#every so often I wonder what he’s up to

[lidiasloca]

Hi! I was wondering if you could write a little Azriel x reader story, where he comes from a mission injured but tries to hide it from everyone (especially from her (reader)) because he doesn't want them to worry. But then things get complicated and she finds out and is so angry at him for trying to hide it. And then she goes into mother hen mode and takes care of him and it's just pure fluff🥺

Thank you🥰

healing azriel's wounds

azriel x reader

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄☆

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you ask, your words a mix of frustration and worry. 

“I didn’t want you to worry, Y/N. Since we are newly mated, I knew you’d be… well — like this,” Azriel replies, a painful look on his face as you clean up his wound. You rely on the steadiness in your well-practiced hands, but still, no matter how good of a healer you are, you feel unsure every time you get close to his wounded chest. He is your mate, after all.

“Worried for my mate?” you ask, anger flooding into your heart for the way he treats this as nonsense. “This cut is almost bone-deep, Azriel. What were you thinking?” Your voice breaks at the last bit, and Azriel finally seems to worry — maybe not for the wound, but for you.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes as you start stitching the cut. You have to look away from his pained eyes, only focusing on the meticulous movement of your hands. “Really, I—”

“Hush,” you order with a hint of sweetness. “It’s fine. Just… don’t ever do it again.”

“I promise,” he replies, and, at last, you move your eyes to meet his. 

You are still mad at him for putting his life at risk, but still, you are grateful he is, at last, fine. You didn’t tell him often, but it killed you every time he left for a mission. You always worried he might come home with a wound like this. Or maybe he would never return home.

“Please don’t cry,” he pleads with a hoarse voice, trying to sit up now that you’ve finished stitching him.

“Then don’t give me reasons to cry,” you mumble between sobs. Maybe he is right. Maybe being recently mated made you much more vulnerable to things like this.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, reaching out to stroke your cheek.

“Don’t move. The stitches are fresh.”

But he doesn’t seem to care one bit. “Please forgive me, Y/N.”

You watch him for a minute, reading the sorrow and regret in his eyes. “Never again,” you warn in a weak voice.

“Never again. I promise.”

-Characters by Sarah J Maas

a/n: pls send requests!

[erosology]

a taste of domesticity | simon "ghost" riley

❀ cw/tw: NSFT, fem reader (afab anatomy, fem pet names), established relationship, american author trying to make an english person's dialogue sound authentic, you'll have to pry blond-haired and brown-eyed simon from my cold dead hands, tooth-rotting fluff, undertones of obsession and codependency (because duh it's me), soft dom simon, thigh riding, body worship, praise, oral (f! receiving), unprotected sex

❀ wc: 7,248

❀ a/n: i will never, ever apologize for writing simon as a lovesick slightly pathetic man

If there’s one thing you’ve learned about Simon “Ghost” Riley during your time together, it’s that he takes his job very seriously. So seriously, in fact, he’s often too tired to do much other than eat the dinner you’ve prepared him, take a shower, and go straight to bed. Despite his demanding and hectic career path, you both find ways to spend time together—him allowing you to sit in his lap as he does paperwork, you sneaking into the shower as he gets ready for the night, him coming home early and helping you with dinner—all small things to piece together a picture of domesticity and love Simon has craved his entire life.

But sometimes, he thinks, things in the bedroom are a little…lacking.

He only has himself to blame, really, considering he chose a job that demands every bit of strength he has. But there are times when he’s looking at you, your body wrapped in one of his t-shirts and your hair thrown up into a messy bun as you’re curled up on the couch reading, and he wonders if being a butcher is really that bad.

It’s no matter, though, because as insane and hectic as his job might be, he knows, deep down, he wouldn’t have it any other way. You’re a breath of fresh air for the man who is constantly drowning in his desire to be useful, a lighthouse for the man who is constantly swimming in his failures, a safe place for him to strip himself of the wet clothing trying to cling on to this body (much like how his stormy thoughts try to cling on to him) and bask in your warmth. He’s enamored by your compassion, utterly and completely in love with your honesty, and bewitched by your loyalty—a soulmate for someone who has only ever known chaos.

❛ ━━━━━━･❪ ❀ ❫ ･━━━━━━ ❜

“We should have lemon garlic shrimp tonight,” you suggest to your partner, leaning against his office door frame in hopes maybe he’d look up.

Simon’s eyes don’t even leave his computer as he asks, “What’s the special occasion, love?”

“You’re home in time for dinner for the first time in a month.”

It’s a small stab, he knows it, but it still hurts nonetheless, and you can see him flinch at the blunt edges of your words. He fists clench and unclench, as if debating if he can physically fight off the sense of guilt wrapping around his broad shoulders, before he saves his report progress and shuts his computer down. His movements are always so methodical, measured, but there’s nothing measured about the way he nearly chokes on his own spit when his eyes land on your outfit. Dressed in nothing but one of his t-shirts, thigh high stockings, and a pair of panties, you look nothing short of absolutely divine, and Simon nearly has to check his pulse to make sure he hasn’t died and gone to heaven.

You gaze at him through your eyelashes, eyelids half-closed in lust and the smallest of smirks on your lips. “S’matter, Si? Cat got your tongue?”

It never fails to astound him how easily you rev him up, how you make him feel like some horny teenager on prom night trying to score with his date–clumsy words spilling from his mouth as he tries his hardest to find the magic words to part your legs, palms sweaty as they try to hold your hand, body vibrating with anticipation to see what your tongue tastes like. He’s so unbelievably attracted to you, it makes his head fuzzy with hormones and irrationality, even after all of this time together.

He’s careful as he walks from his desk to you, strong arms wrapping around your waist and his lips brushing your hair. “Are you my starter?” he asks and pinches your thigh for good measure.

You giggle at the rare show of unabashed flirtation from your normally stoic partner and reply coyly, “I could be your dessert if you behave.” Feeling rather bold, you pull him into the kitchen by his belt, and he has to bite his lip to keep the groan clawing at his mouth at bay. You’re too precious for something as barbaric as fevered kisses and frantic hands eager to rip your clothes off. Valuable crystals deserve only the most tender of hands, the most careful of eyes, handled with the utmost precision and patience, and he’s always considered himself a good gemologist.

“C’mere for a second, love,” he says as you turn your back to get started on dinner. Before you can fully turn towards him, he gently cups your jaw and tilts your face up towards his, lips ghosting each other before he finally slots his against yours. You can feel how eager he is, how much he’s holding himself back so as to not break you, so you wrap your arms around his neck and deepen the kiss that much more. That’s all of the motivation he needs, evidently, and he’s quick to wrap your legs around his waist and place you on top of the kitchen counter. Whatever small grip he had on self-control has snapped—a hungry beast finally let free and allowed to feast however he pleases. He wants to completely devour you and keep you safe in his chest—strong bones to keep filthy, undeserving hands from touching you. One taste of you and he’s already drunk on love and all of its promises of companionship and domesticity. 

His hands tangle themselves in your hair, fingers massaging your scalp as his tongue gently prods at your mouth. That’s when you pull away, much to your disappointment, and he groans at the lewd line of spit connecting your lips. Mind hazy with lust, he tries to tilt your face towards his again, anxious to eat until all that’s left is a pile of bones and love, but you gently stop him by pressing your fingers to his mouth.

“Was I too rough?” he asks worriedly. “We can slow down, if you want. I just…miss you, is all, and you’re right about this being the first time we’ve had some time together in God knows how long. I…I know ‘s my fault, and I want to make it up to you—if you’re alright with that.”

And he looks so sincere—dark eyes scanning your face for any sign of discomfort, hands resting on your thighs and not daring to move, tongue nervously darting out to lick his lips, chest rising and falling with anticipation—you nearly allow him to devour you right there on the kitchen counter. But you’re determined to have a proper dinner with the man you love more than you could ever hope to comprehend. And what’s a good dinner without a nice show?

Your hands fiddle with the collar of his shirt, teeth gnawing at the inside of your cheek in hopes it’ll calm the hunger rolling around in your stomach. “You weren’t too rough, honey, I promise.” At that, you can see relief flood his features, and you gently tug on his collar so he brings his forehead down to meet yours. The pure adoration in his eyes nearly makes you choke, and you swallow down the lump of emotion that had begun to form in your throat. Simon has always been a gentle man despite his very impassive shell, never pushing you and always ready to communicate boundaries and comfort, so to see him so unraveled after a month of missing him is bringing out a masochistic side of you you’d never knew was buried underneath all of the domesticity. Still, you want to be able to enjoy him as much as possible before the moon hangs high and exhaustion begins to settle into heavy bones.

Simon mildly pulls your hand away from nervously toying with his shirt and kisses your fingers—an action that causes you to shudder with admiration. “Did I push you too much?”

“No, sweetheart. I just really, really want to have a nice dinner with you.”

Chuckling, he kisses your temple and helps you off of the counter, his hands lingering on your hips a little longer than necessary before swatting at your bottom and allowing you to begin cooking. “Then a nice dinner together we shall have.”

It’s intoxicating how much your thighs rub together as you cook dinner, how they jiggle and ripple, and Simon isn’t sure what he’s more hungry for. Your hips sway to and fo to the music—nothing inherently sexual about the movement, but his heart speeds up nonetheless. His dark eyes drink in every inch of you like a parched man in the desert, lapping up every single drop so much, he fears his stomach may burst. But it’d be worth it. It would be absolutely worth any form of torture to be able to touch you, hold you, hear you laugh, watch your lips form the syllables of his name. His greatest high, his greatest weakness, the person he’d try to find in every life after this one, the song he hums to himself when he thinks no one is around—all wrapped up in the prettiest package he has ever had the privilege of laying his eyes on.

Simon “Ghost” Riley, special forces operator trained to deal with things most people only see portrayed in overly-budgeted action movies, is absolutely hypnotized by how absolutely gorgeous you are.

“Didn’t know I was getting dinner and a show,” he nearly purrs at you as you pour him a glass of bourbon. Kentucky, of course.

“Hmm?” You innocently cock your head. “I’m just making you dinner, silly, a very normal thing.”

“Whatever you say, love.”

Lust and hormones roll off of your body in tidal waves, nearly drowning the man under the chaotic waters, but he wouldn’t mind, not really. He could spend hours, days, weeks floating around in all of your oceans, exploring every part of you until he has a clear map ingrained in his brain. He’s in love with your heart, in lust with your body, and enamored by your mind.

A warmth only alcohol can provide spreads across his body, and Simon Riley, known by even his closest friends as stern and forthright, dares to relax in his chair, his legs stretched out in front of him and his eyes half-closed as they watch you sway to the music. At times like this, Simon is reminded of what it’s like to be naïve again, excited, ready to face the world and all of its possibilities. He’s content, basking in the security you provide him with and the knowledge that he has you to call home. He’s safe, and that’s something he’ll never, ever take for granted.

“You look happy,” you giggle, taking note of the pink flush to his face.

He hums, and in the blink of an eye he’s got his arms wrapped around your waist and his chin resting on your head. His lips brush against your hair, fingers fiddling with the t-shirt clinging to your body, and he swears he could stay like this forever if you allowed him to. He thinks this is what paradise must be like—his soulmate wrapped in his arms, the scent of delicious food hanging in the air, music softly playing over the sound of your giggles, his heart let free from its cage and soaring in the air.

“Must be because I am,” he utters into your hair. “I really, really am, sweetheart.”

And though he’s never been one for grandiose displays of affection, he finds himself spinning you around your shared kitchen, strong hands pressed into the small of your back and swaying your bodies to and fro, a makeshift ballroom squished in between the living room and his office.

Your hand fists his shirt, giggles bubbling out of your lips—the most beautiful sound he’ll ever hear. “Simon Riley! What has gotten into you?”

The smile he bears is a gentle one full of love and admiration, and you swear you feel your heart squeeze in your chest. “I’m very lucky to have you. In fact…” And then, his lips are ghosting over yours and his hands are clutching at your hips, desperate to feel you close but scared to admit how much he needs you. “I’d wager I’m the luckiest bastard on this shithole planet.”

“I think you’d lose,” you whisper back, a joyous light dancing in your eyes. “Because I’d wager I’m the luckiest person on this shithole planet to have you.”

He kisses you before he can stop himself, before he can second guess whether or not he’s worthy of your lips, before either of you can begin to decipher what love is and why it heals as much as it hurts. He kisses you and tries his hardest to commit dedication to memory. He kisses you and forgets what the definition of pain is and all he can feel is your fingers carding through his hair. He’s consumed by you—the smell of your shampoo stubbornly clinging to your hair, the feeling of your heart hammering against his, your eyelashes brushing against his cheek, the little squeal you let out when he picks you up, everything, everything everything. All he wants is this moment right here tattooed into his brain, burned into his eyelids so every time he closes his eyes all he can see is bliss and sunlight filtering through.

And though he’s the one with the infamous appetite, he swears he’d crack his ribcage open and allow you to feast as much as you need to. What is love if not all-consuming—cannibalistic desires flooding empty veins until the need to eat is unbearable? Hungry teeth clash against a bare tongue, and he groans loudly into your greedy mouth.

“Simon,” you gasp, “the food—”

“Can wait,” he finishes for you, and you both find yourselves stumbling into a chair. Quickly, he sits down with you on his lap, careful as to not hurt his precious meal. He can feel your cunt throb against his thigh and, god, he needs to eat, eat, eat before he goes completely mad. His thumb draws circles against the growing wet spot on your panties, a groan reverberating in his chest and deep eyes rolling to the back of his head. He sees you’re wearing the pink lacy panties with a white bow that always drive him up the walls of your shared home, and he has to fight the animalistic urge to rip them clean off of your body. No, he won’t be rough no matter how hungry he is. He’s not a beast void of all humanity. He’s simply a man with an empty stomach and the prettiest meal sitting on his lap, and his teeth miss how your skin feels pinched between them.

He easily slides your panties off, an expert in disarming prey, and brings them up to his nose, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Simon,” you moan out at the sight. “Simon, please—”

His hand strikes at your bottom before you can finish your sentence. “Ride my thigh, love.” And he pockets your panties, promising himself he’ll give them back one day.

His big, calloused hands grip your hips as you drag your pussy across his thick thigh, your juices coating his pants but he doesn’t even care. How can he when you look so precious moaning and pleading on his thigh, shaky fingers grasping at his tie to gain some sense of balance? His brown eyes gaze down at you with a predatory light, his bottom lip pinched between his teeth as your grinding becomes more and more erratic.

His voice is strained when he speaks, husky, a caged animal frustrated at not being able to roam free. “That desperate for me, hm? So impatient…” But he can’t deny the erection swelling in his boxers, nor can he deny how hypnotizing it is watching how your brow furrows in concentration with every swivel of your hips. The squelching sound of your drooling cunt is downright filthy, but it’s so intoxicating to the man who gets drunk off of your submission. Adam’s apple bobbing, he tries his hardest to swallow down all of the primal urges flooding his body, to allow you to continue chasing your high, but he can’t stop himself from planting a kiss on your exposed shoulder, nor can he stop himself from resting his forehead upon that very same shoulder. His arms wrap around your torso, bringing your body closer to his so your chests are flushed together, and he groans when he feels your leg brush against his aching cock.

“Si…,” you gasp.

“Shh, just let me do this, darling,” he whispers, his breath tickling your neck. “I want to be close to you.”

Tears poke at the corner of your eyes and your throat constricts, a small gasp leaving your lips before he kisses them gently. A vulnerable Simon is a rare one, but you’re so parched for the smallest taste of intimacy you’re nearly afraid of draining him completely. Still, you wrap your arms around his neck and quicken your pace—anything to keep him close, to keep his face buried in the crook of your neck and his hands stroking at your spine. Shaky fingers bury themselves in short blond hair, pulling at the strands and his heart strings. Trembling thighs squeeze around his own muscular one, and he feels just how hard your heart is slamming itself against your ribcage. What should’ve been an act of climacteric horniness is truly an act of desperate love, depraved intimacy that has been simmering under the surface—two people trying to find themselves buried in each other’s chests.

“Si…” His name rolls off of your tongue so easily, a sound that floods his veins with a warmth his blood couldn’t possibly supply. “Si, please!” Fingernails dig into his back, and he knows just how dire it is for you to feel all of him, but, fuck, he needs to hear you beg a bit more. He needs to be reminded that yes, he is worthy of love, and yes, even with a heart as scarred as his, he is capable of loving back. He needs his ears to be flooded with the sound of unhinged adoration and unwavering dedication. He needs to run his hands all across your skin until he’s able to commit romance to memory and he can’t bear the thought of touching anything else.

Pulling his head back, his amber eyes search your face, fingers gently tracing your bottom lip, and the sheer intensity of his expression has your movements slowing. You’re surprised to see him hesitant, unsure, because in a world of war and uncertainty, Simon Riley is a man made of osmium. He can’t afford the luxury of insecurity in a market that feeds off of humanity. But here he is, one hand keeping your hips stilled as his other one languidly traces all of the bumps and curves of your body, his brow furrowed in concentration as if afraid of breaking you with the slightest of pressure, his eyes full of worry.

“Si—”

“You know I love you, right?” he uncharacteristically cuts you off, his tone steady despite the tremble in his hand.

You answer without missing a beat. “Of course I do. I love you, too, honey.”

He nods, moreso to himself than you, and finally meets your eyes. You’re surprised to see the fire burning in them, how his soft eyes look nearly deadly as he wraps his arms around your chest and brings your body flush against his once again. “Then we’re going to do this the right way.” And before you can ask what he means by that, he lifts your body up with ease, earning a surprised squeak from you. His lips attach themselves against your shoulder, and you wrap your legs around his waist to allow him to carry you easier. “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he confesses softly between kisses. “You keep me grounded, sweetheart. You keep me sane.”

Longing strangles you and you can’t help but shutter at his raw declaration of love. Simon reminding you how much you mean to him isn’t rare in the least bit–he’s rather forthcoming about his feelings after many months of you teaching him how to loosen his tongue–but to hear it said so tenderly, as if your ears are made of paper and he spits razors with every word, is something worth crying over.

And you do.

Glistening crystals poke at the corner of your eyes as he tenderly lays your body on the bed, and it’s at this moment Simon Riley thinks you’re something worth dying over. His fingers swipe at your tears, rough palm resting against your cheek, and you nuzzle your face into the callouses, a soft smile on your lips and galaxies in your eyes. He’s hopelessly, painfully, undeniably in love with you, and he absolutely hates himself for neglecting you so much.

“Sweetheart,” he begins, voice strained with love and weakness. How can he look into your eyes and apologize for being a horrible partner? You—with your patience and kindness and strength and dedication and selflessness—you deserve better, better than being left alone to wonder if he’s safe and alive. Better than brisk pecks to your forehead after a thoughtfully prepared breakfast. Better than rushed showers and swift promises of love before a day of unguaranteed nights. Better than him. Better than anything someone like him could ever hope to offer you.

And of course—because you’re you, you, you—you place a kiss on his palm. It’s an innocent enough gesture. A quick press of your lips to the palm of his hand. It’s something that he normally wouldn’t think twice about, something he would smile about and then kiss your cheek for. Definitely not something worth gasping over. Not something worth losing his breath over. Not something worth the shudder that wracks his body. Not something worth splitting his soul in two over. But, as he hovers over you, he can feel his shell crumbling away until all that’s left is the part of his heart he’s been saving for someone like you. He can’t breathe, can’t think, not when you’re kissing the same hand that has killed, that has failed, that has been scarred and covered in blood. And then you’re kissing the pulse in his wrist and then his forearm and then his bicep and before he can even warn you to save your kisses for the worthy, you’re kissing his shoulder in the same tender manner he was kissing yours moments ago.

He feels your breath dance across his neck and refuses to move until you give him permission.

“Simon,” you whisper, and his ears ring at how much affection you place in the syllables of his name. “I love you more than I could ever hope to fathom. I don’t think you realize how much you keep me sane.”

“Sweet—”

You silence him with a kiss to his neck, humming at the steady beat in his jugular. “You’re my comfort. You’re my safe space to be myself with no worries about what’s going to happen tomorrow because you’re prepared for anything. You allow me to be neurotic and moody and a ball of stress without judging me or trying to baby me. You understand that sometimes I need to be neurotic and moody and a ball of stress. You’re caring and thoughtful and straightforward and I don’t think you give yourself enough credit.”

You can’t be real. Even the holiest of heavens couldn’t craft something as angelic as you, and yet here you are, touching your forehead to his and filling his lungs with your stardust, divine hand caressing his cheek, sephric eyes holding so much unfiltered love he can’t stop himself from kissing you. His lips are tender at first, trying their best to memorize immortality and savoring how ethereal you taste, but when you place your hand on his neck, he feels himself giving into his mortal instincts. Using his body weight to his advantage, he lowers you back down to the mattress, never daring to break the kiss. His hands begin to tug at the shirt clinging to your torso, and you’ve never been quicker to dispose of clothes.

“So beautiful,” he mumbles against your lips, hands grazing across your thighs and squeezing them appreciatively. “You’re so beautiful, darling, do you know that?”

A sudden bashfulness warms your body, and you fight the urge to hide behind your hands. “You make me feel it,” you reply shyly and try to pull his face back down to yours, but he stops you by kissing the tips of your fingers. Pouting, you try to grab his face again, but again, he simply catches your hand and kisses your palm, his eyes resting on yours and full of unadulterated dedication. “C’mere, I wanna kiss.”

“You’ll get plenty of those, love, don’t worry.”

Forever and ever, he silently promises himself, I’m going to kiss you forever. And, keeping his promise like the dutiful man he is, he kisses his way up your arm, every touch of his lips measured and careful, until they gently brush against your cheek. You giggle at his breath tickling your neck, and he swears he feels his heart collapse in on itself like some pathetic parody of a supernova. This right here—you stripped down to your underwear and allowing him to love every inch of your supple skin, him stripped down to the bone and being forced to let go of control–is something he used to fantasize about, something he never ever thought himself worthy of, but when you look up at him with your eyes full of trust and dedication, he can’t stop himself from drinking in every second of it. His lips brush against your neck, right above the jugular so he can feel how your heart rate spikes, and then your collarbone, and then his tongue gently swipes across your nipple, earning a soft gasp from you.

“Simon,” you whine, “no teasing, please.”

His fingers brush against your cheek, lips still attached to your breast, while his other hand snakes down to your cunt. “‘m not teasing, darling, I promise. Just want to show every part of you some love.”

He’s an expert at unraveling you, at lightly grazing his fingers just above where you need him most, at dragging his tongue across your peddled nipple, at nipping and sucking at your breasts until you’re bucking against his hand. Even after all of these past weeks of quickies and fevered shower sex, Simon Riley is nothing short of a master at making you moan out his name. His penchant for precision is often deemed a tedious mindset, something to hold him back from admiring the big picture, but it’s a gift from the heavens above when it has you a writhing mess underneath him. Your juices are coating his hand and his ears are full of your vows of love and lust, but it still isn’t enough for him. He needs all of you, all of your tears, all of your gasps and whines, all of your shaking thighs wrapped around him, needs to feel skin brushing skin and the promise of loving and being loved forever.

Your shaking hands bury themselves in his hair, pulling and tugging at the strands and causing him to groan against your skin. “Simon, f-fuck, you’re so good.”

A moan stutters in his chest at the unexpected praise. He needs to feast on everything that is you until he’s full. Without so much as a warning, he kisses your forehead once more before throwing your legs over his shoulders in one swift movement. You open your mouth to protest that he deserves a little love too, but his lips are already attached to your throbbing clit and all you can do is cry out his name. You can feel another groan reverberate in his chest, his hands kneading at your plush thighs and pulling you closer, closer, closer, until his nose is buried in your pubic hair, and he looks nothing short of a man utterly in love with the person beneath him.

“Simon! Oh my fucking god, Simon!”

He slides a finger inside of your fluttering hole, and then another, curling them and scissoring just the way that has your thighs twitching around his head. Brown eyes roll to the back of his head, and he somehow manages to bury his face even further into your pussy. “Like that, baby? You like it just like that?”

“Yes, Simon, yes, please!”

“Fucking hell, darling, I could stay here forever.” Forever doesn’t seem like a long time as long as you’re by his side…

Simon isn’t sure what he’s more drunk on—the alcohol he indulged in earlier, or the juices dripping from your cunt. He’s intoxicated on submission and domination, lust and love, every saccharine memory with you in the past and every hopeful wish with you in the future, every broken piece of you and every picture he’s painted on your skin. He’s drunk on you. All of your moans and pants and pleas for more, more, more—eat until you’re full, Simon! Completely devour until all that’s left is an illustration of what love is!

He was never an indulgent man until you came into his life and discovered just how large his stomach truly is.

His tongue draws languid circles on your clit as his fingers pump in and out of your cunt, his half-lidded ambers watching the rise and fall of your chest. Once he finds a good rhythm, he brings his free hand up to pinch and roll your nipple between his nimble fingers, and you’re sure this is what heaven must feel like.

Simon Riley is almost certain you’re an angel in disguise, but you’re starting to suspect he’s a god who’s too humble to admit his omnipotence. How else would he know exactly how to curl his fingers just right to get your thighs to shake? How else would he know how much you love when he flattens his tongue and slowly drags it along your clit? How else would he know to kiss your inner thigh as he takes a minute to catch his breath and rest his jaw? He looks up at you with ambers filled to the brim with worship and adoration, but you swear you can see a flicker of greed lingering somewhere in there—obsession disguised as fascination, possession parading as love, anything to keep you by his side.

“Look at you, so wet for me,” he coos up at you, using his fingers to spread your pussy lips and admire the mess between your legs. “Do I make you feel that good, sweetheart? Can’t help but fucking drip for me, hm? So wet for me, baby, so good for me.”

“S-S-Simon!”

“Keep moaning my name, sweetheart,” he groans as he brings his mouth to your cunt again, and it’s becoming increasingly difficult to ignore the tightness of his pants. “Fuck—scream it, I don’t care. Just wanna keep hearing you.”

“Simon fucking Riley, please, you feel s-so good!”

Taunt skin is pulled across knuckles as you grip the bed sheets underneath you. Eyes rolling to the back of your skull, thighs uncontrollably shaking around his head, chest heaving as if you just ran a marathon, sweat clinging to your skin, cunt throbbing rhythmically along with the pumping of your partner’s fingers, you can feel your orgasm swiftly approaching. Simon must be able to tell also, given the way his licks to your clit are becoming more and more frantic and he’s starting to goad you on.

Desperation is laced with fascination as he begs, “Go on, baby, it’s okay. Cum on my fingers. Cum for me, please, let me make you feel good. I know you can, love. Just cum for me.”

As if under his spell, you feel the control you had been trying to grip on to snap and unadulterated pleasure crash over your body, leaving you heaving and twitching underneath his touch. He easily helps you through your high, gentle as he kisses your thighs and slowly eases his fingers out of your throbbing cunt. Crystals poke at the corner of your eyes, causing them to look like stained glass on a sunny day, and Simon is sure to say his prayers as he kisses them away.

“So, so gorgeous,” he whispers between the brushes of his lips. “So pretty when you’re cumming for me. Fuck, love, you’re so beautiful.”

Relishing the praise he’s pouring on your skin, your shaking fingers begin to tug at the shirt clinging to his chest. He tries to stop your ministrations and tell you that predators typically don’t get help from their prey, but you shush him and tell him that not every prey is helpless just like not every predator is invincible. He watches your hands fumble with bemusement, and after a moment of struggling you decide to flip your bodies over so you’re now straddling him.

He’s surprised to say the least, eyes widening and body struggling to regain control, but after a kiss to his forehead and a nip at his ear, he begins to think that having control isn’t what it’s all cracked up to be. Besides, why would he deny himself the perfect view of your body—of your breasts heaving in front of him, your pulse thumping in the hollow of your throat, of your neck exposed and ready to be bitten? Why would he deny himself of the feast before him, coated in sweat and glowing with love?

“Off,” you mumble against his neck and tug at his pants. “Off, please, Simon, take them off.”

Desperation drips from every syllable that falls from your intoxicating mouth, and he’s quick to dispose of the pants that restrict him. Strong fingers cup your jaw and bring your face in front of his, hungry ambers drinking in the sight of adoration and lust. His lips slot against yours, hands grasping at your hips and dragging your cunt across his hard cock, and he swears this is the sweetest form of torture.

“Look at me, sweetheart,” he whispers. “I want you to look at me while you put me inside of you. C’mon, baby, don’t be shy now.”

Your trembling hands find his dick, and you have to stop to admire the masterpiece laying underneath you—a pretty red head beaded with precum, a prominent vein running along the side of his shaft and wrapping until it meets with a tuft of blond pubic hair, stomach muscles contracting with every breath, pink-flushed cheeks on a stern face, a naked chest rising and falling with anticipation. He’s beautiful. He’s everything every artist has tried to capture on blank canvases and fell just short of. He’s ethereally gorgeous but also alarmingly human. He’s an angelic face with blood-stained hands. He’s Simon “Ghost” Riley, and you’ve never been more proud to be able to call him yours.

Bashful eyes meet greedy ones and you’re lowering yourself on his cock before you can begin to ask yourself who’s more vulnerable in this moment—the prey on the pedestal or the predator whose appetite can only be satiated by one person. The swollen tip of his cock rests easily inside of you, and right when you’re about to start rocking your hips, he sits up so your chests are flushed together, much like how you were in the kitchen.

His lips brush against your shoulder, and you’re reminded of how gentle he can be despite the calluses on his palms. “I want you close, baby, please. Need to feel all of you. Every inch, inside and out. Will you let me do that, sweetheart?”

A thick blanket of submission wraps itself around your shoulders, and your head is nodding before you even give it permission to. “Want all of you, Si! Need all of you! Jus’ wan’ you.”

He begins to rock his hip, bones digging into plush flesh, and swears he can see flashes of golden gates with each thrust. “That’s it, baby. Such a good girl—my good girl.”

“S-Simon!”

Watching your breasts bounce as he bucks into you is hypnotizing, and he has to dig his fingers into your thighs to keep himself from bucking into you wildly. No, he refuses to be the beast he keeps buried down. It’s taken years of self-discipline and self-discovery to keep it locked away. He can’t unleash it now during a moment of vulnerability. But there’s something so tantalizing about you, so tempting and delicious that causes his teeth to sharpen and his mouth to flood with drool…

“Roll your hips, darling,” Simon whispers into your neck. “Be my good girl and roll your hips.”

And like the obedient girl you are, you listen, clit brushing against his pelvis and sending delicious waves of pleasure over your body. He thinks he’s dragging you down to hell with him, but you’re certain this is what heaven feels like. The love of your life beneath you, a light blanket of sweat over his body, his brow furrowed in concentration as he tries not to overindulge, his heart slamming against his ribcage in a frenzied attempt to reach you, his hands touching every inch of you they can reach, his lips kissing away the tears that stream down your face… No, this is better than heaven. With his hunger and your curiosity, you’ve both managed to find a place better than the promiseland, better than anything any god or mortal could even begin to hope to comprehend, a place where he’s free to feast on you as much as he wants and you can bury yourself in his ribcage.

Strong fingers slip under your chin and force you to look in a pair of shining ambers, and you swear Simon has never looked more beautiful than in this moment. “Kiss me, sweetheart,” he pleads, his hips stuttering.

Starving lips come crashing together, and it takes every ounce of self-control to not feed until his stomach ruptures.

And the worst part of it all is he knows you would allow him to.

You would absolutely allow him to eat, eat, eat, Simon, sharpen your teeth and bite as hard as you want! You’ll never go hungry as long as you’re with me! Just eat, goddammit, eat, eat, eat! Eat all of me until we aren’t sure where you end and I begin! Eat until I’m swimming in your veins! Just fucking eat!

Simon buries his face into the crook of your neck in hopes that maybe he can get through the night without any bloodshed, struggling to keep himself under control. But you have other plans. Lacing your fingers through his blond hair, you guide his face to one of your breasts in a silent plea for him to suck on it as you ride him. He obeys, of course. How could he not when you look so delicious covered in sweat and bouncing on his cock?

With teeth as sharp as diamonds, he tugs onto your nipple, and you cry out his name until it’s all you can dare to think about. “Fuck, baby,” he swears, one of his hands massaging your other breast, “you’re so beautiful. You know that right, darling? Have I ever told you how beautiful you are as you ride me?”

Your thighs begin to shake, and it’s then you both know you’re at the brink of unadulterated pleasure. Mustering as much strength as you can, you slam your hips down on his in frantic motions, feel the head of his cock prodding at your cervix, and tears poke at the corners of your eyes in anticipation of the feast about to come.

“So close, baby,” your partner moans, “so fucking close. Just a little more, love. Can you do that for me? Can my good girl ride me just a little bit more and make us both cum?”

“Y-Yes! Anything for you, Simon! Jus’ wanna be your good girl…”

Your whines and moans become more and more warbled the closer you get to your orgasm, and Simon is drinking every ounce of your submission. Unable to maintain self-control in the face of greed, sharp teeth pinch your nipple, the swell of your breasts, your shoulder, your neck, your jaw—anywhere he can feed and hear you squeal out in delight, just so long as he eats, eats, eats. Every time enamel pinches plush flesh, he can feel a piece of you slither down his throat and land in his ever-growing stomach—somewhere you’ve learned to consider home. Whispers of praise and love dance across your skin, his hands running up and down your spine as if coaxing you to give him just a little more of yourself, just a bit more so he can sedate the beast and continue to be the practical man you know and love.

“So fucking good for me,” he moans into the crook in your sweaty neck, his cock beginning to throb with the need to release. “That’s my girl, just a little more. I’m so close, love.”

Shaky hands bury themself into thick hair, and you pull until you can hear a hiss leave his lips. “Please, Simon, cum with me, please!”

“My baby wants me to cum with her, hmm?” he teases, albeit weakly. He’s losing control, you both know it. His abs flex with strain, his brow is shining with sweat, and his lips wobble with weakness, and yet he’s fighting to have you cum first just so he can taste how sweet you are on his tongue before he’s no longer human.

“Yes, please! I’m begging you, Simon, cum with me!”

“O-O-Oh, fuck...” Though he’s never been much for blind optimism, a part of him hoped maybe he finally could have control over his desires around you. A foolish thing to think, really, when you call to the beast buried in his ribcage so easily… “I’m gonna cum, darling, cum with me!”

And you do, almost embarrassingly quick. With your arms wrapped around each other, your face buried in his chest and his buried in your hair, your hips clumsily crashing together, you both cum together loudly, lewdly, your names burned into each other’s throats and echoing off of your bedroom walls. 

“You did so well for me, baby,” he mumbles against your shoulder, his lips fumbling to kiss everywhere his teeth sunk into. “I love you so much.”

You sigh and lean into his kisses as much as you can, arms still hanging loosely around his neck and your lungs trying to pull in oxygen. “I love you too, sweetheart, so, so much.”

“C’mon, I’ll go prepare a bath for us.” Gently, he untangles your limbs and lifts you in his strong arms. With one last kiss to your forehead, he begins to make his way to the bathroom, you curled up against his chest and listening to how hard his heart is hammering.

And somewhere between the sound of running water and satisfied giggles, Simon swears he hears a growl coming from his chest—low and threatening, a warning he only has so much time before he loses control and he can no longer contain how he feels about you.

And, for the first time since he discovered that wretched beast, he thinks he might be okay with that.

[dark-and-kawaii]

✧˖° Never Broken °˖✧

⊹ ࣪ ˖ Summary: He had failed to perform, a man, who should be strong and powerful, couldn't even get an erection anymore. It felt like his heart was shattering, he was a mess, and the thought of you leaving him over this had his hand clenched into a fist. Zevlor should know by now that you’re creative enough to find new ways to pleasure one another~ And you have no problem reminding him ♡

⊹ ࣪ ˖ Pairing: Zevlor x F!Tav/Reader

⊹ ࣪ ˖ Content: NSFW - Soft Cock Zevlor - Tongue Kissing - Angst - Hurt/Comfort - Tail Penetrating Your Tight Cunt - Nipple Sucking

Notes: This idea stemmed because of @daisyofwaterdeep ♡ ♡ ♡ Thank you ♡ ♡ ♡

He always feared this day would come, that he’d wake up and find himself broken, a disgrace, a lover that is of no use anymore…

Yet it still stung like nothing before.

As the years with you passed, he got older, he could feel it, he was slowing down, getting weaker, getting tired more often and having less energy every morning… Though he did his best to hide it from you.

But now, here he was.

Lying in bed, his usual hardness completely absent.

He had tried for what felt like hours to make something happen, to feel some semblance of pleasure as he touched himself.

But it was all fruitless.

No matter how hard he touched himself, or thought of you, there was no blood flowing down below.

It was all gone.

And now here he was, tears pricking at his eyes and his pride crumbling.

He had failed to perform, a man, who should be strong and powerful, couldn't even get an erection anymore. It felt like his heart was shattering, he was a mess, and the thought of you leaving him over this had his hand clenched into a fist.

He couldn't take it, the thought of losing you, the love of his life.

His eyes shut and it felt like his chest was collapsing…

Then again, was this not a fair punishment for him?

For what he had done, this was probably just his penance. He had betrayed his people, turned against them, swayed by the absolute… The very reason so many of them had fallen, the reason his comrades, his friends, were gone... Then there was you, his other half, his light… His whole world whom he had turned against that day as well, whom he had nearly killed with his own hands...

He was a failure, and this was his punishment.

He was going to lose you and have no one to blame but himself.

The tears had fallen now, staining the bed sheets beneath him.

He had no clue how long he had been laying there, crying like a lost child.

But it seemed that he would have to move eventually, since a soft knock could be heard on the door.

He quickly sat up, rubbing his eyes furiously.

He didn't want you to see him like this, you had enough of your own problems to deal with.

You didn't need to have the burden of taking care of a broken old man.

“A-Ah... I'm sorry, did I wake you, love?” You softly spoke, the door opening slowly as your head poked through the crack.

The sight made his heart flutter, your hair was styled neatly, your cheeks rosy, and you still wore your revealing night clothes. The swell of your breasts, the dip in your waist, and the curve of your hips... Gods, you were the most beautiful being he'd ever laid eyes on.

You smiled, walking into the room as he watched, “I woke up a little bit ago and was wondering if you wanted me to make you breakfast today? You always seem to be the one doing it, and well, you don't always have to do it all by yourself... Besides, I wanted to make you feel special today, my love.” You wrapped your arms around him, kissing his cheek gently.

He felt his throat close, his voice refusing to work, his heart was screaming at him to just tell you, to let you know everything, that he needed you, that he loved you so much.

“I- …” he sighed and smiled best he could, “That’s very kind of you, dear.” He whispered, his hand coming up to gently caress your cheek, the touch of your skin sending warmth throughout his entire body.

You grinned, hugging him tight and kissing his lips, a smile on your face, and a glint of mischief in your eyes. He didn’t have much time to question what you were planning before you pushed him down on the bed and straddled his hips, a soft giggle leaving you.

“Today is all about you, my love~ let me take care of you, please~ you can let me take control, just for a bit~ please?”

Zevlor’s breath caught in his throat, his eyes widening as you began to rub your barely covered core against him. He could feel his heart sink, a sharp pain running through his chest, you looked so happy, and here he was, about to destroy it.

He had never denied you before, not once, always willing to let you have your way with him and vice versa, to show him your love, to take him.

Yet, when you began to kiss his neck and your hands traveled lower, his own hands found their way to your wrists.

He couldn’t let you continue…

Your head cocked to the side, confusion and hurt crossing your face… Zevlor could swear that his heart had cracked even further, he could hear it.

“Wh-what’s wrong? Did I do something?”

You were already blaming yourself, it was all too much for him, he had to tell you.

He took a shaky breath, closing his eyes, then looked at you.

His beautiful, wonderful, perfect, and kind hearted love. Despite his betrayal with the others you still showed him love, you had shown him forgiveness, fought at his side countless of times, and you had taken him into your home treating him with nothing but respect and affection.

He didn’t deserve you, not at all. He accepted the reality of his fate now, he had no right to you, not when you deserved a man that could give you everything, and a cock that worked properly…

He sat up, his hands still holding your wrists as you stared at him, waiting, “what is it, Zevlor?” The fear in your voice was palpable, and his heart screamed for him to just comfort you and reassure you, tell you it was all alright.

“I-I… I am sorry, but-“

You cut him off, pulling away and sitting back on his thighs, your arms coming up to hug yourself.

His face sunk as tears began to creep in your eyes… He wanted to curse. With a deep breath he continued, “I cannot go on… My body- It will not- I- I can no longer perform- no longer function as a proper man should, I cannot satisfy you-“

Your arms released themselves from your body as your mouth hung open releasing a shaky breath, “That’s-“ You smiled and ran your fingers through your hair, “that’s a relief.” You laughed, a small sob mixed in with the sound.

Zevlor blinked, his brow furrowing as his head tilted, his heart feeling as though it had stopped, he was so confused, why would this be a relief?

He felt the heat of your hands as they came up to his face, cradling his cheeks, wiping the tears that threatened to fall, and he could see that tears had begun to fall from your own eyes.

“Zevlor, I- i was so scared… I thought- I thought that you were going to leave me… ha~” You smiled laughing quietly as your thumb traced his cheekbone.

“Tav…” He whispered, his eyes closing, his mind beginning to race.

You thought he would leave you.

You were worried he was leaving.

You feared his loss.

You wanted him.

You didn't think of him as a broken, old man.

“Zevlor, listen to me-“ you whispered, and his eyes opened, a soft sigh escaping him.

Your hands moved from his face, and he was about to reach for them again, only he stopped himself as your hands found their way to the hem of your night dress.

With a small nod, and a smile, you pull the material up and off, leaving yourself bare from the waist up, “I told you during the netherbrain war, didn’t I?” You began to grind into him ever so slowly, “That I loved you no matter what happens.”

Zevlor was speechless, his eyes roaming your figure, the sight of you always took his breath away, but now… Now he truly was at a loss for words.

The way you smiled at him, the look of pure love in your eyes, the softness of your touch, the way your voice sounded as you whispered his name, it was all too much… You- you-

“Tav…” His voice cracked, his hands shaking as he brought it up, his fingers ghosting along your cheek, his mind and heart a mess, “You deserve so much better than me, you deserve a man that can provi-“

He was cut off by the warmth of your lips pressing to his. The man melted instantly, his arms wrapping around you and pulling you close… He was drowning in your touch, the taste of your lips, the sweet scent of your skin. He didn’t want it to end, he wanted to be selfish for once…

The way you trembled in his hold, and the way your tongue prodded at his lips, begging for access, like you wanted him, needed him, it had him reeling.

His hand found the back of your head, pulling you closer, his lips parting, the softest moan leaving him… It felt so good, just kissing you, his tongue running along yours, the taste of you.

He wanted to take it further, wanted to feel you against him, but… That was the problem.

You wanted him, and he-

Pulling away, his hand still on the back of your head, keeping you close as he kissed the corner of your mouth, “I’m sorry, Tav… I just can’t pleasure-”

“There are plenty of ways you can still pleasure me, my love. You don't have to be hard in order to make me scream your name,” Your tongue swirled around his neck, biting at his ear, whispering softly, "I still need you, Zevlor, I still want you… Besides, just the sight of you is enough to make me wet-“

Zevlor shuddered, his grip tightening, a dark blush forming on his cheeks, he couldn't help it.

Your hand reached for his tail, “and I’m sure we can get creative~ I still need my hellrider~ and you are the only one that can make me beg~ even if it’s soft and leaking with precum~” You brought the tip of his tail to your lips, sucking and nibbling lightly, “And who else would know how to use their tongue better than my Zevy~"

Zevlor moaned, his eyes glazing over as he watched. Your mouth felt amazing, and the way your tongue rolled against his sensitive tail… Hells, he could already feel his body heating up.

You were always a master with words, knowing exactly what to say and do to make him submit to your whims, to make him feel whole even when he felt broken...

By the end of the night you were both naked, the blanket kicked to the floor, and the bed rocking against the wall.

You were straddling him, his tail buried in your cunt carefully as his mouth was latched onto your breast. His beautiful soft cock drooling cum, pressed between the two of you.

He had come multiple times, and his mind was blissfully numb as his fingers played with your clit, his tongue rolling over your nipple.

“Ze-Zevlor~ Mnnnhaa~ T-Tails s’deep~ L-Love y-you! Love y-ou! S’much! I-I love y-you so-o~ m-much~” You panted, moaning loudly, his tail- by the gods, was it wonderful. It hurt at first, the stretch and the sharp pain, but his careful ministrations made the pain melt away into nothing but pleasure.

He could never be broken in your eyes. It was a simple truth, and there was no way you’d ever let him slip through your fingers. Not ever. Zevlor would always be perfect to you

[milkbobatyun]

till death do us part

pairing: jiaoqiu x gn!reader

genre: fluff, angst

summary: your dream was to be a healer, his was just to follow you, so how did it end up this way?

word count: 1.1k

a/n: wrote this before 2.5 was released (because i loved him the moment i saw his release) , this is just my own headcanon about why jiaoqiu "withdrew from medicine with a broken heart", hope yall enjoy (,, . ̫. ,,)

for as long as you could remember, a certain, teasing pink furred foxian stuck to your side like a burr. he followed you everywhere, like a shadow, though the jiaoqiu then would protest otherwise. he was your protector, he would huff, cheeks puffed out in indignation.

sometimes, jiaoqiu led you through the warbling creeks and rustling bushes, on a mission to help you find herbs. other times, you led him by the hand, playing general and soldier in the streets. the locals knew, if they wanted to find either of you, spotting the other half of the duo would often lead them to the person they wanted.

your childhood aspiration was to practise medicine and become the best healer, while his was more simple-minded. he just wanted to follow you, to be with you.

“to the ends of the planet?” young jiaoqiu’s head wobbled forwards and back fervently in agreement. “but what if i die?” hearing those words, jiaoqiu’s busy hands froze, eyes growing comically large, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. his soft ears flattened against his head in displeasure, sticky fingers reaching out to pinch your baby fat. “no! stop thinking like that!” he chided.

your tinkling laughter hugged his fluffy ears. “im just kidding, no need to look so worried.” you dismissed easily, turning back to sorting your herbs. 

jiaoqiu’s nose crinkled as he looked down at the pile of bitter-smelling herbs, before his shoulders slumped in despair. they all looked the same, how was he ever going to learn them all?

seeing his face, you quietly chuckled into your hand. 

“silly goose!” you teased. “you dont need to study medicine if you find it so hard.”

jiaoqiu pouted, feigning sadness at your teasing, tail drooping sadly towards the floor, a frown surfacing on his face. 

he only hoped that there wouldn’t come a day that he would regret not taking up medicine.

the wintery cold lingered in the air, jiaoqiu’s sensitive nose picked up the hints of the scent of spring. time had flown by quickly, his initially small and pudgy figure shooting up to an unfair height, his face sharpening, growing into those classic foxian features. it was down right injustice really, how such a man had a wonderful and pleasing face as his.

though you didn’t realise it, your own height had lengthened too. if you asked jiaoqiu, you looked as striking as your youth, if not even more. every time he saw you, his heart would beat quicker. your touch sending sparks flying on his skin, the warmth lingered after your hand was long gone.

jiaoqiu could only thank the aeons that his ears were not the colour of a tomato, though he doubts his soft cheeks could say the same. whenever he saw you, a cloud of red dusted his cheeks.

the loud, red firecrackers boomed in the courtyard of the yaoqing. cheers of joy and sobs of relief echoed behind.

today was the graduation of the yaoqing healers. after so many years of hard work in the pollen and dust filled cabinets of the yaoqing medicine storage, you were glad to be out of the stuffy old place. 

though jiaoqiu didn’t outwardly express his joy like you, his secretive smile and curved eyes told enough of his happiness. he was proud of you, fearlessly taking on every challenge learning medicine had thrown at you and creating your own solutions.

when you eagerly ran up to him, he engulfed you in his warm embrace, one tooth-achingly sweet grin from you cracking jiaoqiu’s mask, a suppressed grin of amusement and adoration surfacing from beneath. with your signature clap and handshake, the two of you made your way home, you skipping along the path, while jiaoqiu sauntered behind you, listening to your cheerful chatter.

how did it end up this way? it was supposed to be a routine round…

you were merely assigned to patch up wounded soldiers. so how was it that you were now bloodied, clinging to that thinning thread of life?

the rain poured down, a witness to the tears of jiaoqiu. his arms cradled your fragile body close to his chest, his warmth a campfire that roared against the encroaching cold.

the droplets slapped across your cheeks, a harsh reminder that you were clinging onto the edge of consciousness. the world was a blur of rain and darkness. you were vaguely aware of a warmth pressing against your cheek. you peeled open your tired eyes, trying to gain a sense of where you were. last you remembered, the encampment had been attacked.

“jiaoqiu?” you whispered out feebly, the words barely escaping your lips, which were slowly turning blue. “im cold. i feel so cold… i think im bleeding somewhere, it hurts...” you nestle in towards jiaoqiu’s warmth, seeking warmth as the cold seeped deeper into your bones. “you’re warm…” you trail off, the chattering of your teeth drowning out the rest of your words. your thoughts began to fade away, slowly bleeding out, like the blood from your wound.

how did it end up this way?

jiaoqiu’s trembling fingertips frantically tapped against your cheek, eyes wide with fear and desperation, in an effort to keep you awake.

you blinked up weakly at jiaoqiu, focusing your energy on staying awake. “jiaoqiu?” you meekly called out. “you look better when you smile, smile for me…please?” you pleaded quietly.

through the raindrops and tears that coated his face, jiaoqiu tried to smile, the corners of his lips twitching into a sad smile. seeing him give you a feeble grin, your face mirrored his, a shallow smile etched on your face.

‘if only i knew how to stop the bleeding…if only i learned, instead of giving up halfway, maybe i could be more use.’ jiaoqiu thought bitterly to himself, scorning his own stupidity.

with an effort, your shaking hand reached up towards jiaoqiu’s face, cradling his cheek. “dont be sad, smile for me. thank you for being with me.” you whispered.

“please dont leave me.” jiaoqiu pleaded, his voice cracking with sadness. “we still have so much to do. you’re gonna be ok.” jiaoqiu chanted the last 4 words like a mantra, a prayer that the aeons turned a deaf ear to.

the surrounding din of the world faded away, your life playing back before your eyes. you thought of all the moments you had shared with this sly foxian, wishing for just one more day, nay, even a second and you would be satisfied. but jiaoqiu was here, holding onto you and that was enough.

a final sighing breath slipped from your lips, your eyes losing their spark. your hand fell away from his cheek, head lolling to the side. in death, you were serene, a faint smile on your face—an angel taken too soon.

the rain fell harder, as though the heavens themselves were mourning your death, while jiaoqiu bowed his head, tears cascading like a waterfall of sorrow.

taglist (open): @yeonjunsfox

∧,,,∧ ( ̳• · • ̳)  © curated with love by milkbobayun 2024 / ��� ♡

[anotherbananasong]

Promises You Made to Me (2/4)

It’s time for Air to face the clergy alone…

“Nervous” doesn’t begin to cover how Air feels. The pressure from his corset barely comforts him. He’s had Earth at his side almost every moment, day and night, since they mated. Earth is his comfort; he doesn’t know what he will do without him. Earth accompanies him right up to the doors.

Earth: (running a comforting hand over Air’s chest) It’ll be okay, skybird. I promise, I’ll be right out here until you come out. I won’t leave.

Air: (eyes already beginning to water) I don’t want to…

Earth: (reaches up and wipes his tear) Remember, Secondo said not to let them see. (takes Air’s hands in his own, placing a kiss on his fingers) Promise me you won’t say anything that will send you back to the Pits. Okay?

Air: I promise.

As usual, the clergy is seated at their raised podium. Even with their size, the Ancients still have to look up to see them. And to Air’s horror, Sister is right there in the middle. He’s never been able to look her in the face; she strikes such fear in him that he can’t maintain eye contact. Had it been just the clergy, like usual, he may have been able to hold himself together a little better. But not with Sister actually making an appearance.

Sister: (after a disarming silence) This whole “kit” business… Whose idea was it?

Air: (heart sinks from his chest; he knows he was the first to bring it up. but admitting it would send him back to the Pits. and he promised Earth) …

Sister: (narrowing her eyes, satisfied with the discomfort she can see in Air’s glowing eyes) Don’t make this difficult, ghoul.

Air: (even worse, if he says anything that may put Earth in trouble, Earth may be the one going back to the Pits) …

Sister: (flicking imaginary dust from her sleeve) I’m your friend. You wouldn’t want to make your friend mad, would you?

Air: (feeling his lungs tighten with anxiety; he couldn’t answer even if he wanted to) …

Sister: (gives Air a long silence to build the tension) You want to tell me, ghoul. You know I have ways to get my answer. You don’t want me to have to take drastic measures.

Air: (looks down at the floor) …

Sister drills him for forty minutes, alternating between demanding he answer and leaving him in frightened silence. It’s effective, despite Air’s continued mutism. As he sweats where he stands, Sister can see that he’s weak. He’s always been the weakest of Secondo’s ghouls. She may not interact with him often, but she knows what will break him.

Sister: (after the forty minutes of Air’s silence) Tell you what, ghoul; we have a lovely room for you. You can stay there until you’re ready to talk to your friend.

Air: (Secondo said “don’t let them see”, but he can’t help the tears at Sister’s new threat. what does that mean?)

Sister: I’ll have someone take you there, and you can think about your answer. Take your time; I’m a patient woman.

Outside the doors, Earth is pacing. He can feel Air’s torment through their mating bond, but Air is closed off from the comfort and encouragement Earth is attempting to send to him through it. He doesn’t know how long it’s been, but it feels like it’s been years. He finally sits on a bench and focuses on trying to reach Air through the bond, trying to send him a wave of his love. He almost jumps when the meeting room door opens, but his stomach sinks when it’s not Air coming out the doors.

Sister: (businesslike and matter-of-fact) Return to your dorm. He won’t be joining you.

Earth: (didn’t know Sister herself was in that room; no wonder Air was so afraid) What do you mean? What does that mean?

Sister: You don’t need to ask questions; you just need to obey.

Earth: What does that mean, he’s not joining me?

Sister: (tilts her head, giving him a glance over) He has to think about some things. He’ll be staying up here for now. Return to the catacombs, ghoul.

Earth: (rises from the bench) Why is he staying up here? He has to come back with me… Why is he staying up here? What are you going to do to him?

Sister: I said no questions.

Earth: (Secondo said to protect his mate… this isn’t protecting him) No, tell me. Tell me why he’s staying up here. What’s going on? You let him out of there. He’s coming home with me.

Sister: (treating him to one of her terrifying smiles as he approaches her) Don’t ask questions, ghoul; you’ll make this more difficult for him. Choose your actions wisely.

Earth: (considers a million things all at once) … (hisses in warning, a promise that he will retaliate if they harm his mate, and turns to go back to the catacombs. alone)

[deliciouskeys]

I threatened to write something for Butchlander week and well... I have written, uh, something. *skulks back into the abyss*

Written to accompany this wonderful art I commissioned from @semains whom I love dearly-- thank you for indulging my requests for setting and exact pose as well! Commission them!

Butchlander Week NSFW Saturday prompt: Roleplay/Roles. Because it might be the role of a lifetime for Butcher, but you know Homelander is having the time of his life pretending he can't escape / pretending it hurts sooo much.

(yeah, double dipping) Cozy Corner Kinktober prompt #5 Buttplug (sort of. I can't explain myself. I have no excuses. It might be disturbing, so apologies in advance. Pure Id, aka wtf).

My header is getting longer than the ficlet, gdi

"Harder." Homelander's tone is haughty and whiny all at once–  so grating that Butcher wishes he could deliver on the request. Who'd have thought that this grandiose straightedge little cunt would get so hard having a stranger smack him over and over? Who'd ever guess that this supe celebrity– maybe the world's most famous person, and definitely the darling of the American public– would be into this kind of shit behind closed doors? That he wouldn't be bloody ashamed of himself whisking Butcher off to his bizarrely decorated apartment every single night.  Bypassing all of Vought security, so that Vought's public enemy number… if not #1 then at least top 10… could make himself comfortable sitting on his bed. Not all that comfortable, since the bed is a strange upholstered leather number and stiff as hell, but Butcher supposes a supe might not feel the difference between this and a Tempur-Pedic.

He brings him here every night, and every night the script stays largely the same. Homelander plies him with some alcohol, sometimes a glass of whiskey, but more often just a bottle of Heineken. Butcher sits down, Homelander eagerly drapes himself over his lap, pulls and folds his cape underneath him, as if he doesn't trust Butcher enough to spread it out next to him. wiggling his hips, insisting Butcher pull down his pants and spank him. And Butcher obliges every time, even though it's clearly hurting his hands much more than it hurts Homelander– they alternate sides every night but Butcher suspects he already has stress fractures that don't heal because his hands ache all the time and never quite recover between sessions. But despite the pain, and despite the very little to no pain he's actually inflicting on the spoiled brat who always asks to be hit harder, there's just something irresistible about it. About finally being allowed to take out his aggression on the man he hates most in the world. The man he hates most in the world, who also happens to have a surprisingly perky ass that jiggles hypnotically if you hit it hard enough and just right, so Butcher hits him with his full strength not because of the cunt's whiny demands, but because he just wants to see the flesh wobble.

"I said harder!" Homelander's voice cuts through Butcher's thoughts, and Butcher can't help it any longer.

"You want me to hit you harder, you're gonna have to find a paddle."

Homelander's breath hitches and he says nothing in reply. No, this sick cunt clearly craves skin on skin contact to get off, Butcher already knows this, which is why he knew what to threaten him with to get him to shut up.

But he does wish he could hurt him. The achy joints of his hand plead he stop. Butcher stares down at the well defined muscular globes, skin turned a nice blush color where he's been hit but Butcher wishes he could turn it black and blue. Purple and green. He wants the cunt to really feel the intensity he's supposedly asking for, just to prove how wrong he is.

"I'm waiting," Homelander reminds him.

"Just taking a breather, alright? Enjoying the view." Butcher tries to squeeze a handful of flesh, but it's never as soft as it looks. "Look like one of 'em marble statues you got out in your lounge area."

Butcher hears Homelander's breath hitch and sees him take a peek at the mirror above, clearly checking himself out. This is all a game to him. It flatters his vanity that Butcher does this for him. Butcher would like nothing more than to turn this around on him, make it less of a game and more of an actual punishment.

A strange idea creeps in. Butcher leans back to reach for the Heineken bottle he emptied earlier and put on the nightstand, always on a coaster Homelander insists he use. God forbid he get a water ring on the antique looking furniture, with the creepy little cameo portraits of people who died last century. The beer is mostly just to take the edge off before Homelander lies down over his legs– he and Homelander mutually figured out the session goes better if he's slightly buzzed and maybe just a little numb to the pain in his hand. And they figured this out because Homelander happened to whisk him away right after he stumbled out of a bar on a late Saturday night, after which point Butcher understood that Homelander would come and find him wherever he was– even if he wasn't at home past midnight. It's sexual slavery, is what it is. Butcher would resent it more if he didn't somewhat enjoy getting to beat this cunt on a nightly basis before being dropped off at home.

Homelander shifts, growing impatient while waiting for another round of spanking to start after the breather. "Come on!" he says through gritted teeth, and he sounds angry, and fucking self-righteous, as if he's complaining about customer service he's paid for. It's not Butcher's fault that the cunt only seems to come after he's gotten spanked for minutes straight, at some point his body finally deciding that this is such an enjoyable moment that his hips start grinding forward into Butcher's leg and he comes, the same pathetic little hitched moan escaping his lips every time, the same toe-curling Butcher can see because the cunt does take off his boots to lie on the bed. Thank god he never pulls his pants far down enough, because he never gets any jizz on Butcher's jeans. Homelander seems to think Butcher doesn't notice, or at least they both pretend they haven't. As if Butcher can avoid noticing his leg being humped violently, wondering if this is the night the cunt breaks one of his limbs out of pure excitement. As if it's not clear what just happened from the flushed face and glazed over eyes the supe has when he rises off the bed, finally satisfied. But if no one tells and no one asks, it didn't necessarily happen, and both seem content to keep it at that. Homelander takes a quick shower and suit change before dropping Butcher off at his apartment, without any further ceremony or pleasantries, and by morning Butcher is half in denial about any of it even happening.

"Are you fucking deaf? Why did you stop?" Homelander says and starts to turn his head to look back at him, but Butcher shoves his face back to face forward. 

They have an unspoken agreement not to look each other in the eye when they're doing this, ever. Homelander almost broke the agreement, but obediently looks away again after the lightest push.

"Shut your fucking trap already. I heard you the first ten times just fine," Butcher growls under his breath, and his mind is made up about what he was hesitating to do. He forces the neck of the empty bottle into the cunt's tight crack, moving it around, looking for give.

Homelander's back arches, clearly not expecting the sensation. "The fuck are you doing?"

"GIving you something harder, like you were whining for, you spoiled brat." Butcher gives up doing it blindly and pulls one of the cheeks towards him. "Now where's your fucking chocolate starfish? You even have one?" And as if to punctuate that last word, Butcher finds the place and  breaks the initial resistance resistance, the bottle neck beginning a slow slide in.

Homelander breathes harder. "I don't like it," he mutters, and his ass flexes in protest.

"You better like it and accept it, or else you're going to end up with a pile of glass shards inside you."

Butcher is skeptical that glass could really do anything to this supe's internal organs, but it seems Homelander wants to avoid the mess anyway, and his muscles relax.

"That's right. Now stop whining and take your punishment."

He tries to push the bottle in even further, feeling more and more protest.

"I don't like it," Homelander repeats, sharply this time, as if it means something.

"You ain't supposed to like it," Butcher says and decides to finally smack him on the ass with his other hand after keeping him waiting. Butcher doesn't anticipate that Homelander's body will convulse, shatter the bottle, grind into him, and come all at once.

"The hell was that?" Butcher asks, pulling back the jagged bottle's bottom half that survived. Homelander's body is still twitching underneath him and he's panting. Maybe this was going to be it. Butcher overstepped the line. Homelander was probably immersed in some unresolved childhood trauma or fantasy or whatever the fuck about having a father figure who would discipline him with a firm but loving hand. This must have ended the illusion for him. Maybe enough that Butcher is about to meet his end– sometimes it's hard to remember that the whimpering quivering pathetic mess draped over his knees is the selfsame terrifying force of nature that can take out an entire army if he ever just chose to do so.

But the cunt won't even pick his head up. He's buried his face in the crook of his elbow. Is he fucking crying? Butcher wonders for a second if it's possible that he's actually fucking done it. Actually hurt him. Maybe a plug of C4 won't kill him but maybe it'll make him feel the hurt? A whole assortment of images races through Butcher's mind. He wants to try everything now. His crowbar, a bat studded with rusty nails, maybe the same bottle but a Molotov cocktail this time. Payback for thinking he can just force Butcher to indulge him, to make every night about getting him off. This opens up a whole new world of possibilities.

But Homelander stirs and starts to sit up, and Butcher winces and his teeth are set on edge when he can hear the crunching sound of glass grinding against glass, and tiny green shards start dropping out of him as Homelander tilts to sit back on his heels.

"That was— amazing…" Homelander whispers, breathless. His hands are folded demurely in his lap as if he didn't just orgasm to being diddled with a bottle of Heineken. "You want another beer?"

"No!" Butcher says, sounding more emphatic and more disturbed than he intendedto let on. "No, you sick fuck."

"Does your hand hurt?" Homelander asks, and it's without any impatience in his tone, maybe even a note of real sympathy, completely ignoring the insult just lobbed at him. Before Butcher knows what's happening, Homelander leans down and licks the hand that had just been spanking him. Butcher jerks it away defensively, but Homelander follows it licking it, laving each finger with his tongue before leaning into it with his brow ridge, then his nose, rubbing himself into it. It feels soothing and takes away some of the sore feeling, Butcher is loath to admit.

But he needs to regain what little control he has in this arrangement. "You want me to pet ya? Then lie back where you belong," he says. It's gratifying to see the supe cunt immediately obey him. He stretches himself back into his former position, and Butcher kneads the flesh of his ass.

"We can do the bottle again if your hands hurt," Homelander says, sighing contentedly and breaking the rule– looking back at Butcher with a look that is disturbingly similar to fondness.

"We can," Butcher agrees, trying to ignore the glass that's spilled out on the sheets and forget the crunching sound the bottle made when it snapped in half at the neck.

[phoenixeclipse-lmkau]

so another crumb, might not be accurate to your idea of reader, so bear with me

imagine a reader, who likes to sing, but HATES doing it in front of people. there is no sign of it, no singing, no humming, nothing around people. she will only sing if she thinks she is alone.

and one of the days spirit goes off to get to find food, reader hums a lil tune, because its only her and the cubs around, and animals aren't people.

this develops into a habit whenever the cubs are alone with reader until one day, after many false starts, reader starts to sing. the cubs love it, a song/secret just for them that spirit doesn't get to see. perhaps reader will even sing them to sleep if they're lucky.

but, after the curse breaks, well.

they're people not cubs now.

and reader knows about shapeshifting, so now every animal might be a person in disguise.

and reader hates singing in front of people.

maybe it was because of a bad experience, perhaps she didn't want to make noise and take up space, maybe its a bad case of stage fright, maybe its just some sort of instinct, but whatever it is, reader wont budge.

no matter how much they beg, plead or threaten, reader wont sing for them. reader wont even sing when left alone in the forests of flower fruit mountain. they know of macaque after all, and his ears.

but every so often, when the mountain is quiet in the dead of the night, and not a single soul can be heard, fragments of a quiet humming voice can be heard. it never goes on for too long, but it makes the listener wonder what it would sound like.

its the only thing the monkey duo gets to listen to, after turning back. while they would never want to go back, they do miss those fragile moments sometimes.

macaque is a bit more lucky in this regard. not even the slightest sound will escape him, but reader explicitly avoids singing because of him. only fragments will remain

i hope this crumb is as good as the last?

Yes yes yes!! Let me have it!! I love this!! After having a long day this is just what I needed!

Omg! Yes, actually I love the idea of Reader liking to sing but is too afraid to share her singing with anyone else.

Wukong and Macaque knowing that they are the only ones to hear it? Oh now, everyone else better pray they don't hear her sing. They are possessive and depending on who hears it other than them? May very well end up dead.

Now, not cubs or a few specific people (such as Spirit. She's safe from most of their wrath because of her relation to Reader)

They would be desperate to get her to sing again. They would do anything... well almost anything.

___

"Freedom," you said calmly, your eyes shifting to the side.

"What?" Wukong was the first to speak his eyes widening at the word.

He had to let go of your arms, which he had been gently holding. He didn't want to hurt you, but the rage that swelled in his chest almost made him hurt your arms.

"I said... I'll sing if you give me my freedom," you were quiet, your voice timid as you made your 'demand.'

"Darling you do have freedom. You can travel anywhere on Flower Fruit Mountain that you want,” Macaque spoke up as he brushed your hair out of your face.

You looked at him, his face held a warm and soft smile. With a frown you shook your head. “Freedom, I want to go home.”

As soon as you said the word home both of the monkey demons in front of you growled harshly. You immediately took a step back only to be pulled back towards them as they held you like you were about to disappear. A shiver ran down your spine as you looked at them with fear.

“We are not letting you go, ever.”

Just like that their desperation for the simpler times when you would sing to them in private or sing them to sleep caused an argument. They didn’t want to let you go, they would never let you go. No matter how much you wanted your freedom. To them you had freedom to travel around the island, safe where the monkey demons of the mountain would watch over you.

“Leave me alone,” You muttered looking downcast.

“But-,” Wukong started before storming out of the room.

Macaque looked at you sadly before nodding and following, “We’ll be here if you need anything.”

At least you could depend on that. If you wanted privacy they’d leave you alone. If you wanted food, they’d give you anything. They spared no expense to get you anything you wanted, except for your freedom. Looking down you wiped a tear away from your eyes. This was one of the few times that you’d completely closed them out.

It was over an hour later before you managed to force yourself to leave the room. You slowly opened the dark, oak wood door way that was carved with delicate roses, something that Wukong thought you would like. You couldn’t help the weak smile at that, before pushing the thought away. These monkey demons your Peaches and Plums were the ones who kidnapped you and forced you to live on their island. But they were kind to you, they gave you everything you could ask for except for your freedom.

“Your Majesty,” A sweet and small voice spoke up, one of the island cubs.

“Oh… hello there sweety,” You couldn’t help the smile at the small and very cute cub. A dark brown cub with blue eyes, and wore a pink hanfu.

“The Monkey King and His Warrior would like you to eat with them. If that would be alright, they said they’ll send your food to your room if not,” The cub said smiling, blissfully unaware of the reasons behind this encounter.

Your heart squeezed at the thought. Even while they constantly craved for your attention, for your touch they would keep their distance until you came to them or called out to them. You smiled, kneeling down to pick up the cub who chirped happily as you did so. Even though many of the monkey demons seemed to hate you when you first arrived they had all calmed down when not only their Kings adored you but the four generals had also watched over you. You were now adored by the island and none of them wanted you to leave.

“I’ll attend,” You smiled, knowing that the cub would likely not like it if you rejected the invitation. No doubt she was sent because the two Kings knew of your ever bleeding heart.

As much as you wanted to not talk to them just for the foul play as you thought it was, you couldn’t help but cuddle the small cub in your arms. You received happy chirps and chitters from it before you let her go to run off to tell the kings. They would meet you before you even made it to the dining hall within the stone palace. With a sigh you walked on through the large stone palace. Your hanfu (a gift from the monkey demons) slightly dragging on the floor behind you. A gorgeous gown made of red silk with golden thread embroidered throughout the fabric in rose patterns.

“Darling,” Macaque muttered as he stepped out of your shadow.

You barely glanced at him as he wrapped a hand around your waist and gave you a soft kiss on the cheek. He nuzzled his cheek against yours afterwards which you didn’t fight. As much as you hated to admit it you didn’t mind the kisses and nuzzles that the two monkey king’s gave you. Even if they still terrified you with their nature at times.

“Macaque,” You responded calmly.

“Are you feeling better?” He asked with a small smile, his tail wrapping around your waist protectively too. He acted as though you may disappear but there wasn’t much pressure that would make it painful.

You didn’t get the chance to respond when Wukong suddenly came around the corner sitting atop his golden colored cloud. “Darling!~ You’re feeling better!”

You were pulled into a hug by the monkey king, a kiss on the opposite cheek that Macaque kissed. They loved showering you with affection, especially after you three got into an argument. They wouldn’t change. At least not now.

So this ended up sadder than I planned… oops. But you gave me the angst to work with, can I blame you anon? Nah, I’m the one who wrote this part. Anyways thank you for the noms!! I really do love reading these. Sorry for slow replies but I do love writing these extra little scenes.

Now that I look at it, it kinda went off topic of the singing… Eh oh well. I’d like opinions if possible! Plus kudos to this anon I loved reading this!! I love these crumbs, the tasty noms!!

Be careful, I might start calling you Crumb or Cookie Anon hehe~

[leahnardo-da-veggie]

Daughter

The man who was not a man held the girl's limp head, kneeling on the fine marble floor. All the riches in the world meant nothing compared to that small, lean body splayed out on the floor. He would have given up everything he owned, everything he knew, everything he was, if only he could see her lopsided smile again.

“Andrea,” he murmured, begging, pleading, praying. “Andrea, Andrea, Andrea.”

She did not respond. He knew she would not. Knowing, with absolute certainty, was one of those things that came of being a not-man. From the second he had set his eyes on that fierce face, on those calloused hands, he had known this would end horribly.

He took a deep breath, ready to give a eulogy, ready to say goodbye, ready to close this chapter of his book. But the only thing he managed to close was his mouth.

No, he couldn't think of it, say it, do it. He wouldn't. It hurt, the way only foolishness could hurt. It hurt like bloody hell I dropped the cup again, like say what is that flower, like oi watch your tongue old bastard. It hurt beyond all the pretty words he so often used, in the lands where incoherent screams and broken silence lay.

He should never have taken her in, never have patched up that infected eye, never taught her letters and painting and all the beautiful things a runaway-child warrior had never known. It was a mistake. A horrible mistake that had fortunately rectified itself. A mistake that was over now, so he could return to his daily life and never acknowledge her existence again.

And yet- And yet- And yet- He could hear her gasps of wonder at his little knick-knacks, taste that awful pie she would make with her assorted gatherings, smell the wildflowers she left at his table every morning. He felt her fingers tugging at his robes, arms thrown about his neck in thanks, feet treading on his hooves. 

That eidetic memory of his had betrayed him, for once; not in weakness, but in its perfection, in that detailed reel of her malnourished stick-thin body shooting up and filling out, of that scraggly hair growing lush as the tallgrass, of their time together played over. And over. And. Over.

She named him, with the simplicity of a child's imagination. 'N', for the way his arms bent thrice, at the wrist, elbow, and that third joint he had no name for. She wove crowns of the freshest daisies every year to grace his head, and mad, and promised to defend him with her life, and made good on it too. She had given him so many gifts, and he had but one to give her.

Deep in the crevices of his mind, he remembered a word. He had no use for it, there being only one of his kind, but her used it anyway, then. 

“Daughter,” he named her, a fair exchange for that which she had given him. “My daughter, Andrea. I love you so much. I promised you a safe home, one where none would ever harm you again. I-”

Words failed him again. N cradled her body against him, keening as he did so, a long, agonised noise like a wolf's howl. He pulled her fingers to his chest and wept into them.

Alas, his duty extended beyond merely mourning. She deserved a proper farewell, like the little warrior she was.

He took a deep, shuddering breath. “I apologise. I apologise a thousand times over. I have failed you, my daughter.” He knew she would die, as all mortals did. He knew it would hurt. But how could a bloodless wound hurt so very much?

He would have wrenched open his chest to dig out his heart if he had one. He would have slit his throat if he could die from it. He would have done anything if it would undo his mistake.

No, that was a lie. He could undo his mistake. He knew how to bring her back. Knowledge, especially the forbidden sort, was his specialty. It would be so, so very simple. A city razed, blood pricked from an infant's heart, and a sacrifice of true love. That he could do in an instant, just to have his daughter back.

But for all his love and heartache, he was no man. He did not have man's selfishness, man's free will, man's ability to give up a thousand lives for just the one. He could not do it, not without giving up a part of his soul. So he did not.

The man who was not a man laid his daughter back down. He was not quite sure what to do with a corpse. He had never had one before, after all. 

Then again, he had never had a daughter before.

(in honour of my dad's birthday <3)

Taglist: @coffeeangelinabox, @dorky-pals, @calliecwrites, @kaylinalexanderbooks, @shukei-jiwa

@thewingedbaron, @pluppsauthor, @cowboybrunch, @wylloblr, @possiblyeldritch

@tragedycoded, @finickyfelix, @urnumber1star, @ratedn, @ramwritblr

@vampirelover890, @possiblylisle, @illarian-rambling, @the-ellia-west, @differentnighttale

@evilgabe29, @glitched-dawn, @rivenantiqnerd, @dragonhoardesfandoms, @xenascribbles

@drchenquill, @everythingismadeofchaos, @owldwagitoutofyou, @dimitrakies, @beloveddawn-blog

@riveriafalll, @the-golden-comet, @rascaronii, @trippingpossum, @real-fragments

@unrepentantcheeseaddict, @the-inkwell-variable, @paeliae-occasionally, @an-indecisive-nerd, @thecomfywriter

@seastarblue, @wyked-ao3

(Anyone else who wants to get added can tell me in the comments, pm me, or send me an ask about it!)

[anon-sect]

have you ever thought about turning someone into deodorant?

Picture Source: internet

Alec loved living with his long-time friend and roommate Xavier. They had been close friends for at least fifteen years and roommates the past three years. Both were straight jock dudes living in a two bedroom apartment. The only issue was that Xavier had a younger brother on his mid twenties who was gay, named Jake. Jake would often hit on him when Xavier wasn't around. He would warn him about it, but he would persist. He even told Xavier about it, but Jake would deny it each time. It was getting so annoying.

One day, after getting hit on for the hundredth time, Alec had enough. He wanted to end the annoyance once and for all. There was one way he thought would be so much fun to end it.

While Xavier was at work, Jake came over to the place. He once again flirted with Alec. Alec took out his phone and hit the flash option. Jake was reduced to a bar of deodorant. He picked it up off the floor. He opened the top and sniffed it. The scent was so wonderful. He laughed at the bar of deodorant. "I told you to stop it and your fag butt wouldn't listen. Now you are going to pay for it. I am going to give you to your straight brother. He will love this scent and will use you often to smell good for the ladies he goes out with." Alec paused. "Each time he swipes his arm pits with you, you will dwindle away to nothing. And soon, your brother will completely use you up, totally unaware, helping me get rid of you." He finished and laughed at the bar of deodorant once again. He couldn't wait for his roommate to come home from work.

Jake didn't like his fate. Being deodorant would not be fun. Eventually, he would be all used up by his big brother, and nothing would be left of him. Alec would use his own brother to erase him completely, unaware. He mentally cried, hoping his brother won't fall for the trap.

Xavier walked in a little tired from work. He saw Alec handing him a wrapped box. "What's this?" He asked before unwrapping it.

"You know how I forgot your birthday and didn't buy you a gift. Well, I want to make up for that. I hope you like it." Alec spoke while waiting for his roommate to open his special gift.

Xavier opened the wrap box to find a bar of deodorant. The label looked expensive. He opened the top and sniffed it. It smelled so exquisite and expensive. He loved the scent so much already. "Dude, I love it. I am going to use this a lot. Thanks. The ladies won't be able to resist me when they smell this." He spoke as both laughed.

Alec laughed for a different reason. He knew Xavier's annoying little brother was that bar of deodorant. The fact that his roommate would never know made the fate even more funny to him. Jake would be tortured by his own brother, and he would never have to see Jake ever again. That put a smile on his face. "It was a limited edition. So I won't be able to buy you another one. So try to stretch it out as much as possible." He spoke, knowing poor Jake heard every word.

Jake was mentally screaming for his brother not to believe Alec. He didn't want to be his deodorant and be used up. He mentally cried and pleaded for his brother to hear him, but all to no avail. He was helpless to change his fate. He saw his brother immediately start swiping him with his arm pits. With each swipe, parts of him faded away into nothingness. It was horrible. He begged for his brother to stop erasing him.

Xavier put some on and smelled himself. He loved how he smelled. "Definitely going to take your advice. I have to make this one last as long as I can." He spoke to Alec as he went to put up his special deodorant.

Alec smiled as the plan worked perfectly. He got his roommate a birthday gift and got rid of his annoying brother at the same time. It was a win-win for him.

FOUR WEEKS LATER......

Xavier swiped on the last of his special deodorant. All of it was now gone. He threw the container in the trash like common garbage without a single care.

Alec saw Xavier toss away the deodorant container. He smiled as Jake was gone forever now. No more unwanted flirting. Xavier did ask when he last saw his brother, but he told him that he didn't know when he last saw him come by. Jake would soon be a missing person report in which they will never find him unless they are looking for a special discarded deodorant container.

[lemotmo]

My 911 8x01 thoughts

Just watched the episode!

So many thought! I have so many thoughts!

I haven’t even read any of the interviews yet. I’m just going to dump all my thoughts on the episode in this post and then I’ll get to the interviews and asks.

Also, this post might be incoherent and not chronological in any way.

First things first:

F*CK HELENA DIAZ! I wanted to reach through the TV-screen and strangle her. I was on the fence about her last season. But this? F*ck her! Seriously! I actually cried at seeing Eddie’s crestfallen face. The way she dismissed her own damn son and kinda makes it seem like Chris is better off in El Paso? The way she rubs it in his face that she has the money to install a pool? I hate it. It reeks of emotional manipulation. 🤬🤬🤬

Okay, now that that’s off my chest. Let’s get to the rest of the episode.

Let’s get Tommy out of the way first. Okay, the guy was there for 20 seconds and said 1 line. The way they all hung out together was interesting. Once again, Eddie is in the middle… visually as well. As they were hiding behind the couch and jumped up, Eddie was in the middle. They are showing us Buck and Tommy still being in that early giddy stage of a relationship, which is pretty much what Tim and Oliver talked about in their interviews.

It's funny how I care less about Tommy being there when he actually doesn’t speak.🤷‍♀️ Lou didn’t really have to do a lot of acting. Tommy just had a fun scene with Buck and Eddie and I actually didn’t mind him being there. It once again reminded us where the storyline is going. It also shows us that Eddie and Tommy are still friends, which is interesting.

I have a feeling that we will see Eddie come between them more often. Mainly because Buck will want to emotionally support Eddie as much as he can and I think Tommy might just call Buck out on that.

All right, what else? Ah the bees… I actually liked the emergencies. It’s something else than a normal natural disaster. The mom and daughter in the car was so on point. Here you have a mom who is willing to use her own epi pen to save her daughter. Most moms would act like that. (Well, unless your name is Helena Diaz of course.) I did wonder why she doesn’t carry two epi-pens. I mean, if the whole family is allergic to bees, I would probably haul around 3 or 4 of them in my purse. Not taking chances there.

The perfume emergency was so funny. I liked the lady and her assistant. They brought some comedy. Also, Eddie running off with those bees? Such a great scene. I like how they said that Eddie was the fastest runner. I know Buck’s legs are longer, but he would just bumble around, stumble and fall. He’s clumsy like that in his running. We’ve seen that before.😂

I do feel like Eddie and Buck are even more in sync than ever. The fist bumping, the sharing of thoughts, the blind trust Eddie has in Buck’s ideas is incredible. Buck suggests something and Eddie just accepts what he says and goes along with it. I love that. Their dynamic is so great! 🤗

Okay, hmmmm… ah, Gerrard. I love the actor so much! He is such a great antagonist. The way he kept targeting Buck because Buck just kept talking back is such a basic bullying move. At the end there I really thought that Buck was going to hit Gerrard, but then -clear as a bell- there was Eddie’s voice in his head telling Buck to not let Gerrard get to him. Loved that detail! And then he actually saves his life! I wonder how Gerrard will react when he wakes up? I also wonder how Tommy will react to all of this?

Bobby! Bobby has an admirer! LOL! The guy was almost simping over Bobby, trying to watch his each and every move. And his heavy British accent? Definitely a reference to Oliver. Bobby doesn’t seem to hate his new job, but it’s obvious he misses the old one.

I can smell Madney and Henren problems from miles away. I predicted this storyline and I think I’ll be right. Chimney is getting attached to Mara and Mara is feeling more and more at home with the Hans. Now, that doesn’t mean that they’ll want to keep her or anything like that, but it does mean that Hen and Karen are looking in from the sidelines.

The longer Mara stays at Madney’s house, the more Henren might feel left out. I don’t know… I smell problems coming up there. Interested to see where this will lead. Ultimately I’m pretty sure Mara will return to the Wilsons, but in the mean time they will have to create some drama there.

That brings me to my least favourite part of this episode: Athena’s storyline. Once again, Athena can do it all. How is it possible that one single police officer who has a personal history with a prisoner can get assigned to single-handedly escort and protect said prisoner from Phoenix to LA? I don’t understand why they keep giving Athena these terrible storylines where she is some kind of superwoman who can do it all and who knows it all.

This man should be escorted by more people to make sure he arrives at his destination. After that fake agent pulled her over? She should have called it in and waited for back up in the airport.

Also, the fake agent was alone in this scenario, which is a big plot hole. Why didn’t he come with back-up to ensure they would get to the prisoner? Plot holes like this just take me out of the story.

This storyline is fabricated just to put Athena on that plane with the prisoner and he’ll probably get his redemption storyline because of it. He’ll heroically save her or something like that. Or maybe he can magically fly a plane. I don’t know. I didn’t care for this storyline all that much.

I wish they would give Athena some better storylines. I love the character, but I don’t like what they keep doing to her. I don’t like the person she becomes when she goes into supercop-mode like that. Anyway, just a personal opinion. If you feel differently about this, great for you.

Overall, I really liked most of the episode. It was fun, scary, exciting and I didn’t even check once to see when it would be over. Which is always a good sign.

Onwards to next week!

[justa-fanfic-writer]

– How could this happen?

Yandere, OOC?, didn't know where the plot would go, reader is deaf, shitty ending, and other warnings I don't know blah blah blah...

Trafalgar Law x Gender Neutral Reader

Symmary: Basically, you have somehow ended up in the One Piece universe, but you're deaf and only use sign language, but luckily, you had joined Trafalgar Law's and his crew the Heart Pirates and you had joined! But something about Law isn't right...

Btw thank you, kiyoahdiy, for this idea credits to them and but I had a hard time writing this since it was hard coming up with this story would go, so I especially hope you liked this!

---------‐-----‐-----‐-----------------

Waking up to the familiar sensation of the ocean’s rhythmic sway beneath you, you had to remind yourself—yet again—that this wasn’t some strange, vivid dream. You really had ended up in the world of One Piece. The sight of the bright, open sea stretching endlessly around you was beautiful yet disorienting, a constant reminder of how surreal your situation was. What had started as a normal night back in your world had turned into a reality where you found yourself stranded in this dangerous yet exciting universe.

At first, you had struggled, not just with the shock of being thrown into this pirate-filled world but also with how to communicate. Being deaf meant that you couldn’t hear the chaos around you, and your way of communicating—sign language—was foreign to everyone here. You had felt more isolated than ever.

That was until you met Trafalgar Law and his crew.

The Heart Pirates, initially wary of your sudden appearance, had quickly taken a liking to you. Bepo, the giant talking mink, had been the first to show interest in learning how you communicated, his wide, fluffy paws trying their best to mimic the signs you taught him. Penguin and Shachi followed, eager to help bridge the gap between you and the rest of the crew.

And Law… Law had been watching you closely the entire time. From the moment you stepped on his ship, his amber eyes had never strayed far from you. He was quiet, calculating, as though he was studying every aspect of you—not just your movements but the very essence of who you were. It had unnerved you at first, but you’d quickly chalked it up to his nature. Trafalgar Law was a brilliant tactician, always thinking ahead, always planning. You had assumed his interest was nothing more than that of a captain trying to understand a new crewmate.

It wasn’t until one fateful night that you realized there was much more to it.

•~•

The crew had been sitting around the deck after a long day, the sound of laughter and conversation filling the air—though you could only see their smiles, their body language giving away the friendly banter. Bepo had sat beside you, signing clumsily about the day’s events, and you couldn’t help but chuckle at his efforts. It felt nice, like you were truly part of the crew.

That’s when Law appeared, as he often did, quietly, his presence casting a shadow over the lighthearted mood. His expression was unreadable, a subtle frown etched across his face as he glanced briefly at the crew before turning his focus solely on you. Without a word, he motioned for you to follow him.

You hesitated, wondering what could be so urgent, but ultimately complied, rising to your feet and trailing behind him. Law led you to the far end of the ship, where the noise of the crew faded, leaving the two of you alone under the stars. The sea breeze was cool, and for a moment, you simply stood there, watching the moonlight dance across the waves.

Law turned to face you, his usual gruff demeanor replaced with something almost… vulnerable. He pulled out a small notepad, something he often used when words weren’t enough to communicate with you, and scribbled something down.

"I want to learn more."

He wrote before flipping the paper around for you to see. You had blinked in surprise. You had been teaching the crew basic sign language for weeks now, but Law had always stood on the sidelines, watching with that intense gaze of his. Yet he never seemed interested in joining.

Before you could sign a response, Law continued writing.

"But I want you to teach me. Alone."

Your heart skipped a beat. This wasn’t like Law. The captain was always distant, calculating, rarely showing any signs of personal interest. Why now? And why alone?

You nodded cautiously, curious but unsure of his intentions. You began showing him some basic signs, expecting him to struggle as the others had, but Law, true to his reputation as a quick learner, picked up the language with ease. His movements were precise, controlled—just like him.

The two of you spent hours like that, the rest of the crew long asleep, as you taught him more and more. And the more he learned, the closer he seemed to get. Literally. His presence was starting to be overwhelming, the space between the two of you growing smaller with each passing moment. You could feel the heat of his body next to yours, and every time your hands brushed during a sign, a strange tension built in the air.

Eventually, Law stopped signing, his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your pulse quicken. His expression shifted slightly, his usual cold exterior softening ever so subtly.

And then he signed something with his that made your heart stop.

“Be mine.”

You froze, your mind racing to comprehend what you had just seen. Your eyes widened in disbelief, wondering if you had misinterpreted his signs, but Law’s gaze was unwavering, his hands still poised in the air, waiting for your response.

You had never considered romance to be a possibility in this world—especially not with Trafalgar Law. He was always so focused, so guarded. And you? You had resigned yourself to thinking that love was out of reach, that surviving in this world was all you could hope for.

But here he was, asking you to be his... his lover...

You hesitated, a million thoughts running through your mind at once. Was this real? Could you even trust him? Law was powerful and brilliant, but he was also ruthless. You had seen firsthand how he commanded his crew with an iron will, how he controlled every aspect of his surroundings. Was this just another form of control?

Yet, despite the uncertainty, despite the unease swirling in your gut, you found yourself smiling. Something about the way he was looking at you, the vulnerability hidden behind those amber eyes, made you want to believe that this was genuine.

You shook your head slightly, trying to clear your doubts, and as you had blushed a bit as heat was coming in your face as you signed.

“I accept.”

For a moment, Law’s expression didn’t change. He simply stared at you, his face unreadable. But then his eyes narrowed, his lips pressing into a small smirk as his brows had furrowed. He looked almost…pleased? As if he knew you would accept... Or perhaps something deeper, something darker was lurking behind his gruff exterior.

He stepped closer, his presence now fully overwhelming, his eyes piercing into yours with a possessive intensity. You had sealed your fate, though you didn’t realize it at the time. The moment you accepted his confession, the moment you agreed to be his, you had unknowingly surrendered to something far more dangerous than you could have imagined.

-(So how's your day been...?)- XD

From that point on, Law’s possessiveness became suffocating. It wasn’t obvious at first. To the crew, things seemed normal, but you could feel the shift. He would always be nearby, watching, waiting. If you spent too much time with the others, even if it was something as innocent as teaching Bepo a new sign, Law would find a way to interrupt, his hand resting on your shoulder as a silent reminder of his claim over you.

It became clear that Law didn’t want anyone else near you—not even his own crew.

One evening, while you were sitting with Penguin and Shachi, showing them some new phrases, Law appeared as if from nowhere. He didn’t say anything, just stood there, arms crossed, his expression as dark as the night around you. The others quickly picked up on the tension and made an excuse to leave, but you could see the worry in their eyes.

As soon as they were gone, Law pulled you aside, his grip firm but not painful. His eyes burned with something intense, something you hadn’t seen before.

“They’re not important”

He sighed quickly, his movements sharp and precise.

“You are important. Only to me.”

You frowned, signing back that the crew mattered, that they were your friends, and was also Law's crew, but Law’s gaze darkened.

“I don’t care”

He sighed as his hands moved with frustration as he was signing with his hands.

“No one else gets to be close to you. Just me.”

You felt a chill run down your spine at his words. This wasn’t love—it was obsession. And you were trapped in the middle of it.

•~•

The final straw came when the Heart Pirates met up with the Straw Hat crew. Luffy, in his usual carefree manner, had approached you, all smiles and curiosity. He tried to communicate with you, his wide eyes filled with excitement, but before you could even sign a greeting, Law was there.

His hand gripped your arm tightly as he stepped between you and Luffy, his eyes cold and dangerous.

“Strawhat-ya”

He said, his voice low and threatening.

“Back off.”

Luffy blinked, confused, but shrugged it off, turning his attention elsewhere. But you could see it—Law’s possessiveness was spiraling out of control. No one was allowed near you. No one but him.

That night, as you lay in your bunk, you realized the truth. Law didn’t love you—not in the way you had hoped. He was obsessed, consumed by the need to control every aspect of your life. You had thought that joining the Heart Pirates would give you a chance to survive, a chance to live in this dangerous world.

But in accepting Law’s love, you had sealed your fate. You weren’t just part of the crew. You were his prisoner.

And no matter how hard you tried to escape, no matter how much you wanted to be free, Law would never let you go. You were his, and he would make sure no one else ever came close to you again.

As Law had kissed you, and the kiss was nothing more on how much he loved you... in a sick and twisted way. The kiss was how Law had held your waist so tightly as if he didn't want to let go...

As the two of you kept kissing as after a few more moments of passionate kissing, Law had said something that made your spine chill.

"You're mine (M/N)-ya and mine alone."

And as Law gave you one more kiss on the lips, you could see the smirk on his face as if he knew he was right.

---------------------------------------

Yeah, this was hard to write, especially with school and how i could barely think of the plot, too, and sorry if it had been a long time as I posted... again...

[unknownperson246]

*this was based off a request but I accidentally deleted the old copy of this fic from tumblr so I am reuploading it*

Confused:

words: 615

warnings: *fluff*

✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ:*

You had just gotten your wisdom teeth removed. Axl your boyfriend had driven you back home after you were all loopy from surgery. You were oddly quiet for someone who just got their wisdom teeth removed with anesthesia involved in the procedure. Axl was worried the entire time. You were dazed and confused. You were so out of it. Suddenly a fear you never told Axl about came to your head. You waited until you got home trying so hard not to say it out loud fearing that it would make Axl crash his car. Even when you felt like you were in another world you still were very cautious and rational about things. You loved Axl like crazy. You would do anything for him. He knew instantly he would do anything for you. Your fear was an ass and it kept haunting you ever since you were with Axl. You were always so worried that he was going to cheat on you or that he already had. The anesthesia wasn’t helping your paranoia. You and Axl finally got home after the tense drive. Axl was worried that you were quiet and not saying anything goofy because generally, anyone with anesthesia is loud and very verbal. 

“Babe you okay?” They were Axl's first word since after your wisdom teeth surgery. 

“Mhm.” your answer was short.

“I’m scared you're cheating on me,” you said to Axl with your lips starting to quiver.

“What? Finally, the anesthesia hit you!” Axl giggled.

He noticed your lips quivering and he realized that it wasn’t a joke anymore. 

“You’re serious?” He asked you not knowing how much this question affected you.

He was starting to wonder how often you thought he was cheating on you. He was mad but he knew it wasn’t your fault. Despite his anger, he wrapped his arms around you to comfort you in your confusing and scary haze. You wanted to hug him forever. You never wanted to let go of him. You wanted to know that Axl was yours forever. He broke the hug and saw the tears in your eyes. He wiped them gently.  

“Please don’t break up with me” You begged Axl with a pleading tone.

“Shh, I’m not going to break up with you. Honey the anesthesia is just making you think scary and funny thoughts. I promise that I’m not cheating on you or that I’m not going to break up with you” Axl whispered knowing how much of a headache you're probably in. 

Axl held your hips and he carried you into the bedroom over his shoulder because every time you moved you fell over.

“Here, lay down in bed,” Axl said before he moved the blankets out of the way for you. 

You took his hand as he helped you lay down. He got in the space beside you and he calmed you down. You felt a lot better from Axl reassuring you. You were glad his temper didn’t spike up. 

“Axl my mouth hurts,” You said grabbing them and rubbing your cheeks.

Axl grabbed your hand off of your face.

“Honey, don't do that. That will make the pain worse and it won’t heal quickly.” Axl had gotten you some salt water to help with the pain. 

“Rinse your mouth with this later. Once you're less loopy. I will help you” He said, giving your cheek a quick peck. 

“Let’s go to sleep now,” You said, sounding a bit more like your usual self now.

“Sure,” Axl said as he laid down and draped the blanket over you and himself making sure you were all warm and cozy. 

You and Axl fell asleep until the next morning. 

[avonne-writes]

omgggg, omega buckyyyy and alpha buck makes me go feral!!!!! do you have any hva about them??

I wonder if this was brought on by Austin's latest photos 😏🔥

My primary alpha Gale headcanon is that he nests because he represses his romantic feelings for Bucky.

A few other headcanons:

I think Bucky had his heart broken several times by alphas before getting involved with Gale, so Gale feels very protective of him and can see right through his bullshit when Bucky pretends he’s fine. Gale's gentle but firm with him. He’s Bucky's pillar.

As in every au, I headcanon them being playful with each other and flexible about their roles within the relationship. They have preferences, but they can always switch it up if the other needs.

Bucky is a needy, bratty omega who outright craves being dominated during sex. He pushes back against it only because bumping into the boundaries constantly reminds him he’s with his alpha.

Gale is good at nonverbal communication and grounding touches. He doesn’t need to say a single word, Bucky will be able to understand what Gale's telling him and he’ll calm down.

Gale smells amazing (this is canon), and he also has a good nose, so he and Bucky scent each other often.

[minniethemoocherda]

You Are The Weapon I Chose: Chapter 3

A/N: I have been loving everyone's fics/arts/etc for Morpherine week! I am sorry that I haven't been able to participate in it myself as much as I would have liked! But I hope you guys enjoy this chapter for the prompt Slice Of Life! Xxxxxxx

@morpherine-events

Ao3

FF.net

"I told you to wake me ." Logan grumbled, rotating the crick out of his neck from where it had been resting against Morph's shoulder.

"Sorry." Morph said, not sounding very sorry at all. "But I did already got some Zzzs before. And besides, you needed it more."

Logan grumbled again, not finding an excuse to argue against that. He'd felt less exhausted fighting Magneto with a single hand and metallic skeleton.

He wondered if all kids were as exhausting or if it was just Laura.

He'd still barely begun to wrap his head around the idea that he had a kid.

He'd never wanted kids. He didn't want anther person to care about that he knew eventually he would lose. At least Laura had inherited his heeling factor. Then again, he knew first hand that there were some scars that could never heal. And unfortunately he knew that the kid already had more scars than she ever should have.

"I'll get started on breakfast." Morph said, interrupting his thoughts before they could spiral any further. Logan swore they must've been able to borrow people's telepathy with how often they did that.

Morph pressed a kiss to his cheek, fingernails scratching along his neck as they got up. Logan watched the soft sway of their hips as they headed down the corridor, wondering how he ever would've been able to get through this without them.

With a sigh, Logan stretched his adamantium skeleton before getting to his feet.

"You awake kid?" Logan asked as he knocked on her door.

A few seconds after the expected lack of response, he slowly opened the door.

In the dim morning light, he could make out the bright blue of her open eyes. It still felt strange to see those eyes outside of a mirror. She looked alert but not like she had been awake for hours. She probably already heard them moving around outside before he came into her room. Hopefully she got some sleep.

"C'mon, Morph's makin' breakfast." Logan told her, nodding his head towards the door.

She stared at him for a moment, and in those blue eyes, Logan could see that familiar flash of stubbornness for stubbornness sake.

But having not eaten anything in over twenty-four hours, the hunger must've won out in the end as a moment later, she was up and pushing past him out the door.

Logan could smell the scent of breakfast and Laura must've smelt them too as she didn't need any guidance on her way to the kitchen.

Within the mid-century modern tiles, Morph was humming along to some pop song on the radio as they fried at least three packs of sausages on the stove. They had Gambit's kiss the cook apron on and with how the bow rested on the curve of their ass, Logan was very tempted to take them up on that offer.

Distracted, Logan nearly stumbled into Laura who has stopped in the doorway. She glanced between the food and the rest of the room as though not sure what to make of it. It then struck Logan that the kid had probably never seen a kitchen before. He marched past her and sat himself down at the island instead of matching off and hunt down every last peice of shit who had ever been involved in that hellhole of a lab.

Laura copied him, sitting in the chair besides him, her short legs swinging off the edge of the stool.

The scene was so impossibly domestic that he felt he'd been shot in the head.

He didn't deserve this. Not after all the shit he'd done. But Morph was giving him that look that again made him wonder if they could read minds. Because he knew that they knew what he was thinking. And that he wasn't going to say it because he knew what they would say since the pair of them had talked about it too many times. That Morph had been through the same shit he had. So did they not deserve this either? Which was a fucking stupid question because of cause they fucking did! They deserved everything! And if they did then, maybe Logan could have this too.

"Good morning Laura." Morph smiled, once again interrupting Logan from his own head. "If you're anything like you're Daddy, then I'm sure you've probably got a big appetite."

Laura stomach grumbled in response.

"That's why I like to hear." Morph laughed, placing a pile of sausages in front of he, before placing another in front of Logan. "Your Daddy likes some sausage in the morning too."

Logan choked before he'd even put any food in his mouth.

Morph didn't even try to hide their giggle.

Grumbling, Logan sliced one of the sausages with his left claws before stabbing one of the pieces with his right.

He was about to take a bite when out of the corner of his eye, he saw Laura do the exact same thing.

Morph gave him a pointed look.

Logan sighed. He picked up his knife and fork, cutting up his food and guiding it to his mouth in the traditional way.

Laura watched. And took a bite out of the one still on her claws.

Logan shrugged.

"You want ketchup on that?" He asked.

"Logan!" Morph chastised as though after that earlier comment they too didn't also need a refresh on appropriate breakfast behaviour.

"What?" Logan protested, trying his best not to dribble ketchup onto Laura's claws. "I'll teach her not to stab people first. Then we can get to table manners."

Logan turned his attention back to his own meal when-

"Daddy?"

Logan froze, for a moment convinced that his enhanced hearing was playing tricks on him. Then he heard it again.

"Daddy? More ketchup?"

It probably wasn't her first word. Or heck maybe it was. But it was definitely the first word he'd heard come out of her mouth. Logan had sat through enough of Morph's made for TV family channel films to be familiar with the scene when a parent hears their baby call them that for the first time. Logan had always thought that moment was something made for movies not in real life. And as anyone would tell you The Wolverine was not a crier but right now Logan felt like they could cry with the realisation that fuck he really was a father now and that he loved his daughter more than life itself.

Morph didn't have the same reservations, openly sniffling over the pan.

Lost in his own head, Logan hadn't realised that they never gave an answer until Laura froze. Her claws, drew closer to her chest, protective of her meagre meal. As though simply asking for more sauce was too selfish of a request.

Logan made a vow that he was going to personally send every last person who'd ever set foot in that facility to hell.

But first-

"Darlin' you can have as much ketchup as you fuckin' want."

[beef-brisket]

Devil and the Priest!au

(Feel free to change the name- it's 1am where I am, so my brain is starting to fry lol)

@things-arent-what-they-seem66 @fanofstuff01

---

Lucifer drove through the country side, he's been behind the wheel for nearly 5 hours. He didn't realize how much of a drive getting to this monastery. He knew it was remote but this is getting ridiculous- he should have brought snacks.

He glanced out his window every now and then to take in the scenery. He's currently driving past a large body of water, where he spotted a small island. He wishes he was over there, with no worries or expectations. With no one but himself. The Vatican has been on his ass lately about making this trip. Apparently, there was something 'dark- and 'unsettling' at this monastery. If any of the priests he knew were anything to go by, it was probably just them. He swore they refused to die, they had more wrinkles than brain cells.

Lucifer turned his radio up, some type of rock song was one, it was a big no no to be listening to music like this, it's his car. Driver picks the music, and the Vatican shuts their cake hole.

Finally, as the sun was setting, Lucifer arrived at the monastery. The large stone building loomed over him, maybe the Vatican was right, this place was unsettling. He felt like he was being watched, the multiple colours in the sky masking how decrepit this place actually is. Pulling out a brochure from his pocket, Lucifer couldn't help but smirk, they're really trying to market this place like it's a holiday retreat.

Lucifer: "Welcome to the Hazbin. Find not only sanctuary and enlightenment but also beaches and the best crab around!" ...right, definitely staying away from the crab then...

After an exhausted sign, Lucifer licked his car and picked up his bags. Making his way towards the large wooden doors, Lucifer couldn't help but dread the next two or three hours, all he wanted was to hop into bed and close the world off foe a few hours but he'd probably have to take the whole tour and- ew- meeting people.

He shuddered at the thought.

Lucifer: I wonder if I could convince them to leave the formalities till tomorrow...

Lucifer gripped a huge, iron door knocker and banged it three times. He knew this could take a while so he prepared to get comfortable- until the door was pulled open.

Priest: Hello! And welcome to the Hazbin! How can I assist you this fine evening!

Lucifer: uh- yeah- hi, my name Luicfer, I've been told to come here by the Vatican- I've been told you're expecting me...?

Priest: hm... Lucifer...

The man flicked through a small book, humming every so often. What's the point in having glasses if you still can't read a damn book.

Lucifer: look man- sir- it's been a long drive, I'd really like to just get to sleep-

Priest: ah! Yes! Here you are, Lucifer! Please, come right in! We've been expecting you for hours, your overseer said you would be here this morning- but better late than never I suppose!

The man moved aside to let Lucifer in. He really didn't like this guy, but that's not new, priest are pretty... eccentric.

The man shit the door behind him, using at least six locks to secure it.

Priest: pardon my manners, Lucifer! My name is Alastor- Father Alastor. And I'll be your superior while you're here

Ah, great. He has to answer to this... lovely man. Forcing a smile, Lucifer did what he did best: lie.

Lucifer: that's very exciting Father Alastor, look forward to working with you and getting to know this place more personally!

Alastor: oh, I could imagine! I'm sure you've heard a lot about me! I've been in charge of five other monasteries before this one! All saw a raise in volunteers and profits.

Lucifer: that's fantastic, Father. It's a real honor to be working on this project with you-

Alastor: "project", yes, that's one word to describe it.

Alastor lead Lucifer down a long hall, hebcouldbt believe how quiet it was. He was told there were at least 60-70 nuns and other workers here but it just seemed abandoned.

Thankfully, Alastor showed Lucifer to his room, it was large with a queen bed in the middle. It didn't have much furniture, just a set of draws and a desk out looking the garden. It was dead and overgrown, but the air was fresh, he'll have to start taking up writing again.

Alastor: well! Lucifer, it is a real pleasure to have you here! Tomorrow I'll show you around and I introduce you to some of the other occupants here- there are quite a few so I do expect you to introduce yourself to some of them in your own time.

Lucifer dumped his bags on his bed, and turned to face Alastor.

Lucifer: that understandable. Thank you for this Alastor, I'll see you in the morning-

Alastor: bright and early Mr Lucifer. I like to get the day started as the break of dawn

Of course he does.

Lucifer: great! I better get some sleep then

Alastor: yes, you should. Goodnight Lucifer

Finally, Lucifer was alone. Or at least he hoped. He still hasn't shaking that feeling from earlier. Except this time, he was certain nothing was watching him, Alastor seemed to be the only other living thing here. And that's giving the bastard a lot of credit. Not once did he stop smiling- Lucifer already wants to wipe that look off his face.

All Lucifer wanted to do was sleep, so he got comfortable and started to drift off.

[cloudzoro]

Experience | Joseph Joestar

masterlist

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“Have you had a lot to drink, little lady?”

“One hundred percent sober. This is just water,” you say, swirling your glass. Joseph nods, glad for the fact. “I'll be in room 514 if you want to come and see me.”

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genre: smut (minors dni)

pairings: joseph x reader

wc: 1.8k

cw: fem!reader, unprotected sex, prone bone, oral, old man joseph

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The Stardust Crusaders are in a hotel bar, taking a well-needed overnight rest stop on their quest to find Dio. Joseph observes the others quietly; Polnareff gets frequently distracted from his conversation with Avdol by a pretty woman who stops to flirt with him. Kakyoin is entertaining the girls rejected by Jotaro, who rolls his eyes at the girls flocking to him. Joseph feels jealousy creeping in at all the younger men being surrounded, but then he spots you sitting at the bar. You joined them at the beginning of their quest, having your own business with Dio.

He nods his head at you, flattered by your unabashed staring. You give him a small wave as an invitation to come and talk to you, which he immediately accepts. He slips onto the barstool next to you. To Joseph, you're the prettiest woman in the room.

“What's your name, gorgeous?” he grins as you roll your eyes at the man who you've made good acquaintances with in recent weeks. You play along with his corny joke, giving him your name and holding your hand out for him to shake. Joseph doesn't shake your hand, instead bringing it up to his lip and pressing the softest kisses to your knuckles. “What a beautiful name for such a beautiful lady,” he says in a dramatic voice. It makes you laugh, something Joseph has enjoyed doing since you've got more comfortable.

“What's your name, Sir?” you ask, keeping the facade going. Joseph knows it's sick, but hearing you call him sir makes heat rise under his skin.

“Joestar, Joseph Joestar,” he introduces himself, and you politely nod. He started the role play as a joke; he'd been joking around with you to help assimilate you into the group, but he's intrigued to see where this will go.

“I noticed you were staring over at my table. Did any of my buddies catch your eye?” he asks. Maybe it was personal of him to ask, but he wanted to know your feelings towards the others. He likes you, who wouldn't, but he wonders if you feel the same. Maybe you'd be more suited to someone closer to your age, such as Polnareff. Joseph doesn't expect your answer. In fact, it has him flustered.

“Just you, Sir. The others aren't my type. I like a man with experience who can take care of me,” You say. Joseph flounders for a response. A blush settles on his face. He's so confident, especially with women, that he doesn't get this flustered very often. Joseph supposes his attraction to you is obvious. He gets bolder with flirtation and touching with every passing day. He didn't expect you to be so forthright with him.

“Have you had a lot to drink, little lady?”

“One hundred percent sober. This is just water,” you say, swirling your glass. Joseph nods, glad for the fact. “I'll be in room 514 if you want to come and see me.”

He knows. He knows exactly what room you're staying in because it's his room. Avdol had offered to get you your own room, but you'd insisted it would be cheaper for you to room with someone. When they had let you choose your roommate, you chose Joseph without hesitation. His eyes are fixed on you as you get up and leave the room. You have the upper hand; it's not a position Joseph finds himself in often, and it intrigues him. He gives you a minute to get closer to your room before giving chase and following you. He reaches you before you reach your room.

“Y/N,” his tone is slightly more serious as he speaks your name. “Are you sure about this?” he asks. Neither of you had expected Joseph to be the one who dropped the role play first. You nod enthusiastically, reaching up to pull him down to your eye level.

“Mr Joestar-”

“Please, call me Joseph.” He interrupts you to correct you.

“Joseph, I want you so bad. I chose to room with you in hopes you would stop flirting with me and finally do something about it.” You punctuate your sentence by taking his hat from his head and placing it on yours. Joseph enjoys your fiery attitude. You look damn good in his hat, and it's driving him crazy. He laughs at your confirmation and lifts you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. You squeal, but you accept your fate. You don't move too much, only kicking your legs once when he smacks your ass.

When Joseph reaches your shared room, he unceremoniously drops you down on the mattress. He wastes no time taking off his shirt, throwing it to the floor beside him. He encourages you to take your clothes off. He helps you strip down, eagerly pulling your trousers down your legs and throwing them onto the pile with his shirt and undershirt. He sits on the edge of the bed and pulls your underwear-clad body to his lap. You straddle him. You remove his hat and add it to the pile.

“Sweet girl,” he hums, one hand rubbing the back of your thighs and the other caressing the side of your face. “Are you gonna let a dirty old bastard like me kiss you?”

You don't verbally respond, instead pulling him into a kiss. He'd forgotten how good it felt to have someone in his arms. You grind onto his lap and moan into his mouth. For all your big talk earlier, you're completely at his mercy. Joseph's tongue pushes against your mouth, and the ease with which you let him in has him bucking his hips up against you. His kisses move down your neck as he feels up your body. He's so pent up he could probably cum just from grinding against you, but he holds off. As he's getting older, his recovery time is going down. He lifts you enough to turn and lay you against the pillows.

He crawls onto the bed so that he's hovering over you and leans down to take one of your nipples into his mouth. It's been a while since he's had a pretty girl underneath him, so he makes the most of it, savouring the feeling of your tits. He moves to your other nipple, showing it equal love. You're squirming impatiently beneath him, desperate for him to touch you where you need it most.

“Patience,” he scolds, continuing his journey down your body. He kisses across your stomach to your hips, leaving a trail of bite marks and saliva. When he gets to your pussy, Joseph grabs ahold of your thighs and spreads them open for him. It takes you a second to realise that he's just staring at it in awe, making you shiver. “You'll have to excuse my enthusiasm, Sweetheart. It's been a while since I've had a good meal.”

He leans in to press his tongue to your cunt, licking from your drooling hole up to your clit where he flicks his tongue. He's experienced, and he's picking up quickly on the exact pace and angle that's going to make you cum fastest. He pushes two fingers into your hole as he greedily eats you out. It feels so good you grab fistfuls of the bedsheet to ground you. The walls are thin, but you're having difficulty caring at all when Joseph's tongue and fingers are sending shockwaves through your body. Each melodic moan of his name is met with an appreciative hum that vibrates against your sensitive clit.

It doesn't take long to send you over the edge, your sanity falling alongside you. Joseph works you through your orgasm, keeping his fingers curled inside you and replacing his tongue on your clit with this thumb so that he can lean up to talk to you.

“That feel good?” he asks, gently slowing his movements. You shakily nod, whimpering as he wholly pulls his fingers from your cunt. He raises them to his mouth, loudly sucking your juices off of his fingers. He makes an obscene noise, dramatizing the taste. It both flatters you and makes you laugh.

“Joseph, stop being ridiculous,” you laugh, pulling him in even closer.

“Nothing ridiculous about it. You're a fine delicacy,” he retorts, leaning in to kiss you, hoping the taste of you, the taste he can see himself getting addicted to, is still on his tongue so you can experience the wonder for yourself. You roll your eyes and deepen this kiss, pressing your tongue into his mouth. You use the distraction to grab his belt buckle. Joseph moans against your lips as you undo his belt and thread it through the loops of his trousers. He stops you short of yanking the zipper by grabbing your wrist and pulling away from your face.

“I'll ask you one more time, Y/N. Are you sure you want me?”

“I've never been more desperate for anything in my life,” you say. He slots his mouth against yours for one last kiss before he lays you down gently on your back. He focuses pretty hard on you, desperate not to cum so soon. He guides his stiff cock into your hole, stretching you out. You've never had anyone the size of Joseph before, and it takes some adjusting before you ask him to move. Joseph doesn't do quick fucks or shallowness; his cock grinds hard and deep inside you, harsh thrusts driving you into the mattress beneath you.

You moan and writhe beneath, calling his name like a mantra. In his ego-fueled stupor, Joseph pulls back to flip you over. Normally, he would take care and stuff a pillow under your hips, but both of you are way beyond that point. He drapes himself over your back, locking you flat against the mattress as he fucks you. His words are slurring into growls, and the echoes fill the room along with your incoherent moans of his name. You cum again. Your orgasm barrels into you like nothing you've ever felt before. Your pussy practically strangles Joseph's cock as you gush around him and onto the sheets below you. Your pulsing walls spur him on to his own intense orgasm, and Joseph tucks his face into your shoulder, groaning as he empties his balls inside you. It's been a while, so he savours the feeling of filling up your perfect pussy. He grunts in your ear about how good you feel around him and thanks you for letting him cum inside you. Joseph lifts himself off of you, rolling your naked, exhausted body onto your back.

“So how was I for an old timer?” he jokes, covering up the tension building now that the passion and fire are out of the way.

“So fucking good, you sell yourself short. I don't think I've ever cum like that in my life.” You say, taking deep breaths between sentences as you're still catching your breath.

“Speaking of cum, we better get you in the shower and clean you up, huh?”

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this is my first jjba fic! I'm so excited to share her with you and I hope you enjoyed reading :)))