"I suppose we are." You turned your head at an angle in placed a soft kiss to her lips as she smiled and let out a pleased hum.

You waved your free hand to summon your staff, giving a few flicks before casting a photography spell. dispelling your staff, you whispered in Frieren's ear,

"20 minutes. then I'm making food."

"Okay."

A peaceful silence fell upon all of you, two asleep and the other two embracing. once the twenty minutes were up, you gently woke up Stark, while Frieren woke up Fern, who was the first to notice Stark's hand around her waist, causing a screaming fit and a cat and dog chase outside of your bedroom.

"I don't just get grimoires for the spells, you know... I also get them because I love doing this with you. and let's be honest," she stood up and fixed her hair, letting you get out of the bed, allowing you both to slowly make your way to the kitchen.

"Those storybooks are nowhere near as interesting as you." You leaned up and pecked your cheek, leaving you to do the cooking as your family now awaits their food.

[saint-strychnine]

two-backed beast

Ogata Hyakunosuke/reader "In which the stereotype about single women and cats rings true. Or: An exercise in self preservation and androphobia" Rating: Explicit (18+) TW: Parental death mention, female loneliness, paranoia, misandry, misogyny, unreliable narrator, psychological decline, explicit sexual content, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, mental instability, agoraphobia. Word count: 13.2k AO3: Pharmaceutica

There's a reason that male animals kept in polite society are neutered. Farmers keep one rooster, a handful of bulls- separated, typically by pasture- and whatever variety of studs or sires are penned on an agricultural estate. Stallions are gelded to make them placid, good natured, and so friendly they are the ideal steeds for children to mount. Reason would have it that they are illogical beasts, driven mad by lust and domination to the point of killing other males of the same species and his own offspring. The annihilation of order is male nature if castration is off the table. Humans, somehow, missed such a memo on a grand scale.

You are 25 when your father dies.

The funeral your mother arranges last minute is in every shade of hurried, only a few family members made the begrudging trip to offer condolences on a muggy August night. You remember her crying and acting as if the sky had fallen out of the sky, the devastation wrought deep and unrelenting in every corner of her soft face. You do not feel much. He was not a bad father or even a bad man, overtly, but you cannot help but feel that maybe this is not the worst outcome. He perched himself like a fat house pet in a recliner most nights and his hair was falling out. Maybe it was time for this to happen. He was only a few years older than your mother but he happened to age at nearly triple the rate. What an alarming sequence of events. Maybe he was dying this entire time and nobody ever even knew. After all, he did not always look this way.

"You're a strong girl," Your mother says, her voice is shaking and a hair above a whisper "You're strong for me." Her grip is cold and corpselike as she presses her face into your stomach, kneeling on the ground. Your poor mother, clammy fingers pet through her brittle hair and a painful lump pangs in your esophagus. Seeing your mother cry is such a disturbing thing.

Maybe something is fundamentally wrong with you to mourn your mother's grief over the death of your father but feel next to nothing now that man who raised you is gone. Again, you remind yourself, he was not a bad man. Your mother cries most nights, the bags under her eyes are inflamed and pregnant looking and her face sags with misery. Cooking dinner has been your chore for about two years and neither parent would complain about the quality of the dishes, but now you feel an insurmountable pressure to fix your mother's hellish state with food.

A fool's errand if there ever was one.

Retreating to your bedroom after the dishes are cleaned up is your only option and quite frankly, you can only listen to your mother's raw voice for so long. I'm a bad daughter, you'd think, peeling back the covers of your bed and crawling in after a too hot shower. The fabric is cold on your skin and the whir of the desk fan next to your bed makes goosebumps erupt over your flesh. Maybe if you were a better daughter you would have gone to the grocery store and bought a nice pork belly and some flowers and treated your mother to a dish she grew up eating, but you have unfortunately come to find a sense of comfort in the death of your father. A threat neutralized, a parasite expelled, an infection quelled.

The next morning you don't bother changing out of your pajamas, just like the morning before and the one before that. You don't leave the house, you're not dirty per se, and there is nobody you are trying to impress here, therefore there is no logical reason for you to change out of your pajamas. Your puffy mother is too stricken with grief to nudge you out of the nest to go buy fruit or go for a walk, so she sits at the breakfast table with a room temperature cup of tea with her hair a mess and says nothing about the fact she has seen you wearing the same thing for four days straight.

"Could you do something for me?" She turns to you, eyes sunken in. It strikes you as an uncomfortable sight.

"Yes, what?"

"After breakfast, please get the mail. Your father's friend said he sent a card with a little money in it," nod, nod, and one more nod. You're not paying attention too closely as you refill the electric kettle that is nearly as old as you are, watching as the appliance bubbles noisily when you turn it on. Damn thing probably gave me lead poisoning and made me like this . It wasn't like you were strapped for cash, but with your father's death there won't be extra income coming in. Your mother may expect you to get a job now.

Something about the sun on your skin never failed to make you nauseous. You try not to perseverate over a little two minute errand while you blow on your tea, the taste of last night thick in your throat. Everything about this morning was less than ideal, if you ever had imagined such a concept of ideal before. Regardless, it wasn't nice. You weren't particularly thrilled with it, and you contemplated what you might wear to go to the mail box. You're 25 and deliberating how bad of a social faux pas it might be to get your mail in something less than business casual. An intentional slurp of hot tea draws you out of your thoughts.

There is a gray cable knit sweater you have in the back of your closet that you haven't touched in two years. There is also your skirt from high school, an ankle length beast of fabric that devoured your womanly form in a single swallow. Perhaps there was a comfort to being consumed by your clothing where once you had been eaten, you were no longer appetizing to those around you. Your mother watched you drift up the stairs of your home and back down in a ten minute succession, her supple eyes looking wary as you go for the mail key. Part of her was back, you supposed, seeing that flash of mild discomfort was enough. She never did get rid of her habit of chiding you for being slovenly.

The sun aches against your eyes and skin, and it bites when you flinch at the unrelenting sensation. A wrinkle in your nose has your eyes squinted as one foot pushes in front of the other and carries you, an empty vessel, down the pavement. It's just getting the mail, it isn't supposed to be anything terrifying, but the sensation of eyes follows you. That was the thing- after you graduated from high school and your friends drifted off like dandelion fluff, you had taken a deep comfort in the walls of your bedroom.

Slotting the key into the paint chipped mailbox, you're greeted with the sight of a small envelope perched upon a magazine for a makeup brand, below that is an advertisement for window repair, and under that is something from the funeral home. Half tempted to throw that one into a storm drain, you tuck it under your arm and turn around and damn near launch the mail into the air upon seeing a man standing behind you, equally as unenthusiastic to be at the mailbox as well. Your jump of surprise must annoy him because his cat-eyes narrow, but beyond that, he makes no other cue that he's displeased.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," Your mother starts, tearing into the envelope once your retreat was successful from enemy territory. Her voice is gravely from last night's crying.

"I ran into a neighbor when I wasn't expecting it."

"Oh," She doesn't bother to read the card, counting up the yen that spills out. "I would've thought it was a stray dog. I keep telling that old man down the street that it's going to get shot if he lets it roam around like that. Which neighbor was it? Was it Watanabe? She's nice. Left us flowers last week, you know."

"No, it was a man." Well, you're not sure if it was really a man. He looked more like a cat and had deep, unsettling black eyes.

"Mm. I see, I think you probably saw Kadokura then, the other old man. He's also friendly. Your father was friends with him."

"He was younger than Kadokura." Was he? You're not exactly a fan of this guessing game as your mother counts up a plush stack of yen- A little money my ass. Mr. Kobayashi has always liked mom. Your eyes narrow. It looks to be at least 50,000 yen based off of the crisp bills. You want to sneer at such a lowly, wretched display. Truly something grotesque. You wonder if your mother is privy to Mr.Kobayashi's advances.

"So a young man? I think Tome Ogata has a son. He lives with her, to my knowledge. That's probably who you saw."

"...okay." You're not sure why this has her interest piqued, but you don't intend to stick around and find out. Her gaze is already smoldering into you as you take your leave to wrestle out of your skirt and sweater and crawl back into bed.

Unfortunately this would not be the last instance of Tome Ogata's impact on the world coming around to haunt you, or more specifically, your sanctuary. The next morning you hear the voice of a woman mingling with that of your mother's. She speaks in a hushed tone and you can hear the soft clinking of your mother's wedding bone china tittering in between woman-speech. Twenty five is patently too old to be sitting on the steps leading from your room but it is in your interest and decidedly your mother's that you listen in. You don't know this Tome your mother addresses so gently, what if she is aware of your father's life savings? People do strange things when men die. The sleep is still crusted in your eyes and your skin feels a touch greasy, perhaps you don't descend the stares out of shame for your neglect of hygiene, or maybe you don't want to see the same cat-eyes from yesterday.

"I'm so sorry to hear of your husband's death, losing your lover can be difficult," Tome doesn't sound all quite there and you can hear the unwrapping of a teacake from the cupboard. Your cousin sent those over two days ago and they're going into the belly of someone you don't know. Heaving a sigh, your mother sits.

"It is what it is, really. I was always telling him he needed to stop eating the way he did and put the bottle down. Every day he'd grow fatter and fatter and more tired," stab, "His doctor tried to tell him. His friends tried to tell him. I tried to tell him. He would not even listen to his own wife. He'd tell me he'd start losing weight soon, or perhaps when the financial quarter at work was over," chew, sniff, point at the woman across from her with her tea fork, "He wouldn't change for anyone. I told him he'd miss his daughter's wedding if she ever got married and he'd never see her off properly. He deliberated over that one." It was your turn to sniff, sour lemon scrunching your face. What a repulsive notion.

"Men are frustrating and mercurial. I understand your pain. Reasoning with them can be fruitless, I lost the better part of my life to pining after one," Tome's bone colored fingers are clasped around her tea cup, her gaze is intense as your mother rubs her cheek. "Somedays I still think he'll call or write. My son tells me I need to stop living in the past. But my point is that you did what you could. Please don't blame yourself." You're unburdened, now.

"I just wish he didn't kill himself, I really feel like everything I did for him is down the drain. I've lost the man I've loved for as long as I can remember." Your earliest memory of your father was him taking you to a park to feed ducks and patiently spoon feeding you a little bit of ice cream in your stroller as leaves rustled impatiently around you two. Now both him and the man who lived in the recliner are nothing but ash on your mother's nightstand. Your toes curl into the worn down soles of your slippers as you continue to listen in. Tome offers your mother advice that you approve of, not that you have any business delegating yourself to being your mother's owner in wake of your father's demise. You can't even stomach a trip to the mailbox without running from your neighbor and bitching about the sunlight on your face. To what end are you an authority in any matter outside of your bedroom?

"Sometimes," your mother begins with a familiar water logged tone "I feel as if my daughter is not coping."

"She lost her father. It will be difficult for her for a while. When my own parents passed away some days I could not even pull myself out of bed and my son would have to wash my hair for me."

"Ah, my daughter cooks for me... The night he passed away she got me into bed and laid with me. I cried a lot, I fear I haven't let her cry or process her emotions, I've relied on her for the home to be kept up. It should be the other way around, I think."

"No no," Tome waves a hand. Where is she going with this? You can't see the pair, but you can make an educated guess on their mannerisms. "It is okay to rely on others. You trust your daughter, yes?"

"Of course,"

"Then trust that if she felt she was burdened she would tell you." Tome speaks as if she knows what she's talking about. She doesn't, you're sure of it, and you've heard the woman slept with men for money. Perhaps this is a skill she's picked up, appropriate, solid advice that is appropriately applicable yet you get the sinking sensation she does not practice what she preaches.

"But, another thing," your mother grips the bone china cup, glancing haphazardly at the steps. "She's asleep still," she is not. Tome blinks, expecting some revelation about the assumption. "My daughter is 25, her father is dead, and she's lived at home with us for seven years. She attended college locally at a small University. I'm afraid she may stay here forever and die in this home as her father did, as I will, and then her. I have no other children, Tome, I can't take care of her forever. What should I do? She's never had a boyfriend."

"I see," ice crystalizes in deposits under your skin, right into the layer of adipose fat. Tome sets her cup down. "Funny enough," there's nothing funny about this "My son Hyakunosuke is in a similar boat, a little older than your daughter. After he was in the army he came back to live with me and got a job in an office. No girlfriend, some days I don't think he has friends at all. He's a handsome enough young man, but he simply is in his own head too much."

"Yes, my daughter is like that too, I tried for years to get her to put herself out there, but you can only do so much. Her friends are all married and she's at home with no prospects. Once my husband's funds run out she will have to help support us. I'd like grandchildren, Tome, this family is only getting smaller as the years pass."

Maiden. Mother. Crone.

As you dwell on the repetitive cycle, you draw yourself a steaming hot bath and force yourself to scrub away the days worth of sleep off of your skin. Something about a woman like Tome speaking to your mother makes you uncomfortable. Your mother always said Tome was beautiful and worldly, but syphilis had touched her mind and she had gone a little crazy from the years of pining after her child's father- apparently some political bigwig now. You don't understand why women engage with them, you don't understand why they birth their children and want for them, you don't understand why they do all of this just to have the fruits of their love grow fat and old and bloated. Perhaps you're missing something vital that every other woman seems to have, perhaps you were born deformed and lacking an organ that would allow you to see the humanity in the opposite sex. Dragging a washcloth over your face you deliberate and turn the thought over in your brain until it's sandblasted down into a smooth pebble. You make two conclusions, wholly informed by your own observation.

1. Men are fantastically parasitic animals. They must be, in some way, alluring enough to get a partner. Once secured, they dig in and become too comfortable.

2. Self preservation erodes significantly over time and having children exponentially speeds up this process. It is also irreversible and manifests brainwashing.

Why your mother would ever suggest you partake in such a vicious cycle is beyond you. Perhaps she secretly dislikes you and wants you to suffer just as she did in the end. Perhaps this is one step closer to self actualized womanhood , or whatever that is. You would never become a woman like Tome, you would never become a woman like your own mother. Indignation flares within you, a rare instance of bitter frustration licking at the innermost membrane of your brain. It bubbles and spits like pork fat in a hot pan.

Tome becomes a regular guest at your house for some reason.

The woman is clearly versed well in the art of speech despite her starved brain, every conversation is a meal to her and every complementary sweet and drink in front of her is merely nibbled at. Tome thrives on gossip and struggle more than she gains sustenance from food. Even still, she's a beautifully shaped woman with a beautiful face and a deep practiced elegance about her. The first time you miscalculated your descent from your bedroom you made eye contact with her and nearly started crying. The gap between you was cavernous, steep, and yawning, it was like seeing a groomed show cat perched in your kitchen, an oversized silk yukata half hanging off the old prostitute.

"Hello."

"Hello, Ms. Ogata."

"You can call me Tome, you don't have to be so formal, we're neighbors. How are you doing? Are you holding up alright?" Ah, perhaps you feel guilty for judging the woman. She's just lonely, clearly.

"I'm okay." Well, that's all you say before you feel awkward as Tome waits for you to supplement a little more into the conversation. She's starving, can't you see it? "...Thanks for coming by and talking to my mom. All of her friends moved away. Her best friend lives in America now and they can't talk much."

"Of course, it's always nice to get closer with someone else. Your mother's a good woman, I'm very sorry about your father."

"It's alright, it's nobody's fault." The lie tastes sweet and measured on your tongue, like a sugar cube weighing exactly six grams. Maybe if the fat bastard hadn't ate and drank himself to death he'd still be here, albeit slightly less fat and rocking back and forth in the recliner like a drinky-bird mechanism. Tome's expression softens very slightly at that, her fist curling like a paw and her cheek resting on it.

"If you ever need to get out of the house you're always welcome to come over for tea or lunch. I'm home most days and my son works the weekdays."

"Thank you, that's very nice to offer." You can't imagine anything more awkward, but Tome smiles all the same, her pretty lips quirking up. Busying yourself, you make yourself a reheated bowl of leftovers and squirrel yourself up to your bedroom. The taste of leftover soup lingers thick in the back of your throat like cobwebs, and the bowl remains half finished and room temperature on your desk.

Something questionable lingers in the back of your brain, nestled deep between the sand blasted pebbles of prior ponderings and the other rougher works in progress. Sunset brings a blue wash over your bedroom, oozing in meticulously through the pinholes of the blinds. The glow of your phone screen and the hovering of your thumb over your keyboard was not a new sensation, in fact it was the thing you did to occupy your time more often than not, but an itch had to be scratched. You were privy to a lot about your body, exceptionally well acquainted with being your own lover had given you more than a decade of experience of what had to be done. You were, unfortunately, curious.

Hyakunosuke Ogata is 30 years old and works for a data processing company as an IT specialist. You heard Tome say his name a few times, Hyaku, Hyaku, Hyakunosuke.

Cat-eyes stares back at you with the same robotic expression in his corporate profile under his public resume and you scroll, thumb tacky against the scuffed screen protector, another thumb half jammed in your mouth. This feels wrong to be doing, like you're some kind of creep for being curious about the man who's mother has inserted herself rather brazenly into your life. Your mother doesn't complain, so you don't understand why you feel compelled to do so. Part of you is afraid she'll spoil your mother. Tome's morals are not your mother's morals and absolutely not your own, after all, you fear her influence will spread to her taking up Mr. Kobayashi on a date. How ironic of a daughter to fear for her mother's purity at the hands of a friend she doesn't approve of.

You swallow. Cat-eyes is the son of a whore. He's handsome enough to be the son of a whore, He clearly got a lot from Tome, just not her seductive eyes. You wonder briefly if Cat-eyes can pull the fine line of slovenly and erotic the way his mother so effortlessly does. Ah, what a sight it'd be. Part of you doesn't believe Tome is correct when she asserts her son is as alone as you are. Men are sexually driven animals, aren't they? It's what kept food on the table at the Ogata residence for so many years- a rather grim and bleak thought if there ever was one. Perhaps Cat-eyes lies to women, including his mother, and he keeps a low profile. Maybe he-

Your fingers are inside of you before the thought can reach a conclusion and your cellphone is dropped onto your duvet. What's one more stain? It's your bed after all.

An illusion shatters the morning you walk downstairs having made peace with the fact that Tome would likely be there and thus you had no reason to restrict your movement to only your room while you starved all morning out of indignation. Hyakunosuke is sitting with his mother across from your own and suddenly you feel beyond nude. Tome's eyes crinkle and your mother cranes her neck, a twitch forming in her eyebrow.

"We were just talking about you."

"Ah."

"This is my son, Hyakunosuke." Oh, you're well aware of that. Cat-eyes gives you a polite nod and says hello, his mother petting his arm soothingly as if she were stroking an uneasy animal. It's surreal. Your mother chews on her words before she spits them at you, thinly veiled contempt leaking from her painted mouth. There was always a sort of cardinal sin about being dressed the incorrect amount around men. Another social construct you didn't fully comprehend as you shakily go for a canister of green tea.

"I was hoping you'd be dressed. You know we have company."

"...Sorry."

"Oh, it's alright, really, we don't mind."

"Thank you, Tome, I swear she has manners."

The man you're pointedly not looking at has said nothing, but you feel his gaze on you. Unbeknownst to you this is something he specializes in as Ogata has perfected the art of latent discomfort to an almost terrifying degree.

Cold sweat drips down your spine as you clamor around the ancient kettle and pour a hot slush of water over your tea leaves and watch as the yellow seeps from the pouch. Making assumptions is often a losing game, but when a risk this large is present in your home you have to afford to assume the worst. You came from my rib, did you know that? Such disrespect from the filthy animal sitting in your kitchen makes you hesitant to throw a look at him one last time as you retreat to your room, feeling dirty and sticky in all the wrong places. Ogata's voice is low and rises with little effort to quell the conversation between his mother and your own- what he's saying, you don't know. Your home has been compromised, a man has been here that was not your father.

A very frank conversation is had when the guests leave. Your mother grips your arm and sternly tells you to sit down. Your humanity is pouring out of your body like a leaky faucet, its a tangible feeling and it feels like the drop in a rollercoaster.

"I was disappointed that you didn't come talk with us."

"Sorry." You aren't. Your mother does not flaunt you like you're some prized debutante, pimping you for praise.

"You have to understand that your place in this world only becomes more confined the older you get. Your father is dead." You know. She takes a breath, removing her hand from your arm. "I know you're going through a hard time. But it's not healthy to hide inside all the time and you've done this for years, it's nothing new. I think you should start going over to help Tome for a little money and just to get out of the house. Make her dinner a few nights. I'll be fine here. We spoke about it with her son, and he's not opposed to it. He mentioned her mental facilities fail her occasionally and she has a habit of making the same thing for nights on end."

"Okay, b-but"

"No. No you're going to do this, it's not cute anymore. What will people think of you when you're 30 and have no husband, no children, no way to provide for yourself?" Well. It works for Cat-eyes, Hyakunosuke, but you hold your tongue. If you were a better daughter you would've been dressing up this entire time with a proper display of flowers on the breakfast table each morning and new flavors of tea cakes. You'd have your lips painted and a beautiful silk garment hanging off of your body like water. Your mannerisms would be poignant and measured, you'd be elegant like a crane in a tidepool.

Tome is thrilled to have company.

The Ogata residence is, externally, a humble thing but the interior is decorated with a fine touch. No doubt Tome is a woman with a taste for fine things, and what you can assume is gifts from prior suitors and lovers dominate every inch of the space in which she dwells. You're not quite sure how her son can stomach a notion like that, having the leering presence of men etched into the very domicile he shares with his mother. You're chopping up a head of cabbage when you formulate another stone to sandblast- perhaps Hyakunosuke's relationship with his mother is no different than that of other men?

Cleaving down into the crisp leaves you turn your tongue over in your mouth and it feels heavy, like a glass paperweight. The smell of incense singes in your nose, Tome is humming something softly as she strokes a rather plump looking tuxedo cat. Deductive reasoning has led you to the conclusion that maybe Tome is just another resource of Hyakunosuke's, maybe she's just an extension of himself that all men collectively leech from in some way or another. But, you have no brothers, so what do you know, really?

Tome does not make a habit of complaining about your cooking, in fact she seems quite pleased to be eating something she didn't have to make. Based off of what you know you get the impression her tastebuds have been numbed to enjoy even the blandest of dishes. When you enter such a line a work you're not really yourself anymore, right? You're somebody else, you're someone's idea come to life. Your chopsticks pick up a square of okonomiyaki that falls limp against the wooden utensils. An appetite is hard to come by when your bizarro-world self sits across from you, gleefully and delicately nipping little pieces of her dinner like a finch.

"You're a good cook! You know, your mother said that was always your chore at home."

"Yes," You dip your piece back to your plate, sopping up bonito flakes. "Thank you, I'm glad you like it." That feels right. It's hard to meet the pretty woman's gaze, her hair loose and curling like cat whiskers. Speaking of, the feline she was tending to earlier has made a home for itself in the crux of your crossed legs.

"Did your mother teach you to cook?"

"No, I had a recipe book I learned from. It was very old and simple. My mom never was good at cooking, nor was my father." Tome nods along like she's interested to know more about you. It feels dirty, in a way.

"My son is actually quite good at it. He's an avid hunter, spent a great deal of time in Hokkaido and picked up some of the cuisine there. Sometimes I think he wishes to go back and leave Tokyo, but he insists he's fine here."

"I see." You've never been to Hokkaido. Your mother always said it was snowy and mountainous, many people there enjoy a beautiful landscape and mild summers and there's plenty of untouched land. The concept of virginal land is a vexing thing. You shove the soppy piece in your mouth and masticate on it for a while.

"It's noble of their children to take care of their parents. You share that in common with him. I really think I'm the reason he hasn't left yet."

"I wouldn't want to leave my mother either."

"Ah, but she's a good woman. I wasn't always so attentive to Hyakunosuke, I think it's why he's such an independent man."

"Maybe," Tome watches as your hand falls and cups the tangerine sized skull of the cat dozing in your lap, the creature curls like a ribbon and stretches like rubber. "I think my mother worries I'm not independent enough. But I reason that someone has to take care of her. Good daughters do that."

"Yes, but you must live for yourself too."

"I think I live for myself enough."

As you leave for the night after cleaning the kitchen, you dwell on what the woman said. Tome speaks of living for herself and you scoff. A woman who lives for herself does not do so in the beds of parasites with heavy pockets. That makes her no safer, no more dignified than a tree who is swallowed up by kudzu- an inanimate thing at the mercy of the organisms around it. Your mother is sitting in the recliner when you get home, in her hands more mail.

You hope none of it is from Kobayashi, the lech.

"How was Tome?"

"Fine, I think. I made her okonomiyaki, she didn't complain." You rinse your hands in the sink and your mother jeers her head.

"You have cat hair all over you."

"Yes, she has a cat. It's very friendly."

Your soak in the tub that night goes on far longer than your mother would have liked and you get out only once she bangs on the door to get her own bath. You're only in a short towel when you emerge and your mother pinches your shoulder lightly, a soft smile on her face. She laughs when your fingers pinch her cheek back with a tenderness you didn't know you were capable of, the give of her skin so very soft and full of love. She calls you a silly girl and wishes you good night.

Cat-eyes doesn't know it but you've been touching yourself after you come home from tending to his mother. There's a sense of imperiousness that comes with moving freely in the Ogata household, putting your hands on his silverware and his mother and his pet cat that doesn't seem to know the difference between a stranger and a family member. Tome tells you about him rather incessantly, as if she's selling you a used car or an item on clearance.

"I'm very proud of him, he was a superior private officer in the army," she declares one day, threading a ribbon around the throat of the squirmy pet cat. "He got a good education too, he makes good money for himself."

"Is that so?" Of course he's celebrated even if he's a bastard. You know about the Hanazawa scandal, the pig.

"Mhm. Your mother tells me you're still single."

"Oh." Tome looks nervous when your face falls, picking grapes off of a stem at the counter and slicing them in half for a fruit salad.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to come off as rude."

"It's alright."

"Do you have any plans to find a boyfriend? You're a pretty girl." You slice grapes faster and you feel a cold sweat bead up on your neck. A whore calling you pretty? You don't believe it. Tome is pretty, Tome is so pretty in fact that you're not quite sure what she's doing even wanting you around her. Perhaps the older woman likes to feel superior over you, perhaps this is that female-posturing rearing its head that was so prevalent back in school. You shrug, it's all you can offer.

"No, I've never had an interest, really. It just never was a priority."

"Nobody likes to eat Christmas cake after the 25th."

"Cake is good any time of the year, I think..." This is the most brash she's been with you, and you're too anxious to see that it comes from a place of concern. Hyakunosuke comes home early that day, the cat in Tome's arms chirrups to life and bounces from her lap, trotting over to him. You hear his low register say something to the animal and he emerges from the living room with the cat tucked in his arm like a baby. Tome clasps her hands and you start to slice into a pineapple, the crush of the fruit under your knife grounds you.

"Hyaku, welcome home, how was work?"

"Fine," The cat its kneading against his chest, its eyes squinted in euphoria as he drags his thick fingers under its fuzzy chin. His gaze focuses on you. "I wasn't expecting company, I thought I was cooking tonight." Tome waves a sleeve, a tight smile on her lips. "Nonsense, we can all eat together." You busy yourself in your work, preparing dishes as the mother and son duo chat among themselves. He's a man of few words and has an air of unease about him.

Having spent the better part of the day feeding Tome placating half-lies and awkward phrases of self preservation, you don't think you're equipped to handle her son. He's a different beast entirely, and his presence is far more foreboding than you were anticipating. He can play your game of ignoring the other, and you get the sinking feeling he's figured you out entirely. The man seems to hold you in little regard and focuses his attention squarely on his mother. Before you can make any further judgements, you have to focus on making peace with the possibility that Hyakunosuke Ogata has already dissected you and put pinned descriptions into each one of your organs.

Supper tonight is gyudon with a fruit salad dessert. It's a simple dish as all of your dishes are, and you swallow down your meal in terrifying mimicry of Tome's own mannerisms. She's a woman, you, somehow, are not and your failure to self actualize such a notion keeps you scared in the presence of the man sitting across from you. Tome's hands find her son's arm, and she squeezes the thick muscle.

"Do you like it? I think it's very good. If you weren't so dedicated to your own mother I might just steal you!" Her laughter is soft and sweet like a lark and you follow suit with sparrow noises, not quite as alluring. This feels like a losing game no matter what pieces you play. Hyakunosuke nods, sitting ramrod stiff and with his dark eyes fixated on his bowl. "I agree."

"Careful, I might just have to marry you off to my son and keep you forever." The man next to her gives her a look and she guffaws, patting at his shoulder. Your eyes don't match the light smile on your face, you're oozing with discomfort, with some sort of godless repulsion that doesn't quite manifest.

"I'm glad you like it."

Cleaning the kitchen and refilling the cats water dish before you go to leave calms your nerves, but only slightly as Ogata helped his mother to the bathroom to wash her hair and get her ready for bed while you scrubbed at bowls that left nothing more than a few grains of rice in them. Your own personal audience has not shut their eyes once since you've started coming over to tend to Tome. To think women could end up like her makes your skin ripple and crawl, to think women like her produce sons makes you nauseous. The man is a culmination of lust and obsession, of infidelity and exploitation. Ogata doesn't represent anything more to you than the misfortune of women in society, therefore, he's something you tuck away and only play with when it comes to bringing yourself to orgasm. It's only fair, right? He's a pool to drink from just as his mother is, everyone else has had a taste so why shouldn't you?"

Bumping against your legs, the soft nose of the cat pushes against your ankle and winds against your feet. The hot water burns against your skin to the point your nails start to hurt, but you just want to get the job done and go home. You can smell too much of Ogata in his own home, his cologne permeates in the background noise of the air like a subtle miasma and it's making your stomach feel strange.

"My mother seems to think she's hurt your feelings."

For the second time you nearly throw what's in your hands into the air, turning around and shutting the water off. You go for a dish towel, immediately.

"Oh, not...not at all, really, I promise. Why, is she alright?" His gaze is hard and the cat has left you, slinking against the man and leaving fur on his pants. A strand of his black hair hangs over his face like a whisker.

"Yes, but she's overstepped, she realizes that."

"It's fine, my own mother talks like that too, I think all mothers do that," He's difficult to hold eye contact with. He's geometric in every facet, like a mathematical equation that gained sentience, but not nearly enough to be considered an established person. Ogata sweeps his hair back, glancing at the animal desperately fawning for his touch at his feet.

"She wanted me to tell you she apologizes."

"That's okay, nothing to be sorry for," is all you feed these people lies? You seem to lie every time you open your mouth.

"If she says anything inappropriate it's because she's losing her mind, don't take it personally. She has a habit of talking about things she probably shouldn't," a twitch in your eye forms as you drag the dish rag over the water stained countertop. An air of nonchalance and calm is getting more difficult to administer as the seconds tick down.

"I understand," you'd like to smack him for the way he dismisses his mother's faculties.

"I scared you again, didn't I?"

"You have quiet feet. I'm jumpy."

"Clearly."

Ah. This, you fold the rag up, your back to him as you try your best not to let the disgust show on your face. He scoops the needy animal up in his arms and sits down at the countertop you just wiped off, staring at your rigid motions. You can hear the flicking of a lighter behind you. A smoker, bastard, and son of a whore? Hyakunosuke keeps sinking to new lows.

"Humor me here,"

"Sure."

"You're nearly 26 and you've never left your mother's side. Why?"

"I would ask you that but your mother says you stayed in Hokkaido for a while," the words are difficult to force out with a dry throat, and you hiccup on your speech when you say Hokkaido. Ogata's gaze burns deep into the back of your head as you wipe at a spot that isn't there anymore. Smoke eases out of his nose.

"You didn't answer my question."

"I love my mother is all..."

"Most people do. Are you unambitious?" Storm clouds must form over your face because he sits up slightly, intrigued. The dishrag gets set aside and you make the plunge to face him, his fingers laced and elbows on the countertop. You don't understand why he's interrogating you, but you do understand his intention behind it. Posturing, even when you're the scum of the earth like Hyakunosuke men like to pester and meddle. You had a cousin like that and your uncle scolded you when you kicked him for pulling your hair.

"I suppose I am." I have to leave now, bastard-whore, please never speak to me again with your dirty tongue. You stay to argue with him. His cigarette is tapped against an ornate ashtray in the shape of a crocodile.

"At least you're somewhat honest." Your tongue curls a little. This man is a blight and he seems to know it.

"What makes you think I'm a liar?"

"Women lie a lot. It's something they have to be good at."

"Are you speaking on your own experiences here or do you hold a grudge against your mother?"

"Both can be true."

"There's no point in telling me this, we don't have anything to do with each other. I feed your mother and keep her company and it doesn't have to be anything more than that. I'm not interested in her assets, I assure you."

"I wasn't intending to come off that way," He runs his palm against his hair again, glancing down at the animal in his arms. The stupid thing blinks at him.

"Alright."

"I don't dislike you, if that's what you're afraid of." Quite the opposite, but both outcomes are horrifying in their own right. If you upset the tightrope balance anymore you might just end up on the news, certainly an unfortunate possibility. You seem to let the revulsion well up in your eyes because the corner of his mouth twitches slightly.

"That's good to hear," he clearly knows you're lying again, exactly where he wants you to be. This is no better than plucking the feathers off of a chicken trying to eat-pointless and mean. Men seem to do a lot of pointless and mean things, like expiring out of gluttony or thrusting cash in your face for sex and pestering the woman who's taking on the brunt of your mother's personality.

"I don't think you mean that, really, we're more alike than we are different. I can see it all over your face that you're discontent with whatever role you've confined yourself to. Or maybe, what you've been pushed to confine to out of comfort. I'm not stupid, I can read between the lines."

"I have to go."

"Don't, I think we're on the same page more than you assume. Your mother said you never cried at your dad's funeral." You stop short of whisking out of the kitchen and go to point a finger at him, he's stopped you effectively in your tracks with a mere suggestion hidden within his phrasing. Is he like you? A wave of doubt begins to ebb and flow, drawing back a little more as he rolls his thick, naked fingers against the cat. It purrs like an engine and sinks its claws into his hand so that if he draws his hand away it will snag his flesh.

"...Alright, you're the product of an affair. We both have less than ideal fathers. That's a very common thing. I think everyone dislikes their father a little bit, even if it's a secret."

"Exactly. You understand then."

"...I'm going to go home now. It's late."

Your fingers don't even begin to suffice when you're knuckle deep in your cunt and face down in your stale sheets. Thank God your mother is asleep and unaware of the unrelenting gush of your cunt around your fingers that are far too thin to bring you any sort of tangible satisfaction in the moment. Hyakunosuke's fingers were thick and calloused and rolled like a snake, a mesmerizing display of human machinery in such a mundane action. He saw you off with a slight smile that didn't register as one as you hurried out of the bowels of his home and back to your mouse hole. Guilt rises within you at the notion you've allowed him to see some of your privacy- nothing is more valuable than keeping your cards close to your chest and protecting the sanctuary of your information. You can't mimic his fingers in the way you can play copycat with his mother and it leaves you frustrated and crying and in need of a hot bath.

The smell of breakfast welcomes you in a far more caring way than the sun does. Your mother must be getting back to her old self, or maybe her new self because she never made breakfast regularly even before your father died. Your fingers still smell like sex and your underwear is crusted over with last night's misfortune. Women joke about men being unfulfilling sex partners, something that is apparently true in the realm of fantasy as well. You descend the steps after pissing and washing your hands and try to focus on forgetting last night, the terrifying thing it was. Your mother is tossing together some eggs with vegetables and has her hair in silk scarf.

"Good morning, you're up a little earlier today," She's smiling to herself and it looks unnatural considering her bloodhound expression is all you've seen for the past month.

"Breakfast smells good," You take a seat, uneasy and still cold. She presses a dry, warm palm to your cheek and wipes at your face with her thumb.

"Eat then, you're thin."

"I will."

She's stirring up a pan with a spatula, the heat on a little higher than you would've set it for your own eggs, but that's neither here nor there. You feel strangely compelled to assume maybe she knows you spoke to Ogata. Her and Tome are getting closer and seem to share a vested concern in the sex lives of their children. It's a stomach churning endeavor and you don't understand what obsession women have with providing meat for an endless meat grinder. A plate is sat before you all the same, slightly hard eggs piled up neatly on the white porcelain you've eaten off of a million times before.

"Tome's expecting you to come over again tonight. Her son dropped some money off for you before he left for work, the envelope's on the table. Count it up."

A white paper envelope tucked against a potted plant beckons to you, and you take a little pleasure in slipping your finger under the lip of it and swiping it off in a clean motion, disemboweling a dead animal. Colorful bills spill from it like blood, and your mother moves the pan off the burner to get a closer look, her hands sliding against the countertop. Something about it feels dirty as you slide the crisp bills and leaf through them, your mother muttering the numbers along with you- "50,000 yen."

You bite your tongue and stuff the money back in the envelope before handing it over to her as you always have. Ever since you were small you handed her your spending money and she kept it filed away in a bank account you make a meager habit of touching. There's really no point when you have no earthly desires and your parents keep a spoon in your mouth. "Hyakunosuke is a generous man to give you that much."

"...maybe."

"Ah, don't be like that, you're not doing anything excessive for Tome. Do you feel shorted?"

"No," Not physically, at least. This feels like it's a habit he picked up from his uncaring, unloving stud-father.

"Make sure you thank Tome when you go over, that's truly a very nice amount he's given you."

"I'll just thank him in person... He came home when I was there last night."

"Hm?" You gag at the glissando in your mother's tone and at the dirty smile she gives you. This feels like something just short of molestation as heat rises up your neck and stains your ears red.

It's akin to pulling teeth to drag yourself over to Tome's home that late afternoon. You're wearing your mother's dress because all of your leaving-the-house clothes are sitting in a stale pile in the corner of your bedroom. Laundry isn't an appealing thing to be doing anyway, even if it's necessary work. Tome smiles like you're her beloved daughter when you enter her home, slipping off your shoes. In your arms you have a basket of tea cakes your mother insisted on you bringing her. This feels like an endless exchange of fanfare and niceties with nothing to show for it. The cat rattles excitedly while pressed against the wall, tail fluttering like an insect. You get to work and have significantly less patience for any sort of prattle at the moment, something Tome is completely unaware of as she runs hand over hand over hand against the animal in her lap, recounting some vacation she took to Thailand many years ago.

Tonight's dish is smoked mackerel and rice. You feed a little tender piece of fish to the fussy cat and watch as it laps of the sweet meat with its raspy tongue. Tome coos at it like its a baby when it turns to her and whines, a wet look on its face it goes trotting to its mother for comfort at having no more fish to snack on.

"Poor baby, you'll just starve, won't you? What will we do then? You're just skin and bones..." The fat thing bats at her with its paws, never daring to strike its mother with any real malice. She tickles the plump creature as you drag a sharp blade against the belly of a cooked fish and begin to meticulously dislodge the pin feather bones stuck in the meat. Maybe Ogata isn't wrong to want someone to step in for his mother every now and again, you wonder if he really does come right home after work or if he lingers and meanders and stretches his time out. Working for a company like that can't be that taxing. He's probably only doing it to avoid an awkward repetitive conversation with his half insane mother.

But Ogata does come home as you're plating up dinner and seems to notice that you've reached to fix a third as he walks in. His mother goes through the typical song and dance of asking about his day, petting him over while she chatters to him like a parakeet and tells him he's a good, handsome boy. Dinner, once more, is a humiliation ritual you want no part in.

"Hyakunosuke sent over some money this morning, you got it didn't you?"

"Y-yes, thank you, you're very generous-"

"Don't worry about it. I enjoy the company. Not many people stick around, you know. It's an important thing." There's a weight in that sentence that Ogata seems to dislike the flavor of as he gives his mother a side glance and she shuts up about it, changing the subject to something she saw on the television about an endangered animal being born at the Ueno zoo. The food has no flavor in your mouth despite your best efforts and knowing you seasoned and dressed everything properly. You chew your food to liquid and swallow tea down to wash the remnants of the slurry out of your mouth. Being in the presence of Ogata has rendered you to being a cornered animal as if you've forgotten your civility entirely.

You do your best to finish washing the dishes while Tome is taken to bed so you can avoid a conversation with Hyakunosuke. Throwing glances over your shoulder every so often as you scrub plates clean does nothing in particular to ground yourself. You're borderline manic when you do hear his footsteps and it makes you a little angry that he's finished his job and that he could've been audible the entire time you've been stuck playing this stupid game with him.

"She's glad you don't hate her."

"I have no reason to hate your mother, I promise you."

"That's good, a lot of people don't really like her very much." He's lighting another cigarette up, watching as you dry waterlogged plates with a new rag. It has a persimmon pattern on the cloth.

"That's unfortunate. She's nice. Probably my mom's only friend now."

"She's crazy."

"You don't speak highly of her." A plate goes in the drying rack.

"It's not a dislike, but she's a handful. Drove me crazy growing up."

"That's very normal for parents. Also, wasn't she the one who stuck around and raised you?"

"Your father stuck around to raise you and you're fine with the fact he's dead. What does that have to do with anything?"

Your finger fits perfectly in the lip of the plate in your hands and you turn to him, his shoulder pressed against the wall. He looks like he's going to melt if he puts anymore weight into it.

"I don't know. Is there a reason you want to talk about this?"

"There's an understanding I think we share here," he starts again, and there's a crease in your brow as he lights up another cigarette. From the looks of it, it's hand rolled and neatly packed with tobacco. The silver zippo in his fingers snaps like a firecracker before he slips it back into his pocket. Nothing about this impresses you and he can sense that. "You'll never come to experience love in the same way my own mother won't. Your mother's love expired too. Don't you think that accounts for something? Why are you different than them?"

"I just am"

"I don't think you are. You played it too safe, I think. I've listened in on enough brunches to know you're a basket case and a half- but I don't think it's unjustified at all." He slides his finger against the cigarette case in his hands, an ornate piece of metal that has a forest scene etched on it. Bile wells up in your throat as he forces your gaze to linger on his.

"...You don't have any authority to comment on this-"

"Maybe you think that, but we're both correct in that there's an unchecked problem going on here that's deeper than either of us want to acknowledge. You're sensitive to the very imbalance you're forced to partake in."

"You're the one handing me money to play nice with your mother. Is this different than what she did for a living, or is that an acceptable outcome for the both of us? You seem to be aware of what the problems are and what's caused them. You can't deny that our condition isn't nebulous despite pretending it's not clear cut."

He swipes his hair from his face, looking away just to collect his thoughts. He's a handsome creature, built like predator with a petty sense of resolve painting every minute, little action of his. He exhales through his nose, half shrugging.

"I suppose that's one way to look at it," he starts, those unsettling eyes boring clear through you like a gunshot, "But the way I see it is that you're doing nothing to protect yourself. Your own mother said it best, when she dies, what choice do you have?"

You feel compelled to shake him as he fiddles with the cuff of his sleeve, unblinking, like he's already gotten his prize and he's just anticipating the apex of the conversation. The persimmon print rag falls from your hands on the counter in front of you and you swallow, feeling as if every raw nerve in your body has been exposed. There's no triumph in his gaze, just simple confirmation. This isn't a sport to him, this is a natural progression of courtship. He can sense you want to bolt the second he can see the gears stop turning in your head.

"I don't trust you."

"I don't expect you to trust me."

"Then why are you doing this?"

"Because we're getting drawn closer together. I'm not my father, the only bad habit I have is skirting hunting regulations."

"Wrong. You're the same as every other man on Earth, are you so arrogant to think you're special?"

"I asked you that about yourself and you seemed quite content to believe you were some heavenly chosen virgin in some way or another. You won't ever admit it, though. That kind of thing is only admirable in women, I think. I have a half brother who holds the same belief about himself and he's insufferable. I don't find you insufferable, though, your reasoning has a legitimacy to it. His doesn't." He looks away again, a whisker strand falling in front of his face. "Men like that destroy everything they touch."

You take a breath, trembling. To have to articulate yourself about something you've snuggled up with so long feels like getting your ribs yanked out of a gaping wound. He looks like he's about to close the gap between you but you grip the rag again and knead it back and forth into a ball with your hands. He nearly smiles. Nearly. "...Don't flatter me."

"I'm not trying to, I assure you."

He thinks you're going to leave when you wordlessly go to walk out the door and just stop short in front of him, the look in your eyes is wild.

"I want you to know that I had a lot of really bad thoughts about you. And they won't go away. And I think it's some sort of punishment for putting into words about what I know is true and keeping myself chaste. It isn't fair to me. It's unbearable, I think, really." His hand is dry and warm against your head as you stare at his chest, making a subtle move to snuff his cigarette out and toss it off. "I don't doubt that you did."

"No, these are sexual thoughts, actually. If I could kill you and do away with you and get away with it I think I would."

The heat is palpable in your face and he studies the way your features lock up in something short of a rictus grin. His thick fingers brush the hair out of your face and his poker face is something you envy deeply. The gnawing roar of a hormonal crash is doing a good job of suppressing every one of your firing neurons screaming at you to cut your losses, go home, disappoint your mother, and never show your face to the Ogata family again.

"Repression makes you do weird things."

"I'm not repressed."

"You are."

"Don't tell me what I am."

It's more tongue than not when your arms find their way around his neck, the scent of him clogging your brain up like beeswax. The sensation of a kiss is somewhat disgusting but he holds you all the same as you eek out something new for once, heart hammering in your chest. He can feel the palpitations against his own and he stands there in utter graceless patience as the awkward merging of your mouths cease. Wordlessly he wipes his lips off with the back of his sleeve and you're a trembling wreck on the verge of hyperventilating.

Ogata waits for your next move as your fingers bunch into the fabric of his shirt and you give a dogged look at him. Why, you're pleading, why does this happen to me? But he allows you another heavy, unpracticed kiss as you grip at him with an intensity you've never made an effort to show before. His broad hand smooths down your spine like he's soothing the fussy pet cat that's resting in Tome's room for the night. Between kisses, he takes the gaps as an opportunity to inform you.

"You," smack, "don't have a clue" kiss, "of what you're doing." He can feel the kneading motion of your little hands in the muscles of his back and it becomes abundantly clear he's nothing more than a sexual outlet for you as you notch your fingers into every powerful square curve of his broad-cat body. He should be flattered, of course, but there's a sensation of consumption lingering under your touches. You don't want to be free from the role of men, you want to assume it in its entirety by any means necessary. He can respect that, he supposes, only the unmeasured insanity of a forgotten woman could be a beast in the face typical male behavior. She's unpredictable, only she could operate with such a sense of erratic franticness and be a threat in her own right.

Scooping you up in his arms he wordlessly takes you up the wooden stairs of the house and can feel the sagging limp of your body, winding subtly under his touch like an ermine. It's serpentine and erotic the way you tumble gently into the plush covers of his futon, the door securing shut behind you. For all intents and purposes, he's trapped himself in a cage with a wild animal.

Your legs spread with a shocking effortlessness as you wind in place in the dark. Only the low warm light from the hallway offers a parcel of sight in the indigo darkness of his bedroom. There's a rustle of fabric and your hindbrain hijacks your better judgement as you slide a hand up his bare stomach and up his ribs. He's dead silent and slowing his movements, as if you'd sink your nails into his skin and rip it off if he made any sudden moves. You cup a pectoral and squeeze it, then drag your hand over his bicep, then back to his chest and down again. It's no different than an animal examining roadkill, determining if there's enough to nourish her for the night or if she should cut her losses and go hungry another night.

Hyakunosuke is built sturdy and compact in the way a bobcat is. A soft whine croons from you when the man lays you down with surprising carefulness, and you're unable to suppress a squirm when his thick fingers curl against your hips and then legs, feeling you over as if he were looking for the spot to start tearing your feathers off after you fell out of the sky. But there is no soft eiderdown to yank out, there's only untouched skin. He swallows when you don't push him away. An understanding has been met.

"Do you really not have any experience."

"...No."

"I see," he breathes, taking his time to slip a finger against the soft nest of hair between your legs. It's an electrifying, ticklish sensation and your stomach jumps at his firm, sure touch. You lay still, allowing him to feel you over and drink in the unmapped, uncharted parts of your body. There's a supposition to be made that he's truly never going to know until sex occurs with the lights on, but you concede and melt into the futon below you like water. You can make out the deep black gaze he's holding against you as his finger touches down between the puffy folds of your vulva, a heady moisture clinging to his digit.

He's half tempted to tell you about why that makes you so whole, so ideal, but he doesn't out of knowing it could spurn your mercurial nature and swipe at him. There's a set of cards he must play and he's aware of this as he inches a finger inside of you. It's an alien sensation to have something you can't control nestle deep within your core and blindly nuzzle around your plush walls. He exhales, his voice catching the edge of his breath.

"Do you feel that," He begins, slightly withdrawing his finger only for it to retreat inside of you. "You're receptive. It's not uncommon for different animals to display signs of it- are you ovulating?"

"I-" You face heats up as he maneuvers his finger again. That didn't sound like pillow talk, he's asking as if he's about to lecture you. "I don't know?" Are you supposed to be? Such fluctuations during the month have only proven to upset you when all you wish for is quiet.

"Many animals, when they go into heat, will signal that they're receptive to the males of their species. Typically, by urinating or posturing in some way," his finger curls, you feel like he's stroking your bladder from the inside of your vaginal canal, too syrupy and slippery not to keep his finger inside of you without some sort of effort on both of your ends. "I've seen mountain cats kill each other over a bush a queen pissed on. They slice each others throats open and bleed to death and the queen mates with none of them. She'll have kits with a reserved, older male who has survived his years of competition. Only those who have self control and know what battles to fight are successful."

His finger slips into his mouth and he sucks it clean, watching the way your chest rises and falls, aroused at his low, droning voice. It's not something you should find erotic, before now you thought he seemed as emotionless as a serial killer, a metal blade of a man who has no proper consideration or appreciation for life outside of some arbitrary exception. It's a strange thing to watch him drink you off of his finger and furthermore, savor it. He makes a noise like he approves of something and a tingling sensation nips at the nape of your neck. You're allowing such a man to bed you in a desperate bid with God to render you complete and cure yourself of this ailment you can't shake. Shame is harder to come by when the man that's permeating your mind and body happens to have every intention of affirming whatever assumptions you've given him and telling you you're right. Vindication is nothing more than foreplay for something greater.

A burning sensation runs through your veins as his body lowers down upon you, the slight scruff of his beard soft against your skin as you tuck neatly into his square angles and curves padded with muscle. You don't understand why he feels the way he does, he's a salaryman, an office lackey who should've lost the privilege of his army hardened body years ago. His spiel about the cats precludes the way he allows his cock to settle just at the apex between your legs, and he stills, allowing the gears in your head to start screeching and groaning as they spark and turn again. Your brain switches on like you've come to life once more and you're feeling him again, pressing your nose into his skin and breathing in the soft biscuit-scent of his flesh. It's a scent that's akin to pheromones, you reason, maybe this is why Tome and your mother suffered the way they did. Maybe Hyakunosuke will force you to suffer too.

He makes a soft noise when your sweaty, hot fingers touch his cock, petting over it like you're unsure of what you're doing- simply because you are unsure of what you're doing, you haven't been sure of what you're doing in a long time, and doubt you'll ever figure that one out even if you waste more time thinking about it.

"You smell good," you tell him, your nimble fingers winding up into his product stiffened hair as he grasps his cock with his hand and brushes the head gingerly against the gooey center of your cunt, the powerful roll of muscle under his skin urges you to press closer to him. The accumulation of this affair is driven solely by thousands of years of instinct culminating to a singularity point, a horizon you cannot leap back from, a mark that will be with you forever. Ogata's only half listening though and he sinks within you as if it's as natural as the Earth itself. You laugh a little, the thick stretch is somehow lacking in pain as he settles his weight down upon you further, his thick arms sliding under your back and neck to hold you in a brace. "Is that so,"

"It is."

"I thought you didn't like me," He muses, voice low. There's nothing teasing in his tone, a suggestion for you to explain yourself.

"You said it yourself, we're the same kind of animal, aren't we?" There's no love in your tone, you don't think you can feel something like love for him the way you love your mother. You think she'd be so happy that you've been dragged down to her level now, you think maybe this is what will make you a good daughter in her eyes. You've had the touch of a man on you, you will wear his fingerprints with pride and righteousness and you will finally be one of us. Aren't you happy?

Ogata moves and you feel the punch of his weight in his thrusts. He's not a tall man, and he's not particularly large, but he's maximizing what he's got and he's damn good at it. There's a noise in his throat like a purr as he drops his head down and closes his eyes, his forehead next to your head as his hips drive into you with a surprisingly methodical rhythm. It's hard to formulate something to say when there's a thick cock plunging deep within you and the man on top of you has your world in his hands, but you manage to laugh at something- you don't know what, and he doesn't care to find out. The heavy smack of his balls against your ass reminds you that he's his father, truly, and that this is an evolutionary means to an end for him. He's breeding you with vigor, he's sensed that you're a willing mate, and now he'll make nice on his existential promise to go forth and multiply- at least in the moment, of course, there's a worming fear in the back of your minds as his hips pump that this could end in something far more permanent than the boast of getting laid.

You kiss him as soon as he picks his head up and he reciprocates as if it's his job to, his hands squeezing just enough at your body to appreciate the womanly curves you kept hidden from the world. He breathes again, lips against yours.

"It's a privilege," He sounds somewhat drunk off of the wet, suckling, incessant heat around his cock, hips emphasizing every few thrusts the stupid carnality of the situation that's snuffed out any sort of rational thinking between you both. You grab his face, dragging your tongue across his lips in a fervent mess. "It is, isn't it? You're mother said nobody likes Christmas cake after the 25th," and he rolls this time. Thankfully it's dark so you can't make out the stare he's giving you, borderline abyssal. "Men can't afford to be picky. That's why we die in wars and shoot ourselves in the head," you kiss him again, feeling the heavy, hot weight of his tongue in your own mouth. "Expendable, that's all we are."

There's a wretched softness that comes from you both as he sweats over you and fucks you against the floor, cock bullying against your innermost parts. Sex is a dirty, hot, messy thing and he heaves as he struggles not to collapse under the godly weight of his arousal. You think you're going to piss as your body is jostled under him, all of your soft-squishy parts are flush against the stockiness of his chest and midsection, your toes curl as he bares himself down upon you in rapid succession. Your forehead is sticky with sweat and the steam thick smell of sex makes the room feel like a hundred degrees, but you suffer the burning coil in your stomach as Hyakunosuke's thighs flex and he angles his hips to a sharper degree.

Every fiber of his being is like a loaded spring, the potential energy in his body practically thrums as every movement he makes rubberbands back to a locked state, only to ricochet again. He's panting through his nose, and you sweat you see a hand of God hovering over your face and closing your eyes for you. The coil bursts into a near painful explosion, your legs involuntarily yanking as they fight with your tendons to keep them put, the noise you make is loud enough to awaken his mother and he shushes you, tucking your face into the crook of his neck as he fucks you through an absolutely brutal orgasm. Your cunt cinches tight over his cock and his own belly flexes with a feverish warmth creeping through his groin and through his testicles. The head of his cock has been drooling liberally within you for the better part of the ordeal, the vein on his shaft throbbing with every powerful contraction.

He drops and goes limp when he cums, absolutely useless as his cock spits rope after thick rope of semen deep inside of you. Hyakunosuke is a heavy, sweaty presence as you stare into the dark up at the ceiling, his hot breath chuffing against your neck as he shudders and weakly pumps his hips. There's no shout, no cry, no exuberant declaration of consummation- Intercourse has taken place here and life will continue, the world will turn another day. You feel a strange sense of dread wash over you as the man on top of you slows his breathing and begins to stir again. Your vagina feels puffy and wet and your skin feels far too unlike your own. You're waiting for your revelation from God to come, the Virgin Mary to send you on your way with a blessing, some angel or diving being to affirm that you are no longer a diseased woman and can pick yourself up and proceed successfully in society from now on.

Instead Ogata pushes himself up and sweeps his hair back, his breathing slow as he lays next to you, his eyes drifting to your unmoving form. Your head tips to his.

"...I don't feel different."

"You're not supposed to."

"Oh."

You glance at the analog clock- it's far too late to go home now, and you're unsure if you can face your mother now that you're like her. Like Tome. You don't know when you're supposed to stop feeling like an uneasy child, but what you do know is that you have an animal of sorts lazing next to you that seems to find you attractive enough in whatever way to allow you to intimately integrate into his life. To what degree you're unsure. He doesn't seem like a romantic or loving person, you hardly think he may even be a person at all.

"You should sleep."

"I should go home."

"You are not walking home like that. You would be humiliated if you went home and your mother was awake and saw the state of you. Sleep here, shower in the morning and tell her you fell asleep reading to my mother."

You don't think she's going to buy that but what do you know? The gentle pelting of rain is a soothing balm on the open burn wound of your vulnerability. Your head feels as full as your cunt did and it's doing you no favors that the very bed you lay on smells of your lover-thing and brings you a sense of comfort. You want to cry having spent your life in such a state of survival and denial with no easy answers, but Ogata doesn't pry as he allows you to lay against him and rest. There's no patronizing cuddling or soft kisses or sweet words exchanged. Something about the transaction brings you peace above all else. He's as leftover as you are, if not more.

Tome frets over you the next morning wordlessly as Hyakunosuke goes through the motions of getting his items in order before he leaves for work, hardly sparing you or his mother a glance. A hot cup of coffee made its way into your hands at some point and you murmured a thanks. He doesn't kiss you goodbye, he doesn't give you any sort of condescending form of affection. You know neither of you operate on software like that, but the sentiment is there. You are beneficial to me as I am beneficial to you.

You return home at some point after Tome fed you a light breakfast, a little bit less clear on where you stand in the world, but ultimately a little less angry. You did it, you made it, you'll be fine now. When you shyly step foot inside, your mother gives you a slight smile, knowing the look on your face has changed. She seems at peace, telling you good morning as she leafs through another stack of mail- more cards stuffed with money having finally made their way over to your gluttonous mailbox. You kick your shoes off and fail to hold eye contact, it feels weird still, too fresh. You begin to doubt if that feeling is ever going to go away and wash off in the bath.

"Mom?"

"Hm?"

"Can we get a cat?"

[waterlooletterwrb]

WRITE WITH ME!

I will start, and you can use the reblog to continue this story however you desire! The idea is that post by post we do a longer story (but if you wanna post your version somewhere else feel free to do so, you just remember to credit me!).

The One rule: You can't gender the Elf!Reader character.

If you need, add more warnings to your post!

OTP: Mairon (Sauron) x Elf!Reader

Universe: Rings of Power / Tolkien

Warnings: main character death, angst, blood, "you can fix him" plot;

Summary: You're the one who stole the Dark Lord's heart, yet you're dying in his arms.

A Forbidden Promise

"Don't go. I — I cannot follow you there. You can't go. You can't go." His voice was frenetic, desperate in a way the dark lord never sounded. How could he not be? You're dying in his arms, the only sweet touch, warmth, love he's ever known. And he will never be able to follow you to Mandos. "Please, I will never be able to go with you there, please."

His plea sounds like he wants to go tho. A begging, maybe the first time in more than two ages that Mairon of the Maiar actually regrets his choices. In you he found his perfection. And now he would lose it. Was that the vengeance of the Valar?

You raise your weak hand, resting it on this face. With your thumb you wipe one of the tears from his cheek. Even now he is as beautiful as the first time you saw each other.

"I — I will come back. For you, I will come back." Your voice is not much more than an whisper. Yet, somehow you make a disbelieving smile appears on his lips.

"Who would give up paradise for me? For Sauron?" The name disgust you as much as it disgust him, and your face probably shows it because he sighs. "If you're leaving me, at least leave saying the truth. It's too... cruel to say it. For I never hoped before."

That makes you give him a pity sad smile. Ignoring the pain, you do everything you can to raise yourself. He holds you tighter, his warmth is what you need to concentrate even when your vision starts to fade.

"Mairon, endanya¹. Hear the last words of the one who stole your heart." This make you see for one last time the sweet smile that he only ever directed to you. "As I promised once, I will never lie to you."

He presses his forehead against yours. For the last time you breathe the same air. "So I dare to command you, Mairon or whatever name you desire to hear now: learn to hope." I little cry escapes your lips, and you feel his hands tremble where he holds you, for a moment you lose your mind and all you can hear is the blood dripping. It's a shame, his always beautiful tunics will forever be stained within your blood now.

Even so, he won't stop holding you. So you do everything you can to reassure him again. He needs to understand, he must believe.

"Learn to hope." You mumble. "For I shall return to you."

You no longer can see or feel, your hand falling from his face is the first sign you went to the undying lands. But you were right. And Mairon, Sauron, does not let you go. He holds you tightly, in a crying so long it's impossible to believe that that destroyed and devastated being was once Morgoth's heir.

The grief is too much and, when he finally let you, there's no one to hear but the wind while he whispers:

"I — I'm yours to command, endanya. I will hear whatever name you call me. I will do whatever you wish. I will hope — I will hope for you."

A promise and a threat. Because in his soul he knows; you were the only one that could stop what's coming for Middle Earth. You were the only one that could stop him.

So now even the wind hopes. You need to return.

••••••••••••••••

Endanya¹ = if i did the word correctly it should be quenya for "my love/my soul", but in a deeper way of calling the one you love "your everything". In my mind, when Sauron says it he is also telling that the reader is his light.

[mysicklove]

service subs! who struggle to communicate just exactly how much they love and appreciate you, so they turn to the next best thing: serving you. who love to do the basic tasks for you — cleaning, cooking, chores around the house, and even the most simple things like putting on your shoes or fixing your work clothes. who like to make decisions for the both of you when in public. where to eat next, paying for you, and planning out vacations and trips. but of course, they do always expect a reward by the end of the night. blinking at you until you acknowledge how well they have done because, in their head, they are borderline screaming: look how clean the house is! look, I made your favorite meal! look at the nice event I planned for you! and of course, you praise them for how well they did, because every time it shocks you from how good they treat you. service subs! who live for your sweet words and hold a wobbly grin whenever you acknowledge their hard work, blushing and looking away but ecstatic.

service subs! who, privately, get off to the idea of being something less than you. to be at your mercy and willingly take on any command in a heartbeat. who enjoy kneeling in front of you more than anything and will stay there for hours if you asked them to. their thoughts are constantly on how to make you feel good, how to please and pleasure you completely. and it's quite cute, considering the second you touch them, they seem to light up because how were they so lucky to have your fingertips grazing their body? service subs! who would do borderline anything just to make you happy.

Armin Arlert, Nanami Kento, Yuuji Itadori, Reo Mikage, Keigo Tamaki, Shinobu Kocho, Katsuki Bakugou, Kyojuro Rengoku, Maki Zenin, Gyutaro

and of course, on the other end, pampered subs! love it when you do everything for them. order for them in public, pick out their clothing for the day, and secretly enjoy having a strict schedule that they have to abide by. who trust you enough for you to look out for them, and not have to think about the stresses of life with you. it was easier like that, and besides, you would never lead them astray. to stick by your side and wait, like a good sub, while you figure out the next course of action for the two of you. who finds themselves turning to you when someone asks them a question as if to ask, is this alright? can I go out with them? what do you think? but of course, they would never tell anyone that you make the decisions for the two of you because they do have their pride to hold up, or at least that's what they dramatically complain to you about.

pampered subs! who don't mind at all when you focus on them the entire time in bed. who live for the attention and soak up every touch. who even begin to act spoiled from time to time, getting peeved when you even mention someone else or your hands drift away for too long. who let out whiny complaints and dramatic demands that you can't help but obey. because how could you not? they are too cute not to please and spoil. who love the sickly sweet nicknames you give them that make them feel like they are some sort of toy or doll to you. but that just makes them feel even more special, to be your toy, your favorite doll. and besides, if you wanted to control them completely, they wouldn't mind one bit <3

Tomura Shigaraki, Levi Ackerman, Seishiro Nagi, Giyuu Tomioka, Rin Itoshi, Nobara Kugisaki, Denki Kaminari, Mitsuri Kanroji, Suguru Geto, Tamaki Amajiki, Megumi Fushiguro

[hyperiondickrider]

Baby Bunny~

(Chapter 1)

Vox x Reader; Valentino x Reader; Alastor x Reader; maybe Lucifer x Reader

After your untimely death, Mr Vox was kind enough to take you in and give you a job as his assistant. However, it appears that you’ve caught the eyes of few other demons, who are certainly not afraid of a little competition…

Frankly, Vox was a stressed out man.

Endless meetings to attend, scripts to review, and catastrophes to clean up; very little could consistently relax the poor man. Luckily, one of these particular vices just happened to be readily available; you.

Oh, how he loved to watch you flit around his offices, big floppy ears twitching with concentration, large brown eyes peering up at him, searching for approval and validation. It almost made him feel guilty, the way you obeyed his every beck and call.

Regardless, your presence had become a somewhat comforting one in his workplace, ever since you had the unfortunate fall from earth following your untimely death. Your loyalty to the overlord only made sense, given his boundless generosity towards you, providing you with a job as his personal assistant, as well as a small flat inside his studio.

Thus, when he discovered that Valentino had decided to send you on an ‘errand’, he was less than pleased. Of course, you with your unbridled kindness and timidity couldn’t even think of refusing such a request, despite the sex maniac holding no legitimate power over you. So, off you went, suddenly feeling rather exposed in your open white blouse and tight leather skirt (a favourite outfit of Mr Vox), as you wandered through Pentagram City, glancing back occasionally at the directions that Mr Valentino had so graciously provided.

All of a sudden, you feel yourself slam into something, or more aptly, someone. Your nose begins to twitch in fear of the consequences, knowing full well the cruelty of the sinner residing in the area. Peering up at the stranger with teary eyes, you mumble an apology, and pull yourself back up on shaky legs.

“Not to worry, my dear! Accidents happen, of course! Although, you really should watch where you are walking, darling.”

The static in his voice, almost tangible, sends shivers down your spine, his glowing eyes intensely staring into your own, as if to bear witness to your very soul.

“How rude of me, I neglected to introduce myself. I’m Alastor, darling, the Radio Demon.”

The man, Alastor, extends a hand to greet you, but the mention of his title causes you to freeze, and flinch away in fear. The demon’s smile strains in reaction, appearing confused and mildly offended.

“T-the Radio Demon? M-Mr Vox said I’m not allowed to speak to you..”

Alastor’s grin tightens at this comment, his snarl baring gums, yet he chooses to feign ignorance.

“My dear, it’s impolite to not return a greeting.”

Due to the mild threat in his tone, you reluctantly tell him your name, your bunny ears twitching in fear, as you look up at him.

“Now, my dear bunny, wherever were you off to on this fine morning?”

“Mr Valentino w-wanted me to s-speak to Angel Dust about his s-supposedly ‘poor work ethic’. S-so, I was h-hoping to find him at the Hazbin Hotel..” you trail off, unsure of how much information you could safely disclose.

But Alastor’s grin only brightens at the news.

“Well, my dear, you’re in luck! I was just about to head over there myself!” With that, he pulls you closer to him, evoking a surprised yelp from you, and wraps his arm tightly around your waist, setting off at a brisk pace.

Alastor hums a jolly tune, seemingly ignorant to your struggles in keeping up with his quick pace, almost being dragged along. Finally, once you had reached your destination, he finally releases you, this time choosing to grab you by your arm. But, for some reason, he chooses to spare a moment, and look you over.

You stood a fair bit shorter than him, having to crane your neck to meet his eyes, but furthermore you were simply trembling with fear. Your nose was twitching, your floppy ears fluttering with anxiety, and your doe eyes refusing to meet his gaze.

You truly were just adorable. Oh, he was going to have fun breaking you.

And with that, he flung open the hotel doors, the action catching you off guard, as you jump again.

“Awfully jumpy today, my dear? Why, is everything alright?” He asks with a condescending grin.

“Just peachy, Mr Alastor.” You manage to mumble out a reply, starting to overcome your fear of the radio demon.

“Now, now, you mustn’t lie, my darling. But, trust me, you have nothing to fear here.” He draws you closer again, his clawed hand playing with your hair, as you looked up with a tight frown. Once he got bored of your lack of reaction, he decided to switch his focus, petting your bunny ears. This action caught you off guard, their sensitivity causing you to whimper, bringing a hand to your mouth to stifle your noises. Alastor’s grin grew ever wider, finding a new way to push your buttons. He increases pressure on his ministrations, causing you to yelp as your jelly legs gave out and you collapsed against his chest. He finally relents in favour of hoisting you back up onto your shaky legs and wobbly knees, forcing a whine from you at the loss of contact. He chuckles darkly at your compliance, your passive nature truly pleasing him. Perhaps he should keep you around; that truly would annoy Vox… but that’s a thought for another day. For now, he needed to build trust in you.

“Toots? What are ya doin here, cutie?”

Angel’s New York drawl fills the room, his voice full of concern.

“M-Mr Val sent me, Angie. Please, I-I don’t want you to get hurt…” your eyes well up at the thought of poor Angel’s contract, as he rushes over to hold you.

“I just came to warn you, Angie. Mr Val isn’t pleased. He’s mad at you, and he’s gonna make it hard for you. P-please, Angie, come back, for your own sake. I miss you…” you trail off, sniffling.

“I know ya do cutie, and it’s ok that big V’s mad at me. I can take it, sugar. But, toots, what about you? Does Vox know ya here? He’s gon be real mad that you been hanging with smiles over there.” Angel rebukes you, concerned for your own wellbeing.

“M-Mr Val said he’d tell Me Vox that he’d sent me on an errand for him, so I think I’ll be fine…”

“Sure, toots, whateva ya say.” He pulled you in for a tight hug, as you buried your head in his chest fluff.

Angel seemed a lot happier now. You were glad that he had begun to escape Mr Val’s clutches.

“Angel, who’s this?” A chipper voice interrupted your thought, as you were greeted by a tall blonde girl, who seemed ecstatic to see you.

“Charlie, this is Y/N. She’s Vox’s assistant and just came ta check up on me. Y/N, this is Princess Charlie Morningstar; she runs this shitty hotel where I’m stayin.”

Suddenly aware that you were in front of Royalty, you bowed nervously and squeaked out a greeting. Your timidness was met with aws and statements of your cuteness, causing your face to darken slightly out of embarrassment.

“Well isn’t she just adorable! Now my dear friends and guests, I believe I should be escorting our dear bunny back to her workplace. After all, we wouldn’t want your boss to worry about, would we? “

You gulped at Alastor’s words, nodding your head vigorously, as he once again, grabbed you by the arm and began marching away.

“See ya, cutie! Come visit sometime!” Angel yelled as you left.

“Bye-bye, Angie! I’ll definitely come see you again!”

And with that, you set off towards the entertainment district.

[willoryn]

This was inspired by THIS post written by the amazingly talented @irkimatsu (Please go read it!!)

You're a virgin and it's your first time with Lucifer. This is told entirely through dialogue and inner thoughts from Lucifer's POV. First time trying something a little different! I hope you enjoy!

Fem!Reader X Lucifer

Fingering (reader receiving), oral (reader and Lucifer receiving), jacking Lucifer off, intercourse (reader receiving), loss of virginity.

(You and Lucifer arrive in his penthouse with the explicit purpose of losing your virginity. You had both talked about it for some time... and finally, you felt comfortable taking that next step in your relationship. Tonight would be the night.)

Here we are, home sweet home!

Can I get you anything? Tea, water?

...Just right down to business, huh? Yeah, I've been thinking about it all day, too... Well, let's get somewhere we will be comfortable.

Oh no, not the couch. I think the bed will be much better suited for what we will be doing, honey.

There, isn't this nice? We'll be much more comfortable here... hey, are you sure you want to do this? I can see you shaking a little bit...

Nervous? Me? Oh, n-not at all, dear!

...Maybe a little bit. I just... I just want this to be special for you, is all. You know, it's not too late to back out if you aren't sure...

...Well, I'm honored that you trust me so much... It's been a while for me but I promise to make you feel good. And if you want me to stop at any point please let me know, okay? I never want to do anything to hurt you.

We don't have to jump right into it. Do you want to just kiss for now? That's perfectly fine with me! Come here, sweetie~! Mmm~!

I love you too, darling. More than you know. Do you want me to lead? Okay... I know how much you like it when I touch your thighs, so I'll start there. In the meantime, let me kiss you some more~

Mmm~ You're so soft... I love your sweet kisses... hmm? move my hand up higher? Okay...

...higher? Haha, any higher and I'll be touching your... oh. Right. One sec, let me just unbutton your pants, sweetie... oooor you can take them off, thats fine too. I guess that makes things a bit easier, huh?

There... I'll just touch the outside of your panties for now... spread your legs a little wider for me? Thank you, sweetheart. Mmm so soft... does that feel good?

Gosh, you've already gotten so wet... haha, don't apologize. It just means you're excited. Does this spot feel good? How about right here..? Mm, that's better, huh?

Let me just pull these panties aside so I can get closer to you... God, your so soft... so warm... I hope it's not too much, but, can I put a finger inside you?

Aaah... you're so wet, baby~

You're squeezing around my finger so tight... we'll need to prepare you so I can fit without hurting you. Don't worry, it'll be okay... I want to make this good for you, too... your comfort is most important.

I'm going to slide a second one in, okay? Does that feel good? When I slide them in and out like this? Or when I spread them apart?

Of course you can move against me... mm, that's it, baby, ride my fingers all you want~ Good girl, you're doing so well~

A-Are you going to cum already? You must be really sensitive... Go ahead, sweetheart. Please don't hold back~

Gosh, you've made such a mess all over my fingers... I wonder how you taste~

...

Fuck, you're positively divine~

I-I want to taste more of you... can I help clean you up, my dove? Let's get these panties off you first... there we go. Just lay back, baby... open your legs a little wider... Perfect. You're so perfect~

You're pussy is so beautiful... Mm, and you taste so sweet... my innocent little dove...

(Lucifer's inner thoughts)

Mmm, your clit is so swollen... I'm sorry for neglecting it. Let me make you feel better...

Fuck, your moans are so sexy~

It's okay, you can tug on my hair, angel... am I really making you feel that good? Let me explore you a little deeper then...

Even around my tongue you're so tight... you came so much from just my fingers... imagine what I'm going to do with my mouth~

I can go even deeper than this, my love... mmm you love getting fucked by my tongue, don't you? Your being so loud and your thighs are squeezing me so tight... I can feel you trembling around me. You must be getting close...

Mm, I am your good boy... I'd do anything to make you feel good... I want to make you cum again... I want to taste more of my queen~

Yes, cum for me, baby~

Mmm God, you taste so good... I could just lay here and do this for hours. Just drink you in... make you cum in my mouth over and over~

(Lucifer externally)

Was that good, darling? You look tired... do you want to stop? It's okay if you do... I loved every second of that-

I-I mean, yeah, I'm very hard right now... Oh, right. We can't really do much if one of us is fully dressed, huh? Let me just take my pants off.

A-All of it? Are you sure? If you say so... Why, thank you, darling. But you're the gorgeous one here... huh? Oh, yeah, you can touch it... AAH!

N-No, you didn't hurt me... it's just been a while since anyone's touched me like this. Your hand feels so good, sweetheart... h-here, let me show you. Keep your hand on me, I-I'll just guide you a little...

Mm! Yes... just like that... you can go a little faster, if you want- O-Oh, god-!

Mhm... your hand feels so much better than mine, baby... Y-Yeah, I do... I think about you alot while I do this... is that gross?

What do I think about? Honestly, this, darling... you touching me. Seeing your beautiful body... getting to touch and taste you... huff... my fantasies can never compare to the real thing now....

Ah! Baby... f-fuck...! I'm getting close-! Wait, I-I... I'm gonna-I'm cumming-! Cumminggg~!

Hah... hah...

Shit, I'm sorry... I've made a mess all over your hand... let me get you a tiss- WAIT, WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?

...

...

I can't believe you did that.

No, it's not weird! I-I'm truly flattered. I just didn't expect you to lick it.

You really are too good to be true... y-yeah, you can keep licking it... o-oh-! Oh my God, angel... your tongue is-! A-Ah!

You're getting me hard all over again, baby... please, can you take it in a little deeper? I want to feel your mouth around my cock... mmh-! That's a good girl, just like that~!

Mm! Aahn..!

C-Careful, don't push yourself! Are you okay? No no. It's okay, you can stop. I-I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked you to do that. Thank you, sweetheart. You are truly too good to me... come here for just a moment, I want to kiss you. Mmm~

I love you so very much. And I want to make you feel amazing... are you ready? Okay, will you lay back for me again?

You're truly divine... I could just stare at you for hours. I want to burn this very image of you into my brain forever~

I won't waste anymore time, sweetheart. I need you, too... Let me just position myself correctly... okay... I'm going to slide in now. Please tell me if it starts to hurt, okay?

Mm... S-So tight... A-Are you okay, honey? I'll stop and give you a minute... you're doing so good. Just relax... Good girl... I-I'm almost all the way in... mmh~

Okay, I'm going to start pulling out... And back in... Aaah-!

Mhmm~

Do you want me to keep moving at this pace... Faster? O-Okay... h-Haaah-! Does it feel good? I-I'm glad... all I want is to make you feel good. Can you wrap your legs around my waist? Y-Yeah, just like that, don't move... oh, that's good...! that's a good spot, right there-!

Oh... Oh my God~!

Fuck, your pussy is so tight... so fucking tight... a-ahhh~! Look at me, baby... I want to see your eyes... Hahh~ mm-! Look at you... So beautiful... my beautiful angel~

Does my cock feel good inside you, baby? You're taking it so well... do you want it harder? Mhm... Let me pound your sweet pussy a little harder, darling... You feel so fucking goood~!

Y-You're mine~! All mine~! Aaah- God-! You're driving me crazy, sweetheart-! That's it, baby- Scream for me like a good girl~! I want everyone to hear how good I make you feel~! How much you love taking my cock deep inside you~ Hufff- aah-!

A-Are you getting close already? Cum for me... I want to feel you cum all over my cock~! Fuck, kiss me, baby-!

Mhmm-! Hah- Huff-! Fuck, I'm gonna cum, too-! Oooh- gonna fill you up... do you want me to cum inside you? Tell me how bad you want it~! O-Oh god... I'm about to-! I-I'm cumming-!

CUMMINNGG~! Aaaahh~... aha... ahh...

...oh god... that was... huff... so good... are you okay, darling? I wasn't too rough with you? Good... I felt myself getting carried away at the end there... haha, I'm glad you liked it~

...yeah, we should probably go wash up... but I want to stay here a little longer... come here? Let me hold you in my arms a little while, my love... I hope I made your first time special for you...

You don't know how happy I am to hear that. And there are plenty more things we can do too... for instance, we seriously need to address that sinfully talented mouth of yours.

But we can talk about that later. You should rest, darling... I think we'll both be a little sore...

Goodnight, my love... I'll see you in the morning~

[lycheeloving]

Another multiverse yandere!Bruce fic, with special guest the Flash! It kind of got away from me and Bruce isn't even in this a lot... but I still love it tbh

again, i imagine this being at a time where you've been with Bruce for some time and have mostly accepted that you won't be getting away from him

Once again warning for typical yandere stuff, kidnapping, implied past noncon, minors dni. Oh and gn reader!

You're in the Batcave, sitting on Bruce's lap while he's typing away on his Batcomputer, researching something. He's in full Batman costume, which is hard and uncomfortable to sit on, but at least you're only sitting there and "warming him up" (as he puts it), instead of cockwarming him. Gotta be grateful for the little things. Actually, it's more like he's warming you up, because the suit must be warmer than what you're wearing (which isn't a lot), but, whatever, same difference.

At some point he pushes you off, stands up, growls out a "Don't touch anything, I'll be back soon," and proceeds to rush out of the cave in the Batmobile. Did he just leave you alone in the cave? Right next to all of his gadgets and the supercomputer?? You consider trying to contact the outside world for a second before coming to the conclusion that this must be a test, no way is he leaving you here alone if there's actually a way for you to get help! Probably.

Right as you've decided not to touch anything, the screen starts flashing with: "Incoming Video Call: Batman". What? Is he seriously calling you now? He's definitely trying to trick you into touching something, just so he'll have an excuse to punish you. No way are you falling for that! You're absolutely not going to push the button that would accept the call, even though it's glowing so enticingly... Also, what if he really needs your help (even though you have no clue what you could do to help Batman) and will punish you for not answering? Or better yet, he's seriously injured and you'll get to watch him die. That thought gets you to accept the video call.

...That's not Batman.

You stare at the guy who called you, and he's staring right back at you, seemingly just as confused as you are. Is that the Flash?? Isn't he supposed to be dead?

"...You're not Batman," he mumbles mostly to himself, then starts talking a bit louder. "I mean, I guess you could be Batman? I just was expecting you to look like more like my Batman. Not that he's my Batman, just, the Batman from my universe, I mean. Sorry. Are you Batman? You could totally be Batman, and just not be wearing the suit at the moment!"

"...I'm not ...Batman, he's... out, right now. You're the Flash, right? How are you- Why did it say Batman was calling? Wait, what do you mean by your universe??" This is too much information for you to process at the same time.

"Oh! Um, I'm from a parallel universe! Bruce somehow got his computer to be able to contact people in other universes and I'm pretty sure he built a portal thing, too... Anyways, I'm in the Batcave right now because Bruce is still on his way back and sent me ahead to call you, or, well, your Batman, to 'save some time', but I guess that was useless because Batman isn't here..." He stops rambling for a second, before adding: "Also I'm beginning to think Bruce just wanted to get rid of me, nothing we're doing currently is that time sensitive, and-"

"Wait, back up, did you say portal?" You cut him off before he can start monologuing again, sniffing an opportunity for escape. "Hypothetically, if someone were to go through that portal, could they stay in the other universe indefinitely, or would the universe or the person that went through the portal start falling apart or something...?"

"I don't think there's any issues with staying in a parallel universe! It's pretty cool, actually, the-" He stops himself from saying anything else. "Wait, who are you? I probably shouldn't be telling you all this. Are you, like, in a relationship with Bats? I mean, who else could get into the cave. And you're not wearing villain-who-broke-into-Batmans-lair clothes... or sidekick clothes..." He mumbles the last part to himself.

You can't stop staring at him. Just who is this guy? In spite of the weirdness of the situation it's actually really refreshing to be able to talk to someone who isn't completely stoic all the time (and hasn't kidnapped you). "I guess relationship is the most accurate? I mean, being kidnapped, locked up and kept as a fucktoy is a type of relationship, right?"

You say it as nonchalantly as possible, watching for his reaction to see if he thinks kidnapping people is normal, but it's looking good for you, because he's gaping like a fish out of water. "Y- Youre- by Batman? Bruce? That's- I don't-" He stutters, before awkwardly chuckling. "Ohhh, you're joking, right? You got me good, I almost believed you... Ha ha..." He doesn't seem entirely convinced.

You stare at him unblinkingly. What must his Batman be like for him not to believe you? Certainly nicer than yours. "Look, believe whatever you want, but could you do me a favor and open that portal? Bruce said he'd be back soon and I'd rather not be here when that happens, because he told me not to touch anything and instead of listening to him I answered your video call. He'll be super mad at me. Oh and this is the only real chance of escape I've ever gotten so I'd like to take it, please."

Something about the way you said it must have convinced him to believe you, as he mutters a quiet "...Alright," and before you can blink, he skids to a halt behind you through the already opened portal. Well, at least there's no doubt about him being the Flash, that was fast!

"Whew, that portal thing was harder to activate than I thought!" Thank god for super speed, you didn't even realize he was struggling with it. "So, um, what now? Do you just... come with me to the other Batcave?"

You look at him with stars in your eyes. Is this what it's like to be rescued by a superhero? You could cry, are you actually going to escape? No, not yet, you might trust him, but what about the other Batman in his universe?

"Sorry, just, are you sure your Batman isn't, like, secretly evil? Not keeping anyone locked up in his stupid manor?" He shakes his head vigorously. "I'm sure! He wouldn't- I know him, he would never even think about kidnapping anyone! And I definitely would know if there was someone locked in his manor, I've run through every room in his place way too often as to not have noticed someone trapped in there. He's a good guy, just, kind of stoic. And he hates fun. But he wouldn't hurt a fly! You know, unless it's an evil fly that needs to be stopped..."

Hm. Yeah, your Batman definitely hurts you sometimes and you're 99% sure you're not a supervillain or otherwise evil. "That sounds... convincing enough." You remember your shock bracelet and gesture towards it. "Um, could you please take this off of me first, before we go? It shocks me as soon as it detects that I've left the manor, and I don't want to find out if a parallel universe manor counts..."

He tries his best not to look as shocked as he feels while he inspects it carefully, then goes: "Um, wait a second, let me just-". He disappears and reappears in a flash. "So, I checked to see if maybe there's a manual for this thing somewhere, but I couldn't find anything. So I went through the entire manor, and guess what else I didn't find... Alfred!!" You furrow your eyebrows in confusion. "I guess that's what made your Batman so unhinged, sometimes I think Alfred is the only thing left standing between Batman and utter darkness..." This Alfred guy must be a total ray of sunshine then, you can't wait to meet him.

"So, what are we going to do about the shock bracelet, then? I'd rather not be in pain the entire time, but if you can't get it off that's still fine, as long as I can come with you..." "Oh, um, let me just-" Again, faster than you can blink he does something and the bracelet falls away from your wrist. Unfortunately, right as it hits the floor, an alarm goes off in the cave. Shit. You both grimace at each other, you should have know that the bracelet would send some kind of signal to Bruce as soon as it's no longer connected to you.

"Can you somehow disable his portal-making machine so he can't immediately follow us? Because I think we should leave right now, he's probably on his way back already!" You immediately go through the portal, not wanting to wait any longer. Even if Bruce can follow you, you'll have people protecting you on the other side. You think you can hear the Batmobile returning. Shit.

"Yeah, I should be able to-" You close your eyes and when you open them again, the portal to your universe is gone. A weight falls off your shoulders. "I messed with some wires on the other side, which closed the portal, but I was able to get back here just in time before it fully closed. He shouldn't be able to follow us. At least not immediately, he probably knows how to fix it, but this should buy us some time."

"Thank you so much. And I'm glad you made it back, I wouldn't want you to end up like the other Flash..." You sigh in relief. "The- What? What happened to the other Flash??" "Oh! Um, he's dead." You grimace sheepishly. "Sorry, that must be weird to hear."

His face goes pale. "You know what? I'm not even gonna ask what happened to him. I don't want to know. No, wait, I do want to know, how did he- No, don't tell me, whatever I say, do not tell me what happened to him."

You go to respond, but are interrupted by a sudden, loud: "Flash! Who is that?"

You flinch at the sound of his voice and turn around to face him. The Batman. Bruce Wayne. He only sounds like that when he's really angry. Your entire body screams at you to run and hide, or better yet, to apologize and beg. You've learned that hiding from him is pointless. He always finds you, and it only makes things worse. You freeze and stare at him with wide eyes, while he eyes you suspiciously. It's not him, you remind yourself. It's not him. He just looks the same.

He stops looking at you and turns to Flash instead. "You were supposed to contact the other Batman, not kidnap some terrified civilian." The Flash looks insulted for a second, before responding with an indignant: "Actually, I'm not the one who kidnapped them!". Batman narrows his eyes, then sighs. "Just explain why you thought it was a good idea to let a stranger into the Batcave."

You take half a step behind Flash before he begins explaining. "Turns out your other Batman kept them locked up! Your source for information and help is a kidnapper! Why are you even working with that guy? Did you know?" To his credit, Batman actually looks guilty after hearing that. "I didn't know, but I have to admit, I didn't look into him as much as I could have. Should have. Usually I look into every single detail of someone's life before working with them, but him looking and acting exactly like me must have made me lower my guard. It won't happen again, I assure you." He looks at you apologetically. Well, as apologetic as the Batman can look, which isn't very much, mostly he just looks stoic. But still, not an expression you've ever seen on your Batman, nor something he would ever say. You calm down a bit. This guy won't hurt you.

"So, um, is there anything we can do to stop him from following us?" You speak up quietly. "I mean, Flash messed with his portal machine or whatever it's called, but that won't stop him forever! He's obsessed with me, he won't just give up!" You start panicking again, maybe you were wrong to think you could ever be free.

"We'll think of something, I promise. We'll keep you safe. You have the whole Justice League on your side." The Flash nods in agreement to Batmans statement. You tentatively start feeling hopeful again, even if this doesn't work out, you'll at least have gotten a taste of freedom.