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tired-biscuit · 1 year ago

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18+ MDNI, fem!omega!reader/alpha!kiba // cw: omegaverse, knotting, breeding. established relationship.

↳ you slip into heat at the worst time imaginable; right on kiba’s 30th birthday. as a result, nothing goes according to plan.

“ugh, i’m so sorry.”

you barely recognize the sound of your own voice as you listen to the quiet sigh your boyfriend lets out as soon as he wraps his strong arms around you from behind.

your bedroom is enveloped in darkness despite the fact that it’s summer — a particularly hot one this year — and the alarm clock on your nightstand shows that it’s barely a little past eight in the evening. it’s still light outside, the sky is clear and pretty, but the curtains that frame your window are drawn tight. the only source of light comes in the form of a single orange streak that seeps from the hallway through the crack in the door.

as of right now, it sits on the corner of your pillow that you’re resting your head on, unmoving. judging by the progressing hour, as well as the way faint warmth begins to tickle the top of your head at that very instant, you suppose it won’t take long until the ray settles on your already much too hot cheek as well.

nuzzling your face further into the cotton, crisp white bedding, you can’t help but let your eyes roll in evident dread at the realization. if your current situation is to be taken into any form of consideration, extra heat is the last thing you need right now.

kiba’s weight makes him sink deeper into the mattress when he readjusts on top of the bed you’d spent ages curled up in, trying to find solace all by yourself; that is until he’d shown up.

he had barely stepped foot inside your apartment when the scent of what was going on had hit him square in the face and had led him straight to you. granted, you’d vaguely texted him about it beforehand as to not make him worry too much, whilst also explaining why you couldn’t make it to his birthday dinner, but nothing could have prepared him for this.

and while he’d thought he could handle it as he sat in his car and drove over to your place instead of the restaurant where you were supposed to meet, he’s not so sure that can be the case anymore.

after all, you smell outright intoxicating. it’s so profound and intense, your scent. so sweet that it almost makes his teeth ache. but it’s not just the smell of you that coaxes him to slip into protector mode and start acting on instinct — though it is a key factor here. no, it’s the fact that every single aspect of you in that very moment is designed to lure an alpha like him right in. to lock him into mating.

always known to be a headstrong, self-assured kind of man; one with clear boundaries and a rare ability to make definite choices without any sort of trouble — oftentimes on a whim — kiba finds himself feeling perplexed for the first time in a long while.

to put it simply, he doesn’t know what to do. he’s got his girlfriend, a naked omega in heat, wrapped in his arms. he’s got the most raging boner that he’s ever had in his life twitching and throbbing in his pants, pressing so stubbornly against the zipper that it hurts like a motherfucker. he’s got a sudden wildfire overtaking his senses and fast-crumbling sanity.

but what he doesn’t have is consent.

every inhale he executes now, it’s like he’s turning into a brainless insect at best. you’re pure sugar, fruit dipped in honey, and every thought he has dissipates into nothing because of it. he’s ready to carelessly drown in the nectar if it means you’ll let him devour you whole.

will you, though?

god, never mind that for now; his pushy alpha brain cannot possibly bring itself to think about you refusing him at a crucial time like this. all that matters is that he shows you that he’s ready to help you out, to make it clear as day. your sudden heat has induced a rut from his side and it’s starting to give him a fever as the first signs of it step into the spotlight.

it’s all happening so fast, his pants are already feeling way too tight. there’s a blush creeping up his neck, tinting his ears and cheeks a bright red, and pre-cum is turning his underwear sticky. one second he was fine, albeit slightly worried for your wellbeing. now, he’s horny out of his fucking mind and his dick just won’t stop growing bigger.

so as a result, his shoes now lay discarded in the middle of your bedroom from the way he had hurried to get to you as soon as possible. his keys and phone had practically been tossed to the side on your nightstand, carelessly. the screen sometimes lights up with birthday wishes from friends and family, most of who you’ve already met, but neither of you cares about it in that moment. he’ll type his thank you’s in the morning.

you exhale a breath you’d forgotten you were holding when he brings you closer to his chest, embracing you until your limbs become entangled with his own longer ones and your naked spine touches the buttons of the fancy navy blue button up shirt you’d suggested he put on back when you’d still thought you could endure this entire ordeal that you’re currently suffering through.

his belt buckle is cold. it almost feels like a blessing when it presses against your sizzling hot skin.

“hey,” is all he says.

“oh, god,” you grit out in reply, practically heaving at this point. the amount of saliva that starts to gather on the flat of your tongue the moment your body senses he’s near is ungodly. it’s unnatural, the way you respond to him.

“i know,” he coos softly even if he doesn’t know; he can’t possibly know what it’s like to endure a thing like this. but he tries. “here, lemme… i gotcha, baby. shh.”

a strangled little sound leaves your lips when he holds you still and starts to scent you without even giving it a second thought. to the surprise of both of you, you comply without any sort of fuss as he drags his hands all over your stiff, naked body, effectively easing the overly tense muscle into something a bit more lax and bearable. you don’t even notice how hard you’d been clenching your jaw until he coaxes you into relaxing it with a couple of strokes from his fingers.

slipping into heat completely unprepared can be a pesky little thing for an organized, perfectionist omega like yourself. when you’re so used to leading an independent lifestyle in a society that certainly doesn’t lend you a helping hand with it, and indulge in endless persistance of being in complete control of your body at all times, the occasional flood of hormones that turns you embarrassingly docile is immensely unwelcomed as far as you’re concerned.

yes, blatantly aching to be bred by your alpha’s cock like you’re some bitch in heat is seen as embarrassing in your eyes even if that’s exactly what you are. you believe there’s a lot more to you than just rolling onto your back and acting submissive towards your more dominant partner, thus listening to that wretched primal part of your brain that’s taken center stage inside your skull for now, but at the same time…

it is just so unbelievably hard to fight instinct when he’s right there behind you, with his hips pressed so closely to your own. so hard to ignore and not burn at the way his touch turns noticeably more possessive over the span of a couple of moments of comforting strokes he otherwise gives to your body. so hard to dismiss the way your heartbeats align and your cores reach the exact same temperature.

he even smells invitingly delicious. the rut you’d unintentionally sent him spiralling into had changed the base of his scent in mere minutes. its only aim now is to make him as alluring as possible to you so that you will enable him to mate and reproduce. and he’s not even to blame.

aftershave riddles his otherwise signaturely musky scent; it softens the almost overbearing notes of pure alpha. when he raises his hand to stroke his fingers along your jaw for a second time around, you’re briefly present enough to also catch hints of coconut adorning his tan skin. it’s rich and summery, perfectly him.

he must have used the pricey shower gel you’d bought to surprise him for your anniversary a few months back, because he’s gotten all tidied up for date night that’s now definitely not going to happen because of your ‘condition’, or whatever you want to call it.

either way, it’s the fucking worst. to say that the entire thing is a bust would be an understatement. even the super secret birthday party that you’ve planned for ages had to be rescheduled because of the way how your skin feels like it’s being pulled too tight over your bones, the flames erupting.

i mean, slick is literally dripping out of your soaked pussy like you’re a fucking hose, goddammit. did you really think you’d be suitable for socializing in your current state?

part of it is your own fault, you suppose. ignoring the symptoms and the evident increase in your body temperature that’s been building up over the last few days because you had something to prove was a stupid idea. believing the fact that your sheer will and determination would be able to keep the worst of your heat at bay, without the usage of any sort of suppressants at least until the weekend had passed, had been an even stupider one.

and now you’re stuck paying the consequences.

“i’m sorry,” you feebly parrot the apology that you’re still slightly unsure about if you mean to give to him or yourself. perhaps it’s both. at this point, who knows?

there’s a beat of silence before he whispers, “you’re sorry for what?”

the rasp in his voice pulls you back from your troubled thoughts that just won’t stop whirling around one possible solution to this agony: dick.

have you really stooped so low?

fighting to at least keep your sanity if you can’t keep your pride, you try to focus whilst straining your ears. try to actually listen to him. despite speaking quietly, he sounds almost breathless. like he’s struggling to be in your presence, doing absolutely nothing about the problem at hand.

you should let him do something. better yet, you should let him in.

come on. be a good girl. a good little omega.

let him in.

“for, uh… mmh,” your brow furrows as you try to find the right words you’re looking for. fuck this stupid omega brain of yours, truly. “for ruining your birthday just like i’m ruining your pants right now; gosh, i dunno.”

heat sears your face at the thought of the milky white residue you’ve surely left coating his jeans in copious amounts. instead of keeping you in-check, the image of it only makes you all the more hot and bothered. god help you.

“it’s fine,” he assures you way too fast, swallowing thickly.

the action is audible. listening to it, you can imagine how his adam’s apple bobs with it. up and down, so subtle but just so attractive. his neck appears in your mind’s eye, that sweaty, muscular throat of his, with the vein protruding on the side and— stop it.

“i-it’s not fine! what part of this looks fine to you…?” you groan as you shake your head in disbelief. he’s so close, you just need him so badly. it makes you unable to think straight. “we had plans, for crying out loud!”

“we can take a raincheck.”

“but you’ve just entered your thirties!”

“so?”

“it’s an important number, is it not?”

“babe,” he says, chuckling at your nonsense. “i’ll be in my thirties for a long while. don’t worry about it, seriously.”

“but i’ve got an entire cake meant for like ten people minimum sitting in my fridge.”

“well, if that’s the case,” he mutters, grinning lazily, “i’ll try my hardest to eat the whole thing by the end of the weekend if it’ll make ya feel any better.”

you turn your head to glare at him. “you’re not helping with your silly little jokes, you know.”

he snickers at that and it makes your heart bounce. “oh, i know, all right.”

“it’s just,” you start, sighing. the bridge of your nose scrunches up in annoyance when yet another heatwave washes over you and you suppress the urge to mewl. “this entire thing is so frustrating.”

“mm. tell me ‘bout it,” he says before he runs his broad palm along the column of your neck. your collarbone. the underside of your breast and down your stomach, which trembles at the feeling of the rough callouses that adorn his fingerpads.

the touch only offers more oxygen to the already raging flames that are already licking your entire body. you can’t stifle the small whimper that leaves your lips in response to even more silvery strings of your arousal smearing over the dark denim of his pants almost immediately. it causes a muscle to flutter in his cheek as he looks down and watches how wetter you’re getting by the second.

you’re entirely naked, have gotten rid of your damp, slick-coated panties because your blood feels like it’s boiling under your skin and you just couldn’t handle the heat anymore. he’s completely dressed because he didn’t think you’d actually slip into one while he’s around.

no, he didn’t dare believe it, even if his keen sense of smell did allow him to catch a whiff of a particular kind of sweetness appearing in your scent a long while ago. didn’t dare consider it, even if it did start to invoke some kind of primal, almost aggressive urge to protect what’s his in him.

but the thing is: you aren’t even his to begin with — at least not yet, that is. you refuse to bear his mark, refuse to submit, refuse to be mated even if he’s expressed the wish himself once or twice by now.

so to be entirely fair, it’s no wonder kiba feels surprised to see you acting so disheveled and pliant for him like you are right now. unlike him, you’re always so collected, looking like you have your shit together no matter the situation that’s thrown in your direction. making it look like he’s the one relying on you, instead of you relying on him, despite the roles you both possess.

maybe that’s why he’s so into you. after all, he’s always been one to love a good challenge.

and you’re just that.

furthermore, you’ve become so good at keeping your cool around him that in the last year and a half of being in a relationship together, you’ve even managed to slip out of his grasp whenever the merest hint of your heat had started to come forward. taking suppressants and disappearing off the face of the earth whenever your scent had started gaining attention from nearby alphas, you’ve successfully avoided your boyfriend until the entire thing had passed and you were back to normal, leaving him yearning all the more to see that side of you once and for all.

and whilst we’re on the topic of yearning…

he’s about to go batshit crazy because of it.

“listen to me. i don’t care about the pants, i’ll wash ‘em. and my birthday isn’t ruined,” he mutters as he nuzzles his face into the spot where your neck meets your shoulder. “far from it, actually.”

silence hangs in the air for a little while before you finally whisper, “really?”

“really,” he answers in a heartbeat. it’s genuine.

he kisses your neck without warning then, making the nerves near your scent gland buzz with phantom electricity. it’s all warmth and grazing of sharp canines, and the way you arch your back so that you can push your ass further into his crotch in response makes both of your breaths shudder.

he grinds against you, and you react in the same way. drags his tongue along the sweetspot on your neck, and you reach back with your hand so that you can tug on his hair that he’s combed through a million times tonight just for you. you rock against each other like this for a long while, just dry humping, kissing, edging and listening to each other’s shaky breathing.

you’ve become outright slippery between your legs by now, it makes the rubbing of your thighs all the easier even if you want to die from shame because of how obviously horny and out of mind you’re acting during it. moaning and whining, you’re practically trembling by the time his fingers circle your puffy little clit. you feel your hole clenching around nothing in an instant; practically begging you to let him stuff it full already.

he applies steady pressure, the same kind he’s applied so many times before, but it feels different now. you’ve had sex plenty of times during the course of your relationship, even before it had been given an official date, but never during one of your heats. it changes everything. it’s an entirely new playfield that you have yet to explore.

truth be told, you’re shocked. you’ve known him for over two decades, have grown alongside him; drifting apart and reconnecting once or twice, perhaps even three times during your years spent in different high schools and universities, before you’d finally settled on remaining in each other’s lives for good.

you’re supposed to know every inch of both his body and soul by now, but the heat that’s plaguing your mind makes you see him in an entirely different light. it’s like you’re wearing rose-coloured spectacles. you’ve been in love with him before, now you’re obsessed. every breath you take makes the world spin right before your very eyes even though he has just become your world.

and that world slows down, now, all sound is drowned out by your rapid pulse that beats inside your ears as he quickens his touch on your almost painfully sensitive button of nerves. your cunt is so warm, soft, sticky. he can barely keep it together from how badly he wants to pound it already.

“k-kiba,” you stutter his name and suppress the urge to cringe at yourself. anger and overwhelming lust make your toes curl.

“look at how wet you are, pretty,” he utters softly, sounding so baffled and in awe by it at the same time that it’s almost funny. and sure enough, when he raises his hand from the apex of your thighs and holds it right in front of your face, his fingers are practically glimmering with your slick.

you’re quick to avert your eyes from the sight.

“well, you’re really fucking hard, okay?” you attempt to quip back but fail outrageously. it’s supposed to be a jab, your statement, but the high pitch that appears in your voice now exhibits pure, relentless need instead. even your hips are wiggling by their own accord and you hate yourself for allowing it, but you just can’t help it. it’s all instinct.

“fuck yeah i am. i mean, how couldn’t i be hard when you—” he grunts mid-sentence and you swear there’s a certain kind of edge to it; like a growl that thunders somewhere deep within his chest. every exhale tickles your throat as he pants — it cools the sweat that sticks to your skin in a layer so thick that it makes you shiver. “when you smell so fuckin’ good; so sweet?”

your scents meld as you writhe against each other, it makes you tip your head back and gasp from how good it is to inhale into your lungs. at this point, your brain is screaming at you to let him in, to let him do whatever he wants if it means he’ll stuff you full and knock you up by the end of it.

you can’t take it anymore.

you want, no, you need to feel the heated stretch of your alpha’s cock. need to be mounted. to be turned over then so that you can look at his face as he manhandles you into the tightest mating press known to man, and to feel his sharp teeth at long last sink into the sensitive scent gland on your neck, marking you as his before he lets you do the same to him. to let him use you as his cocksleeve the moment you become his mate, his hands gripping your hips so hard during every thrust that you’re bruising at the curves, but it just feels too good to notice the pain to accompany it.

you want your sloppy cunt squelching and gushing slick around him until he can feel his balls tighten and he cums and spills his load so deep into you that it goes straight to your goddamn womb. want to watch him keep every single drop from spilling with the help of his knot that you want him to push into you at some point, too. want his sweaty forehead pressing against your own as he fucking plugs you and sucks in deep, ragged breaths, whispering how he’s just put so many pups inside you that you’ll have to start thinking about moving house.

and afterwards, you want soft, warm kisses instead of messy, sloppy ones. you want the faintest taste of your blood on his tongue intermingling with his own iron. want him looking so big as he holds himself steady above you; your legs still wrapped around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back. want him calling you his mate for the first time ever because he’s finally able to do so. and well… you want yourself whispering the same.

you want all of that.

“kiba, i need you to take care of me,” you whisper, turning around to face him. your body is aching for him by now, the scent and closeness only make your desire worsen. you’re turning light-headed with want and it makes you wrap your twitchy hands around his bicep and tug on his sleeve as you try to pull him forward so that he can top you as soon as possible. you’re clinging onto him for dear life, throwing yourself at him even if you’d said you’d never. “need you to make me yours, ‘kay? right here, right now. please.”

“yeah,” he mumbles, clearly dazed. his body moves so quick, it’s pure thrill. “yeah, of course, baby. anything you want.”

poor man, he’s been waiting for all this time just to hear you say the words.

the quiet clink of his belt buckle becoming undone causes a shiver to rush down your spine. it sends you into a frenzy.

“please. oh, god, please, please,” you repeat your pleas, choking back a sob as he pushes you onto your stomach. the weight of him that settles above you is so comforting, it only causes more hot tears to well up inside your eyes. “it hurts so bad, it feels like i’m fucking dying.”

“i’m here,” he says, and his touch feels like you’re being stroked with embers when he grips you by the hips and makes you push your ass higher into the air. he can’t control the strength he possesses anymore, the manhandling has already begun even if he’s trying so hard to remain gentle. “i’ll take care of ya. i promise, sweetheart.”

who would have thought he’d get a mate for his birthday?

#a bit late but oh well!!#in honor of the birthday boy #kiba smut #kiba x reader #naruto smut #biscuit drabbles #cw omegaverse #cw knotting #cw breeding

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foldingfittedsheets · 4 months ago

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If you’ll allow another mattress question

I sweat so heavily in my sleep. Despite my best efforts, it’s soaking into the starter mattress I got a few years ago. I feel like it’s too late for this one, but what should I keep in mind with my next one?

There's two types of cooling in a bed, active cooling, and passive cooling. Passive cooling is found in most mid-range beds and is stuff like ventilated foams and breathable materials. Active cooling is stuff like phase change materials and some gel- these things will actively change based on the temperature around them to help regulate. If you're a sleeping hot in a big way, look at active cooling for the new bed.

And basically every layer you add makes a difference. Basic mattress protectors keep the bed clean but fancy ones have cooling elements in them. Pillows can trap heat or keep you Super Cool depending on the pillow like Technogel has a freaking epic cooling pillow, really love that one.

Your sheets are also a big factor. Thread count in a single ply can't go much about 500, so when sheets are like 1000 thread count it's multiple plys woven together when tends to trap heat more. So eygptian cotton or bamboo sheets can stop heat from building up in a bad way much more easily. I love DreamFit but I know there's spendy and there's tons of good options those are just the ones I love.

You don't have to splurge and get every cooling element all at once but you can build up some of the sleep environment stuff to be more cooling while waiting for a cooler bed.

#ask ffs #bed talk

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spdrvyn · 1 year ago

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i love my husband — miguel o'hara drabble

fluff. heavy inspo on this video.

sorry for the inactivity and the lazy ass title, exam week came around before i could even start on the next request and i did nothing but relax the entire break (which was only FOUR days) so i'll bring this out and see if i can clear my sched enough to actually do shit. enjoy!

the moonlit sky reflects beautifully onto the shining surface of your mug, filled to the brim of chamomile tea and flooding your nostrils with delight as your body melts into the couch.

work kept you on the edge of your seat for the entire week, it was non-stop meetings and non-stop emergency calls even outside of your working hours that had you so stressed. you were sure you'd picked enough hairs out to make a wig.

the weekend is truly a blessing, you want to stay as far away as humanly possible from your phone and shut yourself out from civilization before you come protector of debra's last minute files.

you missed the soft cotton of your pajamas, not like you haven't worn them in the past couple of days but to actually be able to appreciate what it means to wear them and the greeting of a good night's sleep had you sighing and moaning almost a little too much.

you worked hard, you definitely deserved this. you grab a spare pillow and tuck it under your head turning to the side and looking at the city that surrounded you, your patience and tenacity at the office has now been rewarded with the view you're able to appreciate.

however, the shadow that looms over the carpeted floors of your flat don't go away even after rubbing your eyes. you look up and a faint red glow in the symbol of a very familiar spider catches your eye immediately, you smile lazily through the glass.

miguel slides open the door with no hesitation, cape still drifting in the wind from what you can only assume to be his own previous working activities. you can sense the tension wafting off of him like waves especially as he stomps all the way over to where you are on the couch and looks down at you.

his mask isn't off, he's still fully geared, and all you can do is stare back into those lenses.

that is until he surrenders, body giving up, and his body flops right on top of yours. it doesn't really surprise you, there have been times where miguel has come home after a worse day of saving the multiverse and traps you in a hug before you can protest or move. though you've never really seen him do this before.

he adjusts his position, but still keeps his arms tightly wrapped around you as you move as well so that you're holding him back. his face is buried into the crook of your neck and the feeling of his nose tickling your skin tells you that he unmasked already.

not a single word leaves his mouth, you silently adore the way he's melted into you already, the way the muscles on his back rise only to slowly fall again.

you don't want to break the silence, neither of you do. right now, the only form of communication that matters is touch. your lips burning kisses into his curls, your nose now erasing whatever of your tea was left and making the way for miguel.

he shies away from your touch with a small groan, "i stink."

a giggle threatens to break out from the back of your throat, as many times as he would insist that you'd keep going anyway. "so when you do it, it's fine? i see how it is then."

miguel chuckles, he inches himself into you further. deeper. his breaths become less and less shallow, it's clear that he's taking his fair share of sniffs from you as well. "because you smell good."

"i ran a bath, that's why." one last peck to his head and you opt to just comb his hair instead, running your fingers through the strands and observing as they twist back to curl after brushing it some more.

both of you stay like that for a while, not saying anything, not doing anything, just being here. existing with each other. you always find moments like these beautiful, even when miguel is probably one work call away from shaking hands with the grim reaper.

in miguel, you've found yourself open to so many new experiences and risks you could've never imagined on your own. despite the many amount of times at the start of your relationship that he'd give you space and wouldn't be mad if you left, you kept still by his side anyway. you knew that he was worth it.

in you, miguel found that mundanity that he's never had his whole life. passing out on the sofa on his own never felt the same, most times he'd wake up still in his suit and would have to go to work right after anyway. yet with you, the stress ebbed away over time because he knew that you'd always be waiting for him.

whatever historians had with their relics, miguel had with you. not to keep them confined in a metal case, of course not, but he felt as if you were to be revered. kissed and touched with utmost respect and you'd bring the people their good fortunes and long lives. you certainly did for him and miguel might as well be immortal now.

his hands wander, fingertips delicately grazing over the skin tucked beneath your nightwear. he goes slowly, traveling up to your chest where he—

"miguel?"

his hands freeze, face going red. the guilt of possibly going too far is ready to break free from his heart and consume him until he can feel your body trembling with laughter.

"since you apparently stink so bad, shouldn't you shower first before getting so handsy?" miguel pouts at your comment, he already had the apologies locked and loaded for you.

"just a few more minutes, corazón."

#spiderman: across the spiderverse #spiderverse #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara #spiderman #spiderman 2099 #miguel o'hara x reader #x reader #fluff

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lanitaminaj · 7 months ago

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once upon a dream

a strange man, or an entity, finds itself plastered on your wall. toji, you begin to learn, finds himself intertwined within your life. inspired by this post.

cw; female reader, sexual themes, cussing, mentions of suicide, mentions of death, paranormal, horror.

he simply stared, unmoving nor unblinking as he observed you.

you gazed back, your doe-eyes large and your babydoll-lips parted as they took in the entity etched on your lavender-purple bedroom wall.

"are you going to hurt me?" you rasped, your voice low as you kept your sleeping parents next door in mind.

he just smirked; the left corner of his lengthy, scarred lips were pulled mockingly upward.

"are you going to kill me in my sleep?" you whispered, your eyelids heavy as a tiny yawn escaped your plush lips.

his chest bounced, as if he was laughing in a tone impossible for your human ears to gather.

"okay," you shrugged, wrapping the pearl-white, cotton-soft blanket up to your shoulders.

he was merely composed of a head and a chest; composed of raven-black, messy tresses. his eyes were almond-shaped, their sunken composure indulged in your form as if you were prey. all you could make out beneath his thick, veiny neck was a set of toughened, herculean shoulders. even covered by the hellish-cloud of ink, you could make out every inch and bulge of inhuman brawn.

"what are you?" you questioned, your body comfortably entangled within the fluffy fabric. you knew he was outworldly, yet you couldn’t discern from where he’d come from. was he your guardian angel? a spiritual protector sent to guard you as you dreamt? or was he demonic, an impish spirit serving as a reminder of the sins living within you?

he, unsurprisingly, refrained from responding. his smirk dropped, yet his nightshade-eyes remained draped on you.

“fine,” you huffed, before you allowed exhaustion to envelop your resting form. Your feather-stuffed pillows molded themselves to accommodate the shape of your head, the baby-powder scent seducing you into succumbing to a peaceful slumber.

wordlessly, you blinked your eyes twice at the strange, ghastly man on your wall, before the world around you became pitch-black.

there was a little bunny that often paraded around in the emerald-green grass of your backyard. some mid-days, when your parents were off at work, you would gather some baby carrots from the refrigerator and feed the little creature. it was a cute thing, you decided, with its long, floppy ears and fur which copied the pattern of cowskin. the only difference was that the darker patterns were a light, caramel-brown rather than a deep, mocha-brown.

the soft baby chewed happily, a soft coo escaping your lips as its rosy-pink nose twitched happily.

the little bunny was an adorable distraction from the source of your recent frustration: the demon in your wall.

you’ve tried for weeks to try and communicate. on your side, you’ve provided a multitude of prompts to ask him.

“where’re you from?” was one. “what’s your name? why’re you in my room?” were others.

of course, there’d been a lack of answers from the demon, causing you to angrily cease your one-sided conversations.

you’d even gone as far as to script a lengthy paper to him, leaving it on the cedar-wood surface of your dresser one night for him to read. when you’d awoken, however, you discovered the letter to be ripped up and discarded messily on your oak-wood floor.

how rude.

your parents had been gone; your father was harvesting bee-honey while your mother attended to her floral shop.

you picked up the little bunny, holding its bustling form close to your warm chest. a light breeze whispered around you, an indignation of the twilight-purple evening sky’s soon arrival.

your bare feet kissed the blades of the clover-green grass, ignoring how the sharp tips provoked slight pain as you stepped. you trekked through the vanilla-white door of the baby-blue painted cottage, the wood underneath you groaning as you inched closer and closer to your lavender-lilac room.

your bedsheets had been in a disarray; all messy with the indent of your body pressed into them. your single window had been cranked open, the smell of ivory and pine-trees surrounded your room. your cotton, white blanket reminded you of the clouds you’d seen that morning. the bubblegum-pink tulip on your dresser was dying.

“there you go,” you softly cooed, gently setting the shaking bunny on your cloudy comforter. it settled in quite nicely, its little nose nuzzling the comforting texture and smell of your bed.

you peered at your wall. he wasn’t there.

a timid grumbling caught your attention.

your eyes widened, your ears focusing on the rumbling occurring again. it didn’t take you long to realize the bunny’s stomach had been thundering, its doll-eyes peering up at you pleadingly.

“hungry?” you questioned it, as if the furry creature could truly understand your human words. it appears that it could, however, its whiskers twitching in response.

“okay,” you nodded, your legs setting for the kitchen. “wait here,” you commanded. “i’ll find you some food.”

there hadn’t been much, honestly. your mother’s produce jars had been empty, the only evidence of there ever being fruits were the royal-blue blueberry and scarlet-red raspberry juices that lined the glasses. you had honey-baked bread, but you weren’t sure if bunnies could eat loaves. a jug of lamb’s milk sat tranquilly in the refrigerator, but you figured it’ll make the tiny creature sick.

suddenly, you remembered the strawberries that your father had been planting. sauntering out the door once more, you set forth to the patch that grew quietly near your home.

like a christmas tree, the bush stood soldierly while the blooming strawberries served as ornaments.

you picked gingerly from it, making sure to pick generously in fear of your father being upset.

somewhat alone, the wind’s embrace and the soft singing of the mockingjays accompanied you as you slipped into a daze.

you thought of your parents, how often tired, yet content, they seemed with their lives. your mother’s serene smile was a sight you adored, while your nose regularly basked in your father’s constant scent of honey. you thought of your little world, how you indulged in simple pleasures such as reading jane austen and producing grains of your own poetry. the other townies often depict these simple pleasures as boring, yet there was some comfort gained in you as you embraced your creative side.

there wasn’t much time left to indulge in your deepest thoughts, of course, as you remembered the little bunny that laid hungry in your bed. swiftly, you gathered the harvested strawberries as you set off for your home, the tranquil little cottage soft in your honeyed-eyes.

you trampled through the door, a whistle on your lips as you chopped up the strawberries in a tiny, heart-shaped ceramic plate. it was a ruby-red shade, messily painted with strawberry and tomato juice from when you were seven-years-old.

“bunny,” you called, your voice sweet and high like a hummingbird’s song. the bunny refrained from trotting to the kitchen, its soft paws against the wooden-floor abstained from entering your ears. you turned towards your bedroom door, the pearl-white hatch suddenly closed and foreboding. you couldn’t remember if you sealed it before you slipped out, yet you disregarded it as an unimportant thought compared to the direness at hand.

“bunny?” you called once more, crouching slowly towards your bedroom with the heart-shaped plate in your left hand. the door ahead of you was coated with hand-painted lavender and pink tulips that scattered beautifully against the colorlessness of the canvas. the sky behind you had turned into a hue of tangerine-orange and violet-purple.

the door creaked as you pushed it open. the plate in your hand thunderously shattered as it dropped in shards against your bedroom floor.

near the lavender wall, where the entity lived, laid your little bunny.

a sob emerged from your throat. your beloved bunny rested in the hands of the entity, the furry creature coated in blood as the wall’s ghost ate from it. when it was done, it simply tossed the slain bunny on the ground, a squelch sound made as it dropped in its scarlet-red bloody pool.

you submerged the urge to vomit, yet couldn’t fight the urge to pass out.

a coral-pink bowl of tomato-soup laid carefully against the palms of your slightly-shaking hands.

you observed the entity, the inhuman-man licking the bunny’s blood that had coated on his fingers.

you hadn’t quite noticed it, but the entity was growing.

he grew arms, the muscles bulging and long. his hands were just as big, with veins coating throughout the flesh. or, form? you wondered if his veins contained blood, or if they were like plant vines. you imagined it was the latter. after the events from earlier, you were convinced that this thing was surely subhuman.

and yet, you couldn’t halt yourself from showing some form of sympathy for it. “i didn’t know you were hungry,” you grumbled, your eyes darting down as you simultaneously spooned your soup. you weren’t very hungry; your appetite had been satiated for at least a week. “i would’ve gotten you something had you just told me.”

he simply stared, his sharp-eyes trained on your smaller form as he sucked. you could feel the little smirk that rested on his bloodied lips. barbaric, you couldn’t help but think. your thoughts translated on your face, a subconscious snarl present on your angry lips.

“you’re evil,” you choked out, placing the soup-bowl on your pearl-white nightstand. “i’m not speaking to you anymore.”

you tucked yourself into bed, your pillowy-sheets brought up to your warm face. you could imagine that the entity was simply staring at you, that nonchalant expression on his face as if he couldn’t care less about eating your precious baby bunny. you tried your best to block out any thoughts of today’s events, your subconscious allowing your mind to dream of pleasant things such as your mother’s cherry-lime pie and your father’s lullabies from your childhood.

within a few minutes, you succumbed to sleep.

by the time you woke up the next morning, you feigned surprise at the entity not being plastered on your wall. good, you thought. yet, there was some wicked pulse in your heart that ached at the usual disappearance of the ghost.

your legs carried you out of bed, your yawning self delighted at the sight of your mother and father eating and chatting blissfully at the kitchen table.

“good morning, honey,” your mother greeted, her lips planting a small kiss on your rosy-pink cheeks. your father squeezed your arm.

“honey,” his resonant voice boomed. “i think my strawberries have bloomed, can you pluck them?”

your back fought the urge to straighten itself rigid, your voice fighting the urge to say “i’ve actually plucked some yesterday”.

you complied, however, like the good daughter you were. “i’ll go get them,” you beamed, grabbing the woven-basket near the front door before you set off for the meadows.

it wasn’t anything peculiar. you merely picked the remaining berries, placed them in your basket, and set off back home. you arrived back to your parents on the porch, their tanned fingers wrapped around mason jars filled with what appeared to be peach-tea.

“honey,” your mother sang your childhood nickname. “set the basket down in the kitchen. we left a glass on the counter for you.”

“thanks, mama,” you thanked, your steps echoing as you entered the tiny kitchen. you sat the basket down, yet something peculiar occurred. a thumping sound emerged, a noise consistent and erratic as it bounced frighteningly on what you determined to be on hardwood-flooring. you listened intently, before you realized the sound was coming from your own bedroom.

your skin suddenly felt very cold.

your crept towards your room, your heart pumping as your hand pushed gently against your colorful door. you swore your heart fought not to stop as the door creaked eerily.

the thumping stopped once you entered your room. you froze, your mind racing with a multitude of thoughts at once. oh god, you cried to yourself. perhaps i’m losing my mind. it wouldn’t be a possibility too far fetched. after all, what sane person sees a ghost in their wall?

but then, there it was. a bunny emerged from under your bed, the thumps it created verified that it was the source of the anxious noises produced. you sighed, but then you realized under sudden inspection that this wasn’t just any bunny. its long, floppy ears; its caramel-brown cowskin patterns.

this was your bunny.

“what,” you breathed to yourself, its pink nose wobbling as it inched closer to you. you couldn’t believe it; your little bunny had been brought back to life?

you bent down to scratch the beloved creature behind its ears, but gasped as it disappeared underneath your touch. within a heartbeat, it was gone once more.

you choked back a sob.

“no,” you huffed, your throat tightening and your heart broken. “no, my bunny.”

a tear slid down your cheek, before something in the corner of your eyes caught your attention. you turned your head, your eyes widening in pure surprise.

there, on your wall, decorated with black-gunk, purple-ink and burgundy-blood, was a simple appellation.

toji.

when you first started seeing choso, you refrained from bringing him home for select reasons.

for one, you didn’t want your parents to flock and coo around him like doves. for two, you didn’t want him to be frightened by the man in your wall.

toji, you discovered, had gotten stronger as the days progressed. the wall carved out indentations of his thighs, the tendons within them muscular and large. similar to his arms, you noted.

you additionally noticed how jealous he’d get, for reasons you didn’t quite know.

during late nights, when your parents were whisked away by either deep sleep or work duties, you found yourself gushing over choso to the shadow man.

“he’s a gentleman,” you blushed, your fingers toying with the loose fabrics on your comforter. “he sometimes doesn’t have much to say, but he’ll bring me little flowers here and there. specifically baby’s breath cause they’re my favorite. i’m surprised he remembered i told him that the one time i did.”

toji kept that common smirk on his ghastly face, yet his features often altered when he heard you speak about choso. for one, his eyes switched. a fire ignited in them, a violet-purple glint in them that never went unnoticed. his eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly, with his nose flaring ever so slightly.

there was one day you were enthused over choso so bad that it caused toji to completely disappear for three nights, only to smugly reemerge as you pathetically called his name in the dead of night. you’ve received the message, of course. you’ve refrained from raving to toji about your date after those nights.

tonight, however, you’ve gotten the home to yourself. your parents had been flocked away to attend to some dire work obligations, their presence not revered as that meant you were able to bring choso in. you’ve forgotten about one presence, however, too blissed out to remember.

you ransacked your parents’ liquor cabinet, your fingers pulling out a bottle of jack daniel’s tennessee honey whiskey. your father’s favorite.

it was disgusting, of course, your lips pressing bitterly into each other as you took little shots of it. you were never a huge alcohol enthusiast, but you read somewhere that it was an aphrodisiac. from the way a sudden warmth blossomed between your thighs coupled with the way you could feel your tits hardening underneath your white-sundress, you knew the effects were taking place. with choso’s low-eyes and his palm practically caressing your bare calf, you could tell that the alcohol was affecting him as well.

“you’re beautiful,” he uttered above the soft voices of ella fitzgerald and louis armstrong singing ‘the nearness of you’ on the living room’s mahogany-wooden vinyl player.

“thank you,” you breathed before the sudden liquid courage got a hold of you. you got a hold of his hand, guiding it so that it reached the inner warmth of your thighs.

“do you wanna?” you asked sweetly, your cunt dampening as you heard choso rasp out a soft little ‘fuck’.

“we’re all alone, right?” choso asked, to which you gently nodded your response. “no interruptions?”

“no interruptions,” you promised, before letting yourself be whisked away to your bedroom with your date in tow.

he was so muscular; a fact you didn’t know as his body was constantly concealed underneath the robes and baggier fabrics that he donned. his buffed chest rubbed consistently against your softer breasts, causing them to swell underneath his touch. melodic moans and gasps escaped from your lips, your eyes pressed shut from intense ecstasy and pleasure. his cock, god. his cock was veiny and thick; your lips had previously been wrapped around his salmon-pink dick as it began to rise in your throat. currently, it was being punched routinely in-and-out of your tight, soaked cunt. your nails dug into the man’s pale-back, the ruby-red scratches contrasted beautifully against his canvas-like skin.

it was all too much; you didn’t know if you’d be able to withstand how his cock was fucking you deeply and roughly as he breathed heavily in your ear.

“yeah, you like that?” you could hear his heavenly, sexed-out voice question you. the boldness and confidence in his words caused your blissful eyes to open-up slightly, before they immediately bolted-open in shock.

just a few centimeters from your face had been choso’s own, yet something had changed in his eyes.

they glew a violet-purple hue. right there, just below his sweating nose, was his mouth; his lips were pressed into a familiar, hunting smirk.

you could’ve died right there, but you would’ve found it absolutely humiliating for your tombstone to read; death by bomb-ass-dick.

“yeah,” choso’s voice questioned once more, yet your heart thumped at you in both nirvana and in warning. was this truly choso? “you love this dick, don’t you?” he spoke, causing you to subconsciously moan in response. “love how your cunt squeezes on it, huh?”

“yes,” you nonetheless answer, too fucked out to ponder anything less in the moment. “love this dick.”

“love how it makes you go dumb, don’t you?” choso’s voice began to transform into something unfamiliar. the base in his voice lightened, yet changed its tone to that of something more cocksure. a voice you would later be able to put a face to.

“choso,” you whined, an action that erupted voluminous noises to pass out your mouth as choso slammed his cock deeper in your throbbing pussy. a veiny hand snuck to grasp at your blushing tit, before the same hand trailed upward to carefully hold your throat.

“you’re mine,” he hissed, as if something were causing him great pain. “all fucking mine. this cunt belongs to me.”

“all yours, choso,” you swore, your head bobbing up and down the best it could against the grasp of his hand. you could feel the wave of your orgasm beginning to crash, your heightened ah,ah,ah’s the indicator of what was starting to arise.

“gonna cum, aren’t you?” choso solicited, his fingers rubbing against your cunt’s pearl. “cum then, pretty girl.”

and so you did. you cried as your cunt clenched around his cock. choso groaned at the vanilla-reminiscent ring of cream you produced, the man pulling out just as he filled the trojan wrapped around his tip with his own salty-flavored cream. with a huff, he pulled the condom off his cock before he tossed it in the midnight-black tiny trash can behind him, his naked body then collapsing adjacent to yours.

you laid like that for a while, your bare breasts rhythmically rising up-and-down with each deep breath you took. you allowed your left forearm to press against your shut eyelids, allowing yourself a moment to recover from the orgasm that passed you.

“that was good,” you laughed through a string of heaving breaths. “did you like it?”

“yeah,” choso replied, a hint of confusion inked his steady voice. a pregnant pause filled the air, his arm draping across your bare shoulders. “would you find it crazy if i said i didn’t remember any of it?”

“what?” you chuckled, taking his words to be some form of a joke. your laughter halted, however, once you took in his serious lips contorted to that of a flat line. “did you black out?” you then question, your breasts bowing shamelessly as you sat up against your soft pillows.

“i might’ve,” he shrugged, allowing his form to press into your blanket underneath him. he left it as that, causing you to sigh out an ‘oh’ and nod your head dumbly. you wanted to say how he seemed normal, his usual self except for the fact he was a much bolder personality in bed. you blamed that on the arousal, however. wasn’t it normal for one to act more daring during sex?

“i’ve got to get going, anyways,” choso suddenly remarked, his taller figure swiftly bouncing off your bed which left you downhearted. you loved company; those fleeting moments after sex never failed to even be cherished by your heart. “your parents will be home sometime soon, won’t they?”

“yeah,” you smiled, although it was gone just as quickly as it appeared. it was sad. you felt like a pathetic little puppy dog all depressed once its owner had to leave for work. “do you want me to walk you out?”

“sure, honey.”

you then quickly threw on your discarded sundress from off the floor, trailing behind choso as his fully-dressed form strode casually through the living room, his right hand clasping around the front door’s handle.

“are you free next saturday?” you asked him, a blush on your face as he bent down to kiss your warm cheek. “yes,” he replied, flicking your cheek as if wiping an invisible tear from it. “i’ll call you. goodnight.”

and then he was off. “goodnight,” you called after him, closing the door behind him as you did. you didn’t lock it, of course, for your parents’ sake.

trailing sadly back to your room, you screamed at the sight before you.

it was toji, but he’d been out of the wall. there he was, in all his cruel glory, sitting nonchalantly on the edge of your bed. he’d developed his lower limbs; his legs and thighs, of course, just as muscular as the rest of him. yet, there was something about him that contrasted his buff appearance. maybe it was his clenched waist, a waist you slightly envied. maybe it was his fringed hair-style, an unserious look for a demon.

he looked, nonetheless, dare you even say it, normal for an evil creature. in evil creature standards?

and then you felt ridiculous for casting so much attention onto his appearance when there was a much larger issue at stake.

“what are you doing on my bed?”

he didn’t answer, of course, his devilish eyes glancing up-and-down your swaying form. you wondered what he was thinking about, wondering if you could even touch him. you strode towards him, your thoughts governing your impulsive thoughts. your hand stretched to caress his cheek, but right before you did, he vanished.

you gasped, goosebumps growing across your skin as you felt the presence of him running up and down your arms. his aura possessed you entirely, but not literally; in a metaphorical sense, toji’s spirit danced all throughout your shivering form. you could tell he reappeared behind you, the buzzing sensation of his arms interlocked across your waist as he put his ghostly lips just below your earlobe. it must be frustrating, you thought as you allowed him to quietly take you in. it must be frustrating to not be able to communicate, at least not in the vocal way.

he bit at your earlobe a little, causing you to laugh angelically at the playful, ticklish feeling. you could feel his chest against your back bounce happily. at least you knew entities could laugh.

he placed a little kiss at the nape of your neck, his arms unlinking themselves from you. you turned around, interested in seeing what clever expression toji would have on his handsome, evil face. your smile dropped when you discovered he wasn’t there, wasn’t hiding away in any little corner of your room.

“toji?” you called, but to no avail. “toji?” you nonetheless tried again, your legs pacing across your room and into different parts of the cottage room in some attempt to find him. he was gone.

that night, he hadn’t returned to the wall, either. you’ve gotten used to his glowing eyes staring you down as you slept, a strange conformality you so desperately missed. even when your parents returned home, kissing you a goodnight on the top of your forehead, you still found yourself crying to sleep.

the sorrowful cries continued throughout the duration of two-weeks, the fever of your sobs heightening as you would soon discover choso had been found expectedly dead the week afterward.

everything felt the same to you these days.

your bedsheets had gone unwashed for four weeks, the comforter stained with the scarlet-red residue of your menstrual and your pillows damped by your constant tears. you’ve been planning on washing them, of course, had your father not reminded you that the blueberries were ready to be harvested.

“your mother had been planning on making blueberry compote,” he explained, clearing his throat as he reassuringly rubbed your arm as you laid motionless in bed. “blueberry compote over those buttermilk pancakes you like.”

you thanked God you at least had parents who loved you. if it hadn’t been for them, you would’ve hung yourself with your soiled bed sheets. you’ve been having those thoughts at least once a day, now.

puffy-eyed, you zoned out as you carelessly plucked at the blueberries, chucking them in your mother’s woven basket. why couldn’t your father pick his own blueberries? you tried to think positively, this outdoorsy excursion providing some form of distraction from your own thoughts.

there were no bunnies hopping aimlessly around the grassy-patch. there were no songbirds chirping melodically among themselves. there was only you, the woven basket, the fucking blueberries.

then there was a snapping. your head jerked in the direction of what you determined to be an animal stepping on a fallen branch. you hadn’t seen anything; your eyes narrowed before they darted back to watch your own hands work.

another snap. you tilted your head once more, your heartbeat beginning to race. two more snaps commenced, causing your legs to rise up to your full length.

and then, emerging from the bushes and branches of the forest just to the right of you, there he stood.

“choso?” you gasped, the blueberry basket in your grasp collapsed towards where your feet rooted.

there were clear indications that it was him; his exhausted, heavily bruised eyes, his cocoa-brown tresses, the scars that laid across his delicate nose’s bridge. yet, there was something sinisterly new about him. his eyes were narrowed, his gaze pointed hungrily at you as if you were a delicious bambi-doe. his lips curled upward into a simper, as if there was some inside joke between him and only him. his irises, interestingly enough, glowed a soft, orchid-purple hue.

realistically, you should’ve known that it wasn’t truly choso. he wasn’t Jesus, the simple human unable to rise himself up from his perish after months. perhaps it was the lack of sleep, or the desperation that constantly lurked through every crevice of your brain. you ran to him, ran to the figure who you presumed to be your beloved choso.

“choso,” you sobbed and heaved pathetically against his chest. you hugged your arms tightly around his waist, so tight that the man could die again. your body mournfully bounced against his, your tears so intense they stained the entire front of his tunic. he merely patted your head with his right hand, his left hand softly held your waist. “you have no idea how bad i missed you,” you hiccuped, your body suddenly heaving over as if you were about to throw up.

his hands, their softened nature, tenderly held your damp face. he peered deep into your eyes, as if he was opening the gateway to your soul.

“choso,” you rasped once more, before he pulled you in to plant an amorous, long kiss on your lips. you hadn’t quite known what ghost lips tasted like; maybe Earth and rot. you internally gagged. you thanked God, however, that ghost kisses tasted exactly like nothing. there’d been no smell nor taste, similarly to those unscented soap bars your mother would make every first of the month.

you kissed for quite a long time; his tongue suddenly found itself slipped deviously inside your mouth. you moaned, his ghostly hands curiously exploring the mounds and curves of your body.

you don’t recall how or when, but you do remember finding your back kissing the bark of an old sycamore tree. his hands roamed throughout your body, his hands cupping the softness of your tits and the plumpness of your ass. you squealed in his mouth, feeling his cock harden against your thighs.

he fucked you right there and then, his cock suddenly in his hands before he slipped it between the warm folds of your cunt.

you moaned, the songbirds above you seem to chirp along to every little sound you made. he ripped the top of your baby-pink dress, your hardened tits peeking out at him as he pinched them. he nipped at the soft of your neck, his bite becoming intense as you began to reach nirvana.

“fuck,” you rasped, your eyes shut in ecstacy as your mouth formed an erotic ‘o’ shape. “fuck, fuck, fuck.”

you peeked an eye out, your movements and noises suddenly stilling as you noticed toji’s face smirking back at you.

you then orgasmed, your screams of both pleasure and horror scattered the crows that were once perched on the tree branches above you. you fell to your knees, your screams growing in fervor as tears began to stream down your trembling face.

you remained in your state of shock, even long after your father had ran to you and carried you home. the basket of blueberries had been left on the ground.

everyone had thought you were crazy; you were sure of it. you were beginning to think you were truly crazy, too.

you were in your bed once more, a bowl in your hands. hazelnut soup this time, another one of your mother’s delicacies.

you felt awful; your head was throbbing, your eyes were puffy, your ass hurt from falling on it. you were sure your hair looked disarrayed, but external beauties didn’t mean shit if internally you felt suicidal.

your parents had left you at home again, your father heading off to town to find a shrink while your mother set off to find some medicinal treatments. town wasn’t too far, thankfully, so you wouldn’t be left alone for too long.

in the window behind you, something tapped irregularly. you ignored it, at first, your perpetual state of numbness too strong to escape from. you only managed to snap out of it when something hard was thrown at your window, the sudden bang of it making you jump in place. you scurried to the sill, your shaky hands swiftly opening the pane to peek your head out.

nothing save for the cool breeze and howling owls were out there. peculiar.

closing the window behind you, you immediately shouted when you turned back round to face your bed.

there he was again; choso’s form, but toji’s face inhibited it. it was something out of those stephen king novels, something so eerie it couldn’t possibly be reality.

“leave me alone,” you howled, falling to your knees and scurrying to the corner of your room where the evil entity prowled closer. “leave me the fuck alone.”

“why?” choso’s raspy, creaky voice questioned, when in truth it was truly toji’s. his smug face sneered, his sharp teeth bared and shining.

you screamed, your hands interlocked as you dug your face into your shaky knees. you rocked madly back and forth, the stench of rot and swamp drawing closer to your trembling form.

“what’re you so scared of?” the terrifying tone questioned, his hands resting on your moistened-from-sweat thighs. you timidly glanced from between your tresses, your heart suddenly stopping once you took in toji’s face. you could feel the pumping in the organ coming to a halt, your pupils dilating to the extreme as your mouth was opened in a silent scream. his purple-hued scleras coupled with the emergence of sharp, razor-teeth influenced every tissue in your body to remain very still. you could see the entity move closer to your horrified form, the teeth then sinking harshly into the skin of your neck. you couldn’t even wail; you were forced to wordlessly endure his brutal torture.

your waterlines, to toji’s accord, began to kiss each other as your eyes found themselves closed shut. the sensation of an unexpected breeze whoosked throughout your entire body; had you could, you would’ve intensely shivered. the hair on your skin’s surface found itself raised, and then instantaneously rested. the world around you had grown quiet and dark, a fact you were able to govern even from behind the mulberry-colored darkness of your eyelids.

you felt very light, like a fairy soaring over a beautiful field of dandelions. there’d been no weight on you, not from what you feel as you arose from what appeared to be an extremely restful slumber. you rubbed your eyes, your brain too foggy and tired to completely register the darkness that encompassed your glowy figure. you’d then noticed, of course, as you eventually would’ve had to, anyways.

you rubbed your eyes once more, somehow convinced that this would’ve changed the trajectory of your current predicament. “mom?” you called out, your voice light and unsure as you contemplated if this was another nightmare you were in. no response from your mother, as predicted. you began to slightly panic, your chest labored and your airy legs began to pace in circles. “dad?” you wailed, your voice growing in tremor. “mom? dad?”

“they’re not here,” a voice – toji’s – captivated your startled form. you spun dangerously around, your vocal chords dancing as you screamed bloody murder.

“where am i?” you sobbed, sinking down to your knees as you cried and shook. “where’s my parents?”

“they’re not here,” toji simply repeated, his muscular, whispery legs drawing closer to your woeful, tiny body. “you’re home.”

“no,” you hissed, crawling away from toji’s extended arms and handsome smile. “no, i’m not fucking home.”

his smile never faltered, but the little devilish gleam in his eyes subdued. “you are,” he insisted, your angry scowl and furrowed eyebrows challenging his claim. “this is your home now, too.”

“the fuck are you talking about?” you cussed, your smart-mouth suddenly shutting as he presented you with an image. your sight was replaced with the visual of your cold, murdered body on your bedroom’s oakwood-floors. your beloved parents had been crying over you, crowding your form.

your throat tightened as you felt the urge to gag.

“no!” you wailed, your body shaking violently as you pressed yourself deeper into the deception-flooring beneath you. “nonononowhycouldyoudothistomehowcouldyoudothistomewhatthefuckareyou.”

toji simply stared, unmoving nor unblinking as he observed you.

“isn’t this what you wanted?” you could hear him question, a sheen of scarlet-red coated your vision as you peered up at him through glaring eyes.

“what the fuck are you talking about?”

“that one night,” he began, his expression and tone steady. “when you wrapped that fabric around your neck-”

“-that was not for you to fucking take,” you interrupted, unable to bring your dead spirit form off the floor. “that would’ve been on my fucking terms, toji.”

silence. you found yourself growing silent for a beat, too.

“i’m enamored with you,” toji then admitted, your eyes softening not from love, but from pure defeat.

“why, toji?” you couldn’t help but question. “why did you have to appear in my wall?”

“i saved you,” he responded, surprisingly without cockiness or smugness.

you scoffed.

“you had a mundane life-”

“-i had a happy life,” you corrected. “comfortable, even.”

“is that why you tried to kill yourself?”

“oh my fuck-” you screamed, burrowing your head into into your palms.

“don’t fight it,” you could hear toji say, and you could hear the stupid little smirk he had plastered throughout his words.

“what now?” you despairingly questioned his ghostly, vibrant form. “what do you expect from me, now?”

“i expect you to wed me,” he shrugged, his head cocked as if that statement had been fucking truly expected.

nonetheless, you did wed him. it was a simple wedding; a few other ghostly figures attended, none of which you personally recognized. toji tried to pass them off as your ancestors, but you knew he was lying shamelessly through his teeth. you hadn’t worn a beautiful gown, nor had he’d worn a luxurious tux. you’d both been adorning the outfits you’d passed on in the human realm.

it’s funny, you noted; funny how the only marriage you’d ever have would not have come until you were passed into the spirit realm. you used to daydream about your possible marriage to choso, now here you were getting wed to his murderer. you wondered where choso’s spirit had gone, his presence not sensed nor seen in the small crowd present. you suspected that he’d gone to a better place, perhaps somewhere like heaven. he was an angel on earth with you, it would only be right for him to be where lightness constantly shone on his skin like crystals.

toji simply had his soul banished.

“do you accept her to be your wife?” the unearthly priest-ghost questioned.

“i do,” toji answered.

the priest swiveled to peer into you, his pearl-like eyes sunken into his wrinkled-face.

“do you accept…” his cracked voice began. “...to take toji as your husband for eternity?”

you peered into the eyes of toji, his scalera’s enticing as they shone an adoring hue of orchid-purple just for you.

“i do.”

#toji fushiguro #jjk toji #toji zenin #toji x reader #toji smut #toji x you #jujutsu kaisen toji #jujutsu toji #toji x y/n #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen

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bat2pony · 3 months ago

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I think it is time I made my statements about the ships I enjoy from gen 4.

Full disclaimer though, these are my personal opinions! Everyone is entitled to their own headcanons and ships ^^ if you don't like mine, that's chill. As long as yours aren't problematic or harmful, I won't judge cause we're all just here to have fun 🙏

Likely my most controversial, but I ship Twilight Sparkle and Flash Centry. I can't help it. Them being canonically flirtatious in eqg wrapped its claws around my throat in 6th grade and I've never been able to escape. A tragic love story for the books.

I also enjoy it because her brother, Shining Armor, is a royal guard and with Princess Cadence. Flash Centry is a royal guard. Twilight is a princess. Do you see my train of thought?Also Twilight with any of the other mane 6 feels strange to me, although I can't express why.

I am a Fluttercord shipper. Fluttershy makes Discord lunches AND has pillows of them together in her cottage. And you know damn well they made those pillows together during one of their tea parties. They're canon without being canon and no one will ever change my mind. Also the tragedy of discord living long after Fluttershy. What is joy? I wouldn't know.

I ship Appledash in FiM and Rarijack in eqg. But also I think Applejack, Rainbow Dash, and Rarity should just be poly in FiM.

Pinkie pie and Cheese Sandwich.

I like it when they're canon.

Honorable mentions:

Flutterdash (because I'm a sucker for the protector x the lover trope) and FlutterHugger because they're stoners.

And Pinkie Favor or Party Pie or whatever (Pinkie Pie x Party Favor) but that's literally just because they're cotton candy together and they're both party ponies. I like pink and blue combos.

Its very likely that I'm forgetting some of the ships I enjoy but meh. That is all.

#i wrote this so haphazardly forgive me #goddamn ponies #my little pony #mlp #mlp fandom #mlp g4 #mlp fim #mlp gen 4 #friendship is magic #my little pony friendship is magic #twilight sparkle #equestria girls #mlp eqg #mlp shipping #mlp headcanons #ponies #shipping #ship names

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kashi-prompts · 2 years ago

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Title: Cuts and Scrapes, Soap and Kisses

Prompt: Kakashi comes home exhausted and dirty. You take care of him.

Pairing: Kakashi x Reader

Rating: T (pure fluff, no smut)

A/N: Ya girl loves the fluff just as much as she loves the damsel in distress trope (not listed here tho lol).

***

Thud

You lifted your head from your pillow, your ears perking up at the sound of Kakashi's bag dropping on the linoleum floor of the kitchen. Quickly, you stood up, yanking the sheets off from your legs and shuffling your feet quickly towards the sound of a heavy sigh.

In the kitchen, he faced away from you, looking down as he shuffled the mail left out for him in his hands. You watched him for a moment, noticing the tear of his uniform on the back of his upper arm. Between the parted fabric was a small razor like cut, its blood dried. His shoulders sagged in exhaustion.

"You're home," you smiled softly, leaning your body against the door frame. Quickly he turned around, dropping the mail back onto the counter. He sighed in gratitude at the sight of you, a content smile behind his mask.

Without saying anything, he lifted his arms, urging you to come forward and envelope yourself in his chest. You pressed into him, smelling the musk on his skin from a long week away.

"Sorry if I smell," he murmured apologetically, kissing the top of your head.

"Oh, not too bad for you only being away for a week," you laughed, pulling away to look up at him. Your eyes searched his, his eyebrows perched in amusement.

His gaze was tired. Hues of purple painted the thin skin under his waterline. You reached up, rubbing the dirt from his cheek with your thumb. He smiled softly.

You took his hand, yanking him towards the bathroom.

"You should be asleep right now, [y/n]," he reminded you. "You have to be up early for work tomorrow, don't you?"

"Yes," you said, turning the light of the bathroom on. "But I'll be fine."

"I can clean myself," he began to laugh, watching you yank his forehead protector off and toss it on the counter. You reached up, peeling back his mask to reveal a line of dirt where the hem of his mask usually sat.

"Just relax," you smiled, standing up on your toes to plant a soft kiss on his lips. You held his bicep to steady himself. His muscles loosened.

Carefully, you continued to disassemble his uniform piece by piece - his heavy jonin jacket, his kunai thigh case, his gloves. Turning around, you turned the shower head on, letting it warm as you knelt down to begin unraveling the soiled tape on his legs.

"Sit," you ordered calmly, guiding him to the edge of the toilet seat cover. You continued to unravel the tape around his feet and ankles, dirt floating onto your tiled floor. Looking up, his eyes had closed, his shoulders slumped as he attempted to crack his neck.

"Was the mission successful?," you asked him quietly, pulling at the hem of his shirt.

"Mhm," he replied in a murmur, opening his eyes as he lifted his arms up. You slid the shirt off, tossing it to the dirty pile of clothes before returning again to pull off the chain mail undershirt. Underneath, there were thick, ugly bruises on his chest. His arms were littered in scrapes and cuts and you frowned, tracing a finger over them.

You looked back up at him, his eyes watching you intently as you assessed him.

"Did you clean these?" you asked, pointing at a particularly gnarly cut on his bicep. He shook his head, his eyes fluttering closed again. You reached under the bathroom sink, retrieving an overly used bottle of rubbing alcohol and a few cotton balls. Dowsing the cotton balls in alcohol, you carefully dabbed his wounds, hearing a soft hiss come from his mouth.

“Sorry,” you frowned, leaning down to kiss his grimy forehead. You lifted a hand, grazing his jaw and feeling the grey stubble on your finger tips.

"You need a good shave, Hatake," you smiled, discarding the cotton balls in the trash. He chuckled to you, eyes opening.

"I need a good nap, is what I need," he chuckled.

"C'mon," you stood up him, testing the water temperature before peeling his pants away and ushering him under the shower head. You watched him bow his head, the hot water dripping down each strand of silver hair and down his shoulders. Without him noticing, you slipped out of your clothes and under the stream of warm water behind him.

"Oh?" He lifted his head, peering back at you as he sensed your presence behind him.

"Don't get any ideas," you giggled, watching him raise his eyebrows expectantly, "You can barely stay awake now."

"That's true," he agreed, nodding as he rubbed his face in the hot water. You slid a hand up his neck, watching him lean his head back as you began sifting the water through his hair. The first time you had slipped a hand through his hair, you had never suspected how thick it would be. The water barely penetrated its wild form. Carefully, you squeezed out some of his shampoo, rubbing it between your hands and combing it through the clumps of silver on his head. He groaned happily, feeling you massaging his scalp.

You continued to clean him, scrubbing his back with a washcloth and soap and rinsing his body gently. He smiled softly at you when you finished, wrapping yourself in a towel as he dried himself off. You could smell the fresh scent of sandalwood on his body, the satisfying aroma of clean, scrubbed skin in the air.

"I'll shave in the morning," he told you you, pulling on a pair of boxers.

"I can help you," you offered with a smile, tracing a finger down his stubble once again. He grabbed your finger gently, pressing the tips to his chapped lips.

"You've done enough," he whispered tenderly, his voice husky with sleep.

You smiled again at him, letting him hold your hand as you walked him into your bedroom, guiding his sore body under the sheets. He groaned again, his body creaking as he relaxed, stretching his legs out. You crawled back into bed next to him, pushing his damp hair from his forehead. He shifted his head on the pillow, facing you under the dim light of your nightstand lamp. One eye opened, a half, tired smile on his lips.

Leaning your head over, you kissed him gently once, then again, then on his nose. You smiled, feeling his arm snake around your shoulder and pulling you close to him. You traced the curve of his bicep, feeling it flex as he squeezed you.

"I love you," he murmured into your hair. "More than anything."

"I love you too."

#kakashi hatake #kakashi #kakashi x reader #naruto shippuden #hatake kakashi

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isaacforalpha14 · 1 year ago

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Dean Route

The motel room is charming; a quaint breakfast nook by the bay window, potted succulents in the window frame, a sizable television mounted the the pale yellow wall, plush carpets the color of beach sand, a teal overstuffed loveseat with canary yellow pillows, two king sized beds with ocean blue comforter sets, and a freshly remodeled bathroom with white tiles and a clear shower stall. It seems you’d hit the jackpot finding a cheap motel in the middle of a remodel. Sam’s annoyed, you sense it the minute you agreed with Dean on sharing a room. The manner in which his shoulders tensed and his jawline flexed, there’s a shadow of hope creeping into your brain that this won’t end in another argument with him. It’s strange, there’d been an undeniable amount of communication throughout the relationship but Dean shows up and that comes crumbling down. Now, there are arguments that just seem trivial, secrets being hidden and that strange tension that seems to loom over the Winchesters. It feels like the universe is testing the relationship or telling you that you’d made the wrong choice. Sam mumbles something along the lines of ‘I am going to get us dinner’ before he disappears with the keys to the Impala. Dean’s holding his hand against his ribcage as he sits on his motel bed. Dean always slept in the motel bed closest to the door, it was the instinctual need to be the protector, if someone or something came crashing through the door they’d have to go through him to get to you or Sam. His attention is on you; the way you lean against the loveseat watching Sam leave without even attempting to take you with him, solemn expression.

“He’s just pouting.” Dean attempts to ease your nerves, releasing a hiss through clenched teeth as he shrugs off his military style green jacket. “He’s never liked the tiebreakers. He used to say you always side with me.”

The atmosphere in the motel room is comfortable; the tension that radiated from Sam has dissipated, leaving the aura in the room to feel like the old times when Sam would leave to run errands and you’d stay behind to help piece Dean together. Zipping up the backpack by your boots, you held the first aid kit that your father had gifted you on your first hunt. He instructed you to always carry it with you and you have every day since. The mattress tousles as you sit beside Dean, you hesitate, thrown by the intruding idea that you could help him remove his shirt but refrain from doing so. Fingers plucking at the sleeve of his black cotton t-shirt in a nonverbal gesture for him to remove the article of clothing. “You don’t have to help me.” He murmurs in a quiet tone, swallowing the lump in his throat at the close proximity as the flesh of your arm brushes against his bare skin after he’s removed his shirt.

“Dean.” The hint of a smile on the corner of your tongue dampened lips as you focus on searching the first aid kit for the alcohol wipes. “When have I ever let you patch yourself up?”

“Touche.” He replies in a hushed tone, falling silent as he watches the movements of your hands in their determination to search for something. His stomach feels hollow as he anticipates the feel of your warm hands on his bare skin.

“This is gonna sting.” You warn, furrowing your brow in empathy as he sighs at the frigid sting of the alcohol wipes against his wound. The fluid movements of the alcohol pad are gentle and precise, afraid that if there were too much pressure applied or if the action were rushed it’d end up in additional pain. It’s when you retrieve the nylon threading that he braces himself, he’s had homemade sutures a thousand times before, the sharp sting of the needle puncturing the wounded flesh is always the worst at the beginning. “Are you ready?” You question with a sympathetic smile, he nods in acknowledgment, placing his hands on his jean clad knees as he releases a hefty breath. A tilt of his head and closing his eyes, he tries not to involuntarily twitch as the needle punctures his skin. The sudden warmth of your palm against his chest near his anti-possession tattoo makes him shiver, ignoring the pain as you sew the wound closed, his olive eyes are focused instead on the concentration and care in your eyes. You’re so close that he can smell the scent of your shampoo melded with perfume. The scent is intoxicating and he has to refrain from leaning forward and burying his nose in your hair. Before he can linger in his intrusive thoughts for too much time, you’re snipping the end of the thread and tying a knot. He glances down at your handiwork, admiring the precision of the suture and noting in another life you could’ve been a doctor.

“At least it didn’t get your tattoo.” You observe, fingertips brushing the delicate flesh below his collarbone as you trace the design in an absentminded action. There’s a sense of guilt that creeps into the pit of your stomach but it’s overshadowed by the lurch of excitement that causes butterflies to go soaring in your abdomen as you notice Dean’s muscles in his toned stomach clench at the touch. Something in the air shifts, electric tension crackling within your nerve endings, the scene feeling more intimate as his olive green eyes meet yours. He’s fighting an unwinnable war in his mind; his heart is screaming at him that you feel what he does, his mind telling him this is wrong, and his gut telling him to just kiss you. He places his forehead on yours, the affectionate gesture startling you at his vulnerability, nose brushing against yours, warm breath fanning over your lips. Heart hammering against your chest, your mind is chanting for you to remove yourself from the situation, you can’t do this, but there’s something in your heart that’s telling you this is where you belong. All it would take is Dean pursing his lips and they’d be on yours. Neither of you are moving away, it’s like a silent game of chicken to see who’d retreat first but both are too stubborn to give in. Dean’s throat bobs as he swallows, retreating from the compromising position as he leans back further to sit upright again. There’s disappointment in your expression, he catches it and it makes him wonder if you’d wanted him to kiss you. It’s a dangerous game to play. If he had kissed you; he’d never stop until you were his, it would hurt Sam.

The motel room entrance releases a beep, Sam using the key card to come in just in time to witness you walking away from a shirtless Dean. His attention flickers to the sutures on his bare chest and it makes him release a sigh of relief but then he catches the longing in his brother’s eyes as you close the bathroom door and he’s hit with a realization. Sam never wanted to be that guy but he can't seem to help the jealous annoyance; he caught Dean watching you in the rear view mirror on several occasions throughout drives to hunts, the manner in which he smiled like a lovesick teen as you spoke made his stomach knot, the hushed conversation and giggling at the diners during lunches, the way Dean never minded when you ate food off of his plate, the way Dean always let you choose music in the car, the way Dean always just knew what you needed and how to make you feel better. The intimate scenes he’s witnessed over the years like what he walked into after Kevin disappeared, and now this. How could he have never noticed that his brother is in love with you? The real question that haunted him was if you love him too.

#supernatural imagines #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester x reader

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tranceindia123 · 28 days ago

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parad-ice-lostandfound · 2 years ago

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Prompt:

Pairing: OM!Brothers x M!MC

Genre: Fluff

TW: NA

Lucifer

At first this pompous peacock doesn’t really take notice of MC’s style.

His sole intention is making sure that the human realm exchange student doesn’t get eaten by a lower demon, but once you get past that stage-

Mr. Morningstar is whipped for MC

Absolutely adores his style, and often finds himself buying accessories or outfits for MC to wear. Man can rival Asmo with how many accessories he buys for him.

Mammon

One word: Simp

Internally squeals over how cute MC looks with his outfits and his bunny plushie, externally he stutters about how he looks good enough to be with the great Mammon-

Will buy him more plushies, debts and witches be damned.

MC now has a collection of Grimm and crow plushies.

Leviathan

M-moe…

Kyaaa~ his Henry looks so cute!!!

Add the bunny plushie and you’ve got a nosebleeding Levi on the floor, mumbling about how he has ascended to the Celestial realm-

Will dress MC up in cute cosplays if he’s okay with it, if not he’ll just tell him about the characters he reminds him of

Satan

Heh, cute

That’s his basic reaction, till he sees MC in a cat hoodie

Man straight up thinks of proposing to MC right then and there

Buys him a ton of cat-themed outfits and accessories

Asmodeus

Swears MC is the cutest thing alive, after him of course

Shopping spree!!!

Spoils you with plushies, cute clothes, etc.

Anything you want, just tell Asmo, he’ll get it for you

Will ask you to model some of the clothes he designs, and will design bespoke outfits for you.

Beelzebub

You remind him of cotton candy at first, with how cute and soft you look

Soft protector for soft MC

Takes care of MC’s plushie well because of his experience of taking care of his twin’s pillow

Belphegor

Thinks it’s cute that MC carries the plushie with him at all times.

MC has gained a sleepy protector

Loves, loves, loves to take naps with MC and his plushie

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headingalaxys-spicy · 11 months ago

Note

Can we have Yandere Demon America, England and China with a Caipora that has been tormenting them for weeks so that they retreat from their forest?

Caipora are protective beings, usually in female form, who act as protectors of Brazilian fauna and flora, deceiving or terrorizing hunters who kill more animals than necessary.

I got to dig a little with Brazilian lore thanks for that Anon. Hope you enjoy!

🇺🇸 America 🇺🇸

Another round of trees combusted against the midnight sky. Orange, red, and dark grey permeated the air with violent vitriol. His jet-black hair rustled within the cackling fires that feasted on the trees. Al was irritated he was approaching unbridled rage. His boulder-like fists clenched tighter as he watched shimmery blue & silver water droplets diminish his flames.

“God DAMMIT!”

He channeled his rage into his right hand. It struck a tree through its trunk. As his hand crippled the silk cotton tree, he hoisted it up onto his shoulders like a barbell. As Alfred’s body lurched forward to throw the tree, he could not move his muscles.

“UGH! The FUCK!?!” his shout infuriated the nerves of those who protected the pristine forests of Brazil. He begins to feel the hefty weight of the gigantic tree.

The air in the greenwood had become tense.

It now lacked oxygen, and it lacked life.

A cracking sound reached the demon's pointed ears. As his eyes swung low to see if he could pinpoint where his target was, the tree snapped in half. Several truckloads of dirt completely buried him.

Y/N, the small but mighty protector of the lush woods, scoffs. She lets up a hand signal to her underlings to follow her secret command. They all set up iridescent crystals that look like they’d been plucked straight from the ocean. They’d made quick work of placing them strategically on the dirt ball. Once finished, they made off like dragonflies gliding up the trees. They started a chant barely above the decibels of a pen dropping on pillows. Masses of pastel bubbles sprang to life from the ground and the sky. They gracefully swarmed around the general vicinity, creating a barrier so that no creature could get in and no demon could escape. The pastel bubbles glowed in bright sunlight, allowing the yellows, blues, pinks, and all the other colorful hues to encase the area.

The head Caipora, still atop the dirt, tapped her foot as she waited eagerly. When the chanting ceased, she knew it was time. She pulled out a daisy that had a crystal button at its center.

Alfred had suddenly felt several hundred, no … thousands of strings piercing all sides of his body. He couldn’t move. He also could scream.

Heat. All he could feel, in addition to the stabs, was heat that began to burn brighter like the sun, as if it were being steadily turned up by a dimmer. Blood started to pool in his lungs and made its way to his mouth. It was evaporated by the now-burning inferno consuming him.

The daisy detonator combusted from the outside, sending pollen, dirt, and a few blood droplets across the forest floor.

************

The rising sun stung his eyes and ruined the tiny bits of peace he had while being unconscious. He was having difficulties reincarnating his limbs, which had never grown back this slowly before, and he had an awful migraine slamming into his head. Off in the distance, his eyes were able to catch the beauty of the forest he’d been pining for. She was holding a spear and shooting warning bullets from her eyes. Alfred smiled back smugly, swishing his only halfway there tail.

“You might have won the battle. But you have not won the war!”

🇨🇳 China 🇨🇳

A red flash in the bushes blinded a few birds and woodland animals on the ground. Some squirrels had lost their balance, fallen, and become injured. It was starting again: seventeen days, seventeen days and counting.

You despised the red lights and the extended nights tending to the wounded, injured, and ill. The strange red flashes harmed the flora & fauna to varying degrees. It was exhausting evading all of the magical jade nets, healing your land as it had become sick, and trying to think of ways you could put an end to this menace that was hellbent on capturing you and making your life pure misery. You also attempted not to overthink the reports of the demon that had been spotted stalking the vicinity. It was difficult not to connect the sighting to the misfortunes beginning due to his sudden presence. He was messing with the balance of the ecosystem while pursuing you.

As you began to heal another tapir who had been a victim of the red lights, you could hear heavy boots crunching on the leaves and sticks a few yards away. Its pace was quick & like that of a cat stalking its prey. It was preparing to close in.

A few of the other Caiporas standing guard outside came in to alert you of the looming threat. You’d signaled for them to be in half-battle & half-defense positions. The fauna that still needed assistance would need protection from the menace. As Yao began to get closer to your woodland sanctum, the tension within the place rose. You’d seen, along with others in the room the top parts of horns peering in the area of the safe haven. Animals began to shuffle silently into the lower levels of the sacred sanctum. At least the undergrounds would make it easier to evade prying eyes. The horns seemed to pause for a moment. You’d feared detection with the vulnerable patients you had been within the demon's path.

All of your enchanted candles had been extinguished.

To avoid being detected, it was too late.

The roof of your sanctum began to quiver & crumble from the forces outside. You were ready to go on the offensive within a few seconds. You had your spear and magic gems at the ready. The demon with a stylishly sleek ponytail had a smirk on his face that you knew meant trouble. There was a disturbance in the forest. High-pitched sonars tore into eardrums. It brought Agouti and a few more tapir down to the ground as they entered freeze mode.

The rage that had only been at a simmer now boiled over. You despised jerks who sought to plunder & collect for their entertainment. You blinked in code what offensive you wanted to begin. However, the defensive Caipora made the ill & wounded invisible as they completed the transport underground. Arrows had already been fired at the shoulders, eyes, and arms into Yao & some of his demon henchmen accompanying him. A few had fallen, with more still to be knocked out. You and your team still had to evade the crystal jade cages. One nearly had you when you were right next to Yao’s shoe. Close to his grasp but still far, you began running circles around him. If these didn’t work he’d triumphantly take you away with his bare hand. As his hand graced the top of your fiery red hair, you pulled out your violet gem. Within the gem, it had a petal from a borrachero shrub. You’d gotten it from one of your fae friends in a neighboring woodland in Columbia. It was activated with a swift swipe of your hand.

Just as his hand clamped around your body, spores from the borrachero petal swarmed up and around his face. He wasn’t able to avoid inhaling the hallucinogenic particles. It also didn’t help that you’d managed to stab his palm. It was an added sodium sickness into his open wound. Dizziness and the feeling of not sleeping in over a month hit Yao like a truck. The effects of the devil's breath plant overtook him swiftly. He grunted and barely registered that he’d been stabbed. Just as he was about to fall onto the sanctum, his body disintegrated into millions of green and pink iridescent pollen particles. The particles materialized miles outside of the forest. Y/N the Caipora had officially banished him forever.

It would take Yao 3 weeks to have a coherent thought. He will find himself in his bed in the underworld with his attendants. He will be none too pleased with how his henchmen tell him that he’s been defeated and can’t re-enter the scared woodland.

🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿 England 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿

Y/N was having a difficult time keeping up with the mischievous red-headed demon. He’d managed to destroy the barrier. That meant that it was possible for him even to drain all the helicona flowers. It was already concerning that an estimated 15% were missing or found drained of its life forces. All of this happened within only the span of the last two hours. That meant Arthur was keen on harming more than just the forest, the magical beings that protected it. If he wasn’t stopped soon, that implied that you’d be turned to stone for one hundred years, you and the other guardians of the forest.

As you tumbled through the trees. Your heart thundered in your ears as dread filled your stomach.

There was a noticeable absence of bugs, birds, and other animals from the ground and within the trees. The further you surveyed your surroundings the more lonely and dead it became. Trees appeared to be chared from varying degrees. There also seemed to be an infestation coming from within. A neon green goo bubbled out from the veins of the trees like boiling water. The icky stream groggily climbed upwards.

Your reflexes sprung you above the treeline like a frightened cat. It was dangerous to be below it, for that wicked demon enchanted the trees. Your blood was burning just like the toxic goo that was spewing from the trees. You summoned your sacred book. There was no way you would let an unruly demon destroy your forest.

An intense, sharp pain pierces your side. The small shriek you let out brought a shit-eating grin to the red-headed demon.

“There you are my precious dear.~”

His tail shoots out for you like a ravenous viper, practically dying for its next meal. You struggled within his grip as he reeled you in. Arthur’s verdant eyes marveled at you like one would with a newly carved diamond. He stroked your ruby red hair, while doing so a firecracker burst in his hand. The kaleidoscopic colors temporarily blinded the demon and freed you from his grasp. A Rufous-bellied thrush swooped in to catch you. It brought you back to the base of a Kapok tree. Another Caipora along with many others already had battle plans ready to undo the demons spells. As you got up from the back of the bird you held your side.

A team of healer elves rush to tend to you. The second Caipora in command gave you a reassuring smile. They head off with their A-Team in tow.

Extinguishers dispelled the cursed goo that was making the land feel ill. It was too late to save some of the magical beings that had become nothing but bone that had become brittle and turned into dust.

The second in command was preoccupied tending to a curupira <male version> who could be saved from the effects of the starved sludge. The evil from beneath the ground was back and was intent on destroying the forest and claiming Y/N. He kicked a few animals and a Caipora into a shallow puddle of the acidity muck. Arthur was about to flatten your right hand when an arrow had gone through to his boot. When he took it off to check he was stunned by the tiny arrow he used for you. It gave him pain that was similar to that of an axe trying to chop off part of his heel. The grin that was crazed and parched for blood he fell to the ground. Some of his skin sizzled from the goo on the ground. His consciousness fading to black but before it did so he saw you approach with a staff in hand.

*************

When Arthur came to he knew he wasn’t successful because he failed to obtain you. As his barely their body still needed a lot of time to heal. His eyes glided up towards the entrance of the forest and as he reached out his feeble hand that shook…

*ZAP!*

Lightning struck his hand. He was forever banished from the land.

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