#do i have to tag the rest of house of torture?

[rennarita]

for @naritaren

[solardrop]

silver.

aaron hotchner x reader.

summary: hotch really doesn't think getting old is sexy. tags: fluff. a suggestive line here or there but nothing crazy. age gap (reader in their 30s, hotch is 57). jack mentioned. i think this could be read as gn!reader but i could be wrong. just short and cute. word count: 1.0k a/n: last fics rules still apply. be nice to me! when i look up photos of hair dying on pinterest i get rainbow haired e-boys so accept this haircut photo <3 divider creds to @/cafekitsune

Your name echoes across the house when Aaron yells for you from the bathroom. Once you enter the space you're greeted by his hair spiked in every which way, covered in a brownish-black goop. His thick hands are gloved and hold a small black toothbrush-like applicator.

"Sweetheart, can you check if I missed a spot?" Aaron hands you the brush and tray of inky black dye. You make a show of rolling your eyes and pouting back at him in the mirror and you take the items from him.

"I forgot it was that time of month that you decided to cover up all your sexy.." you sigh.

"Really," he scoffs, a teasing smile creeping on his lips, "I thought all the sexy was gone when I shaved.'

You almost teared up remembering the loss of his beard. A case off the grid forced him to grow one out for a few weeks. You understandably jumped his bones upon seeing the new look when he returned. The extra hair provided some out-of-this-world sensations for your softest parts that you would never forget. Only for the wicked man to shave all of it after two days, citing the "professional dress code" of the FBI as the culprit.

You snap a latex glove onto your hand, "Shush and bend over, big guy."

He smiles and kneels to face you, his rough hands gripping the fat of your thighs. You slowly worked around his head, dabbing bits of dye in bare spots. Your fingers rake through the inky black mass on his head, gently massaging his scalp. Aaron hums and thanks you under his breath.

"Do you know why I started dying my hair so consistently?"

"To torture me?"

"No," he huffs," when Jack was about... eight? I had taken him on this trip with a couple of his friends and their fathers, it was fun, but at the end of the whole thing Jack pointed at the grays starting to grow out on my hairline and turned to his friends and said-"

"Baby no...."

"'Guys look! My daddy is sooo old!'"

You clamp your lips shut to hold in your laughter. You didn't want to embarrass him further, especially with the deep red flush rising up the nape of his neck.

"Oh honey Jack was still a baby then... kids are insane you know that"

" I do, and I know. I laughed it off. I know he didn't really mean anything by it, but I didn't know if he felt like the odd one out for having an old dad.." Aaron runs his hands up and down your legs mindlessly. "And now I don't want you to feel out of place either."

You pause at that. In the few years you and Hotch have been together, never has he shown any insecurity about the difference in age between you. And he sure as hell wasn't about to start now if you had anything to do with it. You slicked his hair back with your hands and placed the clear complimentary shower cap in the box on his head, snickering at how silly he looked. Once you slide the slimy gloves off you set the timer on your phone and grasp the face of the man you loved so dearly, forcing him to rest his chin on your stomach and look into your eyes.

"You have less than thirty minutes to explain to me why you think I'd care about you looking old"

"you're young-"

"I'm in my thirties-"

"you're younger," he corrects "than me by quite a bit. All your friends have other young people to share their life and first experiences with. Meanwhile, you're stuck with a sixty-year-old-"

"You're fifty-seven-" Your eyes roll.

"a fifty-seven-year-old with a sassy kid turned angsty teenager for a child." he sighs, "Sweetheart I just don't want you to ever look at me and feel a loss."

You take a moment to scan his face. Despite the stupid shower cap mushrooming around his head, his face showed no amusement when he spoke. The sweet, shy smile he always sported around you was gone, replaced with a grimace and furrowed brow.

"Aaron I have never felt more loved, accepted, and safe than I have with you. I know you know that," you say.

He nods, pressing a quick peck to your belly button before looking at you. His eyes search yours for a moment of hesitation or change in resolve. but you stand your ground.

"The only thing I worry about with you on my arm is fighting off all the homewreckers."

He wheezes a laugh at this. Eventually having to stand up before he smears the dark dye all over you. He always does this. Laughs and acts like he wouldn't have crowds of people stop to fawn over his beauty if he let them.

"Remember that neighbor at the old apartment who would only stop by with cookies when she knew you were home?"

"Or the time Jack's classmate profiled their teacher's crush on you?"

"Don't even get me started on that detective JJ keeps telling me about from years ago in New Mexico. The male detective."

He smiles at you sheepishly, "You've made your point."

"If you want to dye your hair or shave to make yourself happy I think you should," you whisper, "but Aar I love every version of you possible"

You press your lips to his cheek before you continue, "You are the most beautiful, devastatingly sexy old man out. And I will still throw myself at you in public if you decide to finally ditch the box dye."

He smiles at you fully now, eyes shining as he looks down at you. He slides his lips against yours, grinning into the kiss before he pulls away to thank you.

"Maybe after this starts to grow out I'll see how I feel about the silver again." He looks back at his reflection in the mirror. He turns his head every which way to peek at the processing strands under the shower cap.

"Think about the beard too damn it.." you mumble. You begin to wander out of the bathroom when he yells for you again.

"Oh and sweetheart one more thing," you turn to look at him, confused when he stifles a laugh, "will you still think I'm sexy if I start balding like my father?"

[cressidagrey]

Lightning in a Bottle - Prologue

Summary: 

Eira Archeron was neither a Valkyrie, nor a Seer, nor the High Lady of the Night Court. She was actually pretty much useless. The only thing she wanted was to be somebody's first choice for once in her life.

Also known as: Azriel's shadows decide that if he doesn't treat his mate right... they'll just do it for him.

Warnings: 

Kinda Elain Bashing?, Low Self Esteem, Mention of Cauldron induced torture...

(super pretty dividers by @tsunami-of-tears)

As far as cauldron-made went…Eira Archeron was pretty much useless. 

She had neither the power of Death nor of Divinity. 

She was neither the prettiest one, that title belonged to Elain…nor the smartest one, which was undoubtedly Nesta. Or the strongest one like Feyre…And if she had tried to hunt like Feyre, it would have been more likely that she would have accidentally killed herself instead of bringing home any meat. 

As a human, she had been limited to cooking and cleaning and laundry, all of it with limited supplies and even more limited experience. She had tried. It had never been enough. 

So maybe it shouldn’t have surprised her that her uselessness continued on even when she was no longer human.

So if she wasn’t beautiful or strong or smart…what was she then? 

The dumb one? 

When the cauldron had burned every bit of humanity out of her…when it had ripped away all her hopes and dreams…when it had been so angry with Nesta after whatever she had done to it that Eira was just…Eira was just an afterthought, something it could hurt in response to her sisters and then leave gasping on that stone floor feeling like she was dying…

She had done her best to accept her lack of humanity afterwards. Nesta had raged…Elain had said nothing, suffering silently in the bed…and Eira…Eira had tried. 

Tried to make it better…tried to make it easier for everybody around her. She had tried. 

She hadn’t wanted to put even more on Feyre’s shoulders, not with the threat of impending war…and so she had done her best to be supportive and make no trouble…be agreeable and quiet and be helpful…

But she couldn’t be helpful. 

She was nothing but a useless appendage. With no powers, no great destiny stretched in front of her…

Not even a limb. Not even a fucking pinky finger. 

More like a skin tag. 

Completely useless. If cut off, it wouldn’t even bother anybody. 

They had made that clear to her over time. 

They had made clear what they thought about her, again and again, and now…now she finally realised it. She was a slow learner…but by the gods, she did learn. 

It started…slow in a sense. Comments, made offhandedly, that probably weren’t meant that way anyway…sometimes said to her face…sometimes overheard. 

“Stop your screeching, girl, I am getting a headache.” Amren. After she had finally…after months felt like singing again as she fixed the hem on one of her sister’s dresses. She had stopped singing then.

Amren had never brought it up again. But then Amren had never been particularly nice to any of them. ��    

“Don’t come crying to me if she bites off your head. I warned you.” Rhysand had told her drily when she insisted on visiting Nesta at the House of Wind every week after all of that had gone down… 

“Don’t you have anything better to do? Like make another ugly dress?” Seethingly said by Nesta…pitted against the one thing she liked to pretend she was good at…the one thing she could do and make money with…

It cut. Of course, it did. But it wasn’t even the worst thing thrown at her head by Nesta…so why was it the one thing that stayed in her mind? 

“We don’t need Eira. Quite frankly, it’s better if she doesn’t go. Elain is the prettier one, anyway.” Cassian…overheard by Eira before the rest of them had gone off to Hewn City. Eira left behind because…well the contrast of Elain badly dressed was enough, no need for Eira to…be what? A distraction?  

And it was true too. Elain was the prettier twin sister. 

Eira was just…common as muck as her mother had liked to remind her…Nesta was the smart one, the one who would marry a prince…Elain would marry for love and beauty…and Eira…well, she would make a good farmer’s wife as far as her mother was concerned.

Not pretty enough to garner a richer man’s attention…not smart enough to drag herself up the echelons of society on her own…To easily content as far as her mother was concerned. 

“As far as cauldron-made goes, she is pretty much useless.” Morrigan. Said in jest. Eira was quite sure of that…still, it had hurt. Because it was true. She was useless. 

No magic sparking at her fingertips…Using her magic was like pulling teeth…painful and a long process…And it never did what she wanted anyway. 

“Eira, find somewhere else to be. I really have more important things to do,” Feyre had said with a sigh…after she had brought her sister cookies and tea…after she had only tried to get Feyre to take a break from her work. 

Eira hadn’t tried that again either. 

And then the one that clinched it: 

“At least I found two males in my life willing to marry me. The one you have your ridiculous puppy crush on is never even going to look at you!”

Said by Elain…by her twin sister. She was frozen in place, staring at Elain wide-eyed as her sister sneered at her. 

 That was the last drop into an already overflowing bucket. 

Stress. Right? Just stress from wedding planning. Elain would have never said that usually. 

She wouldn’t have…

It was just…it was just stress…Just stress. 

Elain didn’t mean it like that. 

Right?

Elain flounced off…her wedding binder in tow…leaving Eira alone, sitting there, in the dining room, her chest aching. 

Eira was in a trance as she carefully put all the plates into one tidy stack…as she was thankful that it had just been her and Elain, every other person in their family busy with their mates or something else…Feyre and Rhysand gone with Baby Nyx for the evening…Nesta and Cassian off at the House of Wind…who knew what Mor and Amren were up to…

Or even Azriel. 

A sob threatened to take over, as she thought that name. 

She walked up the stairs…to her room…Her room. She locked the door with shaky hands. 

“At least I found two males in my life willing to marry me. The one you have your ridiculous puppy crush on is never even going to look at you!”

She collapsed on her bed, burying her face into her pillow and let the tears stream. 

Ridiculous puppy crush. 

All of that said because she had tried to talk to Elain about her choice of flowers for her wedding. Because lilies wouldn’t be in season when she married Lucien in Day Court in less than 2 months. 

And then Elain responded with that, because Eira clearly wanted to ruin her wedding with that factoid. 

“At least I found two males in my life willing to marry me. The one you have your ridiculous puppy crush on is never even going to look at you!”

The worst part of it was that it was the simple truth. 

Azriel was never going to pay her a second glance. 

He had always been more interested in Elain than Eira…he had on more than one occasion asked Eira questions about her twin sister…had made sure that Elain was comfortable and cared for…and Eira had sufficed as a source of information and nothing else. 

And after Elain and Lucien had become serious…well, Eira ceased to be interesting too. He hadn’t sought her out again. 

If she sat next to him at dinner, he was polite and quiet, bordering on silent. And then she tried to fill the silence and probably only annoyed him in the process. 

He didn’t want her. He never would. 

She starved down the sobs that wracked her body. 

It was probably high time that she accepted that, right?

High time to get over herself. 

High time that she reminded herself that…that she was never going to have him and that staring at him in ill-hidden affection only made everybody else make fun of her and probably made him deeply uncomfortable. 

So maybe it was better that she just…

At least he had never called her useless, she supposed. It could be worse…even when he never would want her. 

She felt the touch on her hand first…soft like velvet…like kitten fur…never warm, never cold. massive and somehow not… definitely not human. 

The shadows. His shadows. 

Sometimes they came to keep her company. At the start, she had thought that maybe he had sent them but nowadays she was quite sure that they had just liked her quiet singing while embroidery one afternoon. So quiet that nobody would hear.  It had taken her months to coax them out of their corners after that. They probably had just taken pity on her. 

Just like they did now. 

“Please don’t,” she choked out. She never wanted him to find out how she was feeling about him…never wanted to feel the pain of him outright turning her down. 

 And if his shadows came to check on her, they would report back in what they saw…and they didn’t need…didn’t need to worry about it. 

They never talked to her. Just sometimes they came and listened to her softly talk to them while she was sewing in the evening, about this and that...

It wasn’t right how she talked to you, the shadows whispered. 

They didn’t talk to her. Never. 

And now they did. 

Hell, even his shadows were feeling sorry for her, weren’t they? 

“Please don’t tell him,” she begged. 

He should know, they disagreed softly. Everybody should know. She should apologise to you. 

And what would that give her? Nothing. More embarrassment because everybody else got to hear all about her fledgling little feelings? Feelings she should bury deep and never examine again? 

“Please,” she begged again and the shadows seemingly surrendered, curling themselves up against her hands so that she could touch them. 

Don’t cry, they soothed her softly. Don’t give her that. 

Elain hadn’t said anything that was untrue. That was the worst part. It was true. And that hurt. 

Is there anything we could do? the shadows asked Eira softly. Anything at all to make this better? 

“No,” she whispered, choking out the words, another sob. Not anymore. There was nothing anybody could do. 

It hurt. It hurt so badly.  Just like the cauldron had.  Then she had wished she would die. 

Now…now she wondered the same once again. Maybe then it would stop feeling like this. 

She cried her eyes out, as the tears kept pouring over her cheeks…as she sobbed until her throat was raw and everything hurt. And finally, she just laid there…the shadows still swirling worriedly around her prone form. 

“Don’t you need to work?” she asked the shadows listlessly, tears tracking over her cheeks. “Don’t you have something more important to do than to try and comfort me?” 

Maybe take care of him?

You are important, the shadows snapped. 

Eira could argue that point. She was useless. So what did it matter? It didn’t. 

She wiped away the tears, but new ones just came pouring over her face and she stopped trying, let them run down her face and wondered how long she could stay in her room and never come out again. 

Would you like something to eat? the shadows tried again. So sweet. Trying to give her something, anything to comfort her. 

“No, thank you,” she whispered. Alone the thought made her want to throw up. 

She didn’t want to eat. 

She didn’t want to get up and talk to anybody. She didn’t want to even look at another person anymore. 

She didn’t…

What would you like then? The shadows tried softly. Would you like to plot revenge? they suggested. 

It was so stupid that she choked out a laugh. 

“For what? Elain saying what everybody else is thinking?” Eira asked, her heart painfully restricting. 

Nobody here actually wanted her around. If she disappeared forever she would do them a favour. Him especially. 

Elain had only said what everybody else was thinking. 

All three of her sisters had found their mates, just not Eira. All three of her sisters had some kind of power…just not her. All three of them had found some kind of place for themselves…and then there was her, living with her youngest sister, half seamstress, half nanny for her child, an unwanted appendage that was taken care of out of some feeling of duty and no other reason.

Elain had just voiced what she was thinking. The truth. 

It had been the truth. Plain and simple. And Eira maybe didn’t like to hear it but it didn’t…it didn’t matter. 

It was the truth. 

Elain had two men willing to marry her and spend the rest of their lives with her…and nobody wanted to spend any time with Eira. A husband wasn’t even something that had ever seemed to be a possibility. 

Even if everybody else is thinking, that doesn’t make it right. The shadows disagreed quietly. Your sister said that to hurt you and not for any other reason. 

“She’s stressed out with wedding planning,” Eira whispered. 

It had just been that. Probably. Maybe. 

That doesn’t make it right, the shadows disagreed again, twirling tighter around her wrist. We could ruin her wedding. Lilies and all, they suggested brightly. 

She shook her head. No. Elain should have the wedding she dreamed of. Eira wasn’t going to ruin it for her. 

“Don’t do that,” she said weakly.

We could at least steal her wedding binder, they told her mulishly, and Eira wondered if they disagreed like that with Azriel too.

Azriel…

What did it say about her that she fell head over heels in love with the first man who treated her with polite indifference? That she was so desperate to be loved that that was all it took? 

Did it matter? 

No. 

Elaine was right. He would never spare her a second glance. He was just as unreachable as any other male.

Nothing was enticing about Eira.  Neither her body, nor her mind, nor her magical power. What could she possibly offerany male? 

All the nightmares she had on a near-daily basis? All the fear and anxiety that swirling around her gut every day? 

She could sew on any buttons he lost along the way, she supposed. That was something.

The knife that plunged into her womb and twisted, took her by surprise. 

It shouldn’t have.  

Of course. 6 months had passed once again. 

“Don’t tell him this either,” she begged in a whimper. This was too embarrassing. He didn’t need to know about her cycle. 

Nobody did. She was the most modest out of all her sisters. The one with the most human ideas of what was considered to be decent, left…the only one who…

The only one left with her maidenhead intact, because everybody else was mated or married or very much in love and it had never mattered in Prythian anyway. 

Just Eira was left. 

Without a mate. Without a husband. 

Without ever having even been kissed. Nearly 26 and that…hadn’t happened for her. 

It probably would never happen anyway. 

Why today of all days? 

Why did her cycle need to torture her today?  How did she deserve this? Why not in a week…Though at least now she had a reason not to leave her bed for a few days.  

She could just stay here. 

Mope in her own Misery and self-pity…wallow in the pain that she knew would come…

Of course, it would. She had always had a horrible time during her cycle even as a human…as a Fae, it had become her very own personal torture. 

Maybe a bath would make you feel better, the shadows suggested softly as she already curled herself together in pain. 

She needed to get up and sort herself out before it got even worse…made sure that she wouldn’t get blood all over the sheets, but she couldn’t…She didn’t want to. 

And a bath…A stab of pure fear.  

“It’s like the cauldron,” Eira whimpered. Just like the cauldron. 

She didn’t bathe…she used buckets of water…even years later…still standing water was not something she could stand. Not without being reminded of her humanity being ripped away and traded for whatever this existence was. 

What if we make sure that it isn’t? the shadows asked her softly. It will be nothing like the cauldron, we promise. 

A bath…a hot bath that would help against the soreness of her muscles…that would maybe ease the cramps…

It did sound nice. So nice. 

So Eira just weakly nodded. 

That seemed to be all the agreement the shadows needed as they whisked her to the bathing chamber, in the blink of an eye.

She watched as they flitted about the room, turning on the water, dotting candles around the room, making it brightly lit with faelight and candlelight both. 

Lots of foam and bubbles appeared in the bathtub as well as numerous concoctions being poured into the water. 

She slowly toed off her shoes and opened the laces of her dress. Eira hesitated and the shadows disappeared, letting her undress in privacy…letting her walk to the bathtub and test the temperature…stare at it for a moment. 

It couldn’t look less like the cauldron if it tried. 

She waited for a stab of fear but nothing came. 

So she slid into it, let the warm water envelope her, the perfect temperature… A few tendrils of shadows came to keep her company, touching her chin so that she tipped her head back and they started to wash her hair for her. 

Eira couldn’t even remember the last time anybody had done that for her. 

And they did that…without even asking…just…just for her. 

“Thank you,” Eira whispered, not daring to close her eyes, but staring at the ceiling. “Are you sure you don’t have anything more important to do?” she asked weakly. “Isn’t your master going to be angry at you?” She didn’t want them to get into any trouble, just because they…they were taking care of her. 

You don’t want Master to find out, so he won’t, they said easily. Would you like some pain potions? 

If they gave them to her, she wouldn’t need to walk downstairs and maybe face her sister or gods forbid, Rhysand…and ask them for Madja. 

Nobody would need to know. She could have her privacy and her dignity left intact. 

“Yes, please,“ she breathed in relief as the shadows poured something or other over her head. One shadow brought her a vial, wrapping around her wrist as she uncorked and downed it. 

A bitter taste but it left her blissedly numb and tired nearly immediately.

“What’s that?” She mumbled as they hushed her, massaging her head.

It tasted differently than whatever Madja usually gave her…telling her that pain and discomfort were normal and that her potions would ease it…It was like pouring a bucket of water over an inferno. 

While this…this was quenching everything. Leaving her numb. 

Just a rather strong pain potion, the shadows promised her. You’ll sleep for a bit…We’ll talk more then.

Sleep… Sleep sounded nice…

She didn’t even think about feeling self-conscious when they pulled her from the water, rinsed her off and wrapped her in warm, fluffy towels. 

They laid out her favourite nightgown so she only needed to pull it on and pull back the sheets of her bed so she could slide beneath it. 

Even a hot water bottle was waiting for her…

Everything so that she would be as comfortable as possible… everything for her.

“Thank you,” she whispered, tears pricking in her eyes as she climbed between her blankets, the shadows fluffing her pillow and pulling the blankets as high as they went. 

It was weird…to have the shadows doting on her, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care. Eira was too selfish to protest this bit of attention…the only positive attention she had in years. 

They promised not to tell, so she wouldn’t either. Not when this was the sweetest thing anybody had ever done for her. 

She fell asleep between one breath and the next, safely and warmly ensconced in her bed. Deep dreamless sleep…When she woke, it must have been the middle of the night…and still, the shadows were there immediately. 

She whimpered at the cramps that were ransacking her body…and the growling of her stomach in hunger. 

She hated these cycles. Hated how weak they left her and how she wanted nothing more than to cease to exist. 

Are you hungry? You’ll need to eat before you can take another pain potion, the shadows told her worriedly. Not a lot, just a little bit, they promised. 

“I don’t want to go down into the kitchen,” she answered weakly, biting her lip. Not that she thought that she could safely traverse the staircase anyway. 

Eira just wanted to stay here…alone. Maybe with the shadows for company, as long as they wanted her…

We’ll get you something. What would you like? They assured her immediately. 

Everything in her body ached for something human, even when she knew that their food would taste like ash for her. She always wanted human things. The things she would never have again.  

“Maybe some soup?” Eira asked finally. “If that’s not too much trouble?” 

Of course not. 

They fluffed her pillows and helped her sit up…and then soup appeared…a bowl filled with clear broth with bits of vegetables and chunks of chicken and noodles…cooked to perfection…better than anything she could have ever produced and by the gods, she had tried…All of it, arranged on a tray, with two slices of perfect crusty bread and another pain potion. 

She took that first, and it made her pleasantly numb and tired…and so she weakly spooned as much soup as she could in her mouth afterwards… mopping up the last of her soup with the bread. 

She finished as much as she could before she was too tired and the shadows tucked her back into bed, curled up on her side…so they could fuss with her hair which was a mess as always. 

She felt like a child being fawned over and she couldn’t help but relax into it…let them do with her whatever they wished if they just kept being so…nice to her. 

Feeling better? they asked softly and she hummed. 

If you could be anything…do anything... what would it be? The shadows wondered quietly. The movements of them were lulling her to some space of safety and warmth and Eira considered the question. 

If she could have anything in the world…what would she want?

A heady question. 

“When I was…young,” she said softly… “I wanted a dashing knight to come rescue me, and whisk me away from that horrible cottage,” she said weakly. “That’s what I wanted since I was old enough to want anything.”

A stupid children’s dream. 

But sadly there were no knights in Prythian and even if there were any, they wouldn’t pick Eira. 

And now? The shadows pushed. 

“Somebody that loves me,”  she admitted quietly. “A husband…children.”

All of that…she wanted all of that. 

And she was never going to have it. 

We could find you a husband, the shadows finally said quietly. If that makes you happy…we could help you.

“Who could possibly want me?” Eira asked, her voice breaking. Who would want her? The answer was easy: Nobody. 

Only because Master is an idiot, doesn’t mean every male is, they told her tartly. 

She wanted to laugh but it ended in a sob. 

“He isn’t an idiot,” Eira disagreed. “He just knows that…I am not good enough for him.”

Not pretty enough, not smart enough…not enough period.

That’s ridiculous, the shadows hissed. 

It wasn’t. 

“He’s in love with my prettier twin sister,” Eira snapped. “I shouldn’t want him anyway. Why should I want to be his second or even third choice?  Maybe for once, I want to be somebody’s first choice! Maybe for once, I want to be treated like I matter! That my feelings matter…that I matter!” It burst out of her. The tears burned in her eyes at that admission. At…how unfair it was. 

What had she done to deserve this? What had she done? 

Eira immediately regretted that outburst though. “I am so sorry,” she blurted out.

They didn’t deserve to be pulled into her feeling unfairly treated. She should stop complaining. It wasn’t going to…

For what? the shadows snorted. You are absolutely right. You deserve to be somebody’s first choice. You deserve to be treated like you matter. 

She didn’t. 

Maybe you should go shopping, the shadows suggested with a sigh. The suggestion was so sudden that she stared at the tendril of shadow still wrapped around her wrist. 

“Why?” she asked with a sigh. 

The Morrigan does that if she feels bad. The shadows told her earnestly. Then she buys shoes and feels better. 

Ah. 

She highly doubted that shoes were going to solve any of her problems. A pretty pair of shoes wasn’t going to make anybody fall in love with her. Or want her. 

“What am I supposed to buy?” She asked quietly. “Just shoes?”

Stuff. The shadows answered easily. Whatever you want. Whatever makes you happy, they assured her. All your sisters have more stuff than you. You make them dresses and other things. But you never make yourself anything, the shadows said quietly. Nobody would say anything if you wanted things that are yours. 

Right. She had never bothered with that. Not after she had lost all her things together with her humanity…there had been some piles of necessities sent to them by Rhysand…and that had been that. 

She had never bothered to get more than that. She still wore those dresses of the very first weeks… and while she had made dresses for all three of her sisters…as human out of necessity, as Fae out of habit…she hadn’t made herself any in years.

Not since becoming Fae. Her new body felt…she hadn’t wanted to look at her new body for long enough to figure out how something should fit onto it. How it had changed….

These godforsaken ears were enough. 

Buy things for yourself. Like a new dress! Or earrings! Diamonds! The shadows suggested. Whatever you find pretty. 

“My ears aren’t pierced,” she said quietly, a yawn taking over her face. 

That brought them up short.

Master bought you pearl earrings, the shadows said suddenly, sounding perplexed. 

He had. Beautiful. Impersonal. Unwearable for her…a far cry from all the little trinkets he had given to Elain…

Still, for months she had stared at them and found them oh so beautiful…safely kept in their box in her drawer at her vanity table. 

Maybe that alone should have told her everything she needed to know about the state of Azriel’s affection for her. 

Namely it was non-existent when the spymaster of the night court didn’t even bother to check if she even wore earrings. 

And the earrings…well…they were only…one thing. Her room at the River Estate that she had been supposed to furnish to her liking…that was another. 

In the end, it had consisted out of her getting a set of the same bedroom furniture as every other guest room and her walls were painted cream like in every other room Feyre hadn’t gotten to yet. It was still as impersonal as it had been when she had moved in. 

She knew that Elain had stuff to litter her bookcases with…gifts from Azriel or Feyre or Lucien, her mate…even Eira had gifted her sister things. 

But all Eira had…were the dresses she had on commission laid out on her desk. Which she would need to return to the shop where she worked as a seamstress at soon enough once she was finished with her alteration on them…and well, that was it. 

No books, because her reading was absolutely atrocious…no little trinkets from any of her sisters…no paintings or art or anything really. 

Just…her sewing and embroidery supplies and that was that…and even these weren’t…held in one of these pretty little wooden sewing boxes on legs that would keep them tidily kept away…

Do you need money? The shadows asked her seriously. 

“What?” Eira asked weakly.

She made some money with her job. Not a lot…but some. All of it carefully stashed away to buy birthday or solstice gifts from…or little trinkets she saw in a shop and thought one of her sisters would like…that Nyx would like. 

Do you need money? They repeated patiently. To buy stuff? For yourself? 

“No, I have money. And I don’t want to owe anybody anything,” she answered quietly, her eyes slowly closing.

 She didn’t want to end like Nesta… were in the end, her habits were used to bludgeon her with…she didn’t…

You wouldn’t. The shadows assured her. We have our own line of credit. 

What? 

“How does that work? Do you have your own bank account?” she asked curiously, and she could nearly feel their amusement. 

We like playing the lottery. Everything we win, we put into Master’s Bank Account, they explained to her earnestly. He never uses it anyway. We could just put our winnings in yours instead. Master wouldn’t care.

It was so ridiculous that she couldn’t help but giggle. 

“Really?” she still asked weakly. 

Really! they assured her seriously. Enough for you to have a shopping spree! We like shiny things, they told her, making her laugh. Master never buys any. We’ll pick up some mail-order catalogues for you and then you can spend tomorrow ordering some things. Maybe some curtains to spruce things up a little. It’s awfully empty in here. 

Still, she couldn’t help but ask. 

“Why are you doing this?” 

Nobody should be treated like you are, they told her fiercely. Nobody should feel like they have no place anywhere.

[phyrestartr]

If We Had Lived (Divine Favour) | Sukuna x Kitsune!Reader

W/C: 3k #SFW, fluff, mentions of past abuse, heian sukuna, typical kitsune shapeshifting, jp mythology, morally grey reader, DRABBLE

tags: @kamote-kuneho @nyanwko @kamote-kuneho @better-imagination-9 @3zae-zae3 @chibiduck @kiiyoooo @lukaijah @memedealer-exe @f0th3rr @boretheral @cicithemess @paastaboi @someone0vx

--

“Sit still.”

“I'm sitting fucking still, fox.”

Sukuna did not sit still. He shifted and huffed, not unlike an annoyed, restless bull locked up in a pen–only, he was far from being in a pen and could leave whenever he so wished. 

Yet, he stayed. He endured the torture you, his prized possession, put him through for the sake of making good impressions or whatever. But the harvest festival was hardly a big deal–the last time the king was bestowed a gift of any value was when he found himself the owner of a beautifully annoying fox that hid in his garden for a fucking eternity. A prize like that was unlikely to be given again. What else could possibly excite the man who had everything?

Your tails swished behind you dramatically as you shifted on your knees, tilting your head to look over the work you'd done with cleaning and manicuring his nails and hands. Thankfully, you left callouses in place. Not that he thought you'd be so cruel as to remove them, but you certainly had the ability to, considering how soft your own hands were. 

“How much more?” Sukuna grumbled.

Your eyes flicked up to his for a moment before returning to your task. “I've hardly finished one hand.” 

The king scowled as a child might as you continued gently pushing at his cuticles with the slim, soft stick of an orange tree, carved specially for this occasion. Sure, he was the one who demanded you to turn your self-preening onto him, but still--

Your soft, warm touch cupped under his jaw and lifted his pouty gaze to meet yours. “You asked this of me,” you reminded. “If you've changed your mind, I've other tasks to attend to.” 

Sukuna’s lip twitched in an ugly, childish snarl. “You'll stay here and finish your job.” 

“Very well.” You leaned up toward him and kissed the spot between his brows before sitting again. But Sukuna followed you, bowing his head to chase a proper kiss that you gave freely, the kind spirit you were. “Then you will have to sit still.” 

“Tch.” But he obliged to the best of his abilities. “Already gonna have to sit still for hours while those damn peasants show up and dump scraps at my feet,” he sighed, pulling up a knee and resting an elbow on it. 

“My, a kingly thing is complaining about fealty?” You wondered, sarcastic yet cripplingly honest. “While I understand your unwillingness to do anything but fight and kill, you must remind those beneath you of your status.” 

Sukuna scoffed. “Yeah? Then why isn't my kyuubi doing just that?” 

“I am no king,” you said. “I am simply the servant of one, no? Given to him as a mere offering, yet kept alive for his amusement.” 

“Huh. Guess you know your place.” Sukuna shifted, and he noticed you pick up the pace, tending to him a bit quicker lest the restless beast lose his patience and leave with the job incomplete. He wouldn’t leave, not when he hungered for your attention and touch more than anything else the pathetic world could offer him–only something from the divine plane could satiate him. 

“Mh.” You raised his hand and pressed his knuckles to your lips, then against the soft plushness of your cheek. “My place is by my king’s side. It will forever remain that way.” 

–

You left his side. You left him, your pious saviour, your sworn king, your chosen mate, in favour of–what? Freedom? Adventure? Men? Women? What was it? 

Thunder echoed in Sukuna’s chest as he paced. He’d swept through towns, destroyed any houses you might have been sequestered in, searched vacant shrines and the like, but never caught a glimpse of your ebony tails nor your decorated kimono. It drove him mad. How had he not noticed? Did the harvest festivities really engulf his mind? Sure, they were more eventful this year, what with clansmen attempting revenge in the name of their fallen brethren, but it’d only been a week of problems–nothing challenging, nothing that really, truly required his full attention. And still–

“Sukuna-sama,” Uraume called, interrupting his buzzing thoughts. 

“What?” The king snapped, turning on his heel to face Uraume standing at his chamber door. “If this is about anything other than my fucking fox, then–”

“Please, come,” they said. “I believe I’ve found an explanation.” 

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed. Uraume sounded calm, not that they ever sounded particularly frantic, but they seemed…happy, maybe? Some weird kind of content, perhaps. It wasn’t something Sukuna was used to seeing on their placid face, though it’d become more common ever since you entered their lives and made yourself at home. The frost sorcerer had a soft spot for you. Sukuna couldn’t blame them. 

“Pray tell what the fuck the explanation is,” Sukuna grumbled as he followed his subordinate, arms all crossed and tensed. 

“I’m certain I’ve found the whereabouts of your beloved.” Uraume slid open the door leading to the gardens in the back and walked on. “In the absence of (Name), I decided to tend to the gardens myself. In doing so, I found something quite peculiar–a hidden grove of sorts.” 

Sukuna’s fury morphed into prickling, fiery intrigue. “Bullshit. I’ve been all over this fucking garden with that fox. I know the ins and outs.”

“Then it would not surprise me if he indeed kept this a secret from you.” 

Sukuna grumbled. “He knows better.”

“I don’t believe it’d be intentional,” Uraume said, “but I believe his instincts may have influenced him to secure a quiet, safe place for the future.”

The king relaxed. Electricity sparked weakly in his fingertips first,then throughout the rest of his body when everything started falling into place–you wanted all eyes to be on him, you didn’t want anyone to look at you during the festival. Your cheeks had grown fuller, your body more plush, your desire to snuggle and snooze went through the roof. Could you have been–?

Uraume stepped toward a thicket of trees in the far corner of the garden–one that Sukuna indeed had never bothered with, considering it looked full of trees and foliage and definitely not a spot to meander on your shared morning walks–before ducking under thick branches and pushing aside flimsy bushes. 

Sukuna followed with a little more brute force, nearly ripping the pesky foliage out of the way and half-considering decimating the trees that dare whip him in the face with a cluster of leaves. But you’d probably get pissy if he did that. A pissy fox was fun, but also withheld sex, and that was a no-go for Sukuna these days, considering his concubines just weren’t doing it for him as of late. 

Sure enough, Uraume’s words rang true. The grove was small and cozy, letting in warm dappling sunlight while shielding itself from the prying eyes of the outside world. In the very corner of the garden and the evident centrepiece of the grove, stood an immense weeping willow, one with a formidable trunk and thick, gnarled branches reaching up to drape long curtains of green like cascading waterfalls around itself. Truly, it felt like a separate little world would be hidden in there, behind swaying vines and rustling leaves. 

“You gotta be shitting me,” Sukuna muttered, stepping past his right hand to push aside the foliage, revealing a black fox curled up in the hollowed trunk of that very tree. 

You didn’t stir when he approached. Something uneasy curled in Sukuna’s gut, but once he sat himself in front of the mouth to your little den, he spied the steady breathing shifting your small form, and calmed–until he saw something else wiggling against you, chirping and squeaking with pathetic, fragile voices. At first, he thought it was some sort of parasite sucking you of your lifeforce, but he realized too quickly that what he beheld were two, tiny kits, both covered in fluffy brown-black fur, both keenly aware of the presence of a curious new man sitting before them. 

Sukuna tensed when they approached him. Their chubby bellies knocked their weak, stubby legs off balance, but they persevered best they could, bumbling their way through trampled leaves and grass, and finally reaching the crossed legs of the king. Tiny paws papped at his pant legs before they hazarded climbing the formidable mountain before them And despite Sukuna’s hesitation, he hastily held their butts before they fell off of him like the stupid, dumb babies they were. They were his stupid, dumb babies, after all. Best to take care of them. 

“It appears he went somewhere quiet to nest,” Uraume hummed, sounding far too pleased as they watched the king handle fox kits. “Perhaps the festival was too stressful.”

“Tch. Could’ve shot the runts out inside,” Sukuna mumbled, half-heartedly annoyed. “Coulda said somethin’.” 

“He could have,” Uraume agreed, an air of ‘but what’s done is done’ clinging to their words. 

Sukuna sighed. “What a pain in the ass.” His eyes flicked to you again. He expected you to wake up, to snap at him like the feral thing you were. He expected you to calm after recognizing him. Maybe he expected you to curl up in his lap, too. Or did he just want that?

But you stayed sleeping. Content and safe under the shelter of your lover and the stalwart embrace of a weeping willow. Perhaps it was thanking you for your kind care with the way it soothed your soul and kept you hidden away. Sukuna wouldn't doubt it for a second. The garden acted differently ever since you claimed it as your own. 

“Shall we take them back?” Uraume asked.

The king thought for a long moment, sifting through selfish desires and rational decisions before coming to his conclusion: “Leave ‘em. He'll probably throw a damn fit if we interfere. You know how gods are–annoying and irrational as hell when they don't get their way.”

His subordinate smiled. “Very well.”

–

Winter’s first frost came, and you returned to his side. 

You woke him with a classic move–standing on his chest and staring at him expectantly until he woke up and gave you attention. You didn’t do it as much anymore, not ever since you found yourself in the midst of a thousand responsibilities and daily quests, but every once in a while, like when your lover would return from long journeys, you’d pester him endlessly for pets, scritches and kisses. 

But this time, once his heavy eyes opened, he not only saw you standing atop his chest, but a chubby pup caught in your maw, too. 

Sukuna blinked away his grogginess just as you gingerly placed the babe on his collarbone, tucking him underneath the king's chin. One of his large hands flew up to ensure the kit (his kit) didn't slip off when you let go and trotted away with purpose. 

“Fox,” Sukuna grumbled, displeased with your hasty retreat. Thankfully, you trotted back up to him a handful of moments later and placed a second ball of fluff on his chest before settling down beside him and watching. 

“Tch. Took you long enough,” the king huffed as he tried his damndest to be careful and gentle with the little ones. “Was about to drag your sorry ass in here myself.” 

I see. If you were so desperate for my company, you could have simply requested it, you countered. 

Sukuna sucked his teeth and huffed. “Like it woulda been that easy.” Nothing was that easy with you–and Sukuna liked it. If you gave in, if you tended to his every fleeting want and need, you'd be too boring, frankly. 

It is unlike you to not try. You shifted and wormed your way into his arms and half onto his chest, right beside the two snoozing kits you'd worked hard to bring up while Sukuna was off fighting, killing and maiming. But that was expected; servants and bedded beasts were to stay and make a home, weren't they? 

“Tch. I let you have your way for once and this is how you act?” Your partner admired your foxen features and traced his fingertips along your snout, between your eyes, to the top of your little skull before scritching behind your ears. You leaned into the touch, eyes falling closed with the meagerest offering of affection.

Shall I praise you and bow at your feet once I am able? You teased. 

“Bending over'll do the trick.” Sukuna smirked when you huffed. “How long you gotta stay as a shitty mutt anyway?” 

Until they wean. I'm not certain as to how long that will take.

“Not even a guess?” 

Perhaps another week or so. You turned your nose to the two small fluffs and groomed the tops of their heads. They're becoming more independent. More willing to explore. I take that as a good sign for their development. 

“Huh. Good.” A strange coil relaxed in Sukuna's chest, and he braved petting them with a single finger again. “‘N how long ‘til these two learn to play human?” 

Not for some time, but I will help them until they master it themselves. You nipped at Sukuna's hand as a third rose to come pester you. You should not pray for them to be human too soon. They will terrorize you. I have seen such chaos before. 

Sukuna grinned. “Ho? You forget who their father is?” Your sigh echoed in his mind, and his smile split wider. “I can handle anything.”

–

Kazuya and Genji took too much after you and your mischievous heritage. 

Too often Uraume would find them in baskets of produce, happily munching away like they were supposed to be in there. Other times, they'd be caught stealing shiny jewelry or knick knacks from the king's concubines and servants. They'd sometimes even take Sukuna's clothes and run amok with them, using them as toys or completely shredding them. 

You, he who had birthed and raised them, were swift when it came to correcting them. You were, of course, the prime example of a kitsune, and therefore found their treasure stashes, foretold of their destructive crimes, and knew when they'd be off to steal food. You were like them, once, after all. 

And maybe that's why you had a peculiar pep to your step. Once the boys found their devious personalities, you bothered lifting your tails from the floor. No longer did you let them drag and droop like limp noodles hanging from chopsticks. You seemed…prouder. Livelier. Perhaps being amongst your own gave you a sense of belonging, of hope. 

Belonging, huh? Tch, what a load of shit. Sukuna mused as he rested his cheek against his fist, lounging while he watched you wrangle the twins from his spot under a shady tree. Spring was here, and that meant the runts were now terrorizing the great outdoors. 

More accurately, they were following you around like two tiny shadows, too eager to waddle after you as you moved along the paths, sowing seeds and pruning withered leaves as you went. The tots picked up whatever your tending cast to the ground, and they held each thistle, leaf and twig close in tiny, pudgy hands like they were rabbit's feet. Strange little things.

He lost sight of you and the bumbling babies eventually, but your light chatter flitted through the brush and kept him company for a time. The sound of leaves crunching underfoot accompanied your walk as you came back around, closer and closer and–through the garden itself? Wait–

“RAH!” A little voice cried before a littler body launched onto Sukuna. 

“Ha?” The king quirked a brow and looked at the little thing biting and kicking at his arm like a spastic cat. “What the hell is this?” 

“He's trying to play with you,” you said as you wandered back into view, voice airy and light. “They wrestle.” 

Sukuna held his arm up to get a better look at the runt nibbling on him. “This is supposed to be playing? Damn thing's acting feral.” 

“Because he's young.” You settled down beside your lover, adjusting your robes and such to ensure they cascaded and pooled around you attractively. “One day, he'll ask you to teach him how to fight. How to use cursed techniques.” 

Sukuna's expression almost softened. “Huh. That so?” 

“Mh.” You smoothed Kazuya's hair back as he settled in your lap, choosing peace over violence, unlike Genji. “They are yours. I've no doubt they'll have the same hunger for strife and knowledge.” 

They are yours. The words nearly made Sukuna sick; they weren't his per sè, they were a result of his relentless attempts to tie you down and make you stay with him no matter the cost. They only shared half of his genetics, they didn't rule his every thought nor own half of his heart. That all belonged to you.

But then why did he feel…trepidatious? The way he once felt too long ago when he knew nothing of the world and met too many cruel hands from the moment he opened his eyes. Maybe because these little ones were that age, able to run around and cause problems where they ought to not. Maybe because messing with the wrong person might not end with them slaughtering he who had the audacity to harm them, but with their young lives being lost. 

Ah. That must have been it–the petulance of his own kind pissed Sukuna off to no end. The thought of extensions of himself being looked down on brought about creeping waves of disgust and distaste. Humans were the ones who thought themselves godly enough to kill Sukuna. Humans were the ones who thought themselves mighty enough to enslave and breed a divine beast. The little ones were destined to share humanity's ire, and it pissed him off. It really pissed him off.

“Yeah,” Sukuna decided, shaking his arm to test Genji's ability to cling onto him. “I'll show ‘em a thing or two. Can't have humans beating the shit outta some godlings just for fun.”

“Well, if one were to try, I'd kill them myself,” you cooed like it was the most romantic thing in the world. “Level their village, light the sky ablaze.” 

“Now you're speakin’ my language,” Sukuna said, grinning. 

[wndaswife]

Hi!!! So glad your request are open. I was wondering if you could do something with Wanda coming over to readers house. Reader and Wanda watching a movie and Wanda starts being touchy. They try being secretive.

showing off | wanda maximoff & gn!reader

Wanda has a difficult time keeping her hands to herself during a movie night with you and your friends.

Word count: 2485

Tags: smut, fluff, possessiveness a little, mentions of voyeurism, cunnilingus, fingering, overstimulation, aftercare, dom!wanda maximoff, sub!afab!reader | MINORS DNI

gif credit to bill-weasley

To celebrate the long-awaited Spring Break, your friends from your gender theory class decided to come together for drinks after your class’ midterm.

Though the exam was a struggle altogether and you all knew that a few of you would come back to campus after the break with some failed exam marks, it was still worth celebrating finally getting to the midpoint of the semester during which you could all finally have a bit of a breather — and getting drinks together was something you’d all been planning out for a while.

The evening out was pleasant and enjoyable enough, but you were truly enthralled when Wanda whispered over to you while everyone was packing up, asking you if she could come over to watch a movie at your place.

You liked all your friends from class — really, you did — but Wanda was a special friend. She was the prettiest with the softest hair and the nicest green eyes, whose hands were always so warm and her fingers so soft when she touched you. She shared the most about herself with you rather than with any of your other mutual friends — or her own, for that matter. 

You were Wanda’s most special friend too.

So you were more than happy to accept her offer, quickly wrapping your arms around one of hers and beaming over at her.

Her typically docile and still expression formed into a gentle smile and you flushed at the sight of making her all soft, knowing it could only ever be you who could make her smile like that.

Wanda wasn’t necessarily antisocial or anything like it, but she was rather withdrawn and emanated a feeling of stillness around others. But with you, she was so warm and generous and considerate, so touchy and flattering.

Truth be told, you’d been trying to find a way to spend more time with Wanda alone. The way she’d been treating you over the last few months of knowing each other made it impossible for you to avoid beginning to see her in a way that pointed to more than platonic fondness.

For weeks, you hadn’t been able to stop thinking of Wanda’s roaming hands and her soft-looking lips and her cute laugh and long brown hair, and being without her for all of Spring Break felt like nothing less than absolute torture.

You weren’t sure what your plan was going to be once you finally got the chance to spend more time alone with her, but you did know that you most certainly did want to spend the rest of the night alone with Wanda after drinks with your mutual friends.

Unfortunately, some of them ended up overhearing the two of you talk a bit about what movie you wanted to watch while you were all walking to the nearest streetcar stop so all of you could eventually part for the night along your way home together.

Initially, it was Carol asking if she’d forgotten about any plans to watch a movie together after being out, and then it was Yelena asking who it was that mentioned seeing a movie together, and lastly it was everyone planning to come over to your place together.

A few of them still ended up not being able to go, but a handful of them still could, and that was an entire handful worth of people you didn’t anticipate seeing along with Wanda after you went home with her.

The entirety of the plan-making went by so quickly and decisively that neither you nor Wanda could really process what was happening fast enough to be openly adamant about wanting to spend the night together alone.

So both of you and a few friends ended up heading to your apartment together.

Wanda squeezed your hand softly in hers as your arms tightened around her upper arm, keeping her close as you followed behind your friends going up the building’s staircase.

Trying to hide your dismay, you sat cuddled at the corner of the couch snuggling alone with a blanket and a pillow after putting together some snacks and a few drinks like coffee and hot chocolate for everyone.

Wanda joined beside you immediately after taking her hot chocolate over to the table beside you from the centre of the living room.

“How are you?” Wanda whispered and pressed a kiss against your shoulder as she buried herself under the blankets with you.

The gesture made you blush alongside with the feeling of her legs laying on yours under the warmth of the fleece blanket covering your bodies, and you cuddled up closer to her.

“Feeling okay,” you replied and looked up at her, seeing the gentle flickering from the television casting pale colours onto her face.

The dark of the living room allowed the two of you to do all but sit on each other’s laps without the acknowledgement from your surrounding friends, some sitting on the floor and some sitting on the adjacent sofas.

Wanda looked up at the movie for a moment or two and then at your surrounding friends before looking back at you laying your head on her shoulder. She said quietly, “I’m sorry that they all invited themselves over. I didn’t expect it.”

“It’s okay. Let’s just hope they go home early,” you whispered back. “I wish it was just us, though.”

Her arms tightened around your body and you stifled a little giggle as she pulled you close.

“Me too,” she answered.

Because of how reserved Wanda was around the rest of your friends, it was a bit hard to tell how tipsy she’d gotten through the night. But you could see it now in her flushed cheeks and slightly hooded eyes, and eventually the harshness of her fingers and calculated motions of her wandering hands under the blankets.

“Feels good?” Wanda asked quietly, her nose brushing against your temple as she spoke to you in a hushed teasing tone. 

The sound of the voice you’d always known as so gentle and kind, the twinge of her Slavic accent, the hands you’d always known as careful and soft; it all filled you up to the brim with warmth and made you almost overwhelmed. 

Your heart beat a bit faster in your chest and your body was overtaken by heat — a gently thrumming pleasure. 

Instead of protesting, you stuttered, “W… Wanda, they’re gonna notice.”

Your eyes darted rapidly around the room to make sure your half-asleep friends didn’t take notice of how Wanda’s hands began travelling up your shirt to tug your bra down a bit. 

Your response made Wanda smile and you could feel her grin against your cheek. “Let them watch, baby,” she said. 

Her response made your cheeks sting with how warm your face became, and you found it hard to restrain your giggles.

“What are you so afraid of, hm?” Wanda continued to tease when she caught onto how giggly and squirmy you were trying to hide yourself further under the blankets. She spoke into the crook of your neck, her words reaching only your ears as she nipped at your skin and breathed in the scent of your hair. 

She asked, “Worried they’ll be jealous because they can’t touch you like I can?”

Your friends were beginning to doze off in their respective spots around the living room with the movie forgotten by everyone, but especially by you and Wanda who were much more preoccupied with other things. 

Her hand that’d been kneading your breast let go suddenly and your erect nipple was squeezed between her thumb and forefinger while her other hand swiftly slid between your thighs and met with your panties soaked panties beyond the waistband of your pants. 

Wanda rubbed her fingers against your pussy and you felt your sticky panties slide against your folds uncomfortably, making you whine with growing need for the brunette’s fingers.

“Feel how wet I make this dirty little cunt, moya zvezdochka?” she whispered against your ear. “Your panties are sticking to this pretty pussy… You’re such a fucking slut.”

She suddenly pinched your swollen cuntlips between her thumb and forefinger and you bit down on your lip to stifle a yelp, but your body jerked at the sudden feeling nevertheless, making the television remote drop from the armrest. 

One of your friends jolted awake on the couch and Wanda quickly retracted her hands from you, finally allowing you to catch your breath though it took all of four seconds to miss her contact. 

“What time is it?” Yelena asked groggily, looking around for her phone. 

You coughed then choked out, “Almost one.”

She groaned and reached over to shake Kate awake, who previously wanted to go home after the movie but was now dozing off on her makeshift bed of blankets and pillows you gave her by Yelena’s spot on the couch.

Carol and Monica also woke up and Carol took no time in asking you if she could just crash at your place. Monica apologised for her crassness and told you it was totally alright if you wanted them to leave. 

But you told them all it was alright if they slept over because you really didn’t want to send them home at this time while they were all sleepy and still a bit drunk. 

Both you and Wanda helped them set up in the living room and their collective grogginess didn’t let them wonder even once why Wanda wasn’t leaving nor was she planning on sleeping in the living room. 

If Wanda wasn’t at the time completely overtaken by her desire for you to the point where her fingertips were practically buzzing with the urge to touch you, she would’ve complained at least just a little about not being alone with you for the night. 

But she wanted you now, and she was going to take you with or without company staying over. 

They all passed out within a minute once both the television and living room lights were turned off, and Wanda quickly had her hands on you again, leading you backwards down the hallway with her hands on your hips and her lips on your neck. 

Between ragged sighs and stumbling steps, you led the way backwards to your bedroom where Wanda forced you in and shut the door. 

The speed at which she began devouring you entirely nearly frightened you in a way for you hadn’t ever known Wanda as someone other than a docile, friendly face. But you were thrilled to now be acquainted with her groping hands and her nipping teeth, her deep groans and her dirty whispers. 

She undressed you in a way that made you feel that she’d previously fantasised countless times before about every path her hands would take along your body and she nearly forgot to strip herself down if it were not for the way your needy hands grasped at her clothes with a desperation to see her underneath dark clothing that smelled like her, to bury your nose in the uncovered pulse points against which she sprayed her perfume earlier that night.

With your thighs on her shoulders and her on her knees, Wanda ate you out with an alarming hunger as predator would its prey. She made you come in her mouth though she didn’t stop the way her tongue was fucking in and out of your hole while her lips wrapped securely around your cunt, delivering overwhelming pressure to your throbbing clit.

When she arose from between your thighs, she did so only because she wanted to feel your body against hers and to hear you whimper just below her instead of above, to see the way your face screwed shut as your mouth fell open singing out her name in melodies.

She placed her rings on the nightstand and she crawled on top of your weakened body, carrying you up the bed with her arm wrapped around your hips. 

“Tell me how much you love when I play with your pussy, angel,” she whispered in your ear before running her tongue up from your earlobe to your temple to press a kiss there.

You answered obediently, “You make my p-pussy feel so good.”

“Konechno, lyubov,” she said and took your bottom lip between her teeth as her fingers crept back down between your thighs and entered your slick hole. 

Instinctively, your back arched and you tugged your lip away from Wanda’s teeth, making her grab at the lower half of your face with her hand possessively so she could kiss you with bruising passion. She swallowed your whimpers and moans with her messy wet kisses. 

Your bedroom felt so warm and your legs felt so smooth against your blankets.

Wanda’s naked body was so hot against your own and the dim light from your nightstand began to blur as hot tears formed in your eyes at how filled to the brim you were with pleasure albeit overwhelming for your still-sensitive body.

Your entire body pulsed with need and Wanda was more than in-tune with your every signal, knowing exactly how roughly to grope your breasts and just how to bite down on your nipples.

She moaned at the feeling of your cunt around her fingers to show you just how much she loved fucking you, and you loved that an awful lot.

And Wanda knew it.

She knew exactly what you loved.

Your body’s pulsing exploded into another orgasm and though it was Wanda who pushed you into overstimulation and through to another climax in spite of how sensitive you still were, she slipped down beside you and pulled you against her body as you cried out into her shoulder.

She eased your trembling body down with gentle hands and quiet coos of how well you did while telling you it was okay to relax, that she wouldn’t push you any further and that you could breathe now.

You whimpered out her name and grasped weakly at her upper arm to keep her close, feeling suddenly that the thought of being without her arms wrapped around your shoulders for even a moment would be the worst possible thing.

But she let you know she was there, knowing just how overwhelmed you were with your rapidly beating heart and your steadily-declining adrenaline pumping through your body, desperate to feel her close.

“You did very well — took it all like the good baby you are,” Wanda praised and kissed your forehead. “It’s okay now. Just breathe. I’m here.”

She kissed your naked body when your breathing steadied, chastely and with nothing but admiration for you behind her warm pecks. She wrapped the both of you in blankets to keep you warm when your skin was no longer damp with the impassioned labour of sex.

“You’re always safe with me, Y/N,” she said, stroking your hair as you settled happily with your head resting on her breasts.

[laura1633]

Here are all the lovely fics , I would be so grateful if you could give these fics a read and leave some nice comments for the authors who took the time to write them. 💕

It's been a great gun fight (You drew blood, I set myself on fire) by LeonSolo There will be one religion in Italy, Charles Leclerc. On his knees, he will pray to a God he was supposed to kill.

Red Light at Dawn by LuciThornz Five months ago Max was kidnapped by pirates. Miraculously he was found safe, and now his father has arranged for him to start courting the Governor’s son. But it’s not that simple, Max hasn’t told anyone the whole story of what happened at sea, getting captured was never part of the plan, neither was falling in love. Now Max has a plan to get back on the open ocean and find the pirate he fell in love with before it’s too late. The funny thing about plans is they never do go smoothly.

The Tortured Driver's Department by Shadow_reads Prompt Fill for Lestappen Birthday Challenge:  Charles said he'd love to have his own F1 team in the future, and Max already has Verstappen.com. Max is also experienced and is most suited to being a team principal. Their shared retirement arc is where they own a team together: Charles handles the press conferences and media, while Max focuses on the data and strategy.

Forever Love by stealmysunshine Charles isn’t going to wait around for Max to pop the question. Who says that there is a preordained question popper? There are two people in this relationship and Charles has every right to show Max just how precious he is and make him feel loved.

(k)not in public by bananasomg When Max accidentally invites friends to tag along on his and Charles' holiday to Greece (which Charles has coined their mating oasis trip), Charles isn't phased, and Max is easily convinced. Hallowed Ground by crimsonmidnight When an FIA racing law forces Omega Charles to take part in a mandatory mating hunt after getting the Sauber seat, Alpha Max vows to do everything it takes to claim him as his own.

The Wait Is Worth It by crimsonmidnight Max Verstappen's adventures in purchasing a fucking machine and using it when Charles gets an attitude.

Sutures by jadesaturn After years of grueling battles, academic rivals Max and Charles part ways upon graduating from medical school until they meet again as surgical interns at the same hospital. Their age-old feud continues, as expected. Grey’s Anatomy Enemies to Lovers but make it Formula 1.

A taste of the divine by (anonymous on ao3) female!Charles ends up losing her virginity to Max and he is going through it.

i'd wanna hold you (just for a while) by Kashoot Charles doesn't normally want to regress, choosing to ignore his needs in favor of keeping busy with all his other obligations. "I'm a racing driver, Max, not a baby!" Max knows better.

Preloved by LaurawritingF1 After getting caught up in another scandal, Charles, the crown prince of Monaco, is sent to an 'Omega Establishment' to find himself an omega in the hopes it will settle him down. Charles is not at all interested in picking out a pretty housewife for himself and is intending to return home empty handed until he meets Max, an omega housed up in the 'Preloved' section of the establishment and clutching hold of his pup tightly.

Everything Changes, Yet Nothing Does by Shadow_Reads The sun was setting over Monaco, casting a warm golden glow over the city. The gentle sound of waves lapping against the shore provided a serene backdrop, contrasting with the turbulent emotions swirling within Charles. Tonight was the night he would ask Max to spend the rest of their lives together.

how you get the boy(s) by amelielacy In which world-famous streamer Max falls in love with artsy single dad Charles.

Hunting Love by himmywimmy Charles becomes an unwilling participant in the pack’s annual mating run and to protect himself, he asks his alpha friend, Carlos, to catch him. But as the night of the mating run unfolds, another alpha seemed to be on the hunt for him.

5 moments of chaos and +1 moment of peace by LaurawritingF1 Charles and Max are retired and dealing with the chaos of looking after their children during the summer vacation. Jimmy, Sassy and Leo also make appearances. Them the breaks, they don’t come gently by imamessofawriter “They just announced that Charles is retiring.” Charles suddenly announces his retirement and then appears to disappear completely.

[fandomnerd9602]

Sick

Bambi!Wanda x Reader

It was a normal day at the Sanctuary. Work was usual. You and your doe mate Wanda were getting ready for the end of the day when she started to shutter and shiver a little.

“My doe? You okay?” You tried to get close bud she gently pushed you away.

“Uh oh” she gently murmured

“What?”

“I’m getting sick” she began to hyperventilate.

“It’s okay baby,” you tried to reassure her. “It’s probably just a little bug but I’ll call Doctor Strange to come look you over”

“No doctors!” She shouted, cowering on your office couch. Your doe begins crying, you slowly approach and sit down next to her.

“It was the facility wasn’t it?” You gently inquire. She buries her face in the crook of your neck. She nods softly, affirming your fears.

“I had to hide every time I was sick” she explains, still mumbling into your neck, “it was a death sentence to admit you were ill”

“It’s okay,” you gently reassure her. “I’ll take care of you.”

“You will?”

“Yeah.” You pull her close, “and if you’re not feeling better then I’ll call Doctor Strange.”

“Last resort?” She asks hopefully.

“Last resort” you kiss her head.

“Carry me?” You chuckle and pick her up. You carry her all the way to your jeep and then all the way into your home.

Wanda woke up the next day completely and utterly sick. Her sneezing fits were terrible, running nose, headaches.

And all you could do was be at her beck and call. You made sure she had a fresh thing of water, medicine and hot soup every so often.

You brought out your humidifier and set it up in her room, moving around her stuffed animals so she could feel their presence.

Day two wasn’t much better.

Day three you finally called Doctor Strange. Wanda shuttered as memories of the doctors at the facility came flooding back. The torture. The needles. The cold calculated stares of their eyes. Would this Doctor Strange be just like them?

Doctor Strange, an old friend of yours and hybrid doctor arrived at your apartment. His tail swished beneath his red overcoat.

“It’s not every day I make house calls” he gives you a weary smile and a laugh.

“Thanks Doc,” you warned him, “just take it slow, Wanda’s-“

“I figured. Been through a lot.” He responds, “Natasha informed me”

He walked into Wanda’s room, with you behind him. “Hey there Wanda. I’m Stephen.”

“Are you the doctor?” She looked a little curious at the older fellow.

“I am,” he smiles, “a fellow hybrid.”

“What animal?”

“Well…my tail and ears are those of your standard Mellivora capensis,” he chuckled.

“Sorry?”

“Honey Badger,” he explains before pulling out his stethoscope. “If it’s alright, I’m gonna listen to your heart.”

Wanda sits up and lets Strange listen to her heart, “it’s strong. You got a good heartbeat.”

“T-thank you…Stephen”

He takes her temperature. “You know why I know I’m a honey Badger?”

“Why?”

“Cause I don’t care what others say. I take what I want” Wanda chuckles at his little saying.

“Looks like a standard flu,” Strange explains. “I’ll give you some flu medicine and you get plenty of bed rest, little doe”

You shake Strange’s hand, “thank you Doc”

“You got a good mate, Wanda,” Strange gives you a wink.

“I know I do” she smiles at you and gives you a wink.

True to the doctors orders, it took a few days but Wanda was better in no time. By the end of the week, she was back to cuddling with you in the evening hours.

“I wouldn’t have trusted Strange unless you were with me,” she murmured in your ear.

“Really?”

“I feel safe with you,” she admits, “it’s one of the many reasons I love you”

“I love you” you give her a smile. And then you sneeze. Your face goes pale and Wanda’s eyes brighten.

“Oh no” you bemoan. Your amazing doe pulls you to your feet and points to your own bedroom.

“March! It’s time I return the favor, detka”

Tags @lifespectator @olsenmyolsen @supercorpdanbeau @scarletquake-n7 @pinklawyerwinnerzonk @revanshand @russianredassassin @mathxa @softlymaximoff @multi-fandom-enjoyer @idkwhatever580

[estrellami-1]

If I Should Stay

Y’all are the best. Seriously. I love y’all. One quick note: if y’all reblog, please include the tag “#if I should stay” (mind the capital i) so people can find the rest of the parts! Thanks so much!!! ❤️

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Eddie does end up following Robin because he does not, in fact, have a death wish.

Even if, apparently, he dies in the future. Go figure.

She instructs him to grab his guitar. “Why in the fuck,” he starts, then reconsiders when Robin whips around to stare at him. “Anyone ever tell you you’re terrifying?”

Robin shrugs a shoulder. “Not as much as they should.”

She stashes her bike in the back of his van and directs him to the Harrington residence, where Steve’s waiting, arms crossed, wondering smile on his face. “Miracle worker,” he calls, and Robin laughs as she grabs her bike from the back.

“Hate to break it to ya, Dingus, but you’re just not scary.”

“I’m plenty scary. I’ve got a nail bat.”

“Right, because that would beat Nance’s sawed-off in a fight.”

“Hey, it could! You never know! They’ve got different ranges!”

Robin rolls her eyes at Eddie, like she’s asking if he can believe it, which. No. No he can’t.

“Sorry,” he says, regretting everything when they both look at him. “What the actual fuck is happening?”

“Come inside,” Steve says, suddenly all business. “We’ve got a lot to discuss.” His eyes find Robin’s. “One of ‘em took Barb last night.”

“Fuck,” Robin whispers.

“Yup. Will’s been missing for two days. Maybe, if we get down there soon enough…”

“Let’s hope so. Which one of the rugrats found El?”

“I think they all did? But Mike’s the one who took her in.” He shakes his head, mouth a grim line. “I saw Dustin today. They’re kids, Robs.”

“So are we,” she reminds him, heaving a tired-sounding sigh. “A buncha kids fighting real-life monsters.”

“Monsters?” Eddie parrots.

Somehow they end up inside while Steve goes to pick up the Party. Who the party is, Eddie doesn’t know. Just like he doesn’t know why he’s in Steve’s Harrington’s house with someone who isn’t Steve Harrington.

“Who’s the Party?” He asks Robin. “And why am I here again? If I die, doesn’t that mean I shouldn’t be here? Should be somewhere far, far away instead?”

“The Party’s a group of kids Steve babysits. They’re the first ones to go through this whole mess. And admittedly, you’re here partially because you can help, and partially for selfish reasons.” She offers him a lopsided grin. “Believe it or not, watching you die was kinda traumatic.”

“Right,” he says slowly. “And you and Steve? How do you know each other? He and Nancy Wheeler are the talk of the town, and if he’s stepping out-”

“He wouldn’t,” she says harshly. “Ever.” She takes a breath. “Two years from now, or a year ago, he and I work together in a mall. Long story short, we get captured and tortured by Russians. High on truth serum, I tell him I’m a lesbian in the bathroom, we help take down the big bad, and boom. Instant platonic soulmates.”

Eddie gapes at her. “What the fuck.”

“Just about,” she nods. “Oh, and the kids love D&D, so you’ll have plenty to talk about. They’re little shits but they’re also kinda great once you get to know them.”

Eddie stares at her. The front door opens, and Steve walks in, followed by a gaggle of preteens and Nancy Wheeler.

“Robs,” Steve says, not slowing his stride as he begins taking the stairs two at a time. ��Bathroom. Now.”

Robin grimaces. “Breakdown time,” she murmurs to Eddie, then follows Steve, leaving everyone else staring at each other.

“So,” Eddie says. “I heard you like D&D?”

A dark-haired kid who looks suspiciously like Nancy narrows his eyes. “You play?”

“Play!” Eddie repeats. “I don’t just play, my young friend, I am the greatest Dungeon Master this side of the Mississippi.”

A curly-haired kid begins to grin. “I think we should put that to the test.”

Permanent Taglist: @justforthedead89 @ilovecupcakesandtea @madigoround @bookbinderbitch @suddenlyinlove @nburkhardt @artiststarme @paintsplatteredandimperfect @i-less-than-three-you @alyelf @quarble @messrs-weasley @littlewildflowerkitten @vankaar @starman-jpg @bornonthesavage @steddie-there @goodolefashionedloverboi @andienotannie @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @platinum-sunset @just-ladyme @steddiestains @swimmingbirdrunningrock @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @martinskis-lydias @notaqueenakhaleesi @sleepyboosstuff @bestwifehaver @m-owo-n @thatonebadideapanda @finalmoondragon @velocitytimes2 @callmeanythjing @ajeff855 @ilikeititspretty @knitsforthetrail @sillysparrow @that-one-corvid @ace-is-bored @local-writers-corner @harpymoth @weirdandabsurd42

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Fic Taglist: @blondlanfear @do-you-want-something-more @little-gae-shit

[datesinredink]

could you possibly write headcanons you have of how the rise yanderes would like psychologically manipulate/punish their darling? i’m all for physical violence but what do they do to mess their darling up in the head?

ty very much for reading this if you do :)

THANK YOU SO MUCH RAGHHHHHH!!!!! Since this is such a fun question to answer im gonna order these from most to least awful. The ranking is just my opinion and i would LOVE to see what other people think jhwhnwiurfj i decided to chug a soda to write this and i think that was a great decision because i immediately came up with smth for donnie because of it.

I decided to search up some ACTUAL psychological torture methods that have been/are used in real life and let normal manipulation take more of a backseat so that this didn’t end up too repetitive- honestly would recommend researching it, it’s a fun topic.

Trigger warnings: Very unfun use of technology in your arm, Drugging, More drugging, Even more drugging, Withholding of food/water (+ a more mild example of doing so but it still happens), Mild descriptions of gore, Mentions of blood, general yandere stuff like kidnapping, and likely others- please ask me to tag anything else triggering, because unfortunately I am not perfect.

1- Donnie.

This might be surprising to some of you. Yes, Leo is the manipulator- he’s the face man, the people guy, but I think that in terms of sheer awfulness- Donnie is going to win here simply because of the potential with his tech.

He’s a genius with access to mystic powers who has incredible skill with both designing and creating various machines and gadgets. I think that he’d be very creative, just considering how much he thought to fit into just his bō staff.

My first thought was that he could come up with a small device (which might be able to double as a tracker) to embed under your skin that could move around. It would skitter up and down your arm like a beetle (likely your dominant arm, just to be worse) and be a nice cherry on top of anything else he could come up with.

To pair with that, he could force some type of hallucinogenic drug down your throat- after some googling, LSD would be a likely candidate. While apparently it usually only causes “pseudo-hallucinations” (where you know that they aren’t real, whereas true hallucinations would be where you think they are), true hallucinations can happen, and the pseudo-hallucinations combined with the environment alone would be enough to cause a panic attack. Not even to mention the kind of drugs that the mystic city might have. (edit: i just found out about datura??? GODDAMN THAT’S A STRONG DRUG.)

Also, I think that Donnie would actually take decent care of you prior to any sort of escape attempt or broken rule. He’d hate for you to waste away in a dark room for the rest of your now shared life, so he would take you outside to some private space for a set amount of time everyday while you’re chained to him and probably gagged so you don’t call for help- you need time in the sun and exercise, after all. That’s why I think he’d also stop doing that if you broke a rule. You don’t want to be anywhere near him, and he supposes that he’s fine with that- but if you really don’t want anything to do with Donnie anymore, then you’ll just have to deal with losing all the luxuries that came with him being so caring.

He’ll lower the temperature in your room and take the hoodie that he so graciously gave you and waltz on out. He still brings you food and water, but now it’s less frequent and more random since now he’s prioritizing his brilliant inventions. Sorry dear, but weren’t you the one who begged him to leave you alone? Now he is. What’s the problem?

2- Leo.

Even if you haven’t done anything wrong (yet), being kept in his room would probably be a nightmare. I feel in my adhd soul that he would NOT be good at keeping it clean. It’d be living in a constant mess, and as someone who has lived in a perpetually messy house, it will definitely take a toll on your mental health. Not to mention the additional noise from whatever he and his brothers are doing. You wouldn’t be allowed outside of it either, not for a while at least, so you’d never know what day or time it is.

Other than the already constant sensory of his room, I think that Leo would mainly use threats- of which he goes through with. Not against you, though, but against your family, (what’s left of) your friends, and any other loved ones you might have. He’ll drag their unconscious body into whatever room he’s keeping you in, and wait with you for them to wake up.

While you two are waiting, he’ll lay out everything he’s planning to do to them in awful detail- and lucky you, he even left out some things as a nice surprise!

You’ll be tied to a chair and forced to watch as their guts fall to the ground from the clean slice in their now empty abdomen while Leo picks up and talks about their functions one by one. You silently wish that you never told him that you admired his skills as the team medic.

When he’s finally done rambling about the various viscera laying on the cold floor, he’ll force you to help him clean up- “so that Raph doesn’t get mad about the mess”, as he says. He’ll hold you in his arms when the two of you are done, whispering in your ear about how sorry he is that he had to do that, but you really did force his hand, and you know that, right? If only you had listened…

When the list of people you can bring yourself to care about finally has 0 names, Leo starts to instead take things away from you. He starts small, gradually taking and taking like the parasite you’ve learned he is until all you have left are the clothes you wear and him. He’ll even deprive you of food and water for periods of time, and you can no longer tell if you wish he would shut up for once or if you’re grateful for at least anything to distract you from the constant pain in your empty stomach.

Mikey and Raph landed themselves towards the bottom because I think that they’re both more lenient with punishments (Raph would be afraid of hurting you beyond repair physically OR mentally and Mikey has generally been shown to be very patient and forgiving with people he cares about), but I also think that they might be more exhausting to be stuck with GENERALLY, wearing you down slowly in day-to-day life rather than harsh punishments for breaking whatever rules might be in place for you.

3- Raph.

Raph would try to instill learned helplessness into his darling, to make them understand why he always has to be so careful!

It’ll happen the next morning after a particularly bad argument between you two, and when he’s suddenly letting you handle sharp objects again- but oh no! For some reason you feel so sluggish and dizzy today that you messed up and sliced open your arm. It’s ok- Raph’s here for you! He’ll either patch up your arm himself or take you to Leo, and after it’s taken care of he’ll scold you and say that it’s fine, maybe he’ll give you another chance next week. And he keeps his word- once again, you’re allowed to try your hand at chopping some veggies with him or Mikey- and again, you feel dizzy and accidentally cut yourself.

This will happen many more times- or not, if you give in easily enough- at least until Raph finally decides that he just can’t keep doing this. He brought you to the lair to keep you away from harm, and despite it being to teach you a lesson, he just can’t bear to watch blood drip down your pretty skin.

So instead, he further seals you away- locking you in his room and wrapping one of his hoodies around your head. He’ll keep you like this until you finally learn.

He won’t starve you, at least. He’d hate to watch you waste away after everything, so you’ll be fine physically, but it’ll be hell to not be able to see or properly hear anything. It’ll also be more difficult to breathe properly through the fabric, so I wish you luck with that.

He’s infuriatingly nice throughout the whole thing. Of course he’s angry when you argue with him- when you hurl insults and and completely unfounded whining (yeah right) at him. Sometimes he hurriedly leaves the room so he doesn’t do anything he regrets- but when he comes back- despite your wishes that he wouldn’t- he just wraps that damned hoodie around your skull and chides you for your hostility, leaving you to wonder if this could really be better than death.

You feel insane rambling to his plushies, of which you now know the individual names of, but it’s an admittedly nice bit of company to have when your only other option is Raph. Honestly, you’d rather deal with Ms Cuddles by this point, and she even managed to wring a scream out of Donnie.

At least it’s something you can actually have even an ounce of fun doing that he won’t take away for being “too dangerous”. As long as you can tolerate his absolutely smitten behavior when he finds you talking to them.

Be careful about how loudly you complain, though- it might just land you being completely swaddled in blankets and left to go insane on his bed.

4-  Mikey.

I think that if you were to try and escape from Mikey, he’d conclude that his love simply needs to spend more time with him! Maybe if he shows them how wonderful life is with him, they’ll stop trying to run away!

Unfortunately, I doubt his sleep schedule is very consistent. He keeps you up late at night to try out new spraypaints, recipes, games, anything he can find to do with you will be done. You hardly get the chance to sleep well, and the peace you get in dreams is frequently interrupted.

When he does take a break, he insists on sleeping in the same bed, and it’s much harder to fall asleep with him staring holes into you, as though he were trying to memorize every single detail.

It takes a damn long time to get Mikey to knock it off, too. You have to guess that stubbornness runs in the family, if his brothers are anything to go by. Unfortunately, said brothers’ coddling of their youngest has resulted in quite the persistent guy, and you’re quickly losing the energy to refute him. You wonder how long you’ll need to sleep for the giant spider in the corner of your vision to go away.

When the box turtle finally does realize how much of a toll his shenanigans have taken on poor you, he decides that as the person responsible for you, it’s his job to make sure that you get plenty of rest- and if you refuse, Dr Delicate Touch and Dr Feelings are always here to make sure you’re convinced!

He does a sort of 180- where he once forced you to do everything, he now forces you to do nothing at all, even when your mind screams at you to get up and move. He’ll slip something he stole from the pharmacy into your food and carry your sleeping figure back to his room for your seemingly infinite nap.

In between consciousness, you’ve learned to just stay in bed, maybe draw or write something related to all the adventures you go on in dreamworld.

Fun fact, over sleeping has a couple negative side effects- it increases the risk of diabetes, obesity, headaches, back pain, depression (like you don’t have that already, being kidnapped and all), and heart disease! I wish you the best of luck.

When he finally believes your rest to be sufficient, everything will go back to normal. Except, of course, the lingering paranoia of when it’ll happen all over again will continue to haunt you.

Who knows, maybe he’ll continue drugging you just to keep you a little more complacent. Can’t have you running away all the time, right?

[morning-star-joy]

but you know the killer doesn't understand (Joel x F!Reader)

Pairing: Post!Outbreak Neighbors Joel x F!Reader

Summary: When Joel returns to Jackson and meets you, his new neighbor, he knows right away he's fucked.

Request: Reader being Joel’s neighbor and reader is super kind and and nice to everyone (especially Joel and Ellie) and having this lightness and softness about her and they’re kinda in love with each other but Joel won’t admit and allow himself to act on it (full request)

Tags/Warnings: Language, Joel is bad at feelings, innocence kink. Series will include angst, mutual pining and TW mentions of previous miscarriage

Wordcount: 784

A/N: There will be multiple parts to this! Ty lovely anon for sharing your beautiful idea and entrusting it to me

Part I || Part II || Part III || Masterlist (More Parts Coming Soon)

Joel Miller masterlist

Joel Miller was not a kind man.

Any kindness he ever had lingering in his soul had been eradicated over twenty years spent doing whatever it took to survive after the end of the world.

It was just the way that it was. After so much loss and suffering, so much blood spilled from his own body and from those that he had not only killed, but tortured, in cruel, unimaginable ways—there was no way that he could still manage to be soft. 

Hell, or anybody else, for that matter. Joel was of the firm belief that nobody who had made it this far didn’t have blood on their hands. In fact, it was just about the only thing he still believed in: the indisputable fact that every person in this fucked up world was just as fucked up as it was.

That was, until he met you.

When he and Ellie returned to Jackson, and she moved into the garage on his property as he settled into that large house that almost unnerved him with how quiet and peaceful it was, he was content to be a recluse in the settlement. Joel would do what he could to protect the town—he owed Tommy that much—but he wouldn’t go out of his way to do something as mundanely trivial as make friends.

And then you showed up on his doorstep a few days after he arrived, standing there in a faded sundress with a plate of something that smelled so tempting in some kind of peace offering he would have expected before the apocalypse, but not ever since society had crumbled down.

There was a soft smile on your face, a warmth in your eyes that had Joel completely taken aback and, fuck, he already knew he was in for it just then, before you even opened your mouth.

“You’re Joel, right?” you said in a voice as soft as that smile, kindness oozing from every word in a way that almost made Joel start to feel uncomfortable because what was the catch?

“Joel Miller?" you tried to clarify by adding his last name when he didn't answer, but you were seemingly unfazed when he still didn't say anything as you continued, "I’m friends with Maria and Tommy. They mentioned you had just moved in.”

You leaned back then, turning your face so you could point at the house next door, but Joel was too busy glancing over your face, searching for a sign of weariness, of deceit, trying to convince himself you were just as tired and mean and fucked up as the rest of them.

“I live next door,” you explained with the pointing before your hand went back to the plate, and you held it out further, making Joel lean back slightly. “I just wanted to come by and say, well…welcome to Jackson!”

You smiled again, almost a grin now, a cheerfulness that made Joel stiffen as his chest tightened with an unfamiliar feeling. It was one that had once been well-known in another life, before he had lost everything. 

A feeling he had never wanted to experience again.

So he took the plate, muttering a gruff thanks as his Southern upbringing—as far away as it was now—wouldn’t let him do otherwise, even as he quickly shut the door right in your face directly afterwards.

He had expected you to linger for a moment, probably taken aback by his abrupt rudeness at your gesture of neighborly peace, so he wasn’t surprised when he didn’t hear your feet retreat from the other side of the door right away.

What did shock him was when you called out your name, introducing yourself even through the wall of the too damn big, too damn peaceful and quiet house before your footsteps finally did click across the porch as you left.

Click? Had you been wearing heels? He couldn’t remember, but he felt a surge of something and, fuck.

Joel said nothing as he crossed through the house to the back door, heading to Ellie’s small abode to drop off what he realized from the annoyingly delicious smell was banana bread, so the girl could eat it.

She had accepted it with enthusiasm, asking him where he got it, a scarred eyebrow arching with interest as Joel merely mumbled an annoyed “neighbor” before leaving.

When preparing for bed that night, all Joel could think of was the click of a heel, the scent of freshly baked sweets, a delicate finger pointing towards a house right next door, the flare of a pale yellow dress as you turned and fuck.

Fuck, this was bad.

You were bad.

Because you were good, and he was bad.

Fuck.

[the-kr8tor]

Hobie with a touch starved s/o but they are too shy to ask for hugs and stuff because I know he would be so sweet <3

Hihi thank you for requesting! Hope you like it ❤️

Paring: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, CW food mentions, Fluff

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

Hobie cracks his back with a resounding crunch. He has been working on a new web shooter for five straight hours, and he's more than ready to collapse. Continuing to crack every bone in his body, he feels your heavy gaze on him. Flicking his eyes over to you, heating up the leftovers from yesterday's spaghetti, you (not so subtly) hide behind the microwave door as it dings.

He has been so busy and hyper focused on his work that the mere five hours without having him hold you has him in shambles. He guesses you are too since you haven't left the radioactive side of the opened microwave. It’s worse that you've just been around the house boat the entire time, not bothering him because you're such a sweetheart. He can handle being away from your touch during long hours in spider society and patrols around the city because he can't see you in his peripheral being all mopey and frowny. Five hours in the same place without a word from him must've been torture for you. Now he feels all guilty that he didn't even have lunch with you, or cook something together for dinner like usual.

Sauntering over to you, Hobie slowly slides his arm around your waist, closing the microwave door with his other hand— revealing his remorseful yet handsome face.

“Hi, love. Fancy seein’ you ‘ere.”

You sigh, smile curling around your lips at the sight of him. Your fingers are inching closer to the hem of his shirt. “Hello, are you hungry? I'll heat up a plate for you.” Your voice is soft, eyes gazing off to his hand resting on your hip. Something tells him you need attention, screaming at him more like.

“How ‘bout we cook somethin’ together, yeah?”

You smile, nodding, but the want in your heart stays. Hobie feels it in his chest, your need to hold him close, closer than you are now even though you're already hip to hip.

“What do you want, huh, pretty girl?” His knuckles rub along the small of your back, gentle and caring. “I think we've got beef in the freezer.”

“I thought we've got beef.”

“Do we have beef with each other?” He leans a bit further, smiling teasingly.

“I don't know, Hobie, do we?” You mirror his smile, copying his movements. His hand prevents you from moving further away though.

“We don't, love,” you raise an eyebrow at him, it's like your arms are magnetized to his side, you fight from embracing him for he might not want you to. He notices your apprehension. “D’you want me to prove it to you?”

You chuckle, “and how would you prove it, hm?”

“Do you want a hug, lovie?”

You crumble, shoulders sagging, relief in your tone. “Oh thank fuck, yes please.” Hobie laughs against your neck as you collide with him. “What's so funny?” You move your neck away, eyes narrowed.

His hand cups the back of your head, pushing you on him the second you leaned away. “Nothin,’ love, stay for me would you? I'm not done absorbing you yet.”

It's your turn to laugh against his skin as he peppers the side of your face with a million (much needed) kisses.

[charliemwrites]

Hello, hello! Per ceilidh's request - a Soap x Reader ficlet from the prompt thingy.

#11 "You tricked me."

I was heavily inspired by that tiktok sound (iykyk)

Rating: M CW/TW: brief/vague torture, threat of SA (doesn't happen), manipulation, dark!Soap

Being a medium in the military isn’t that much different from being a medium anywhere else.

The rules are roughly the same. Don’t talk to ghosts in living company. Don’t join idiotic 2am summoning circles. Try to help the ones you can; try not to lose sleep over the ones you can’t.

Oddly, there aren’t as many ghosts on a base as any given suburban house. Depends on the base, of course, but a reassuring number of former-military souls continue to their final rest. Even if their bodies (or parts of it) don’t make it back, tags and a symbolic burial usually suffice.

The 141’s main base only has a handful. A few you’ve already gotten closure for, sent off into the beyond. The others you’re working on, or already know they’re a lost cause. Most of them are even friendly!

There’s a corporal that haunts the mess and laments mashed potatoes. A captain appears in Price’s office occasionally, his residual energy glaring down at reports and rustling at phantom papers. On the range, you sometimes speak to the ghost of a prostitute murdered by some piece of shite back in ye olde times. She doesn’t talk back – can’t with a crushed windpipe – but she smiles when you have the privacy to acknowledge her.

Your favorite, though, is Johnny. He’s a comparatively new spirit, by your estimate. Lots of energy, still coherent. You can’t tell how he died by looking at him, but that’s not unusual. It could have been internal bleeding, or a stroke despite his youth. He won’t tell you his last name despite all your asking, always just laughs.

“Yer no’ gettin’ rid o’ me tha easily!”

He always lays the Scottish accent on in a thick velvet blanket. You want to wrap yourself up in it.

Yes, the rules for being a medium are the same, even on a military base. The main one: don’t get haunted by feelings.

That was never a concern, never even a thought, until Johnny. Until you caught his eye around Price’s shoulder during your introductory tour. He followed you for hours, interjecting little asides that put your selective hearing to the test. Always orbited just close enough to send chills down your spine and goosebumps up your arm.

You confronted him when you’d finally been dismissed back to your barrack, whirling around as he popped his mohawked head through the door. Despite yourself, you made quick friends with him.

He’s an unusual ghost. Doesn’t seem tied to a particular place or thing on base. Isn’t trapped along the same paths he walked in life. He’s always solid or near solid, doesn’t waver at certain times of day. You’re utterly charmed by his unorthodoxy, by his miraculous non-existence. And by the fact that, while he knows your secret – as all spirits do – he seems more intrigued than solicitous.

It's not that you blame other ghosts – the coherent ones – for wanting help. It’s torturous to toe that line, not alive but not at peace. Stuck and dwindling little by little. You can’t imagine what it feels like, but you can sense from some that it’s frightening, and cold. No, you’re not bothered that they ask for help. Or with the ones that are just angry; they have every reason to be.

Johnny, though… he’s special. You don’t feel so alone with him, even if the room looks like it to an outsider.

“Oh, aye, that’s pure dead brilliant. You know they’re sending you to Russia?”

You flick Johnny a glance. He’s leaning over Price’s shoulder, peering at the briefing docket that’s actively being explained. You don’t mind the extra or early info. Saved your ass a couple times before.

Your lack of response ruffles his feathers though. He stalks through the table to Gaz, flicks his pen right off the surface. You snort softly as he curses under his breath and ducks to retrieve it, trying not to interrupt Price. You make eye contact with Johnny, blink and minutely shake your head. He can see the twitching at the corners of your mouth anyway.

He smirks and wades through solid objects back to you. His presence looms behind your shoulder, an uneasy flicker at the edge of your consciousness. Like this he seems bigger, inhuman beyond ghostliness. Rougher and darker in the corner of your vision. You’ve done a double-take and gotten teased for skittishness enough times by now to quell the urge to check. It’s always just Johnny.

You’re paired with your lieutenant, Ghost. He’ll be watching with his sniper while you’re on infil. Usually, you’re paired with Gaz, but he and Roach will be at the other end of the compound taking out a target.

When the team is dismissed, Ghost only pauses long enough to give you a nod before skulking off. Not unusual for him; you take no offense. Johnny, however, is scowling something fierce after him.

For whatever reason, he’s never been a fan of your LT. The one time you asked, the lights started flickering and Johnny dismissed the question with a sharp “just don’t like him.”

You suspect that it’s because Ghost was your mentor when you joined the 141. The two of you spent the majority of your time together, training you up to run with the rest of the squad. Due to his constant proximity, your ability to respond to Johnny was greatly hindered.

Still is with how observant Ghost is. Have almost blown your cover several times and had to really watch yourself, and your reactions. You think Johnny might resent him for that.

Back in your barrack, though, Johnny happily chatters while you gear up for the mission. Base gossip and bits of intel he shouldn’t know and shouldn’t tell you. It’s standard ritual for you two; he likes to talk, and you’re accustomed to listening. You hum in the right places, storing tidbits away for your own amusement later.

A playful tug to your bitch-strap makes you yelp, then laugh when you catch Johnny’s grin. He does it again, loosening one of the buckles on your thigh. You swat him uselessly, retightening it only for him to pluck at your bootlaces while you’re occupied. He’s got so much energy, for a ghost. So adept at interacting with the physical world.

“Quit it!” you giggle, trying to dodge his darting hands.

“Why should I?” he chuckles. You curse as he gets a finger in your harness and jerks, misaligning it with the rest of your gear.

“I’ll banish you,” you lie, wriggling various straps back into place.

“Oh, sweet girl, it would take a lot more than you’ve got to get rid of me now.”

It’s an odd turn of phrase for him, but it’s the tone that draws your gaze. There’s an unfamiliar, inky darkness in his voice that pools in the pit of your stomach. You frown, open your mouth to ask what he means. But just like that, his electric smile is back, eyebrows arching as he nods to your bedside clock.

“You’re gonna be late.”

“Shit!” You snatch up your backpack and fling it across your shoulders. “I’m gonna kill you, Johnny!”

“Can’t kill something that isn’t alive,” he cackles as you sweep out the door.

You make it the transport just short of reprimand, though that doesn’t stop Ghost from narrowing his eyes as you duck into your seat. Gaz has already started a lively conversation with Roach, and Price is staying back this time.

You miss Johnny already. He may not be trapped in any particular part of the base, but he can’t come with you on missions or leave. The spaces where he’s absent feel colder and quieter. Everything seems just a bit… off. A song missing an instrument, a rainbow lacking one color.

You’re not sure when that started happening, when Johnny became such a vital part of how you perceive the rest of the world. When did longing for him become a chronic illness?

“Focus up!” Ghost barks in your ear.

You blink, shake your head, and take stock bewildered. Gone is the transport and the rest of your team. It’s just you now, hidden behind a generator, presumably about to infiltrate the target.

How?

When you try to recall, you have vague recollections of exiting the transport. Hiking to the compound. Splitting off with a few parting words amongst the lot of you. It feels watery at the edges, more of a vivid dream than a waking memory.

“Yessir.” It jumps instinctively from your tongue while you flex your cold fingers, trying to coax the nerves back to life.

You take a deep breath – lungs aching like you’ve held your breath too long – and continue with the mission. There’s no room for error now, or idle daydreams of noncorporeal men with wicked smiles.

The building is only three stories and you’re not meant to clear it. Just get to the server room, collect the information, and slip away with minimal enemy contact.

Maybe that’s why you don’t realize that something is wrong at first. You’re supposed to be avoiding guards, so you don’t notice the lack of them. Things do go right, sometimes, the intel can be good.

But it’s the quiet the finally prickles at your awareness. You may be more attuned to the dead, but you have a sense for the living as well. Always made you the worst to play hide and seek with. Now, you can feel that this building is vacant, deprived of any souls.

“LT, something is wrong,” you whisper, frozen mid-step.

“What is it?” he asks.

“It’s too quiet.”

To his credit, he doesn’t dismiss you immediately. “How?”

“I think the building is empty. Have you seen anyone?”

“Negative.” A pause as he considers, maybe scans the other windows for signs of occupation. “Sit tight, I’ll update Price.”

There’s barely a heartbeat before you hear distant gunfire. Too much and too soon for the plan. Roach and Gaz weren’t supposed to neutralize the target until you were collecting intel.

“Fuck,” Ghost snarls. “Get out of there!”

You’re already sprinting for the stairwell. Nearly pop your ankles leaping down, boot treads catching on the edge of steps. No one is chasing you, but your team needs help. Gaz is shouting in your ear, the channels reconnected for ease of communication. The situation is devolving quickly and violently.

“Almost there,” you report.

Your foot hits the last landing before the ground floor when the building explodes.

---

It takes three tries to get your vision focused. There’s not much to see once you do. A concrete room tinted by bare yellow halogen. There’s a drain in the floor just in front of you and old blood dried in the corners. It smells like rust, infection, and despair. Your head pounds; your entire body aches. Being tied to a metal chair doesn’t help the post-explosion soreness.

You’ve been stripped down to your fatigues, no boots. There isn’t a door in any of the three walls you can see, so it must be positioned behind you.

Confirmation comes about a minute later. Three sets of boots entering your little box. Only one of them walks into your line of sight; a mean-looking man with face tattoos and a gold tooth. He asks if you speak Russian, and though you do, you spew a string of English profanities and threats at him. The backhand you get in return says he understood you.

The questions start as soon as he switches to English. They want information; they always do. What you had been sent to collect and why. Who Roach and Gaz were sent for and why. You don’t speak a word. Even when the pain starts, and then doesn’t stop. You lose track of time, the head injury floating you on the edge of consciousness within the first thirty minutes.

Hours – days? – later, the man takes a step back, a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

“It’s alright,” he tells you, “I like taking my time, and we have plenty. Your friends think you are dead.”

That, you think through the haze, is probably true. You thought you were dead too.

“Perhaps next time we try something… else,” he muses, running a finger down your neck. “You are not as pretty now, but… prettier than you will be later, da?”

Ice forms in the pit of your stomach and climbs up your spine. It was always on the table, you know that, but facing it is something else.

Whatever expression you’re making seems to satisfy him, because he laughs heartily and finally leaves you alone.

Alone, with the promise of his next visit looming.

You squeeze your eyes shut. There’s a dripping sound nearby that you realize, vaguely, is your own blood. Maybe you’ll bleed out before he comes back. You time your breaths with it, using it as a count to get your wild and unsteady heart under control.

Reality washes over you in waves. There is no escape. Your team thinks you’re dead. Eventually, you will break and/or die. You might even become a ghost, join the collective that darkens the edges of this very room, a thing of pain and fear and rage without any coherency or singular will.

You didn’t even give Johnny a proper goodbye.

That somehow hurts the worst. Johnny, hearing second-hand that you’ll never make it back. No one to mourn with him, to offer any comfort. He’ll be alone with grief and then beyond, no one to tell his jokes or stories to.

You miss him more fiercely than you ever have. Part of you is glad he isn’t here. You know him, know he’d be too stubborn to leave you. He’d stay and watch, helpless, as you were tortured and killed. It would tear you apart to do that to him even though it wouldn’t be your own choice.

But… an awful, selfish part of you longs for him. Even just being able to see or hear him would soften the pain and fear. Would make this hell on earth almost bearable. You want to leave this world with Johnny whispering in your ear, maybe even join him when your body finally goes cold.

Given the choice, you would want him here.

You want Johnny. No, you need him. Regret ever leaving him behind, even though he couldn’t come with you. You’d do anything to change that now; anything to be with him again.

Anything?

It’s an unbidden thought, almost intrusive. Doesn’t even feel like yourself asking.

“Anything,” you whisper aloud, just to hear something other than your own despair. “Johnny…”

“You called?”

You jolt, head snapping up so fast it makes you dizzy. The world spins but he’s there, right there, crouching in front of you, arms balanced on his knees.

“Johnny?” you whisper.

Were you closer to the brink than you thought? Is this some sort of final hallucination as you slip into death?

“In the flesh.” He tilts his head, snorts. “Well, in a manner.”

“How…?” you ask, eyes already stinging.

“Told ya, you called. I’d never – hey, now, hey. No need for all that,” he soothes. He wipes the tears from your face. You can feel the warmth in his fingers. “This is a happy occasion.”

You huff in watery amusement, shaking your head. “Did you lose your glasses when you died? I wouldn’t call this celebration-worthy.”

His eyes scan over you, flicker dark. “It will be, don’t you worry.”

You blink, try to focus. Exhaustion and injury and chemical rush are making it difficult, but you know things are off. He shouldn’t be here, least of all because you called. And… something else too. Something in the way he’s holding his shoulders and the twitching around his expression. 

“Johnny, really,” you say, “why are you here?”

“You offered me anything, and I’m here to collect.”

Between one blink and the next, his eyes are black. Pitch black, from corner to corner. You suck in a breath, try to jerk back but there’s nowhere to go.

His grin is sharp enough to cut yourself on.

“I’ve been waiting for that,” he sighs.

He leans in, lips parting. His tongue rolls out, long and split at the tip. Licks a luxurious, burning trail from your chin to your temple. You make a sound borne of confused pleasure and fear, high in the back of your throat.

He shushes you, plants a slow kiss at the corner of your mouth. “My brave little lass, finally offering herself to the demon she’s been courting.”

The word bounces against the walls of your cell and burrows into your brain. Demon, demon, demon.

Johnny is…

“You tricked me,” you sob.

He cocks his head, onyx eyes soft with avarice. “Tricked you? No, angel, I’m saving you.”

His hands pet over the cruel ties around your ankles. The itch of them digging into your skin falls away. Gentle thumbs rub circles over the imprints the left behind. Hope and relief pounds hard in your chest.

“I’m only taking what you so willingly and enthusiastically offered,” he explains in hushed awe. Like you’ve given him such a wonderful gift, the greatest gift. Suppose you have.

“I’m going to take such good care of you,” he croons. His arms wrap around you, almost like a hug. His fingertips trace down your bruised arms to the cuffs biting your wrists. Those too fall away, and you find yourself reaching for him so quickly, folding into his chest, free of that wretched chair.

“There’s my girl,” he murmurs, a hand curling into blood and sweat soaked tangles.

“It… it is you, right?” you ask. “You’re my Johnny?”

“Always, angel,” he replies, “it’s always been me. I will always be yours. All you have to do is say yes.”

You tilt your head back, catch the wicked curve of fangs as he speaks. He smells like heat and woodsmoke.

“Yes to what?” you ask.

“To everything,” he answers, deep and rough. “You offered anything, and I want all of you.”

You should say no, you should throw yourself away from him.

There is not an inch of your mind or body that wants to leave the safety of his arms. This is Johnny, your Johnny, hellfire and all.

“And… in return,” you venture, “I get… you?”

“Eternally.”

Then it really doesn’t need much more thought.

“Yes. Please.”

“Good girl.”

[the-great-empress]

Better with them than with you

Here Mc is woman

Warning: grammatical errors, English is not my native language

Tags: @huuvu

PART II | PART III

Mc POV.

—Help them... that's why I chose you

—Mc… you… are a descendant of Lilith

Confusion and speechlessness was how I felt... but... I had the feeling that this was a sentence...

—Lilith!

I heard Lucifer exclaim with happiness and then hugged me with fervor... while the cold and emptiness ruled my body... I also heard the rest of the brothers happy for Lilith, except Satan... then... the next thing I can remember was being in the common room from the house of lamentations surrounded by smiles and praises from Mammon, Beelzebub, Asmodeus, Leviathan... Lucifer and... Belphegor... were fighting to sit on my sides, while they praised me and talked about Lilith... How long has it been since the revelation?

My gaze was fixed in front, on the other large piece of furniture, Diavolo was smiling with his charming smile, Barbatos with his cordial smile and... Satan with an expression of empathy and slight sadness... Why are you sad, Satan? Why are you looking at me like that? Do I have something on my face?

Barbatos in summary said that he could no longer return to my original timeline… I felt like my soul fell into the abyss as I continued standing…

—I want to return to the place where they don't know who my ancestor is.

—I want to be treated like before the revelation

—I don't want to continue hearing about Lilith or being compared to her.

—I am not a replacement…

—Will Simeon and Luke hate me if they find out that I share blood with that angel who caused the brothers' fall? Nobody should know

They were the things that constantly prevented me from sleeping at night while I cried like a stupid girl, but as if he knew I was staying up late, he knocked on the door of my temporary room and said my name with affection and a certain air of sadness, every time I opened it. At the door, there he was... Satan with a book in his hands... it became a routine... Satan would come, we would read a chapter of a book and then cuddle and he would say sweet words about me... the others... they continued talking about Lilith, they bought me clothes adorable and angelic looking, they were aware that that was not the type of clothing I liked

More than a few people missed that this was Lilith's favorite style, as well as how my hair was the same color she had... that same night they mentioned it... I bought some hair dye and grabbed the kitchen scissors... The next day I entered the dining room with the opposite color to how I had it and with very short hair. The scandal that arose at that moment was great and Asmodeus recovered the "beautiful" original color of my hair with a potion.

No matter what I do... they will find a way to keep me looking like Lilith so I gave up and let them use me however they wanted.

Even Simeon commented that I was like an angel "Please Simeon... don't keep thinking about it... you could know who my ancestor is and I don't want you to hate me" I repeated in my mind, I feel like a criminal for Lilith's actions even if I don't I committed them. Is it because I cooperated with her to help the brothers? Why am I proof that she came out the winner and free from her punishment? The weight of keeping Lilith's secret tortures my body, I want to cry... scream... hit something... talk to someone... Satan was not an option, I was afraid that because of that he would have an attack of anger and fight with the brothers, definitely Barbatos and in Diavolo especially were not options, I didn't even want to think about how they would react, Simeon and Luke less so and as for Solomon I didn't know whether to even hint at him, I didn't want to involve him in a personal problem of that caliber.

Michael… when Michael apologized for the actions of Lilith and the brothers I cried, I just cried while he hugged me, Michael really… I…

—Lilith!

Six of the brothers exclaimed in surprise as they observed her sister alive in front of them. They did not hesitate to run towards her and hug her while Satan and I watched the scene in surprise. I could swear I felt Satan's hands squeezing mine with comfort.

—Why are you still here? You better not get your hopes up and leave as soon as possible and take THAT Satan with you

They were the first words I crossed with Lilith alone.

How are you Satan?

Of all of them, the one that worries me the most is Satan, every time Ppyong returned I asked him about the avatar, he kept me up to date that he is still in the house of lamentations with the other Lords and Lilith although he only saw her once

Were you able to repair your relationship with your siblings?

The first days in “hell” were difficult… difficult to get used to the fact that the angels are the bad and cruel ones after all in my world they were the ones who supported me, well, most of them… difficult to trust the word of the demons and that they have no other intentions, in my reality, demons are liars and do actions behind the backs of others... hard to believe that here I would have someone that I can call family...

But I quickly began to like this "hell", I don't have to hide who I share blood with as if it were the worst of taboos or a criminal, in fact I don't even care if they call me "Solomon" or "Daughter of Solomon" nor that believe that I am Solomon, I would say that it makes me feel proud, perhaps because I have a good relationship with him and for all the support and help he has given me, I love listening to his stories like a little girl who loves to listen to those stories of her parents, although only distant relatives, I see him as a good father and parental figure

Satan, King Satan, dislikes that even his own subjects are confused about me being Solomon... and I thank him from the bottom of my heart... I really want to help him, help the seven kingdoms... kingdoms... kings... this feeling is... no Mc , concentrate, you can't feel that feeling again... that same feeling that caused you immense pain when the six of them made it more than clear who they preferred.

—There is nothing wrong with falling in love with kings.

Dad please

—Your mind denies it and your heart wants to express a big statement, but he is so hurt that he needs help.

No, it is not that which begins with “L”, it is only companionship and understanding, only that, and there is only sexual act for the “energy”, it is only that for me and especially for them, nothing more

—If it's just companionship, why when you were replenishing “energy” with Satan did Mammon join in and the three of them ended up with a sprained hip?

I don't know, but it's not that word! Wait a minute, did you hear everything?

—Even the angels in heaven would hear Bimet's complaints about how a human managed to "paralyze" two kings, fu fu~, when Leviathan finds out about that and King Lucifer who is waiting for you to wake up, you will have to satisfy two jealous kings

Oh please kings Lucifer and Leviathan have no reason or reason for jealousy, there is not even a hint of romance in this, stop pairing me with kings

—But you would make a good couple with them. Have you not noticed the subtle changes of the kings? Although the other Satan, the magician, that Simeon and even the other Raphael and Michael also have their charm. How about the best of both realities?

Aaaaahhh! I want to wake up!

†~†~†~†~†~†~†

Narrator POV

Intense and fervent

Those were the words with which Mc described the face of King Lucifer who looked at her with such fervor, it did not help that the king was in absolute silence and both were alone in that room, Mc tried to break the tension, however, the silent gaze of the king was more powerful, for a moment the woman remembered the words of her ancestor Solomon

“There is nothing wrong with falling in love with kings”

“Haven't you noticed the subtle changes of kings?”

The human hesitated, but then denied it, she didn't want to get her hopes up again... at that, some light knocks were heard on the other side of the door, it was Gamigin reporting that Ppyong returned with "that" for Mc and then she heard Ppyong and Jjok say good morning to both Lucifer and Mc

The woman felt great relief, but it was crushed by the disgust that Lucifer's face began to reflect

—Yes, he's so jealous that he can't hear "that"

It was Solomon's voice

—It's not jealousy!

Mc mentally remarked to her

Meanwhile with the two kings “wounded in battle”

—His Majesty has a meeting in TWO HOURS and he doesn’t even react! —shouted a hysterical Bimet to Buer who was intrigued and worried about the state of the two kings

On the stretchers were the kings Satan and Mammon, the lascivious faces full of ecstasy of the two rulers and the throbbing lumps under the sheets said it all

—What did you do to keep the two of you in climax? Solomon's daughter only lasted a few hours in that state, but they still haven't reacted —murmurs Buer fearfully

—I also want Solomon to cause those heartbeats in me —complained Sitri clearly jealous

Meanwhile in the Devildom… in Diavolo's castle was the prince of the same name, his loyal butler and the lords, except for Satan.

—Very well, Lucifer and I will go to "Hell" to bring Mc back —said Diavolo happily

N/T: MC! Shit! What the fuck did you do to Mammon and Satan?!

[simpxxstan]

what about softdom leaning switch!dokyeomie..

thank you for requesting this BECAUSE I AM OBSESSED WITH HIM! this is my first time writing nsfw headcanons without any proper plot (?) so i'm nervous. hopefully you'll not regret requesting this!

this is part of my 550 followers celebration event! find the rest of the content of this event here! the event ends tomorrow (31st July) at 12 midnight UTC. if you wish to request anything (although be warned, i write very slowly), my inbox is open. to those who have requested, thank you for being patient! i'm going to answer them all i promise!

warnings: nsfw minors do not interact implied established relationship with fem!reader, nsfw headcanons. not tagging everything here to avoid spoiling the content but nothing extreme (lmk if you still want me to tag something)

thinking about softdom leaning switch!dokyeom:

who cannot fathom being rough or mean to you, making him literally the softest dom ever. the primary reason he still doms you is likely to be because of your natural size difference (dokyeom LOVES how much bigger he is than you and how he can use his strength to give you pleasure). the second reason is because his life's aim is to pleasure you- thereby making him a service top.

picture him fucking you facing each other literally all the time. EYE CONTACT AND KISSES. my boy needs validation from your expressions and non-verbal behaviour that he's doing it right. missionary, cowgirl, on the tabletop, on the bathroom sink, on the kitchen counter, on a chair. eyes on him.

he doesn't mind the place and time if a. you're willing and in the mood and b. he gets to make you happy. dokyeom, being the energy ball he is, has a high sex drive, and even very little can get him horny. naturally, the two of you have done it EVERYWHERE. concert venue backstage. cafe washroom. shopping mall trial room (yes he got hard when you tried a really pretty dress for him and could. not. hold. back). even the bathroom of one of the member's houses when all of svt and their partners are hanging out.

punishments? dokyeom hasn't heard of it. not into spanking or edging- he would much rather give you as many orgasms as humanly possible. however, this leads to you getting overstimulated without him even realising it. you enjoy it to a certain extent but when it gets a little too tough to bear and you tell him the same, he immediately starts apologising so much and kisses you all over and stops whatever he was doing and lets you rest EVEN if he's still hard. he would much rather jerk himself off if needed rather than seeing you in pain.

not particularly kinky, rather he's a bit old-fashioned. so he's not into roleplay during sex, not into torture or pain, and definitely not into degradation. but his breeding kink is intense. dokyeom's fantasised about having a family from a very early age, and now he's found his perfect partner, he absolutely goes wild about it. (he tracks your ovulation period with you and tries to convince you every time to let him breed you full of cum whenever you fuck during that time. you tell him no but you let him fuck you without a condom those nights, taking the plan b pill afterwards without miss. after the high of the orgasm dies down, he curses himself for pushing you too hard and apologises for wanting to fuck you without a condom. who's gonna tell him the truth?)

BUT i think he's definitely into using toys to spice up things in the bedroom. also into filming your sexy time together. you do it more for him because he seems to LOVE it. he's out of town for a lot of time, so finding a video where you're pole dancing for him has him giggling, blushing, and nearly coming in his pants at the same time. when at home, he doesn't use a lot of toys except maybe a vibrator, but when he's away he asks you specifically to pick out certain toys to help yourself (and him too) to get through nights- like that time he bought a monster dildo for you and you filmed yourself riding it for almost an hour (it was so incredibly hot, seeing you babbling and drooling at the constant stretch but dokyeom got worried for a moment that you'll never like his cock after taking a bigger one. who's gonna tell him the truth?)

and it's the sex toys that bring out the switch in dokyeom. what's better than you riding him and pulling his hair towards your chest until he's sucking mindlessly at your tits as you milk him dry? you pinching his nipples using nipple clamps and  tying his hands back so that you can touch him and kiss him everywhere but he absolutely can't even touch you like he so wants to.

talking about tits: dokyeom is obsessed with them. he loves your entire body, but your boobs are the absolute cherry on top of the cake for him (pun not intended). he's just so happy that he has full access to your pretty breasts all the time- for him to kiss when waking up, for him to sleep on while napping, for him to tease with his ridiculously large tongue when he's in a particularly wild mood. he wants them all the time- video call sex? "baby show me your tits once please" and he cums as soon as you do. quickie? you're blowing his cock, and he's bending down to fondle your soft tits. mirror sex? his eyes are FIXATED at your tits. doggy style? he's groping your tits as his balls slam against your ass. morning cuddle? he makes you wear his softest t-shirts and nuzzles against your warm chest.

unsurprisingly, his love for your tits also enables a little bit of his submissiveness. he may or may not want to suck on your tits while you work on your laptop. he may or may not focus more on rubbing his spit on your tits instead of the film you both are supposed to be watching. he may or may not go cross-eyed watching your tits when you're on top of him, fucking yourself on his dick, during make-up sex (you're bouncing so harshly on him, he can't feel his legs anymore and he's completely at your mercy).

and he particularly loves to be taken care of whenever he's had a bad day and heard something negative about his looks or performances. (words are insufficient so you show him how manly he is, how handsome he is, how he's an all-rounder and how he's born for the stage. he worries he takes too much from you, and he's a burden. who's gonna tell him the truth?)

his biggest fetish perhaps is clothed sex. he LOVES dressing you up in beautiful clothes and lingerie. and there's something so exciting like unwrapping layers of you- each layer more mysterious and pretty than the previous. he loves the subtle sensualness of clothed making out- the way he can touch your thighs through a slit in the dress, the way you grind shamelessly on his dick when it's separated from your wet pussy by the soft cotton of his trackpants.

all in all, he's a 100% romantic partner through and through. which includes eye contact during sex, holding hands when he ruts into you and constant kisses and praise every second of the day, in and out of the bed. it goes both ways- he loves being praised too, all shy and soft, blushing whenever you call him sexy. (he tries to do that thing again and again, hoping he can be the sexiest man in your eyes but he thinks he's hoping for too much. who's going to tell him the truth?)

[weirdsht]

Disillusioned 2 . Abandoned, Adopted - Cale/Reader

tags: Abuse/Torture, Near Death Experience, Nothing too graphic, Self-deprecation

English isn’t my first language so there will be grammatical errors

Pls don't repost my work anywhere without my permission

Constructive criticisms and any kind of interaction are more than welcome

Requests are open and welcome

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_____ was already in trouble. For what? They didn’t know, but they knew their family would only send them to the Dubori territory if they were in trouble.

After all, the house there was built solely to punish them away from prying eyes. They said that it’s because it’ll be disgraceful to see a noble’s child, even if adopted, being a brat. 

It had always been like this for as long as _____ could remember so they did not mind. In fact, growing up like that made them think that it was normal as they had been isolated and could not compare how others raised their children.

Despite that, it still hurts. Each time the candle wax drips down their body they feel an unbearable burning. When the whip hits their skin they feel as though heaven and earth have joined forces in making them bleed. 

In short, it hurts. Everything hurts.

It hurts _____ not being allowed to cry because if they do then the punishment would only intensify. It hurts that no matter what they do they still don’t fit their family’s standards. Most of all it hurts them to hear their older sister, the one in charge of punishing them, say hurtful things like how they didn’t deserve their power and that without it, no one would love them.

It hurts because they know it’s true.

No one would like an orphan without value. That’s why every day _____ is reminded by their family just how lucky they are to be picked up and clothed by such kind nobles like them.

“You knew that you were in trouble already but you continue to misbehave?! How many times do I have to tell you to not embarrass my family, you worthless child?!”

Crack! 

Crack!

Each word the biological daughter of the Perduellios says is accompanied by the whip harshly hitting _____’s skin. The woman’s voice was laced with venom and their ears were tinted red with anger.

It’s a bit comedic when matched with the fact that there’s no way for _____ to respond. They were always made to wear a magic choker that inhibited speaking during these punishments.

On the bright side, at least this time the healer has an idea of some of their sins.

The new sin added to their list was probably because they talked with the eldest son of Henituse County. They did notice that the family considered it humiliating whenever _____ spoke to a noble they weren't healing. Most probably because nothing will change the fact that they’re a commoner.

_____ just wanted to warn the young master of the danger of their journey. However, that seemed futile as they already had Tasha, a Dark Elf, with them. _____ was sure that she could take care of everything, including the possible dead mana rising.

Nevertheless if given the chance to go back to the time they spoke with Cale, _____ wouldn’t change their decision.

It’s not only because of the need to warn the young master… some personal greed is also included in it. Greed that _____ felt for the first time in their almost 18 years of living.

Well if asked by other people, they probably don’t think wanting to talk to another person is considered greedy. However, this is the first time _____ has wanted something, and they grew up learning that if they want something for themself then it’s considered greed.

But who could blame this poor person when it was the first time they felt comfortable speaking to someone? They didn’t even know that what they felt was a comfort as their almost 18 years of life were filled with only hardships and no resting time.

That was why _____ was willing to take the punishment for it.

“You know what, I’ve had enough of you! I’m going to throw you in that desert tonight! Guards!!”

“My lady, how would the count and countess react?”

The guards were asking the noblelady but still moved to execute her order even before she could answer.

“Don’t worry I have my parents' permission. We can just make up some noble story about how that trash over there was so kindhearted they followed an injured peasant in the desert and died!

Now throw them out and make sure you throw that thing far!”

_____ couldn’t even protest due to the magic device on their neck. They could only internally panic as the guards literally threw them out in the desert.

The whole thing looked as though it was planned. How else would everything go so smoothly with no hurdles? Not even the guards of the Dubori wall were on duty when their shabby carriage passed by.

But _____ has no time to think about such things. They can think about it once they survive the Dessert of Death.

If they can survive one of the five forbidden regions while tied up and beaten. 

‘Is this really how I’ll die? Can I not do anything to survive?’

The weak and battered healer looked around and that’s when they felt it. Something weird was happening in the sand.

‘It must be the dead mana… I’ll really die if I touch that!’

But it's not like there’s anyone they can ask for help as they are pretty far away from the walls. Also, not only are the guards currently eating dinner, but they are also too selfish to help _____ even if they could ask for help.

Seeing no hope left, _____ who has been fighting to stay awake this entire time finally gave in to the increasing dark spots dancing in their vision.

Just before their eyes closed, they thought they could see a blurry silhouette of an elf. But they aren’t sure if they are hallucinating from their wounds and desperation.

With that _____ gave in and lost consciousness.

The next time _____ woke up the first thing they saw was a familiar red hair that resembled blood. Beside him was Tasha in her Dark Elf form.

“H-huh..?”

The confused and flustered _____ became even more confused when they heard their voice. Upon touching their neck the healer realized that the magic device was gone.

“Looks like the patient is awake now. Good, I’m just here to update you on your recovery.”

The human healer explained to everyone in the room how _____ has clear signs of abuse or torture. Despite that, they should be fine after a few days of rest. Then it was added at the end that _____ was lucky the Dark Elves found them first before the dead mana could do any damage.

“Abuse or torture… Did you get into a fight?”

“No, I just lost my home.”

The short answer made Cale feel relieved that _____ was not someone who would suddenly start talking about their backstory. A thought that _____ would have no way of knowing.

“It looks like you aren’t shocked to see me like this young master _____?”

“Ah please don’t call me young master anymore as I’ve been practically disowned last night. And yes, I knew about Miss Tasha being a Dark Elf since we first met. I also know that Crown Prince Alberu has some Dark Elf blood.”

Tasha was surprised by this as the healer showed no signs of knowing.

“Please don’t worry as I didn’t get the information from anyone. I have a water-type ancient power that allows me to see what someone is as long as they have water or blood running through their body. I can also assess their medical condition to an extent. This power is what allows me to replenish someone’s energy but I have deceived everyone into thinking it was part of my blessing. For that, I apologize.”

_____ bowed and could not see the intrigued face that Cale made. Cale is currently thinking just how useful of a power it was for avoiding unnecessary people. While the black dragon can roughly tell another being’s species by their powers, it’s a whole different thing to have a walking-talking species detector.

“That’s why they smell like you weak human. They also smell like nature!”

It was like the norm now to ignore the black dragon’s useless chatter.

“So, you say that you’ve been abandoned by your adoptive family right?”

_____ didn’t know how or why, but that simple question from Cale turned to them joining his group. In fact, they are now on their way to the Henituse territory. But before they can go there, they are first staying at an inn just outside the capital.

Cale did not say why they were there and _____ did not ask as they are used to not knowing anything. However, Cale did state they have to talk about the healer’s existence as it will be hard to hide them from everyone forever.

That’s why _____ is currently knocking on the door of Cale’s room. 

As the door opens they can see Hong trying to drink water out of a wooden cup that’s as big as their kitten form. The sight was comedic, a small red kitten trying to grip a big cup using his tiny front paws in able to drink as if he were using his human form. _____ looked amused at the absolute concentration on Hong’s face.

However…

Hong should’ve used a smaller cup.

If he did then maybe the water couldn’t have flung out as he lost his grip on the cup.

Then the children and _____ wouldn’t have been splashed by the same water.

Most importantly, _____ wouldn’t have noticed the invisible black dragon. 

Well, they didn't necessarily know that it was a dragon yet. They just felt a lifeform hiding its existence. 

“That’s weird… I’m sensing that 4 people have been splashed but I can only see 3. Oh, and this 4th person seems very strong yet very young…”

On queue, Cale sighs and reveals the black dragon to _____. Well, the redhead was already planning on showing the dragon since the crown prince’s intel told him that the healer was safe. 

By safe Alberu means that _____ has nowhere to run to because they have no affiliation other than their family and that said the family has officially proclaimed to everyone that they have died. 

Knowing that the Perduellios had a hand in almost killing _____ disgusted Cale, but he decided not to mind too much as he now has a detector and a healer thanks to them.

So after deeming _____ trustworthy, Cale decided that he would reveal the black dragon during their talk. He just didn’t expect the revelation to be this… 

Chaotic.

But hey, it saves him some effort when introducing the black dragon.

[azrielwingspan]

THE STRINGS OF FATE (AZRIEL X READER)

A/N: I've wanted to write a series based on a dark , mystery themed vibe for so long and I thought this would be a good way to start it off. I get to write about my favourite characters and transform it into something a bit darker and mystery fuelled. So I'm hoping you guys enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed imagining it.

!! The image below does not belong to the author !!

Genre: Suspense thriller, Romance

Summary : The Prophecy. A band of words that incited terror in people but you had long since learnt that the fear of the unknown strikes deeper.

The prophecy was just the beginning of the end.

Warnings : Mentions of violence

PROLOGUE

"You would be a fool to not involve your cousin, Rhysand." Amren said coldly for the umpteenth time that night. "There is a reason the prophecy refers to the both of you. Don't try to change the course of fate boy. Not even a Lord of the Night can cross the Mother."

"I would be a fool to lead her into the arms of a certain death. If ignoring a prophecy is what must be done to keep her safe, I will do it." Rhys was growing more agitated as the conversation turned south.

"Saving one girl is worth the lives of millions?"

Silence prevailed at Amren's question. The office in the River House enclosed a dark and gloomy atmosphere as if detecting the undertone of the conversation and the issue at hand. The faelights flickered casting deep shadows across the Fae and Illyrians that had gathered in the room.

Hands clenched on the table, Rhysand took in deep breaths appearing to fight an internal battle. He had too much to lose. Too many to fight for. What was the purpose of being the most powerful high lord the world had ever seen if he couldn't keep his own family safe? He was tired of losing people, tired of fighting, tired of wondering if tomorrow would be someone's last.

"I promised her that no harm would come to her as long as I live." He said softly, seeming to speak to himself. "I made sure she was safe from Amarantha, from Hybern and mostly from myself. If it were to become public knowledge that we are related, they will hunt her down. They will torture her, use her and kill her mercilessly."

Amren's eyes softened at the agony in his voice. "The world is a cruel place, Rhysand. We do not have say in the destiny that has been chosen for us. We must simply walk, trudge and crawl along the path."

He let out scornful laugh, running his hands through his hair agitatedly. "It has been especially cruel to us I think."

Feyre's eyes lined with tears at her mate's heartache. She'd known about the things he had done to keep his cousin far away even if it hurt him. To see him unravel now because of a Cauldron damned prophecy was distressing to watch.

"Rhys." Cassian spoke into the silence that had claimed the room yet again. "I promise you, I'll keep her safe. No matter what comes her way."

"So will I." Azriel stepped up, his shadows stirring over his shoulders.

"All of us will." Feyre declared, her hand coming to rest on her mates shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. Her touch seemed to relax Rhysand immediately, his shoulders drooping underneath her hand.

Placing his head in his hands, Rhysand took in a deep breath, the battle within his mind coming to a conclusion. Feyre's grip tightened lightly, giving him the energy to push through yet another decision that would haunt his dreams for the rest of his life.

"I'll go visit her myself. Explain the situation. The Prophecy. All of it. Whether she comes or not , is upto her." The others nodded in agreement.

"That is the least I can do for her. Give her a choice..... live or die."

A/N : Comment below if you want to be added to the tag list !