#he has to be careful around people anyways because his claws are very Sharp!!!

[keravnous]

desperado! ; tangerine/fem!reader (smut 18+)

read pt. 1 here | read pt. 3 here | read pt. 4 here

The Twins are laying low in Amsterdam. Growing bored of being stuck in the hideout all day, Tangerine decides to explore what the shifty parts of the city have to offer at night.

word count: 12,9k

warnings: i mean if atj can dance then tangerine can too, tango dancing bc it's very sexy and steamy ok; car sex, head while driving, oral (male receiving), masturbation (female), fingering, rough and passionate sex, undernegotiated kinks: (light) spanking, daddy kink (once or twice), unprotected sex, choking, pet names, dirty talk, name calling, hotel sex; they steal a car bc why not, short intro from tangerine's pov, small glimpses into his dysfunctionality, rather slow story development at the beginning, i still have very strong feelings about this angry man so please, have this

title is from the song of the same name, desperado by rihanna

the songs they're dancing to are esta noche en vivo by carlos libedinsky and otra luna by narcotango

mel said: kinda sad we didnt get to suck his dick in bathroom b!tch and I said: same

The air is still warm and a little humid despite the late hour, filled with laughter and the sweet, sweet smell of alcohol and marihuana, sweat and summer. Tangerine takes another drag from his cigarette, watches how the smoke curls into the dark sky, illuminated by the colourful lights of the city. He takes a deep breath.

He sighs, relishes in the way his shoulders relax. He feels alive -- again; finally. It's a real relief, has his limbs going a little slack. He had felt anger clawing at his chest for the past week now, the beast inside ripping his skin to shreds and lashing out with its razor-sharp claws - mostly at his brother. But since he had left the flat about an hour ago it has been curled up rather peacefully in his chest, with a satisfied purr in sync with his heartbeat.

Next to him, the water in the canals lays calmly, reflecting the city's lights and echoing the clinking of glasses and music that wafts through the streets. Tangerine passes by a restaurant, people sitting outside under string lights, drinking, chatting, eating and he watches them as he strolls by. They radiate happiness and it catches onto him like a wave, has him smiling at the sight. He takes another drag of his cigarette, enjoys the way the smoke burns in his throat. Jesus Christ, how he had missed this.

There just aren't enough books, good books, that can keep him holed up in a small flat for a whole fucking month. And thus, he had decided to break - well, bend - the rules a little tonight.

Their contact, Henk, had told him about that one spot where one could get anything: from alcohol to various drugs and weapons, maybe even a hitman. If one's lucky. And Tangerine does feel a whole lot of fucking luck pumping through his veins tonight, making him feel a little light-headed, stardust at the heels of his shoes.

His chest feels light and his feet are practically flying over the cobblestones, a smile toying with the corners of his mouth as he lays his head back, watches the illuminated sky above - exhales smoke, inhales the night.

A group of students staggers by, laughing and cheering, passing a bottle of liquor around. His gaze follows them, nostalgia tearing at his heartstrings as he remembers the times when Lemon and him were just that - young and without a care in the world.

Now, their hands are sticky with blood - metaphorically, he had washed his well and thoroughly after last month's job went wrong - and they are both in hiding. Again.

Lemon insisted it would be careless to go out at night, at any time of the day really - "That's bollocks, mate. You can't just go out, can ya? What if they sent someone after us?" -, but especially if it was just to have some fun. Because fuck fun, right?

But, there is nothing else to do anyways, with the way his brain always, always finds a way back to his own recent failure and how it was linked to Bolivia.

Bolivia -- it still leaves him sleepless and shaking sometimes, just like tonight.

Tangerine had been pacing the living room craving a drink until Lemon fell asleep, and then decided that he needed a change of scenery, something to take his mind of the carnage and its debris.

"Yeah, let's just all go fuckin' insane in that flat, huh", Tangerine huffs to himself, looking at his phone. It beeps, signalling him that he is getting closer to his destination. His feet carry him through the streets of Amsterdam, a warm summer breeze rustles his silk shirt and cools his warm skin as he passes by restaurants, bars and closed book and flower shops.

Eventually, he comes to a halt in front of a launderette: Wassen bij Muriel.

The neon lights inside are on, illuminating the sidewalk in a cold white. He blinks. There is no one inside but an old lady behind the counter and a grimly looking man sitting on a plastic stool in the back corner. He can hear faint music coming from behind the glass door.

To an unsuspecting tourist it would look like a rancid shop but to him, it doesn't. Tangerine knows better, has been to a lot of places like this.

"Alright", he says - lets his neck crack once, twice and throws his cigarette away - before pushing the door open, the bell above ringing.

***

You watch your friend leaning down towards the young woman, sitting in a darkened corner. Your father never wanted you to befriend any of his third or fourth row dealers but you never were one to follow rules, always going for the next thrill, the next rush of adrenaline. But tonight, there's been no rush so far, no tingling of your veins - just pure and blank boredom.

You had picked out your favourite dress in the prospect of being offered to dance with a handsome stranger, even ditched on the underwear to make sure the thin fabric hugged your curves nicely, but the men in here are mostly uninteresting, ordinary - simple dealers or lowlife thugs, street criminals that steal money from unwary tourists.

You watch how your friend, with a quick sleight of hand, exchanges cocaine for money, laughing at the woman like she is an old friend and then makes his way back to the bar. He winks at you and squeezes past a young couple, orders himself a drink.

You swirl your glass between your fingers, watching the remaining puddle of wine running up and down its walls - dripping down like blood - and then bring it up to your lips, emptying it in one sip. The taste is warm and full, rich and you close your eyes for a moment, allowing yourself to get lost in the strumming of the band's contrabass and the red wine on your tongue. It reminds you of that one time in Bogotá, when you and your father had visited his suppliers - wine and music melting together with the summer heat, having you dream of the jungle, old villages, and the beaches of private islands off the coast.

Your father had dragged you along once more, this time to Amsterdam, despite your pleas not to - "You will have to take over one day and I want you to be prepared" - and you were gladly sneaking away when your friend invited you to spend the night at his favourite bar.

It is a tango joint and a beautiful place, an old basement with low ceilings and a small bar, people and furniture bathed in colourful neon lights. Purple and red are dancing across faces and sweaty bodies - swirling over the dance floor or pressed against the cold walls, tongues shoved into mouths - reflecting off glasses and expensive jewellery.

It is a place where people like you and your friends get together: the upcoming generation of an international crime elite, sons and daughters throwing away their parents’ blood or drug money, getting high and drunk hidden by the shadows of the night, staying awake until the sun rises again. It's a place where people like you mix and mingle with those working for your families, a welcome change to a certain hierarchy at something a civilian would naively call a safe space.

You open your eyes again, as the band starts to play a new song, blinking while your eyes adjust to the dim, colourful lights. There still are couples swirling across the dance floor to the sensual rhythm of the tango, that the small band in the back is playing. You let out a sigh at both, the loneliness and the boredom creeping in on you, and turn around on your barstool to order yourself another drink as --

Your shoulder suddenly connects heavily with something firm and warm - triggering a muttered Fuckin' hell - and a second later the man, who you just bumped into, turns around. He looks pissed, left eye twitching.

"'M sorry", you say quickly, a little taken aback by both: his anger and his beauty. The former doesn't seem to last very long, with his lips tilting up a little, eyes gleaming mischievously while they dance over your frame.

"Apology accepted, love", he has a strong northern British accent, like some of your father's business partners do.

But he is arguably a lot more handsome than any of them are. Dark, combed, and slicked back hair that curls right over his shoulders building a nice contrast to his light blue, short-sleeved silk shirt, unbuttoned down to his belly - exposing golden jewellery. The necklace shines warmly against his pale skin, glimmering purple in the dim lights.

It might be the alcohol and the loneliness but you really, really want to just dart one hand out, run it over his chest and his neck, feeling his warmth and the few locks of chest hair, smelling and tasting the scent of summer on his skin.

You wonder what he does, what his profession is. The 70s porn-stache, vintage Rolex and golden rings scream Miami and you can't help but imagine him in the hot sun, bare chested, blood on his hands - red red red - cutting open bricks of cocaine -

"May I get you a drink, love?", his voice pulls you out of your daydreams and you blink. He must've caught you staring.

You know, that men like him usually mean trouble. And yet, you can hear yourself say: "That'd be very nice, thank you."

He lifts two fingers up, signalling the man behind the bar that he wants to order something and you notice that his knuckles are bruised. Blue and green mixing with the red of the scab, partially healed. There are scars on his forearm, meandering between his tattoos and up up up his arm below the soft, expensive silk of his shirt.

The goosebumps that erupt on your skin are nothing but pleasant as you immediately know what type of man he is. Everyone in here is on the market for something: drugs, love, sex, guns - but rarely does one sell murder. Real, cold-blooded murder. Ruthless, fast, dirty.

He's trying to hide it but watching him as he discusses the menu with the bartender, it sticks out like a sore thumb: the well-mannered gestures crash with his fucked-up hands, the way he's dressed like a drug-selling pimp refuses to fit in with his sugar-coated talk and the way he moves can't hide a lingering anger, like a raging beast pacing in a cage.

It is a carefully put together façade, but it's no use against you. You know men like him and you know them well. They don't scare you - quite the opposite, and thus the pure and utter danger he emits has excitement tingling in your stomach. As fucked up as it is: it makes you want him - adrenaline kicking in, shooting a tingle right between your legs.

He turns around again and you lean forward a little, deciding to make your move soon.

"'S a Mezcal Margarita alright with you, love?", he asks and you throw him your most charming smile, nodding.

"We'll take two then, mate", he nods and slides a few bucks over the counter, watches the bartender pouring liquid into a cocktail tumbler.

"Sooo", the man turns around towards you and grins, shows some teeth as his hand vanishes in the pocket of his linen trousers, pulls out a cigarette and lights it up. He's taking a looong deliberate drag, puffing out the smoke, "What's your name, sweetie?"

"Y/N", you reply, gaze dropping to his lips and back up, where his gaze catches yours. He has beautiful eyes, blue like the fucking sea and the purple neon lights make them glow with mischief and smugness - dark and oddly promising, inviting - framed by long lashes.

One of your fingers brushes over his hand, that is resting on the counter. The wooden surface is sticky with half-dried alcohol. His gaze holds yours while he takes another drag of his cigarette. You just might lose yourself in the hue that dances over his eyes.

"And you are?", you say, just loud enough to be audible over the music.

His gaze drops to your fingers that are brushing over his golden rings and he chuckles: "Don't ya try stealing those, sugar, I know that fuckin' trick", and you smile innocently, as he leans in a little, "Name's Tangerine, love." There are cheers erupting from the dancefloor, the rhythm of the music picking up.

You pout playfully and his eyes dance over your face, glimmering mischievously. "Oh", you sigh, "And here I was, thinking you'd may even give me your real name."

"Can't, love, m'sorry."

"Mh pity -- who did you kill?"

"Who said I killed someone?", he's dangerously close now, voice a low rumble.

"Your hands", your fingers dance over the crust of his knuckles and his eyes gleam. For a moment he says nothing and then, towering over your sitting form, voice low and rough:

"Aren't ya afraid o'me, love?"

"Terribly", and he grins at that, his eyes holding yours captive.

"Bet you are", Tangerine hums, barely audible and sticks his cigarette between his lips, one hand darting up, has his thumb gently grazing over your chin.

The touch is nice, soft and gentle but firm, in full control. It makes your chest tingle, sends a wave of pleasure through your body. His eyes flick over your face and you find yourself growing a little hot under his gaze. You wonder is he's going to lean in, ditch his cigarette and --

The bartender places two glasses in front of you and it makes you snap out of it for a second, noticing how close Tangerine got. His thighs are touching your knees and his face is so so close to yours, noses mere inches apart.

"Thanks, mate", Tangerine says, pulls the glasses closer. You watch him - slender fingers getting a little wet with condensed water, cigarette between his lips, chain and bracelet rustling with the sudden movement. There's a thin film of sweat glistening on his chest and it has your thighs clench with raw and utter want, wanting to put your lips onto the firm the muscles, licking his skin clean.

The way his body still presses against your knees, is electrifying and you decide to invite him in more. You let your knees fall apart, making way for him. His gaze drops down and he chuckles to himself but moves in nonetheless, one of his hands gently coming to a rest on your thigh, holding you close and in place. The touch shoves the soft, flowy silk of your cowl dress aside, the slit in the fabric exposing your thigh. Tangerine's hand is warm on your skin, rings pressing cooly against your hot flesh, as he starts groping you - thumb digging into your thigh and you gasp quietly.

"Been wantin' to ask -- what's a pretty girl like you doin' in a place like this, huh?", he says, cigarette bobbing up and down in the corner of his mouth.

"My friend sells blow here", you say truthfully - not a full lie and yet not the complete truth, but you know better than to trust a stranger with your ties to your family's business - and piqued interest flickers through his gaze.

Tangerine then, very languidly, takes another looong drag from his cigarette and taps some of the ash on the counter, holding your gaze with his own. "D'you sell yourself, love?"

You laugh at that, violently shaking your head. "Hell, no."

He chuckles, eyes roaming over your face. "Well, looks like I got myself a good girl, then eh?", he knows what he is doing, voice low and deep and you swallow.

"I wouldn't say so", you whisper, "But why don't you come a bit closer and find out?"

Tangerine flashes a grin, shows his bright bright teeth, one of his hands coming up and stroking his moustache while he shakes his head in disbelief.

It's stupid. Very fucking stupid. He shouldn't. He should get the fuck out of here - quickly. This is dangerous. She might be, too.

Instead, he looks up again. Ah, fuck it - fuck the rules. Lemon will get it - maybe. Ultimately, he will, simply has to - with the beast inside rattling the cage.

Tangerine leans in, his hand on your thigh sneaking up, making its way over your hip, your side and then cups your body, thumb digging into your flesh underneath your tit. Your heartbeat picks up as he pulls you close and you nearly yelp, scooting forward on the barstool, your hand coming up and grasping his forearm, holding on to him. "Well, why don't we fuckin' drink to that then, love?", he rasps, the hand resting on the bar pulls your glass in.

With a shaking hand you take it, fingers closing in around the cool glass and you watch him raising his, bud of cigarette nearly touching it. He is exhilarating, demanding and firm underneath the attire of a gentleman and it has your head swimming, wetness pooling between your legs. Excitement bubbles up in your chest, wondering where the night may, will lead.

"Cheers, love", Tangerine smirks and winks at you, both your glasses clink. He is still so so close, your knees still hitting his hips and his tongue runs over the edge, licks the salt away slowly, playfully until he downs half the Margarita in one go, like it's water.

You raise one brow, carefully taking a sip. The salt on the edge of the glass tingles on your lips and the liquor burns nicely in your throat as you take another. It's a hellishly strong cocktail and you wonder if he's a regular drinker. A lot of people like him - call them what you like, assassins, killers, hitmen - are.

Tangerine eyes the glass in his hand, weighs it from left to right a little, then nods to himself in approval while you take another sip. He instead downs the other half of the cocktail and puts the glass back on the counter. It's a quick, routinely movement and you come to realize that you may be right. You decide to not give it too much thought, because he's hot and he freed you from the boredom threatening to swallow you whole tonight and because everything about him has your blood singing with the gleeful promise of adrenaline. You put your glass next to his and look up at him through your lashes. He catches the invitation.

Tangerine throws his cigarette into his empty glass and then leans in again. The tip of his nose brushing over yours, the sensual music entangling both of you as his gaze flicks over your face.

You hook one leg around his waist and he moves in closer, pressing yourself against him, one hand on his arm - to anyone looking over you might even seem like an actual couple, enjoying the night out - and hunger burns in his eyes. His lips brush over yours and you know he's toying with you, keen on him leaning in to fucking kiss you already --

The music stops.

There's sudden silence as the band passes a bottle of whiskey around and the two of you freeze, blinking dumbfoundedly. The silence is odd, stalling both of you but you can't help it, feeling like drowning in the dark dark blue of his eyes, shimmering with green in the purple light. You can hear Tangerine breathe quietly with him being so utterly close to you and it's nice, comfortingly human and you can't help but smile against his lips still hovering over yours, a gentle gesture that is being reciprocated by him.

You're a little dizzy with it too, the alcohol, lack of fresh air and his body warmth mixing together, making you a little unsteady. He has pure and raw want tingling in your belly, your hand on his upper arm clenching around the firm muscles a little, thumb brushing over the soft material. And then, just as the music picks up again, his lips brush against yours: "You don't happen to wanna dance, do ya, love?"

"Fuck yes, thought you'd never ask", and Tangerine laughs, a deep, pleasant sound that rumbles in his chest and offers you his hand.

Yours runs down down down his arm and closes around his, while he's making some room for you to slip off of the barstool and then he's pulling you close again - your body pressing smack against his side as he's dragging you along to the makeshift dance floor.

The crowd still cheers, applauds the band and the bandoneon plays the few first chords of a new song. Tangerine gently takes your hand in his, thumb cupping your index and middle finger as your palm rests against his. His other hand sneaks around your waist and rests and the small of your back, holding you close. He looks at you and you feel like drowning in his eyes, pupils blown wide and you wonder when he'll show first signs of being drunk, with the way you already feel a little warm, light-headed. In a few minutes, maybe an hour you'll learn that he holds his liquor way better than you hold your own.

He is even closer to you now than before at the bar and now you can smell his perfume through the thick cloud of smoke that wavers through the basement's air - he smells nice, deep and rich of citrus and a little of vanilla and cigarettes, reminds you of the summer you've spent in Palermo once.

Tangerine gently places one hand below your shoulder and yours comes up, rests on his shoulder, just as he starts to move to the music. He takes a step backwards, guiding your forward and gently guides you through the crowd - a steady back and forth in rhythm with the tango.

Tangerine's hand still holds yours, guides your arm until it is stretched out and then it abandons your hand, runs down down down your arm very gently, pads of his fingers brushing over your soft skin, hairs on your arms rising. A shiver runs down your spine as his fingers cradle back between yours, a smile tugging at his lips.

One of his legs pushes between yours while he manoeuvres you backwards, hand on your waist holding you close. Tangerine presses himself against you, heat radiating off of his body with both your arms still stretched out and you grip his hand tightly, leaning back. You arch your back, raising one leg and hooking it around his waist as his gaze locks with yours. You can feel his crotch pressing against yours, with the way the skirt of your dress hikes up your legs. He is warm and a little hard already, has the breath hitching in your throat and arousal igniting your loins.

Tangerine leans down a little, lips still curled up in smile and then pulls you up like you weigh nothing and you stretch your legs in a delicate, slight split as he twirls you around, your chest firmly resting against his.

His arm presses onto your back, holds you close until your feet touch the ground once more and he immediately guides you sideways with a few long and slow strides until he comes to a halt. One of your arms wraps around his shoulders as he holds you close and you stretch your leg out, your heel gliding forward over the concrete floor of the basement, stretching your leg out in front of you and then gently sliding it backwards into a deep lunge, your body following the movement. You lean back and Tangerine follows, leans down and towers over your body.

He holds you there for a moment, chest rising and falling, brows furrowed a little before he carefully helps you back up - immediately embracing your body once more.

The music speeds up and so does he while guiding you over the dancefloor, face close to yours with unbreaking eye contact as you swirl over the concrete.

At the next strum of the contrabass, you take a step back, arching your back. Very playfully you sway your hips, shoulders loosely following while one of hands rests on his forearm, the other lays in his hand, feet tapping the floor rhythmically with the movement of your hips.

You know that he has a perfect view of your body, your hard nipples being visible through the thin fabric of your dress. His gaze drops down, watches how the silk plays with your curves, eyes growing a little darker. You move in and Tangerine pulls you close, your hand intertwined with his resting on his chest and his lips ghost over the shell of your ear, moustache tingling. "No underwear, I reckon, love?", he hums, the fingers of his other hand brushing over your waist.

And you shake your head, whispering: "No, none", and it has his eyebrows shooting up in surprise, a low chuckle escaping his throat. "Fuck me", he breathes and holds you close while moving over the dancefloor, one hand gently but firmly resting on your ass cheek, hiking the hem of your dress up a little.

The touch ignites you and you press against him, leaning in, nose brushing over his jaw, eyelids fluttering. You are pressed against each other, movements slowing down and blooming into a languid sensuality in dance: long strides, toying with him a little - turning your head away, stretching your arm out, only for his hand to gently caress it - feet wrapping around his calf, leg pushing between his. Tangerine is patient with the little game you are playing, unerringly keeping the lead and you in your place.

You wonder if he fucks like he dances. It makes your skin going hot, imagination running wild and breath hitching.

The song ebbs and the crowd applauds and the two of you come to a halt as well, but not parting, not partaking in the celebration of the band. You are clawing to him, breath going fast and heavy and so does his, a thin layer of sweat on his forehead. His hand momentarily rejects your waist to brush through his hair and then returns. His touch is firm, a little rough and you sigh contently.

Some people are looking your way, intrigued by what got over the two of you, enticed by each other and oblivious to the surrounding world. It's a dangerous thing - letting your guard down, for both of you - but you couldn't care less.

Tangerine smirks down at you and licks his lips. "D'ya know what ya do to me, dove?", he says quietly and you know but you feel the same, and thus, your hand brushes over his shoulder to his neck and you nestle your bods against his.

You wonder if he can feel your raising heartbeat, smell the lust and the excitement spreading in your body. You look up at him, fingers burying themselves in his locks.

"Mhm - do you?", you reply just as quietly and Tangerine chuckles, eyes falling shut.

Your bodies stay like that, closely pressing against each other with the music picking back up. You gently rest your forehead on his temple, leaning onto him as he holds you close. You can't help it, you just want to fucking touch him and your hand runs over his shoulder to the front, gently moves up his throat and then cups his jaw, fingers brushing over the clean-shaven skin. It's soft and warm and you can feel, hear him take a deep breath.

Moving across the floor slowly, Tangerine's body turns into an anchor for your long, ardent strides; his strong arms holding you up during each turn, muscles twitching beneath your touch. He is so so close to you, so warm - each one of his steps lingering with desire and it washes over you like a wave, has the hairs on your body standing up.

You sink against him, falling into his embrace, arms clinging around his neck and his hand is pressed on your shoulder, the other remains in the air uselessly as he looks down in surprise, brows furrowed. He can see, feel your chest heaving, a quiet whimper escaping your mouth.

Then, his lips curl into a smug grin.

Tangerine carefully twirls you around, hands gripping your waist and pulling you closer. Your back rests against his chest and you can feel the tip of his nose brushing through your hair as his hands move over your body - one resting on your belly, the other gently cupping you below your breast, feeling the way your heart races against your ribcage, and his touch sends shivers down your spine, has arousal shooting right between your legs. You remain this way for a few beats, the blood in your veins pumping with the rhythm of the music, feeling his strong frame pressing against you - his breath on your temple and his cologne wrapping you in. His body radiates warmth and you can feel his chest rising against your back, his hardening dick pressing against your ass.

Lust tingles in your stomach looking up at him and, at the next strum of the contrabass, you take his hand and twirl out of his embrace. Tangerine follows and pulls you back in and your hand crawls up his arm, another one resting on his neck. His gaze locks with yours as he leans down, tip of his nose brushing against yours.

The hands on your back keeps you close, a dark shadow resting over his eyes, turning them into a deep deep sea. He slowly guides you forward with two long strides and then firmly hooks one arm around you, lunges backward a little and you follow his movement, bending your leg and resting it against his groin. His hard cock presses against your thigh, and he leans in, lips brushing over yours before straightening both of you back up, heels of your shoes connecting firmly with the ground. Tangerine swirls you over the floor and manoeuvres you through the dancing couples, until he eventually, when the space arises, grabs your hips once more. You let yourself fall, upper body leaning back delicately, enthralled by his strength and the way he guides you through the dance, and he pulls you back up.

Your hand runs up his chest, fingers clawing at the silk as your gazes lock once more. You suck in a few breaths, his scent clouding up your mind, hand running higher and higher, thumb cupping his cheek and fingers resting in his hair behind his ear, earring pressing cooly against your skin.

His lips are slightly agape, eyes you up and down, while his hand presses you close. "Yeah, fuck, you wanna take this elsewhere, love?", he rasps and you nod, eyelids fluttering with the hidden promise.

All the while Tangerine navigates you through the crowd, he holds you close, blood pumping in your ears with the way the music makes your chest vibrate, his scent clouding up your mind - only him him him.

As soon as you are out on the street Tangerine is onto you again, pulls you close in the bright lights of the laundrette and kisses you like a starving man. His arms wrap around your waist, pressing you against him, tits flush against his chest, as his tongue licks into your mouth. Your hands run up his arms, one of them curling his neck and the other cupping his jaw. You can feel his hard dick through his linen slacks and it makes you hot all over, wetness pooling between your legs. You break the kiss, heaving against his lips.

"Fuck", Tangerine huffs, hand on your waist wandering down, cupping one of your ass cheeks. You mewl, eyelids fluttering. You're desperate to touch him, for him to fuck you.

"My hotel's nearby", you whisper and it sounds so fucking needy, "We could take the tram?"

"Yeah sure, lead the way", and you do, stealing another long and sloppy, hungry kiss from him and then he's pulling you close, holds you by his side as the two of you rush down the streets of Amsterdam - heels clicking, sweet nothings on the tip of your tongues. Some people turn their heads, voyeurism kicking in at the oddly hot couple with the air around them cracking with their energy, watching how the two of you rush by - the woman giggling and clearly a little drunk, hands roaming all over the man's chest, while he holds her close, thick British accent wrapping her in.

That is, until he stops dead in his tracks next to an alley on a rather empty street.

"Oi, wait a bloody minute, love -- would'ya look at that", Tangerine looks down an alleyway and you lean in closer, trying to get a look at what he's seeing, peaking over his shoulder on the tip of your toes. His hand is still resting on your waist, fingers splayed out.

"What?", there's nothing. Just cars parked beneath a warmly glowing streetlight in a dark alley.

"That", his finger darts out and points at a beige convertible.

"I -- that's a car?"

He looks a you, a little offended.

"That's not just a car, love. That's a 1966 Cadillac Coupe DeVille."

You blink, watching him while he eyes the vehicle, fingers brushing over his stache absent-mindedly.

"What are you thinking 'bout?", and it doesn't even take him a second to reply: "I wanna steal it."

Well, that's a surprise. "You wanna steal the car?"

"Yeah, I got this fuckin' thing -- 's kinda like compulsion, innit?"

You raise your eyebrows and he looks at you, lips curling up in an amused smile that's looks an awful lot like Sugar I can't change it, now can I? and before he can come up with something witty to go along with it, you say: "Yeah fuck, alright. Let's do it."

He laughs, eyes you up and down. "Ya naughty little girl, eh."

You can feel your skin growing hot, hand brushing over his forearm, leaning in a little. His eyes gleam. "Show me what you can do, babe", and he does, wraps one arm around your hips and strolls over to the car, carefully eyeing the alley.

The windows are rolled down and he grins. "That's an easy one, love, watch it", his hand brushes over your hip and the touch has goosebumps erupting on your arms, running down down your back and you nod - fuck yes, you'll watch.

Tangerine leans against the driver side's door and reaches inside through the rolled down window. You don't know what exactly he's doing but you can see the way his muscles work underneath the blue silk, as he grabs the handle and then, suddenly lifts the door a little out of its frame. The lock bursts, and for a second your muscles tense, body anticipating alarms going off and reading to flee.

Nothing happens; no sirens erupting - just the door swinging open lazily.

Apparently; obviously this is not his first time stealing a car. The thought of him just taking what he wants does something funny to your stomach.

You peak inside. It is an old-timer, with one large seating bench in the front, instead of two seats. Tangerine is holding the door open for you.

"After you, Lady", and he fucking winks at you.

Crawling onto the seats you make sure to make a little show out of it. You can feel his gaze roaming over your body as you bend down, until you eventually sit down in the middle of the front row seat. Tangerine sits down next to you and you immediately close the distance between the two of you, pulling one leg up, knee resting firmly on the soft beige leather and pressing against his thigh. The fabric of your dress hikes up, the slit exposing your leg up up up to your groin.

The sight distracts him for second, as you throw a look over your shoulder and out of the rear window, into the night. The alley still lays silent and deserted - but for how much longer? Tangerine watches you tensing up next to him.

"Easy, love, just a minute", he huffs and pulls an envelope out of his pocket, takes out a set of lockpicks.

"Oh, so you just carry that around with you?", you blurt out, blinking.

"Yeah", he says casually, bends down a little, trying to get a good look beneath the steering wheel.

If you were to be more of a thief and less of a drug lord's lazy daughter, you'd be able to identify his choice as a Lishi lockpick.

You watch him as he carefully sticks it into the keyhole of the ignition, slooowly starts to move the tool forward and feeling for the contact of the wafer. Quiet clicking sounds fill the humid air.

You can tell, that Tangerine is showing off a little, trying to impress you with speed and precision. He squints his eyes a little, brows furrowing and eyeing the small lock while carefully turning it clockwise.

It jams.

"Bastard", Tangerine curses underneath, pulls the reader of the lockpick back and carefully feels for the missing contact, tuuurns it --

The engine jolts alive, purrs lowly and the headlights snap on.

"There ya go", he mutters, "Piece 'o piss, eh?"

You snort at his vulgar cockney but you must agree - it did not take him more than two to three minutes, from breaking the lock to starting the engine. It shouldn't, but it does turn you on a little.

Tangerine is slamming the door shut and whips out his phone, handing it over to you. "Type in the address, love, would ya?"

You do and then quickly discard it into the cupholder - you want him and your fingertips tingle with it, wanting to touch him and being touched by him. The female voice - uncanny valley personified - of the google maps assistant pipes up and if you weren't so very fucking intoxicated by him you would laugh.

Instead, a fresh wave of desperate lust takes over you and your hands are onto him again in no time, one crawling up his arm, the other resting on his thigh and feeling his muscles work as he backs the Cadillac up. Tangerine chuckles, throws you a quick look before he is steering the car out of the alley.

You are aching for him to touch you, to be closer to you, hand tugging at his shirt a little while you lean in, nose brushing over the side of his throat.

"Jesus, love", he huffs, "Can't keep ya'self together, can ya?"

And you mewl, shake your head and then your lips are closing in around the exposed crook of his neck. Your tongue laps over the sweaty, hot skin, tasting him - his cologne mixing bitterly with his sweat and you hum, gently sucking at his soft skin.

"Fuckin' hell", Tangerine's right hand abandons the steering wheel, coming to a rest on your exposed thigh brushing over your skin. The tone of his voice has your head swimming, spurring you on, encouraging you. Your eyelids flutter as your tongue comes loose:

"Want me to suck your cock while driving?", you say, looking at him - the tips of your fingers are playfully brushing over his shoulder, silk of his shirt rustling under the feather-light touch.

He snorts, shakes his head a little with disbelief, before looking back at you. It seems to click.

"Bloody hell, you're serious, aren't ya?", and you blush a little. You can see the way his Adam’s apple bops as he swallows, eyes aimlessly darting over the road, considering.

The google maps assistant pipes up again, chirps out the directions and then falls silent again.

"Yeah, no, that's a very lovely idea", he rasps, and then: "C'mon love, get to it."

And you do, mouth watering at the same time your sight drops down to his linen slacks, the fabric wrapping around his muscular thighs nicely and pressing firmly to his crotch, exposing the outlines of his hard dick straining it.

Your hand wanders up his leg - feeling his muscles twitch as he hammers down the gas pedal, racing by the light switching from yellow to green - and then sour fingers close in around his cock. It is large and hot through the fabric and just feeling it has fresh arousal pooling between your legs, making you hum, before rubbing his bulge through his trousers. Tangerine's right hand leaves your thigh and comes to a rest on your neck, thumb rubbing over your warm skin and making way for you, giving you some space and encouraging you further.

It's a nice, somewhat patronizing touch that is pushing all the right buttons, has you quivering with excitement.

You make quick work of his slacks, pulling the zipper down - already bowing down a little, stretching your lower leg out on the seat behind you - until you open the fly up. There's a damp stain on his dark silk boxers and your mouth fucking waters, before you pull the hem down. His cock springs free lazily and your breath hitches.

Tangerine's cock is large, cut and a little curved, resting between neatly trimmed pubic hair - vein at the bottom pulsing and the tip already flushed, precum glistening in the low light of the passing street lamps.

You can't wait to suck it, taste it, feel it inside of you -- you are fucking hungry for it, spit pooling around your tongue and heart beating in your chest. Arching your back while bowing down between his lower body and the steering wheel, you put your lips onto his dick, kissing from the base to the top, his musky scent wrapping you in, clouding your mind. You can hear him hum, a nice and deep sound, and the city rushing by through the rolled down window.

Your tongue flicks over the head of his dick, lapping at the precum, circling it. The way he tastes - salt and musk - has your head swimming a little, wetness pooling between your legs.

It makes your brain go mushy, hazy and one of your hands brushes over his thigh, desperate to being closer tohim, to make it feel good for him, caressing the warm skin beneath your touch before you blink up at him.

"Fuck, you got a nice cock", you nearly moan as your tongue betrays your brain, impatiently opening your mouth and letting him slide in a little, feeling him pressing hard and hot against your tongue.

"Shit", Tangerine laughs roughly, hand grabbing your neck as his dick twitches against your tongue, "D'ya even hear yourself speak, girl? Fuck."

You smile to yourself, a little coy, and you start to move your hand up up up his muscular thigh, palming his balls through the linen and then grabbing the base of his cock, slowly jerking him. Tangerine groans, breathing loudly, the city passing by.

Spit runs down his dick over taking him in deeper, pools between your fingers and you flick your wrist, moving your hand in rhythm with your tongue.

The car comes to a halt at the next red light, as Tangerine hits the brakes carefully. Your eyelids flutter and then your gaze darts up, meets his while you are releasing his dick from your mouth a little.

Tangerine moans deeply as tongue swirling around the thick head of his dick once more, his gaze boring into yours. "Isn't that just a lovely sight", he groans, right hand brushing through your hair, while the left grabs the steering wheel hard.

Tangerine watches you, traffic light long forgotten, how your tongue licks over his cock, your eyes looking up at him through your lashes. "You fuckin' minx -- ya do like behavin' like a slut, don't ya", and you smile against his cock, a quiet Uh-huh leaving your lips, before they close in around the tip of his dick.

His eyelids flutter as you start to suck, bobbing your head a little, tongue rubbing over the tip of his cock. "Fuckin' hell", he puffs his cheeks and throws his head back a little, exhales theatrically. The traffic light switches from yellow to green and you let him sink deeper into your mouth - the engine roars. You are certain he's close to breaking the speed limit, veins bursting with adrenaline and testosterone but you couldn't care less, the musky taste of his cock hazing your mind, lust taking over.

You feel yourself growing wet, cunt aching and you surrender to yourself, complying to your body's wishes, as one of your hands slooowly dips between your legs and underneath the hem of your dress. Your fingers brush up your thighs and over your slick folds, mentally thanking yourself for not putting any underwear on, mostly due to the unbearable heat and your skin-tight dress - but it sure does come in handy now, too. Your index finger flicks over your clit, just as his cock slides deeper into your mouth.

It feels fucking nice, the way Tangerine's dick is hard and heavy and hot on your tongue, his taste and scent engulfing you, the way you rub your clit has lust spreading through your body, moaning around his cock.

And then suddenly, Tangerine hits the breaks, hand hammering down on the horn. One of your hands darts out, barely catching onto the dashboard as you are thrown forward. Blood rushes in your ears, hastily sucking in a few breaths through your nose while you sputter around his cock.

The maps assistant chimes up in that second, reminding the driver that he will need to go right at the next intersection but --

"Ya fuckin' prick, imma fuckin' shoot ya in the fuckin' head ya stupid twat -", Tangerine yells and your head immediately pipes up, abandoning his dick and looking out of the windshield. Tangerine is just speeding up, passing by the car in front of him, angrily looking inside. "Ya dirty fuckin' chav, I got a right fuckin' lady with me 'ere, ya git", he spits and the man slowly turns his head. First, he looks at Tangerine, a cascade of insults flying his way and then he looks at you, smudged mascara and spit on your chin, your lips wet with it. You can see the wheels in his head turning, eyes growing wide as they drop down to one of your hands - the one that is still holding Tangerine's cock - vanishing between his legs. The man blinks and Tangerine flashes him the finger, before speeding by.

"Fuck about -- that fuckin' arsehole, love, could've killed ya drivin' like that", he grumbles, throws him one last look in the mirror, "Seriously, where did that prick get his license, the bloody fuckin' lottery?"

Tangerine's eye twitches and you can see his pulse speeding up, aorta pressing thickly against his neck, pumping. He is like a force of nature and a mental image of him, covered in bruises, blood and sweat flashes before your eyes - chest heaving and knuckles bruised, hair curling and framing his face like a halo, dripping with blood.

"You're so fuckin' hot when you're angry", you mumble and then you're bending down again, tongue licking over his cock, from the base all the way up the top, flicking around its head and then gliiiding back down.

A growl, a real fucking growl, leaves his chest, hand on your neck tightening. "You better get fuckin' back to it, love, Jesus fuckin' Christ", his voice is coarse and it gets you going, makes you wet wet wet and has your head diving back in, tongue lolling out of your mouth as his dick slides back in.

"Atta girl, fuck", he groans and then his hips jolt up, pushing his dick deep into your mouth and you hum around it. You start to bob your head up and down, meeting his thrusts - your hand abandons the dashboard to clutch his thigh, nails digging into the flesh a little.

Tangerine moans at both, your hot and wet mouth sucking him off and the slight pain that blooms in his thigh, dangerously mixing with the anger pulsing in his chest and he throws his head back.

"Just like that, fuckin' hell love", his hips buck, shoving himself deeper into your mouth. The sudden intrusion has you choking a little as he hits the back of your throat, spit gathering around the corners of your mouth while you sputter around his dick - jaw going slack and his hand finding its way into your hair, fisting it as he starts to fuck into your mouth.

Holding your head in place his cock hits the back of your throat, steals your breath. Your nose is buried in his pubes, inhaling his scent - sweat and musk - more saliva pooling at the corners of his mouth, wetting his locks. You relax your throat and whimper around his dick, the way he uses you has fresh wetness spreading between your folds, squelching sounds filling the air as your finger is joined by a second, rubbing tight circles over your clit.

You moan around his cock, strangled noises escaping your throat while your rock back against your fingers, choking around the head of his cock hitting your throat.

"Shh, shh shh", he tuts, a little breathless, "Daddy's got ya, mh pretty girl? Lemme just--"

Tangerine's right hand lets go off your hair and then you can feel it sneak past your back, a feather-light touch brushing over the silk of your dress. It travels further and then grabs your ass, the sudden rough touch has you moaning around his dick once more. Your eyelids flutter as he pulls the fabric up up up, fists it and exposes you to whoever or whatever may rush past the passenger side's window. Your fingers speed up at the thought while his hand kneads the flesh of your cheeks.

"Fuckin' pretty", he hums, taking another quick look at the way your head bobs up and down his cock, "All over my cock like that, pretty fuckin' slut."

His hand wanders further down and before you can process it, one of his fingers circles your hole, feeling your slick and your plump folds. "Jesus Christ", he nearly groans, "You just love sucking cock, don't ya?"

That you do, whining around his base as the thick head of his dick hits the back of your throat again, with your fingers still working your clit. "Let me help you with that, love", and with that he pushes one finger in, up to his golden onyx ring, nestles it snugly between your hot walls. They clench around him and the sensation - the lingering promise of more - has you squirming a little.

Tangerine gives you what you want, need - finger curling a little, digits brushing over your spongy hot walls, before he slooowly pulls it back out. It circles your hole once more, quickly joined by a second, before he pushes them in again, starting to fuck you fast.

You moan, feet kicking a little and eyes tearing up at the sensation, with his dick pushing further into your throat and your fingers rubbing your clit, quickly has your muscles clench and cunt squirting.

"Yeah, just right 'ere, love, huh? Gettin'ya all loose 'n wet f'me? Such a good girl, aren't ya?", obscene sounds fill the air as he fucks your slick back into you, bottoms his fingers out, rubbing over the spot that has you seeing stars.

Tangerine moans deep in his chest as his cock starts to fuck into your mouth again and you let him use your throat gladly while his fingers pump in and out of your cunt, accompanied by the way your fingers flick over your clit rapidly.

The lack of fresh oxygen has you bucking against his hand, choking and sputtering around his cock that rams deeply in your throat but your stomach still flutters with it, lust igniting your loins and limbs tingling with it.

You can feel the muscles in your abdomen clenching, heart racing in your chest. Your fucking close and he seems to notice, too, his moans barely reaching your ears through the blood pumping and engine roaring. Tangerine nestles his fingers deep deep inside of you, rubbing over your walls and the spot that has you seeing stars, eyes falling shut and moaning against his cock.

It is all too much and your chest heaves as you finally cum, muscles clenching around his fingers, hips stuttering. His dick pulls back a little, tip resting hot and heavy against your tongue and then, his movements still.

"Open up your pretty mouth, doll, lemme see", he rasps, barely keeps an eye out to the street and you comply, fucked out mind making everything a little hazy, a little slow. Your jaw goes slack as you open your mouth, giving him a perfect view of his dick resting on your tongue.

Tangerine looks at you: mascara pooling beneath your eyes, lips swollen and red and jaw wet with spit and then comes too, shoots ropes of hot cum into your mouth. He watches the way it paints your tongue white, some of it landing on your upper lip, slooowly dripping down, running over your chin.

You swallow and then your tongue darts out, licks over your lips and then darts out, licks his cock clean, too.

Slowly, with your mind still foggy and limbs a little heavy already, you get back up. Your fingers brush through his remaining cum on your chin, wiping it away and letting them slip into your mouth, licking them clean. "Jesus, love", Tangerine's voice is a little coarse, gaze darting back and forth between your mouth and the street, as he carefully pulls his fingers out of you and your body closer instead.

You yelp, pressing yourself onto him, of your knees resting between his spread legs. None of you fucking care anymore, lust tugging at your brains dangerously, daringly. His hand, fingers still wet with your juices, brushes over your waist, grabs your ass and you lean in, lick over his throat, tasting his sweat and cologne.

"Can't wait for you to fuck me", you rasp, hands brushing over his chest, his necklace jingling, down down down, hand brushing over his cock and carefully putting it away, his clothing back in place.

Tangerine huffs, google assistant chiming out a direction, indicator clicking loudly as he sets it and then his hand comes up quickly, grabs your chin hard and holds your head in place. You look at him, deer in the headlights, holding your breath and then he's pulling you close, locks his lips with yours. He can taste himself on your tongue licking into your mouth, pulls you close.

You don't know how you made it to the fucking hotel alive, with Tangerine's hands roaming over your body, lips locking occasionally while he was speeding down the streets, cutting corners and red lights.

The two of you barely make it through the lobby and into the elevator, until Tangerine is onto you once more, presses your back flat against the cold, bronze metal. "I'll fuck ya so good, love", his dick is already hard again, pressing against you through the linen of his trousers and the satin of your dress, "'S gon' be all you'll be thinkin'bout for the next weeks." In a little more than an hour you will come to realize that he is right. You will be thinking about it for weeks. But now, there are only his lips roaming over your throat, occupying your mind and letting you drift back to a hazy, lustful state, with his hands feeling up your hips, your waist.

Eventually, the elevator piiings lazily and the two of you rush out it, like you are on the run from your own lust, hand clutching his as you quickly make your way down the hall to your suite. You unlock the door and turn the dimmed lights on inside. The room's just like you left it, guns and cash on the coffee table, soft light coming from the bedroom on the left. The window there is still opened, a soft breeze rolling in through the light curtains.

Tangerine throws the door shut behind himself and immediately grabs you by your waist, pulls you onto him, hand on your back on your ass as he leans down, devours you with a kiss. His tongue pushes into your mouth while he manoeuvres you backwards through your suite. Your hands dart out, catching the doorframe of the bedroom and you grab it hard, using it as leverage as you push back against him, your crotch rubbing against his. Tangerine grins against your lips and grabs your hips hard, makes you moan into the kiss.

He breaks it, chest heaving a little. "Fuck, love, imma ruin ya." Your breath hitches at that and your hands let go of the doorframe, wrapping around his neck instead like you're on some sort of fucking autopilot. "Yeah fuck, please", you whisper.

It takes Tangerine a moment, gaze growing a little soft before the beast takes over again, a gleaming dark hue turning the blue into an endless ocean and he hoists you up, carries you over to the bed.

He is carrying you like a caveman would his bagged prey and he tears at your dress just the same, one hand shoving the straps down your shoulders. Then he's onto the zipper, sliiides it down and throws you onto the bed.

You land onto the duvet with a soft thud, tits bouncing a little and his gaze follows the movement hungrily, before he tugs at the hem of your dress, pulls it down and throws it to the ground carelessly.

Tangerine just watches, gaze hungrily moving over your naked form, slooowly starts to undress himself. His slender fingers unbutton the silky shirt, button by button in an agonizingly slow speed. You know he's deliberately taking his time with you and it works, has your body quivering with anticipation and lust, one of your own hands running up your body, cupping your tit. He lifts a brow as he watches you tweaking your nipple and the haughty disdain has your head swimming, legs falling apart. "Please", you whisper, pussy aching for his touch, "--Need you."

The silk falls open, still hugging his shoulder and Tangerine continues watching you, playing with a ring on his finger, just like he's playing with you. It's cruel but it has lust building up in your belly, shooting arousal down between your legs and making fresh wetness pool between your folds in a way that you just know, that his touch will be heavenly.

And yet, impatience taking over, you mewl and in a desperate attempt for any sort of attention - for him to just fucking touch you again - you scramble to your knees, stretching out on the mattress and pressing your body flat onto it, ass high in the air. You know that he'll see it: your wet cunt, glistening in the dim light, hole clenching desperately around nothing. You feel exposed and at his mercy alone, and the degradation and danger of being unarmed like this in the presence of a killer, has your heart racing, thighs rubbing together for any sort of fucking friction.

Tangerine bellows out a laugh, surprised and dark, can't really hide either how turned on he is, and then his hand comes down on your ass. The sound bounces off the walls and has your bods jolting forward, first a gasp and then a moan falling from your lips, hands fisting the sheets. "Ya dirty fuckin' whore", he groans, hand groping your already reddening flesh. You can hear the silk flowing down to the ground and then he is pressing his crotch against you, fine linen against your wet cunt.

It's electrifying, the rather rough material pressing against your soft skin, your slick immediately wetting the fabric as your start to roll your hips against it, rutting over his clothed dick. Tangerine's cock is so so hard, hotly pulsing through the linen and you can feel its curve pressing against your pussy. You whimper, hips stuttering.

"Jesus Christ, love, can feel ya through my fucking pants -- lemme see", Tangerine groans and then grabs your hips hard, stalling your desperate movement, shoving them forward a little. You can feel his gaze dancing over your cunt, hear him whistle lowly, hands spreading your ass cheeks, assessing your slick. One of them comes loose and then --

He gives your cunt a light slap - the slight pain and degradation making your head swim - has you squirming on the mattress, a whiny Daddy, please escaping your lips. Your mind fogs up, all hazy with lust and his perfume, aching your back for him, pressing your chest flat against the sheets.

Tangerine pouts at you, eyes gleaming playfully. "D'you wan'it that bad, love?", and you nod nod nod, wiggling your hips as you chant - a desperate Yes yes yes escaping your lips, muffled by the mattress - hands uselessly darting out for any leverage.

His middle finger runs through your folds and you tremble, goosebumps erupting on your arms, spreading all over your body. He spreads your slick and his other hand comes up, kneads the flesh of your ass, spreading your cheeks further apart. "Always fuckin' wet f'me, innit? Picture perfect cunt ya got, love."

You mewl, throwing a glance over your shoulder to see him watching your hole clench around nothing. His eyes gleam. "Shit", you huff out as his finger brushes over your clit, feet curling a little and he grins smugly - Bastard - and gives your ass another sharp slap. You groan and then his hands are off you, making work of his trousers.

You watch him get fully undressed and your mouth waters at the sight. Tangerine's body is covered in scars, smaller round ones from bullets and larger, longer ones from knives and nasty fist fights and you want to crawl to him on your knees, kiss and lick them, worship them and him - his body, his tool of death - like he's your very personal reincarnation of Ares.

His dick springs free as he drops his boxers, completely exposing his muscular body to you, dusted on body hair and tattoos and scars scars scars and in the moment, that you can see precum glistening on the tip of his cock, you realize that you had already missed it. You fucking missed his dick. The thought has warmth spreading on your cheeks.

There's a light pat on your hip. "C'mon love, turn around. Wanna see your face while I fuck you nice and proper", he hums and your eyelids flutter, humming deeply in your throat at the proposition, turning around and laying on your back.

The mattress dips as he sinks down on his knees, chest flushed a little - the golden necklace dangling between your bodies - and then he's onto you, crawls over your body like an animal, leaves sloppy kisses on your skin, tongue licking over your nipples, stache tickling.

"Oh fuck", you huff, hands darting out and finding his hair, gently tugging at it. Tangerine's lips move over your throat and he sucks, makingyou gasp, throwing your head back as he marks you up.

"Spread ya legs f'me, sweetie", he rasps against your jaw and you do, knees falling apart. He grabs his dick with one hand, the other one supporting his own weight next to your head, rubs himself along your folds, using your slick as lube. "There ya fuckin' go", he huffs and then the thick head of his cock presses against your hole.

"Fuck, yes", you whimper, hot with anticipation, one hand leaving his hair and clutching around his shoulder. And then, he finally - fucking finally - puuushes in, your hole stretching around his girth a little, dull pain spreading excitement across your body.

Tangerine groans. It's a low and honest sound, has his chest vibrating against yours while he looks down to where your bodies meet. "Shit, fuckin' hell", he says, hand abandoning his dick as he slowly slides into you, fills you up and spreads your walls, grabbing your inner thigh instead. The way he spreads your legs is delicious and you hum, his dick is completely seated inside of you.

He lifts his gaze once more, looks at you. His eyes are dark, a stormy stormy sea, a few loose strands falling into his face, curls of his hair freeing themselves from the hair gel. He looks like a fucking god. "Fuck", you say, lowly, hole fluttering around him, stomach tingling at the sight.

"Ya cunt's so fuckin' tight, love", he growls and you can hear, feel it on your skin, that he is having a hard time holding back, "'S perfect, Jesus Christ."

Tangerine rolls his hips, once, twice and you moan, fingers digging into the flesh of his shoulder. "'S good for ya, too, love?", his nose brushes over yours, lips ghosting over your cheek. "Yeah, fuck", you huff, and then he's onto you, licks over your lips with his tongue and shoves it into your mouth, invites himself in. You lick over it, lips locking with his, stealing the air from both of your lungs. It is a sloppy kiss charged with energy and lust, your hands tugging at his curls, making the thrusts of his dick more feral, as he forces himself in deeper, groaning into your mouth. In return you moan, chest heaving against his, tits rubbing over the muscular skin.

His lips brush over the corner of your mouth, breathes against it, stache tingling a little as they move down to your throat, kissing and nibbling at the skin, marking you up.

"Fuck", you gasp at the stinging sensation, pulling his hair and he groans.

It feels nice; the way he is fucking you - you push away the thought that it's dangerously close to actually making love - the way he feels inside of you, how his body feels against yours, but it's also not enough. You need more.

A whine escapes your mouth, all desperate and needy and breathless and his movements still for a second.

Then, Tangerine looks up at you, dark blue eyes meeting yours. "Tell me what you want", he whispers, hand groping your thigh and dick buried deep deep inside of you. You can feel it twitch inside of you and your breath hitches. "Want -- want you to fuck me", you say quietly, "Like - hard."

"Aint' ya just a fuckin' dream, poppet", he growls and then his lips are unto you once more, licking into your mouth, teeth catching your lower lip; licking and kissing your lips until their sore while picking up a faster rhythm, pounding into you.

Tangerine eventually breaks away from you, leaves you panting and straightens up until he's kneeling between your legs - rolls his hips into you with his dick fucking in and out your hole, accompanied by an obscene squelching sound. One of his hands grabs your thigh hard, rings digging into the flesh, and then he's hoisting it up, resting your ankle on his shoulder and you moan at both: how deep his cock now pushes into you and the way Tangerine looks.

A thin layer of sweat covers his cheeks and his upper body, chest and cheeks flushed, a few strands of hair falling into his face as his brows are furrowed, lips slightly parted. You can hear him breathe heavily, occasionally moaning when your walls clench around his cock, squeezing him. He looks like a fucking porn star, with his defined muscles working beneath the skin and the golden jewellery, a soft summer breeze rolling in through the opened window, toying with his hair. Tangerine's gaze is glued to his dick that rhythmically pumps in and out of you, watches the way your juices squelch around the base of his cock, balls slapping against your wet skin.

His free hand runs up your belly and cups one of your tits, squeezes it, rolls the nipple between his fingers - the bracelet around his wrist jingles and the rings are cold against your skin. You hum deeply, breath ragged and fingers clawing at the sheets desperate for any leverage, while his deep thrusts throw you back and forth like a fucking ragdoll, tits bouncing and gasps falling from your lips.

Your mouth falls agape, watching Tangerine through hooded eyes and dark lashes and his gaze crawls up up up your body until it meets yours. It is accompanied by his hand, ditching your tit, and brushing up your neck, cupping your jaw and then falling in the crook beneath it, pressing down. The sudden lack of air has the muscles in your legs tensing and he feels it, too, mischief illuminating his face, his eyes, as you gasp for air. You know he could kill you then and there, watch you as your lights fade out and as fucked up as it is, it has your rutting your hips against him, spurring him on.

Tangerine furrows his brows and picks up a quicker rhythm, hand closing in tighter around your throat, rings pressing down onto your windpipe, and you lay your head back, feeling the stretch as he's choking you. The lack of fresh oxygen has your chest heaving, body surrendering to him and the way his cock pumps into your hole fast and deep, lust igniting your nerves. Tangerine can feel you clenching around his dick, wetting his trimmed pubic hair as you squirt, slick dripping down his balls and staining the sheets below. The beast inside him roars, thrums against the bars of its cage, his ribs and he sees your eyelids fluttering, cheeks prettily reddened.

"Atta girl", he groans, fingers giving in a little and you suck in a few deep breaths, before he presses them back down again. It's too soon and your hands dart up, clutching in around his wrist, bracelet jostling and clinking under your touch.

The cage breaks.

Suddenly, quickly, with the force and speed of a predatory animal, Tangerine lets go off your throat and flicks his wrist, catches both of yours in an iron grip and pins them above your head, down onto the mattress. His body follows the stretch of yours, bending over you, holding his own weight up with a hand that crashes down next to your chest. He is feral and it should scare you, especially as air floods your system again, lifts your mind out of your foggy state just a little, but it just doesn't no fight or flight kicking in. The way Tangerine hovers over you now has your leg on his shoulder bend, too, allowing his dick to fuck into you deeper, delicate pain from the stretch of your back igniting your loins.

Ragged breaths escape his throat while he pounds, ruts into you and you lose yourself in both, the sound of his utter pleasure and the way your body feels: on fire, chest tight with your approaching orgasm and raw lust, pure want, that chews up the ends of your nerves, has your limbs tingling.

Tangerine's hand keeps your wrists in that iron grip of his as he rolls his hips into you, dick hitting your cervix, his fingers digging into the flesh of your wrists. You throw your head back, gasping with each of his thrusts and his eyes follow your movement hungrily, groans as your eyes roll back. There's a strong pull in your abdomen and your hole flutters around his cock, his balls slap against your wet skin.

"Fuck fuck fuck", you whine, high pitched moans falling from your hips as he ruts into you, "I'm gonna cum, oh shit --"

Tangerine's eyes fall shut, a throaty moan erupting deep from his chest when your muscles tighten around him. "Yeah, shit love -- that's it, fuckin' cum f'me", he rasps, forehead coming down to a rest on your shoulder.

And you do after a few more of his deep thrusts, whining and legs kicking a little, shakes erupting in your chest as you press against him. Everything goes white as you ride your orgasm out on his dick, moaning and gasping as he does, too, shoots thick and hot ropes of cum into you, painting your walls and pulsing deep inside of you.

Tangerine moans, coarse and raw and his chest heaves, presses his nose into the crook of your neck - but you barely notice it, too far gone, mouth agape and legs shaking.

It takes you a while to come down again, eyelids fluttering open lazily. There's a hand on your cheek, a deep hum near your ear. "Welcome back, love", Tangerine says quietly and then, "Ya did so good for me, eh?" You mewl, stretching your legs a little. Your whole body feels sore, his cum leaking out of you and into the sheets. All you want to so is to get up and clean yourself up, but your legs are so so heavy and you just feel so so tired. Tangerine seems to notice, too.

"You stay here, darlin', imma get you something to clean you up", Tangerine says, voice coarse but soft and he gets up, just as a fresh breeze rolls in through the curtains, blows them up and sends them flying a little. The forecast prognosed heavy rainfall for next week. The air already smells like it a little - damp and mushy.

The breeze cools your sweaty skin, has you sighing with content while you watch Tangerine's naked form as he is walking to your bathroom, muscles in his legs and butt working nicely with each step.

***

It has been over a week and this is his third night. It starts to feel like a fucking stake out.

He feels incredibly silly. Silly for coming here again. Silly for lying to Lemon - again. Silly for ordering two Margaritas. Silly for drinking both.

Tangerine leans against the bar, elbows planted firmly on the sticky wood, smoking a cigarette. The band, same musicians, play a soft and melancholic tango. The air had cooled down a little after yesterday’s rain and maybe, just maybe, that'll be the summer's first soft goodbye before it will go down in a last great huzzah with a hot Indian summer before autumn takes over the city.

He wonders if he will still be in Amsterdam by then, if he and Lemon will watch the leaves fall. There is an offer for a job in Japan and he is considering to take it. He'll have to talk to Lemon about it.

"Anything else for you, Sir?", the bartender asks. And Tangerine nods, orders another Margarita. The bartender takes the empty glasses away and he stares at the wood. Oh, he's just so bloody fucking silly, isn't he?

He takes another drag from his cigarette, shifts his weight from one foot to another and rubs his eyes. She won't come. He knows.

She just won't. Tangerine did have a suspicion who she was, has heard stories about her father and he knew, as soon as he had laid eyes on her, that he was in big, big trouble. He wonders if he had already taken her away, wanting better for his daughter than a no-good ordinary killer. Did not want the danger in his life that came with a man, who potentially could be holding his daughter for ransom at some point or worse, could get her killed.

He gets it, though. He would probably do just the same.

"There you go, Sir", the bartender says and Tangerine just nods, suddenly feels very very exhausted and just barely notices that something, someone is moving next to him.

"Can you still afford to buy me one, too?", a familiar voice says, "Or did you burn it all on car insurance?" He chuckles, feels a sudden burst of energy surging through his veins, straightens back up and slowly turns around to her.

"Wasn't my fault, 'prick was driving like a fuckin' loony."

She chuckles and the noise makes his head swim, a strange fluttering feeling in his stomach. He wants to tear his chest open and claw at it, rip it out. That is how much it fucking scares him. How much she scares him.

"Wasn't sure if you were coming back", she says, casually, calmly like she thought about it so much she's just used to it by now.

"I'm not leavin' that soon, love", he says, signals the bartender that another Margarita is in order.

"Where you going?"

"Tokyo, love. Probably -- most likely."

"Come back in one piece then", her smile is genuine. And he knows, that he just has to now.

[zeroducks-2]

You can’t just say things like that you’re torturing characters! Not without samples

Do we get a peek at your WIP?

You're right anon, sorry!

This is being written for mermay. Barry is a researcher and an activist and poked his nose where he shouldn't have, and now his predicament is that he's been tied up and dunked in the tank of a mer who's both drugged as fuck and in heat.

(mutual noncon, restraints, light smut under the cut)

The mer must be going through its mating cycle, and got drugged with a stimulant. It has to be out of its mind with raging hormones, it’s probably gauging if Barry is a suitable mate or not, and… and that’s why those goons were so interested in filming the scene, then.

Barry realizes he’s shaking in his bindings and he might actually be sick. He is still not going to survive the ordeal, but this will probably take even longer and be even more painful than the mer clawing him open to eat his innards.

The creature is right there and Barry looks at it with a flinch. The snarl on its face is there, its gills are still flaring but when he’s touched it doesn’t hurt, the mer just tugs the wet gag off of his face. Barry breathes a mouthful and swallows, and when he looks back at the creature it flips around and leaves, huffing and bellowing again. 

It happens another time, and then another. The mer approaches him and makes sounds and touches him, its body twitching in strain, and then leaves to swim around in frustration and hit things with its tail, including the glass of the tank, welts forming where it collides with sharp barnacles. And from sick, Barry quickly starts feeling a lump in his throat. 

«It’s okay.» He mutters at the umpteenth time he’s pawed and his neck is smelled, surprised by how thin his voice sounds. «It’s okay, calm down now.»

He knows mers can’t understand people but he’s saying that more to soothe himself than anything else. The creature chuffs like it’s trying to respond, noses the crook of Barry’s shoulder, and his face scrunches up in a stressed wince. 

«Right, you can stay there.» He says, a part of him again amazed at how delicate the mer manages to be as he palms his front, well aware that it’s strong enough it could break a rib with one hand. «Stop hurting yourself. It’s not worth it.» Barry adds and swallows thick, feeling tears blurring his vision. «I’m a dead man anyway. While you’re strong, you can still survive this. Someone will find this place and let you out. Bring you back to the sea.» 

Something about his tone must be calming enough because the mer doesn’t stop panting but its flailing ceases. It clicks and chitters and moves against him, fixing Barry’s chin on his shoulder as if it was trying to keep him out of the water. 

He looks up in confusion and sees a harrowed look on the creature’s face, doesn’t understand it or the way his nape gets carefully cradled while the mer grabs onto the chain connected to Barry’s arms, keeping him steady and above the water through the process. Its tail moves up and spreads Barry’s legs, and just like that his crotch is pressed against the heated, throbbing slit on the front of the mer’s tail.

«You’re a gentle thing, aren’t you.» He breathes out through the rising panic. He realizes that tears are spilling on his cheeks, but it’s not like it matters. «You don’t want to hurt me.»

He knows merfolk’s mating habits range widely from careful and playful lovemaking, to what humans would consider very violent rape. It’s not unheard of that a mer would be attentive with its mate anyway. The fact that this one is a drugged gladiator which likely hasn’t felt a gentle touch since the last time it saw the sea, whenever that might have been, is actually hard to believe.

The creature is rolling its tail in a way which has Barry rubbing against its slit, and despite his own sex being still clothed he can feel it open up, the folds of it prodding and pulling at his crotch. He grits his teeth and tries however he can to detach himself from what’s happening, but his pants get ripped open by a clawed hand and it’s a matter of seconds before his sex is sucked into the cavity.

His startled moan is covered by the huffy, gravelly sound of relief coming from the mer’s gills. Barry squirms involuntarily, gasping loudly and reflexively fighting against the binding on his arms, but even if he didn’t have them tied there’d be nowhere he could go; the mer keeps holding onto the chain, the other arm wound around Barry’s shoulders with the palm cupping his whole nape, keeping him still. It doesn’t really move its tail, just makes rumbling noises while its sex does everything by itself, pumping rhythmically as Barry’s head spins and his exhales break in punched out whimpers.

[popatochisssp]

so Vi and Hunter live in a cabin in the middle of nowhere, huh? What’s that like? Also, I know that Mal is a bit wary of his claws and it hyper vigilant with them around others, but is Vi the same way? How do those two differ personality-wise?

It works for them!

Hunter (Swapfell Fruition Papyrus) likes the outdoors and being able to do whatever he wants, whenever he wants, so he really enjoys having a place out where neighbors and rules and cops are at least a few miles off. He can head into town if he’s looking for entertainment, or company, but otherwise he’s got a place to go back to that’s remote and quiet and all his…well, mostly his, anyway.

Vi (Swapfell Fruition Sans) is away a lot for work but when he’s working from home or just getting back from a trip, he likes the seclusion too—nothing better than getting to settle in, kick off your shoes, unbuckle your belt, and go hog-wild on a box of cookies have a snack knowing no one’s around to judge you…except maybe your brother, who’s statistically more likely to be out in the woods somewhere than sitting in the living room.

As for Vi’s claws, they never got as sharp as Mal’s (Swapfell Sans), because Vi didn’t have to fend for himself (and his brother) in the same way. Vi’s not weak, but he’s not as strong as Mal either. He’s smart, and fast, and he can hold his own in a fight but he’s not a finisher because he was never meant to be and—because Gaster was in the picture to ensure that Hunter developed into the asset he was meant to be—Vi never had to.

For the same reason ('he never had to'), Vi never really developed a lot of people skills. Mal is charming and knows how to say what people want to hear, to get them to do what he wants them to do. That was a vital skill for him to learn and lean into as a young skeleton on his own with an even younger skeleton to look out for, to disarm enemies, make allies, earn sympathy or reciprocity from those who otherwise might not care what happened to him (and Rus).

But for Vi, people weren’t a potential source of help or favors. For him, people were just eyes and ears—and more importantly, mouths, that could report on things they saw or heard, to people who shouldn’t know those things. Loose lips could tip off a target early, or identify him and Hunter as involved parties, or worse, let some things about Vi and his future plans get back to Gaster.

So while Vi is very aware of people, they were more a thing for him to avoid, steer clear and duck the notice of, and that’s pretty apparent anytime he actually has to talk to someone. He’s not smooth, he’s not charming… he’s very direct and straightforward, awkward and tends not to be much for social niceties beyond the bare minimum of basic manners, leaving the moment his goal or obligation is completed.

As for how he and Mal compare, I’d say they’re both calculating and shrewd, both paranoid as hell, both self-motivated and driven regardless of sacrifice…but Mal shines in social situations and loves to impress, be envied, be feared, be respected, be known to those around him.

Vi would much rather disappear, be hidden, be unseen, unknown—though he does notably run hot and cold on it and sometimes being perceived is the only thing he wants… but he tends to squash that want deep, deep down until it goes away. It might be easier for him to demand ask for attention from a partner he trusts, if he can ever manage to find himself one of those.

[mama-qwerty]

You made a comment in the server about how with a living family to temper and draw the line for him, Eclipse might not go as bad as he could have gone if completely alone

Just for fun, want to explore a bad ending where Eclipse gets away from Black Doom but is alone and isn't loved and cared for, but he's going absolutely crazy from freedom anyway?

Hmmmmm . . .

Okay, so let's say in one scenario, the Black Arms are still around. Eclipse failed BD one time too many, and he just left the boy on a dead asteroid or something as punishment. At first Eclipse is all "OMG WHAT AM I GONNA DO I HAVE TO GET BACK INTO DAD'S GOOD GRACES" and it's hard going.

But then something happens. Eclipse survives. His instincts kick in, and he not only survives, he thrives. The asteroid isn't as barren as originally thought, and maybe he somehow finds a way to get to another planet, one that has a civilization on it.

Maybe this civilization isn't advanced. They have rudimentary weapons and such, maybe a bit of technology, but not much. So Eclipse does the thing he knows to do - he takes the lead. He becomes their leader, and lifts them to higher stages of advancement. Without BD looming over him, Eclipse is free to trust himself, to let his own instincts take over, and he's doing what he was created to do. Lead an army.

So he militarizes this civilization, and they are eager to follow him because maybe he's helped them defeat their enemies already, and they're loyal to him and try so so hard to be the best army they can be for him. And because he was on the receiving end of harsh punishments and constant criticism, he's actually encouraging to them, and finds they react so much better to that than threats and violence.

And maybe it's not just this army. Maybe he reaches out to the defeated enemies, offering strength and protection if they join him. And he's actually good at being a leader. His people love him.

But he's still harboring a pain from being abandoned in the first place. He's not simply doing this of his good will, he's amassing an army that will help him take down Black Doom, and defeat the Black Arms.

He's teaching them the tactics of his former hive. Their weak spots. How to defeat the warriors with very little loss of life on their side. And they learn quickly, and become quite formidable.

And then the Black Comet shows up.

Black Doom is surprised to find his failure of a patchwork experiment leading this pathetic batch of inferior creatures against him, but it is amusing in a way. The last in a long line of failures for this waste of organic life.

He sends the warriors down to defeat this pitiful resistance. And at first the Black Arms have the upper hand. Some of Eclipse's army fall. And Black Doom looks on in superior smugness.

But then something happens.

In moments the tide turns. Eclipse's army is taking out Black Doom's warriors as though they had been doing so all their lives. Eclipse is right on the front lines, leading his men, slashing and gutting those who were his brothers not long before. He fights with a ferocity Black Doom had never seen.

His strikes are precise. Clean. Effective.

Black Doom is no longer amused.

He sends more of his warriors out, the larger, fiercer ones, who all but guarantee a victory. Utter decimation of all living creatures who dare oppose him.

But it was as if Eclipse's army were waiting for them.

They are taken down in short order, with strategic tactics that rivaled Black Doom's himself. Eclipse's army moved like a well-oiled machine. The Black Arms warriors never stood a chance.

Black Doom tired of this.

He was about to order an aerial attack, when Eclipse teleported before him. The boy had grown larger in the short timespan that had passed since he was banished. His claws almost as sharp as his gaze.

He said not a word, and just as Black Doom addressed him, Eclipse shot forward, putting his arm through the leader of the Black Arms' chest.

Black Doom stood stunned. His mind blank. All the remaining warriors paused, as the death rattle of their leader echoed through their minds.

They were easy to pick off at that point.

Eclipse withdrew his arm as the body of his former father slumped to the floor. Black ichor dripped from his claws, and he moved to look out over his army as they finished off the last of the Black Arms warriors.

He was stronger than his father ever expected. And he was indeed leader of the strongest, fiercest, most dangerous army known to the galaxy.

A smile curled his muzzle as his army celebrated their victory below.

Now . . .

Oh now he was unstoppable.

. . . .

Okay, I think I veered WAY into left field with this and probably didn't even answer your question. 😆 Sorry Ames!

[mozart-the-meerkitten]

POV: You're the Gaang just now finding out that the whole time he's been chasing you Zuko has also been looking after a baby... lizard kitten?

This is the other funny Avatar/The SOS Chronicles (my original story) crossover idea I had. Sometime during season 1 or shortly before it Zuko finds 5-year-old orphan Silvie and adopts her. Silvie at this point is largely non-speaking due to both trauma and being autistic so it's unclear when exactly he finds out she's fully sentient but he learns it eventually just by paying attention to her and her actions/reactions.

Silvie and Zuko are a lot alike actually! Their moms both disappeared when they were young, they're outcasts that most people dislike, they have anger issues and tend to act before they think, and their dads were both horrible people! :)

Baby Silvie is very clingy- literally. Baby Aguithans like to climb their caregivers and cling to them like baby koalas. By season 3 Zuko's used to it- and probably using it to his advantage to try and win the Gaang over. He tries to keep baby Silvie out of his fights and stuff as much as he can but the Gaang has likely seen her around some, especially during season 2 since Zuko no longer had a ship to hide her on. But they kind of assumed she was just a pet like Momo.

Taking care of a smol creature is good for Zuko and makes him much more responsible and thoughtful earlier on because he has to think of the BABY. Iroh is very amused and delighted by the affect Silvie has on his nephew.

Despite trying to keep her out of trouble, Silvie is not helpless and proves it whenever she has the smallest opportunity. She's very defensive and protective of Zuko! If he gets attacked and Silvie is around she's likely trying to tear the face off of one of his assailants with her very sharp claws and teeth. She's nervous in the picture, but you'll see she's got her tail wrapped around Zuko a bit- that's a protective gesture! She's telling the Gaang, 'I might be scared of you, but if you hurt my dad I'll gouge out your eyes.' or something like that, anyway. She's a very fierce little kitten.

Silvie does not trust most people but she trusts Zuko very quickly. Everyone else takes much longer, but she eventually trusts Iroh and the whole Gaang. While Zuko's taking members of the Gaang out on their life changing field trips, the rest of the group is trying desperately to befriend his weird alien child. Silvie does NOT make it easy for them. She does like Appa tho, and will often climb him and hide in his fur. She befriends Toph first because Toph's personality is similar to Zuko's and Toph is trying less than everyone else. Aang is next because while he's trying waaay too hard he's also very nice and good with animals. She holds out distrust for Katara and Sokka longer but eventually after they make friends with Zuko they win her over.

Alright, I'll stop now, but I love this silly little AU so if you want to hear more about it feel free to ask!

[whumpitisthen]

Spoooooooooon of lemooooooooooon

Anyways good morning tell me a little fact abt all your ocs. If you have a little fact for all your ocs. The ocs you have a little fact abt

—🐈‍⬛

I do not know what spoon of lemon means but hello spoon of lemon to you too kind stranger!!!!!

Hehehehe an oc ask of course i have little facts about my ocs i have so many

Cutting it off bc long

Grim loves bows. He ties his hair in a bow with a pretty ribbon. He ties a loose flowing bow at the end of his scythe. He ties bows around Mori's antlers, their wrists, ankles, neck, fingers sometimes (Mori is very careful with them, and they would secretly think its kind of cute whenever they find a random bow while cleaning, if they weren't so afraid of him). When he's bored and has to sit around and wait he finds the nearest tieable fabric — curtains, blankets, a table cloth, someone's hair — and ties it into a neat little bow. He just thinks they're neat :)

His Majesty, being a shapeshifter and also a god, is agender. He uses he/him pronouns because he tends to prefer masculine forms and because hes too old to give enough of a shit to change pronouns now when he's been referred to as he for thousands of years and it never really held much deeper meaning to him anyway, but he also just doesn't really look at gender the same way other people do. He's a bit of a special case. Diversity win! Satan is agender :)

The Doctor in nearly every sense except literal, is a black cat. In the way where black cats just look like vaguely cat shaped black blobs with glowing yellow eyes, it is a vaguely demon shaped black blob with glowing yellow eyes. It moves like a cat, fluid and slender and silent (when it wants to be; it does have massive clawed feet that knock on the floor when it isn't careful). It has the same intense stare as cats. It's pupils dilate like a cat's. Exception is when it's pissed. That's when it goes minecraft enderman mode and unlatches its jaw and becomes terrifying. It does have a mouth yes, it just looks like it doesn't. It is a massive black hole filled with several rows of far too sharp teeth. I will have to let the Doctor enjoyers down: it is an awful kisser. No lips, only teeth. It may be hot, but it simply would sooner bite the lower half of you face clean off before managing a kiss.

Miss Thu'lin became the Queen of Dragons when the last dragon queen was assassinated under mysterious circumstances. She always resented her older sister, because in her eyes at the time, the only reason her sister was the one in charge was because she was born sooner. Miss Thu'lin thought herself stronger, more capable, even prettier, and felt it was unfair that just because she is barely a hundred years younger, she would never be queen. Hatred and temptation got her where she is today. Grim is sure to never allow the cold pit of fiery regret in her to die out. (I may explore this more in the future, so that's all im gonna say for now. Grim and Miss Thu'lin are... Not friends.)

Auden loves drawing. He loves asking many questions. He loves learning. He had a little journal he always kept with himself. He misses it a lot. He reaches for it sometimes, and then remembers that he doesn't have it anymore. He sometimes just imagines he is filling it up with drawings and notes, but it's not nearly as satisfying. It calmed him, and now that he needs calming more than ever, he struggles a lot without it.

Mori has never really had a friend before Auden. They don't really know how friendship works, or if that is even what they feel towards him. They feel somewhat of a similar feeling to what they felt for cattle, when they were considered part of a pig pen for a while. They relate to cattle a little too much, and Auden is kind of like cattle but he can talk and understand them, and isn't an animal. They are so happy to have someone to talk to.

[nervouslaughter05]

Stars to Comfort a Lonely Moon

C/W: Implied/Referenced Character Death, Kissing, Angst, inspired by "dont look for me in the sunset when I die", inspired by the song "It's Called: Freefall, really sad and angsty, kinda happy ending?

A/N: I'm so sorry this is the first work I bring to the fandom, but this has been living in my head for the past week and I finally decided to crank something out for this today during some free time I had. "Grizzly", the woman in this piece, is an OC I made who is very near and dear to my heart. I have a fic (that's much happier) in the works at the moment that I'll begin to share once I've gotten some decent headway on it. Chapter one is actually almost done! So maybe in the next few days?

Also, please heed the tags and comment below any you find necessary.

Last chance to turn away. I will be completely honest when I say this wrecked me a little to write. Considering you've stuck around this long, enjoy the piece.

Recommended listening: "It's Called: Freefall" by Rainbow Kitten Surprise

Inspired by this TikTok: https://www.tiktok.com/@bejadoodles/video/7203248315381714182?is_from_webapp=1&sender_device=pc&web_id=7195436189938271790

Called to the Devil and the Devil said

Hey! Why you been calling this late?

It's like 2 A.M. and the bars all close at 10 in hell, that's a rule I made

Anyway, you say you're too busy saving everybody else to save yourself

And you don't want no help, oh well

That's the story to tell

Death was something Ghost had come to accept as something normal in life. 

With the horrors he’d seen, the people he’d lost, the stories he was told, it wasn't exactly unusual. 

He didn’t rush into danger trying to die purposefully, but it was definitely something where if he were to be injured gravely he wouldn’t complain at the prospect of dying.

At least, that’s what he had told himself for years. 

Upon joining the 141, this was still true. 

After Las Almas where he had dragged Grizzly, unconscious, from the bullets pelting down around them and guided Johnny, injured, through the city, this lessened slightly.

After sharing a quiet moment with Grizzly when they had to hunker down in her father’s house in Alaska, this faded to a murmur. 

After the first time they kissed, this evaporated.

That’s what made right now so terrifying. 

Because suddenly he was actually wanting to live, wanting to claw his way from the grave just to keep breathing crisp air through his broken lungs. 

Seeing her sent a sharp stab of something he didn’t want to name through his chest. She was limp, blossoms of red unfurling from beneath her glove covered fingers. He stumbles, collapsing onto one knee onto the dirt.

“What do you think of the idea of looking at a sunset to remember someone who’s died?” Grizzly asks, leaning back on her hands from her spot sitting in the grass. 

He glances at her from his peripheral vision, shrugging. “I’d rather have someone look at the moon.”

She turns her head to look at him. “Why’s that?”

“It stands out like a sore thumb and despite that, it’s alone.”

Grizzly shuffles, trying to raise her upper body up. He gets back to his feet, limping to her prone form in the grass. His other leg gives out this time, sending him back to the ground. Ghost doesn’t care–he crawls to her, shifting so he is sitting upright against a rock in the middle of the clearing with her cradled in his lap. She breathes shakily, hand clutching at the red seeping through the fabric of her shirt. 

With her free hand, she reaches for one of his, tangling their fingers together. Then she pulls back, tugging off her glove with her teeth and prompting him to do the same with a weak whisper of his name–not the callsign, but Simon. Her hand is small in the grasp of his own, somehow still not nearly as calloused and rough as his own. 

His own wounds are forgotten in that moment and the stabbing pain in his head is pushed away in favor of the sensation of her fingers against his.

The woman fell silent, a thoughtful expression slipping onto her face. Eventually, when Ghost was sure she wouldn’t say anything, she murmurs, “Then look for me in the stars.”

He is silent, looking up at the night sky.

She waits a moment before continuing, words equally as soft as before. “So the moon won’t be alone anymore.”

Night was fallen, covering their forms in the gentle light of the moon and the harshness of the shadows around them.

The moon hung in the sky, stars twinkling into existence around it. They blur together in his sight, and that’s how Simon realizes he’s actually crying. The moisture dampens his balaclava, making it stick to his skin uncomfortably. 

The hand clutching her side reaches up to his mask, tugging on the edge of the balaclava resting on his neck. Simon doesn’t hesitate, tugging the balaclava off his face and mussing up his hair in the process. The blood flooding from her wound is slowing down, leaking in a lazy stream now. 

She smiles up at him, looking behind his head at the sky. “The stars are out.”

Simon chokes back a sob, nodding his head, his free hand cupping the back of her head. “So’s the moon.”

Ghost looked over at her fully, eyes trailing over the way the light of the moon fell over her features. Her eyes shone in the darkness, filled with a depth he wanted to drown in. She looked at him with nothing but honesty. It tugged at something in his chest, stirring the grieving beast inside of him. 

“What if the moon wants to be alone?”

“Simon,” she breathes, breath going shallow as she winces. “I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head, pulling her close as a fog begins to settle over his brain. It urges him to sleep, to close his eyes and fall into the abyss. “Don’t.”

It’s all he can manage to say past the choking lump in his throat. She seems to understand, grasping his shoulder to pull herself up. Hand still grasping his own, she brushes the other over his cheek, cupping it in her palm and resting her forehead against his. He holds her close by the hand on the back of her head, helping to keep her upright. 

“Simon,” she says, voice full of reverence. “The moon won’t be alone anymore.”

“It doesn’t,” Grizzly replies easily, looking back up at the sky. “The way he acts says the opposite.”

She looks back at him again, gaze soft. He meets her eyes, that feeling stirring in his chest again. It chips away at the walls he put up, spilling through the cracks. 

“But the stars won’t shine,” Simon tells her, holding her as close as he can. 

She chuckles again, breath ghosting over his lips. “The stars only shine so long as the moon does too. They can’t be-” She winces again. “Can’t be separated.”

One of his hands reaches up, bare palm against her cheek as his thumb strokes underneath her eye. She leans into his touch, tilting to lay a gentle kiss against his skin while holding his palm against her skin with her own. Ghost doesn’t know who leans in first, but before he knows it, his balaclava is shoved over his nose and their lips are slotted together. 

It’s soft and tender to start with. 

Then that ugly thing in his chest rears its head, pressing him to hold the back of her head and kiss her harder. 

Grizzly responds in kind, hands roughly grasping at his shoulders. 

She falls back onto the grass, his body over hers as he worships her with his touch.

“No?” Simon questions, wishing that he could just mold their bodies together. 

“No,” she affirms, eyes starting to drift closed. “Never.”

He hums, and she nuzzles closer. 

The blood–hers, his, it doesn’t matter anymore–is sticky on his clothes, but he can’t bring himself to care. 

“And the stars could never shine without the moon,” Grizzly growls against his lips.

He swallows the sound of her voice, staking a claim on her from the searing kiss. He takes and takes and takes and she just lets him, taking and taking and taking in her own way. They were both broken and hurting, granted at different levels, but still were coming together in a clashing of emotion. 

It burns and soothes the ugly thing in his chest, nourishing and depleting his soul at the same time. 

Her hand falls from his cheek, eyes fluttering nearly shut as the rise and fall of her chest stills. He can feel the own aching in his body fading into a numb sting, eyelids as heavy as her body in his arms. Simon exhales, breath dispersing in a puff of white into the cool air. 

The darkness swallows him whole, except instead of painful it’s gentle. 

He doesn’t fear it–just like before–but because of different reasons this time. 

The embrace is welcome, because he knows that there’s someone waiting on the other side. 

A/N: I'm sorry for putting you guys through this

[stardusted-hearts]

LITTLE MUSE FACTS.

Instructions: fill out the questions about your muse, repost, and tag as many people as you want!

1) What does your muse smell like?:

If he's fresh from the shower, usually lilac or depending on the season he might change to something more autumn scented, like apple cinnamon. He also spends a lot of time wandering around the planet look for any sign of Dr. Eggman, mostly in remote locations, so he often smells earthy, like grass and soil, or the moist underside of a big rock [in a good or bad way]. Sometimes he smells like the ocean. If he's been fighting, you may catch the scent of blood, and/or burning metal and rubber, coolant, and fire.

If it's really hot out he smells like SWEAT.

2) How often does your muse bathe/shower?:

Frequently, at least every other day if not every single day. If he's out on a mission however he could end up not showering for days, maybe even weeks, which makes him all the more eager to shower frequently when he can.

3) Does your muse have any tattoos or piercings?:

None. At this point Horizon doesn't have much interest in tattoos- most of his fur is way too thick for it anyway- but the idea of piercings is appealing. Nothing dramatic for him, but he is apprehensive about it because of the idea of said piercings getting torn off in battle. Ouch!

4) Any body movement quirks? (EX: tapping heel, shaking knee)”

Sudden deep breaths that can alarm anyone nearby, only to see him staring off into space. His right ear will twitch or twist very expressively, either a sign of confusion or nerves. If made to wait for a long period of time, or if Horizon is feeling anxious, he will tap any part of his body- fingers, hands, legs, feet, bounce his knee- on whatever surface is available. Unless it's the type of anxiety that makes him want to hide, then he's eerily still. Sometimes his movement quirks are being so still you'd think he was a statue.

5) What do they sleep in?:

At max comfort Horizon sleeps in Nothing. No socks, no gloves, the only exceptions are his Inhibitor Rings for obvious reasons. Maybe if Stardust has somehow gotten one of his shirts onto Horizon he will sleep in it.

6) What’s their favorite piece of clothing?:

A big t-shirt with "Hawaiian shirt" print on it that Stardust gave him to "borrow" and Horizon is "going to return it eventually". [No he isn't]

7) What do they do when they wake up?:

Depends~ If Horizon fell asleep on his own, first he scolds himself for falling asleep, and then he gets up, stretches, and goes to freshen up. Showers if he feels he needs to, otherwise just preens himself, makes sure all his quills and fur are in order, and gets ready to go do whatever task he's assigned himself.

If Horizon has fallen asleep with Stardust, he wakes up much happier and is careful not to wake Stardust up. He might linger for a while, watching Stardust sleep or getting lost in thought. Eventually he'll get up, does all that self care from the first paragraph, and will more often than not make breakfast for both himself and Stardust.

8) How do they sleep? Position?:  

Alone - Horizon tosses and turns all night, usually ending up tangled in blankets by morning.

With Stardust - Whatever position Stardust is most comfortable snuggling. Most often big spoon, or laying on his back with their head on his chest and an arm around their back.

9) What do their hands feel like?:

Warm. The fur on his hands is velvety soft, but his paw pads are not as soft as they could be. Not horribly rough either. He tries to use lotions, thanks to Rouge fretting at him in the past over his paw pads being so dry and neglected that they were cracked. Horizon had no idea his hands could feel GOOD, so he's been pretty addicted ever since, he just can't use it all the time since he's always running around on missions.

Horizon's claws are BIG and sharp, but if he has the luxury of staying home for a while he will clip and file them a little to be easier to work with. Hanging around the house sucks if his claws are so sharp he's constantly snagging them on furniture or clothing.

tagged by: @omniversentertwined

tagging: @familylightfox @chaosworthy @mobiankaiju @ YOU!

[causmonaut]

first post in a loong while. haven't been using tumblr much now that the live feature is gone, feeling a bit out of tune with things going on across social media platforms i used to frequent anyway. feeling very deeply touched by this calligramme shared by someone on twitter (refusing to call it by its new name)

these last few years i've felt more and more inspired to be more gentle with myself and others around me, without sparing my own boundaries. adopting this has led to a lot of beautiful buds blossoming in my life, i feel a little more in tune with love. not necessarily romantic, i don't care for that very much right now, but i was inspired by a passing crush of mine to appreciate the fact that i am capable of that a lot more than i used to. (i'll talk more about them some other time, surely) it has also ended up in some painful pruning, having to say goodbye to a few long-time figures in my life that i cannot keep around. they're free to reenter my life only when they have done enough work on themselves, otherwise, i wish them well. and will continue to save some love for them forever. remember them on their birthdays, whatever other romantic things i can say about letting people go, etc. it's bittersweet but in the end i want my life to feel less like i am just tolerating having the weight of everyone else's issues on my shoulders. i'm not perfect as i am right now, i never will be, i don't expect to ever be, because no one is. but i do want to take a better approach to my issues. be more positive.

therapy would be awesome. i'm looking forward to having the chance to work on that. "he cannot know he is made of sharp edges and pointed teeth. he is too cherished to know how to use them." here are a few songs i've really been digging lately. the itch to make music never leaves me but i don't have the time or skills!!!!! i'll make do with humming along instead.

this last one is a little bit of a curveball but all of these songs i found while trying to put a playlist together based on one of my favorite characters of all time. Bill from A Murder at the End of the World.. attaching a gif. i love his face :P

love this guy, seriously. loved him in the iron claw too. feeling like i'm doing some serious rural white girl cosplay listening to these songs, but it's all in the name of being obsessed with a guy i can't decide if i'd want to be with or just straight up be ? gender envy ? i feel 17 again, when i let myself fixate on shows and movies. used to have allll the time in the world to just look up gifsets or read post-canon fanfictions (because i never liked that self-insert stuff).

anyway this is all for now :) thank you if you read this ! hope you are doing well.

[icarusredwings]

Thinking about Logan having enough experience to take him to the zoo (as a treat)

Because of how many people there are, Logan has already taken precausions, holding his belt loop and his hand, leading him through the crowd. Theres so many scents and noises that it kind of freaks him out, but the happy rambling keeps him grounded.

Recently (for no reason at all COUGH COUGH) Wade has opened up massively, speaking a lot more, flinching less, and overall just making progress. At times, he still wouldn't say anything, especially if there was something on the tv he wanted to watch or if Logan raised his voice at him. Or just... looked too angry at all. Even a tiny bit made him almost shut down, cower away under a blanket in the corner.

But not today. If anything, it seemed as if Wade was as confident as ever, not really having the mental processesing to realize just how many dirty looks and stares they were getting.

It's not as if he was wearing anything bad, no, just some regular jeans, a band shirt, and one of the logans flannels. But usually, when out in public, he wore a hood or a hat.

Today, it was just him, enjoying his time out. And if anyone ruined it, Logan would fuck them up so quickly. Seeing him be so carefree was a massive change. He could smell that he was far less anxious, too.

"Did you know that honeybadgers can get stung a lot by bees when they're taking the honey combs from the hives and they don't even care because their fur is so thick?"

"I-... no. I didn't. Do you want to see a honeybadger?"

"Yeah, but I wanna see the Wolvies. The real wolvies, not you."

"Uh-huh. So we're going to the wolves then?"

"No! Wolvies."

Taking a whole second to process, he made a "Ooh okay" sound as they headed off to find the Wolverines.

"Kitty, did you know that wolvies are actually really soft and nice?"

"Who told you that?"

"Well you're soft and nice so it must be true for those wolvies too."

"That's not... Kid, that's not how that works."

"Yes huh."

"Nu uh."

"Is too. I know so."

"Yeah, you've been seeming to know quite a lot here recently, haven't you?"

"Mama says im smart."

Another moment to put two and two together that mama was Al. "Yeaahh.. she says that huh?"

"Yeah!"

Just as they come up to the Wolverines theres a demonstration being done where they have one on a harness and are telling the crowd facts about them. "Look, kitty! A wolvie!"

"Yes I see. Im going to let you go, Don't run. Understand?"

Wade nods but he so ran anyway.

"Damn it wade-"

Standing here, he sits up on his tippy toes at times and waves his hands, giggling as they make the Wolverine do tricks for bits of fish.

Before they could even ask if anyone would like to try, his hand was straight up. Before Logan could even protest there, he was, crouching on the ground as he fed the animal a little fish, smiling absolutely brighter than the sun as the animal licked him and nibbled on his fingers.

A ping of jealousy rings in his chest as he grunts, watching as he pets him politely and is overall very well mannered with the animal. It begged the question... was this wolverine being affectionate with him because it was tame, or was Wade really good at taming wild wolverines?

Afterward, Logan sulks, grunting as he's told how soft he was and how gentle how sharp his teeth are and how big his paws were, etc. Overstimulated and jealous was not a good combo.

"And they have teethies in the back of their mouth that go all the way like this, and you dont have those, why not? Also, why dont you have a tail? You got little ears and claws and teethies like them. Oh! Did you know that wolvies can climb trees? Like really tall ones?"

"Oh my god, Kid, for fucks sake. If I buy you a toy will you shut up?"

Blinking for a moment, he nodded. "Can It be a wolvie toy?"

"If they even have one." And to his suprise there was one, squealing over the toy, he held it tight, agreeing to be quiet until they reached home but after that he ran around showing Al and puppins his new wolvie stuffie.

"Im gonna name him Logan-"

"What!? Bullshit!"

"Fluffy it is."

Thinking about Wade's life and his mental health issues a lot, and I just thought about this. Not only being abused, but his entire brain being made out of cancer, and the fact that oxygen was physically taken from his brain over the course of 2+ days multiple times?

We see him coloring a lot and claim multiple times that he doesn't/ can't read (this is probably a bit, I guarantee he can read), but it had me thinking what if some days were more childish then others as part of his coping mechanisms?

At first, Logans was really confused about why Althea puts up with it until he realizes that it's extremely good for him to just... be taken care of? Praised and given affection for the bare minimum? He thinks it's weird. This wasn't the same man he was fighting with yesterday.

Coming into the living room, he sees Wade sprawled out with crayons and markers all around him with multiple pictures already coloured, his notebook having pages ripped out of it as he kicks his feet and hums.

On the tv, there are cartoons playing. Once in a while, he'll look up at the tv and then go back to coloring. "What are you doing??"

"Hi wolvie. 'm colouring."

"He's behaving, so don't ruin it." Al says. There's pictures by her, and she is holding a box of cereal.

"O..kay??" Sitting down, he's almost too curious to just walk away, picking up puppins so she doesn't ruin his drawings, petting her confusedly.

Sometimes, Al will hold out some cereal in her hand. "Wade." And he will see him shimmy over and take the cereal. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, baby."

As hes scooting back to his color spot he stops and watches the tv for a bit longer then usual.

"...What.. the fuck." Logan says to her and she gives him a brow raise. "What?"

"What is he doing?"

"He's coloring. And I thought I was the blind one."

"No no I mean.. those aren't murder plans. That's puppins."

"Yes? And?"

"And.. what did you do to him?"

"Treated him like a human being. Give it a try once inawhile." She says, and he comes back with more pictures, climbing in between them with no regard for space as he leans into her.

"Oh thank you. What is it?"

"It's you."

"Oh? How sweet. Do I look good?"

"Mhm!"

"Im glad. How about you show our friend here your amazing pictures. And he better be nice!"

So wade turns and now is leaning on logan as he points to a different picture. One of Logan with Puppins on a leash with a sun in the corner and crappy grass, a hearts all over the place.

At first he wants to tell him to get off of him, but seeing the pictures and how excited his eyes were to show him, it hits him and he understands.

".. uhm.. thank you?" But he puts it back in his hand. "Oh- you want me to keep it?"

Wade nods and starts cleaning up his crayons.

Logan turns to whisper to Al "How long does this go on?"

"About 2 hours or so."

"Why?"

"God only knows, but it helps with his nightmares."

"Colouring helps with his nightmares??"

"Its more then that. Hey sweetheart? Why don't you bring your ponys out."

"Theyre horses."

"Oh im sorry, my mistake. I think logan here wants to play horses."

Logan gives her a look like excuse me? When did I sign up for that? "No.. uhm.. I think im good."

Wade gets this look of sad innocence but goes to get them anyway, beginning to play by himself, brushing them and making them talk to each other quietly. As if he speaks any louder, he would get hit.

Logan groans and is like "Gimme a fucking horse.."

From then on, Logan is quick to understand what's happening and is much nicer to him, starts giving him snacks, buying him actual coloring books, and has pinned his drawings to the fridge each time he's gifted one. His horses name is Buttercup, by the way.

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

thoughts on moth childe; I feel like he can read your mood pretty well and can gauge how and when you like to be physically touched and coddled. Like he can read ur aura or smth lmao but he uses it to his advantage when you're feeling particularly irked and stingy specifically. idk about other people but its always 50/50 for me to be touched when I;m in a mood like that. Just imagine this huge monster purring while sitting at your feel staring at your until you gesture him to rest his head on your lap or smth!!! Or if you're not the touchy feeling type he just continues to sit/ lay around you purring extremally loud on purpose to make you feel betterrrr AUGh <333 hope this made some sort of sense

this makes total sense because you are ABSOLUTELY RIGHT. even before Child got stuck in Foul Legacy he knew a lot about your habits and emotions from just spending time with you, and once he's in Moth Mode tm it's amplified by at least 10. he can very clearly tell when you're not in the mood for physical contact and he is very respectful of it!!! and even when he thinks it's alright, he always waits for your permission to snuggle up on your legs (plus when he's waiting for you to give the "go ahead" sign, he's sitting next to you on the cough and staring with a big sparkly eye so he's just ADORABLE)

and if you're very much NOT in the mood to be touched but also need to not be alone, Childe will curl up beside you and rumble so loud so you can hear it clearly. sometimes it makes you fall asleep and lean on him, and he treasures that when it happens!!! very gently patting your head and pulling a blanket over you so you can sleep well <33 honestly i think he understands not wanting physical contact at times because he was like that when he first got stuck in Foul Legacy- you were the only one who could touch Childe without him freaking out, and it took a very long time for him to warm up to other people like Zhongli or the Traveler!!!

[sukirichi]

black magic [01]

REQUEST. arranged marriage + enemies to lovers (sukuna is a simp and lowkey a housewife)

CONTENT/WARNINGS. some suggestive scenes, but overall fluff and romance! slight crack fic, I guess? I was laughing when I wrote this lol

NOTES. I NEED A HUSBAND! SUKUNA I’M GOING TO CRY GOODBYE THIS HAS ME SOFT. also anon i’m not sure if you wanted something with more ~sexual tension~ since this is kind of just comedic, but I hope you like it anyway!

part one | part two (nsfw)

“This is new,” you comment with a glare, your ankle propped on Sukuna’s knee.

“Shut up,” he rolls his eyes, pushing your skirt aside to clean the wounds you attained through exorcising curses. You’ve taken a particularly strong curse today and you’re caught off guard, barely finishing the mission unscathed. Limping all the way back home isn’t easy especially since you live on top of the darned mountain, but if Sukuna’s going to kneel in front of you like this...maybe it wasn’t too tough a journey. “You should stop going to missions you’re not ready for. Look at you, all wounded and bloody.”

“You sound like you care.”

“You’re my wife,” he huffs while dropping the bloody towel on the floor. Sukuna wraps the bandage around your ankle and carries you bridal style even though you’re perfectly capable of walking, but he shoots you a silencing glare. You’d have knocked him in the face any other day, but he’s particularly warm and smells nice today – plus you’re beat – that you bury your face in his chest, ignoring that stupid fluttering in your stomach. “Of course I do.”

You snicker, mind tracing back to your earlier years of this dreaded marriage.

It definitely wasn’t the best – the memories blurring between strangling each other to making out as if breathing was never a thing – and it felt like forever ago when you first met him.

You’d never say it out loud, but... you don’t regret this arranged marriage. Not when Sukuna is tucking himself beside you on the bed, your head above his muscular chest a place similar to home. He covers both your bodies over with a blanket, pulling your body closer to him with a strong arm, his lips pressing onto the crown of your head.

Ugh, you think to yourself, giving in to the need to cuddle your husband after a long day of work. You still refuse to say it out loud, though, and you irk him further by muttering, “That’s not what you said two years ago.”

“I wasn’t in love with you then.”

 “I refuse to be married to you!”

Sukuna fights back the urge to cover his ears. Ever since your clan decided to visit his land and started exorcising curses one by one, his life has been nothing but hell. Not only are your relatives the most arrogant people ever with a consistent god complex, they just had to let their little mortal child be in charge of taking on the stronger curses. Seriously, what were they thinking, sending you – who’s barely even out of their training bra years – to deal with curses like him?

Everyone knows Sukuna is a no bullshit man. He won’t hesitate to cut your head off the moment you came raging at him, but then he sees how young you are and decides to send you back to your family.

Expecting that everyone would just call it a day and he’d get offerings for his unexpected mercy, Sukuna is beyond stupefied when they send you back to his temple, all dressed pretty with a basket of fruits and flowers braided in your hair. He remembers growling because you look adorable, but that’s easily wiped away when you open your mouth, your voice scratchy against his ears as you stomp your feet like the young mortal you are.

Sukuna pushes a thumb to his forehead to ease the impending headache, and that’s just from your presence. Something inside him tells that you’re going to be a bigger pain than you look.

“You don’t have much of a choice. You should’ve thought of that before deciding to run rampage over my land,” he reminds, turning boredly to his lone servant from above his throne. Sukuna isn’t impressed, to say the least, especially with your clan’s audacious proposition to gain his favour just this once. “Is this really the woman you bring me – the one they insist to be my wife?”

“She is their best fighter, my Lord.”

Well, he can’t disagree to that. You did, after all, single-handedly give him a cut on the cheek. “She’s feisty indeed.”

“Don’t talk as if I’m not here!”

“Mouthy too,” he mumbles to himself, but your sorcerer senses are sharp and easily picks up on it. He sees you flush angry again, looking immensely adorable with your tiny fists clenched like that and he snorts, waving a hand in the air. “Whatever. Get the wedding over with,” he nods to his servant, his sigh loud and tired as he makes his way to you.

You don’t stiffen at each haunting step, his eyes only glimmering harder with entertainment. It’s rare to find a mortal that doesn’t quiver at the sight of him, the urge to break you only growing stronger.

Even as he cups your face, making sure to not let his claws dig into your precious skin, Sukuna smirks. You’ll be entertaining indeed.

So Sukuna makes a promise, four eyes surveying the way your body is starting to fill in curves at the right places, the swell of your flesh just perfect in his hands... He chuckles to himself, daunting you further as he leans down to your ear, taking pleasure in the slight way your breath hitches. “Maybe then I’ll get to teach you a lesson or two.”

You’re definitely something else, taking advantage of each presented opportunity and not wasting any time before you make your move. Right after the wedding and everyone’s left, leaving you alone with your new husband behind closed doors; you push him until he’s on the ground, legs straddling each side of his hips while you growl above him – the sound similar to a battle cry.

Sukuna merely smirks, barely moving a muscle as his large hands come up to rest on your hips to steady you. “I’ve imagined countless ways you’d be on top of me like this,” his eyes light up with humour upon feeling the cold blade on his skin, “None of them included a knife on my neck though.”

“Shut your mouth. I will kill you myself,” you warn, pressing your knife harder until it draws a slight tinge of blood.

You hardly look threatening above him like this, dolled up to look the best in your wedding with this cursed being. If anything, you look more divine than deadly, and Sukuna thinks that perhaps your beauty could be your best weapon. You are bewitching, after all.

“I refuse to be your Queen and sit next to your throne.”

“Then why didn’t you stop the wedding?”

“I—”

Sukuna’s teasing grin grows wider when you pull back, trying so hard to not trip over your words. It takes all of his self-restraint to not take you right then and there, but he does a good job of holding back, enjoying this view above him instead. “Could it be you’re attracted to me after all, hm, little one?”

“Do not test me, Curse. I’m more than capable of exorcising you myself.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that. You’re the strongest in the Gojo clan, are you not?” he prompts to appease you, “I don’t even want to see what you’re capable of, but maybe, just maybe...” just as his eyes darken, the edges of his lips turning up into a smirk, Sukuna digs his claws into your thigh in a possessive show of ownership, a painful reminder that you’re his now. “...You could put on a little show for me?”

“I hate you!”

Experienced and strong as you are, you’re nothing compared to a thousand year old curse who’s killed a lot more people faster than you could blink. Sukuna immediately notices the animalistic way you draw your blade, arm swung back with rage written all over your face. Before you could so much as bat an eye, he easily switches the positions until you’re under him, using only one hand to pin your arms above your head, your blade effortlessly thrown to the other side of the room.

“As I thought, you’re a lot prettier under me like this,” he observes, roaming his eyes shamelessly over the fabric clinging prettily to your body. You’ve fallen silent at his unconcealed attention, your compliance enticing him to lean closer just to inhale your intoxicating scent.

“Not so feisty now, little one? Where’d all your hatred for me go?” Sukuna pulls back with widened eyes, “Oh? Am I hearing it wrong or is your pathetic human heart beating so loud right now?” You refuse to look at him, wriggling your hips in an attempt to leave, completely unaware that the mere movement is hypnotizing the curse above you. Sukuna grips your hips in warning, not wanting to destroy you – not now, anyway. “You know all you need to do is say it. I’d gladly take you right here and then.” His words spoken with that deep, throaty voice immediately sends a wave of heat down your core, but you turn away from him, breathing hard and nervously; something Sukuna picks up on in an instant. “Little one...have you never had a man hold you like this before?”

“N-no...”

“I see. Pure and innocent behind that ferocity, huh?” He surprises you by pulling away, smoothening his white robes down as he leaves you panting still on the floor. “Fine. I won’t touch you unless you ask me to.”

“I’d rather die before that ever comes out from my mouth.”

“We’ll see about that,” he smirks, winking at you before he shuts the door. “Little one.”

There’s a lot of weird – and utterly inconvenient things – about being Sukuna’s wife. The man eats everything, absolutely everything, and it doesn’t help that he sucks at hunting too. For a man so huge and burly, he sure is lazy, preferring to do the laundry in the riverside instead while you go out every day to prepare your meals.

You actually don’t mind, but it’s very fun to complain around him.

You’re on your way back to the temple when Sukuna grabs at you, making you drop the freshly caught birds onto the ground. Your brows furrow, about to scold him for being too eager again when Sukuna stares at your arm, his lips pressing into a thin line.

Following his line of sight, your lips form an ‘o’ shape. There’s blood trickling down your forearm from his claws accidentally cutting you, guilt written all over his face. Another weird thing about Sukuna is that he babbles a lot when he’s emotional, and you’re too tired to hear him beat himself over it that you just drag him inside your room, sitting his ass down before taking a clipper.

Sukuna scoffs when you start cutting his nails. It irks him that you don’t even bother wiping the blood off first and he tsks, eyes narrowed at you. “You should have thicker skin.”

You roll your eyes as you file his nails; you’ve been married to him long enough to know it’s his way of saying sorry. Not wanting to let him wallow in guilt any louder, you pad kisses over his knuckles before swiping the black ink off your desk, using a pen brush to colour your nails instead. Sukuna hovers behind you, head tilted to the side as he watched you. “Are you painting your nails black?” he utters in disbelief, trying to ignore the fact he feels...proud and even a little smug. “Not so fitting for the angelic sorcerer now, isn’t it?”

“I’m only doing this so you don’t feel left out.”

“Maybe I’ll add markings to your pretty face too,” he cups your jaw to make you turn to him, landing a solid kiss flat to your lips which makes you sigh, pretending to be annoyed but leaning over for another peck anyway. Sukuna laughs and pulls you onto his lap, kissing your neck this time around, a little annoyed that you don’t stop in brandishing your nails. “Wife, what do you think?”

“I have work, Sukuna. You flirting with me doesn’t change the fact I need to go.”

“Come home safe for me, at least?” he breathes down your neck, his touch sending shivers down your spine. You’ve definitely changed since the first time he’s met you, starting from a mean (although he stands strong that you are still mean to him sometimes) temperamental little one to a mature, stronger sorcerer who’s secretly weak for his wife.

Unable to resist him as always, you turn around once you’ve finished painting your nails, rubbing your nose over his until your strong, scary husband is turning into putty at your hands. “Of course I will,” you peck his lips one last time, Sukuna’s eyes closing as he dives in for a deeper kiss. “I’ll always come back home to my handsome husband.”

If anyone were to ask how it’s possible that the King of Curses is actually very soft for his sorcerer wife, everyone would claim it’s impossible and a heresy – but if you ask Sukuna, it’s probably just black magic doing its wonders.

[phantomrose96]

Joyrider

(Welcome to another warm-up writing piece. cw for mild body horror)

...

The mall food court doubled rather nicely as a battle-dome.

It fit the bill: a flat and circular arena, crowned two-stories up by a hemisphere of glass windows which lapsed iridescent in the maelstrom of ecto-fire.

Spectator chairs sat empty, hastily shoved back and knocked over by the Amity Park mall patrons who knew to leg it at the first sound of explosions and the first sign of the atmosphere tipping dark. Admittedly, the patron evacuation took longer than Danny anticipated, and he backed himself into a corner playing defense for the 50 some-odd people who, worn-out on the every-day mundanity of ghost alarms, took their time gathering belongings, or shutting off burners, or working in a few last bites of a burger.

So with the crowd gone and the stage their own, Danny found himself pressed back against a vat of french fry oil, hands braced against the handle of a broom he held out horizontally, which the ghost gripped with equal measure and shoved her full weight against.

“Oh, why not take a little dip, Ghost Boy? I hear the water’s nice.”

“No thanks,” Danny answered, shoving harder. “I never was much of a hot tub guy. You on the other hand—”

Danny set a foot forward and pivoted, body fueling the torque as he spun the broom, and tore the ghost with him, a pirouette to swap their spots and jam the ghost back-pressed to the fryer.

“—you seem like you’d like it hot.”

The ghost barked a laugh, jaw stretching lower and loose than Danny was comfortable with.

“Ha! You sure? Not very heroic of you to deep fry this girl I’m possessing.”

Danny faltered. His grip slipped. His blood chilled to ice as the information clicked in place – as he recognized the sensation of a ghost talking through someone. This wasn’t the ghost’s own form. This was some girl. How had he not felt—

A blast took him by the ribs. Danny doubled over, immediately kicked back. A foot found contact with his face, driving him down, until the girl’s wet and slippery fingers pinned him down by the wrists.

Danny strained. He could pivot his wrist a fraction of an inch left or right, but he could not break the hold.

“Get off me!”

And a voice answered from behind him.

“I can help with that.”

Danny craned his neck. Upside down, vantage point from the floor, he registered Sam’s combat boots slam into focus. She bent to one knee, a bazooka locked on the other. It charged, whined, and erupted with an explosion of green light.

The ghost shrieked. It took only an instant of resistance before the ghost tore cleanly from the girl possessed.

“Now if you don’t mind me—” Tucker, by the voice. Danny heard the whine of a Fenton Thermos heating up. “—I’d officially like to change my order from fries to soup.”

The beam burst forth, and the writhing, shrieking, yelping form of the exorcised ghost clawed and scratched in Danny’s direction before the thermos consumed her in full.

“Really? ‘Fries to soup’? Even Danny can do better than that.”

“Hey,” Danny answered.

“I was thinking on my feet, Sam. I didn’t hear any witty quips from you.”

The conversation fell away from Danny’s focus as the full human weight of the possessed girl dropped down on him. Gently, Danny gripped her by the shoulder, lifting her as he pushed himself into a sitting position.

“Your parents’ anti-possession gear is getting good. I don’t think I’ve seen an exorcism work that quickly.” Sam’s voice, now at his side. Danny glanced over, finding her kneeling beside him. “Is she hurt?”

Danny gave the girl a once-over. She was pale, cold, lips seeping blue. A mottled, blackish bruise spread across her temple, partially hidden beneath loose red bangs.

“I don’t… totally know. I didn’t land any hits on her, thankfully. But who knows what that ghost might have done. We should call an ambulance.”

“On it,” Tucker, from behind.

“Do you… do you think the bazooka might have hurt her?” Sam asked.

Danny shook his head. “Mom and Dad have blasted each other with that thing a hundred times. Dad got himself possessed by the box ghost for a trial run. It doesn’t hurt people. …Maybe she just needs a minute.”

“Lay her down, maybe?”

“Good idea.”

Danny eased forward, careful in his movements. Something about his grip slipped, sliding loose and rolling forward, and she fell unceremoniously from his arms, shoulder knocking ground as she lay there partially turned on her side.

“Danny!”

“Sorry! I didn’t—something slipped!”

“Well don’t leave her like—” Sam gripped a hand to the girl’s shoulder, weight behind her wrist to roll the girl fully onto her back. Sam’s hand froze, and then yanked away.

“What?” Danny asked.

“That didn’t feel right.” Sam only stared down, her hand hovering, twitching in increments. “Way too cold… and loose.”

“Loose?”

“Danny, look at her hands. What’s wrong with her hands?”

Danny looked. The skin stretched and wrapped the bones of her fingers as if rotated partway around. Her fingernails sat off-center, twisted around and bunched up like a glove. Sam’s hand came back into view, and she clamped it to the girl’s wrist.

“It’s like jelly. Danny it’s like jelly. Why is she this cold? Danny, I don’t think she’s—”

Something new caught Danny’s eye, a purple discoloration peeking out from the bottom ruffles of the girl’s shirt. His hands seemed to move on their own as he reached down, and pinched the bottom of her shirt, and pulled it back.

Black bruising consumed her torso, caving deep and bloating, pruning around the trails of heavy stitching that ran along the tracks of surgical cuts carving through her abdomen.

Danny yanked his hand away as if burned.

“Danny, she’s not breathing.”

The rest of Danny’s thoughts drowned in the swelling wail of the approaching ambulance siren.

…

Outside the Fenton Portal, green lighting doused the only part of Danny’s form not hidden in shadow, and danced with the fire of his glowing green eyes. Danny uncapped the thermos in his hand, and he trailed his thumb along the eject switch.

A new consuming green light belted forth, lasting only a moment until it vanished with a twin-braided ghost in its wake. The ghost blinked, smoothing over her hair and pulling the ends of her braids over her shoulders.

“Oh, it’s the Ghost Boy again. I thought you’d just throw me back in the Ghost Zone. Are you interested in a round 2?”

“No, not interested,” Danny answered, tone colder than ice.

“Yeesh, you’re quite sour. No more puns?”

“Why were you possessing that girl?”

“Hmm?”

“Why were you possessing her?”

The ghost blinked, green portal light mixing murkily with her purple eyes. “No particular reason. It was just a joyride.”

“A joyr—she was dead.”

Another blink. “Yeah I know. She was sitting in the morgue. She was in like a car crash or something and they already took all her organs. They didn’t need her. And I was gonna give her back, but you had to go and make it a whole thing.” The girl swooped forward, eyes wide and roving over Danny. “You seem mad. Wanna call a truce?” She stuck a hand forward. “I’m Melissa, by the way.”

Danny jolted, eyes flashing brighter. “No, you’re not. That girl was Melissa.”

“Oh for real?” Melissa let out a chuckle. “Crazy coincidence. I like don’t even know that many Melissas. Anyway truce?”

“No.” Danny ran his fingers through his hair. “You were possessing the body of a dead girl and you made me fight her! Don’t you see how that’s—that’s so—how fucked up—that you’d even—”

“Well I mean, I didn’t make you fight me. You made that happen. I was minding my business.”

“Doing what?”

“Shopping. Why else would I take a body for a joyride? I stole some cute clothes to wear. Stole some food to eat. Oh! That outfit I was wearing when we were fighting? Yeah I picked that out. She was in like a hospital gown when I found her. Super cute improvement right?”

An ectoblast sounded and connected with the wall behind Melissa, missing her a foot to the right. Danny’s hand glowed, and his eyes focused with a razor sharpness.

“Stop talking like that, okay? It’s pissing me off. I need you to tell me you know this was fucked up.”

Melissa put a finger to her chin. “I mean I guess stealing is kinda wrong. They were all like, big box corporate stores don’t worry.”

“The. Dead. Body.”

And Melissa fell silent a moment, violet eyes probing deep into Danny’s before widening. “Oh. Oh you’re like for-real mad about that. Like actually. I thought you were like, making an ironic joke.”

“Why the hell would I be joking about this??”

Melissa cocked her head to the side. “Well because you’re doing it too, duh. Like, duh.”

A huff of air cut against Danny’s teeth, an involuntary noise, incredulous, a guffaw he didn’t consciously make. The jelly sensation of decomposing flesh was back under his fingers. “I am not—would never—I’ve never even seen a dead body before this thing with you and I’d never in a million years even think for even a fucking second that I’d want to possess a dead body. What’s wrong with you?!”

Melissa bobbed a little in the air, ends of her braids trailing over the straps of her ephemeral sundress. “See this is why I really can’t tell if you’re joking or not. What are you talking about? You’re doing it right now.” She clasped her hands behind her back. “The black-haired boy whose corpse you’re possessing. Why are you allowed to do it?”

Danny froze. He laughed, heavy, with an uncomfortable force. “Myself, you mean? I’m not possessing myself. I am myself. I’m a half-ghost.”

Melissa met his laugh. “Oh what? No way like, that’s your own corpse? How’d you even get back to it in time? That’s crazy lucky like you must have died right near a portal or something.”

An involuntary shiver traced down Danny’s spine.

“…I’m not dead.” His eyes shifted around, and Danny dropped to the floor. He set a hand against the wall, throwing on the lights to the Fenton basement. Rings swept around his form, green iridescent eyes sweeping blue, white hair seeping black. “Look. Literally look at me. I’m not dead.”

And Melissa swooped closer. She set a finger to her bottom lip and hovered a foot in front of Danny, drinking him in. She swept to the side, like a swimmer in the water, sweeping around him in a full arc. She edged closer and pinched her fingers against the exposed skin on Danny’s arm. He flinched.

“Oh wow there’s like, not even any decay or anything. Your human brain even feels like it’s working it’s all like, electro-magnety. How long were you dead before you got back to your body?”

“I didn’t die.”

“Then what did happen?”

“I got shocked by the Fenton Portal, okay? It was just a lab accident and it gave me powers.”

“Oh. Oh.” Melissa’s eyes shot wide. “Oh you didn’t die near a portal… You died in a portal. You didn’t even have to get back to find your body at all. You must have appeared like practically on top of your own body. That’s crazy lucky. That’s so lucky. Your body was like, probably only dead a microsecond before you hopped back in. No wonder it’s so well-preserved.”

Danny swatted her away. “You’re not listening to me.”

“You’re not listening to me.” Melissa floated backwards. “What do you think is more likely? A bajillion ecto-volts somehow gave you superpowers that exactly mirror everything a regular dead ghost can do? …Or you died, and became a regular old ghost, and did what any regular old ghost can do, which is possess a freshly-dead dead body?”

“…I’m half-ghost,” Danny answered, human heart pounding in his chest. “I know what I am.”

Melissa bobbed back, feet pointed backwards until the soles of her feet skimmed the matrix of the portal. “I see you’ve made up your mind. That’s alright. But it was still pretty mean of you to accuse me like a big hypocrite like that.”

“I’ll destroy you if you ever try that again.”

“Oh I’ll try asking permission next time okay? Promise.” Melissa’s feet sank into the surface of the portal. “But, before I go, I’ve just got one more question to leave you with.”

“Go.”

“Why should a lethal accident do anything other than kill you?”

“Go.”

“Maybe you’ll have an answer for me next time I see you. Byeee!”

A spark of white erupted from the portal, consuming, absorbing, and fizzling out as Melissa’s form vanished into the ether beyond.

…

“Hey! Yo! Danny, come check this out!”

Danny rounded the stairs, unsocked feet creaking the floorboards with each step. Danny yawned, and blinked, and rubbed at his bruised eyes with the sleeve of his pajama top.

“Still asleep? That’s fine! You don’t have to do anything. Just come over here and look at what your old pop’s been up to.”

Danny entered the living room, where Jack sat hunched on the couch surrounded by an arsenal of power tools, rags, oil, soldering equipment, and scrap metal. From beside him he hefted a bazooka into view.

“This is the Fentonzooka 3.2.17. Amped up and equipped with all the latest in ghost-busting and human-saving technology.”

Danny blinked. “3.2.17?”

“Yep. This baby’s got 17 bug patches, tweaks, and internal improvements since the 3.2.0. The 3.2.0 was the advent of the snack compartment in the side. Look!” Jack spun a dial, revealing a chamber half-filled with pistachios.

Danny only stared.

Jack hefted the bazooka onto his shoulder. “Even better, Mads and I finally got rid of the last little sting humans feel when it’s fired. It’s now completely 100% harmless to humans. It feels like the breeze from a standing fan when it hits ya.” Jack turned, and he aimed the barrel at Danny. “Wanna try it out?”

Danny stood, and Danny stared, and Danny said nothing.

What might happen when it hit him?

Would it hit like the gentle breeze of a fan? Wash over him like air conditioning? Tingle cool and pleasant against his human fingers, human face, human skin?

Would it do something else?

Why should a lethal accident do anything other than kill you?

Jack eased the bazooka a bit off center, pulling his eyes away from the sight. He stared directly at Danny. “Danny?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you want to try it out?”

Danny stood.

Danny stared.

Danny wondered if he’d have an answer for Melissa the next time he saw her.

[poppy-metal]

so uh,,,,this ended up being alot softer then i was expecting LMAO.

Bully!eren x reader

Cw: not alot, some smut at the end. Tame for me but i was in my FEELINGS okay.

Word count: 2.3k

The familiar sleek black of erens benz pulls up to the side of your house as you walk home from a late night trip to the grocery store, pints of ben & jerrys ice cream in the bags, as well as several other snack items one might munch on to cram for an exam, which is what you planned on doing. 

You side step more onto the sidewalk when he pulls up beside you, still driving just slow enough to match your pace. He rolls down the window, jerking his head, “Just the girl i wanted to see,” he drawls hooking his arm out his window to lean out a little, he grins, “its fate” 

You scrunch your nose up and scoff “Stalking is another word for it, jaeger”. You look him over suspiciously, “you wanted to see me?” 

He rolls his eyes. He’s wearing aviator sunglasses, pushed up his forehead. Loitering in front of your house like this, you’re aware of how different the worlds you live in are. Everything about eren is expensive, from his car to his sunglasses to his clothes, even the way he smells, the cologne he wears, all tells how important he is. Meanwhile here you are in your oversized hoodie and leggings, hands full of stuff you’d bought from the convenience store, prepared to spend your night busting your ass to even stay in the college you had to claw your way to get into, wherein he had gotten in without even trying. You’re not self conscious, at least not usually. You’d never yearned to be apart of erens world too terribly, and it was eren who always sought you out, not the other way around, when there was plenty of rich girls right up his alley and status that would be glad to be with him and yet here he was at 11pm at night. You try to push down the way your heart flutters at that fact.

“Uh huh. Get in the car, bambi, m’taking you somewhere” his teeth are a flash of white against the night, promising trouble, as always. Your grip on your bags tightens, as does your heart in your chest. You glance away, “i have to study” 

“Study?”

Your brows pinch together and you hold up your bags “Not that you’d care, jaeger, but some of us have to actually study to achieve our goals. I can't entertain you tonight, im busy” 

Eren doesn’t look put out in the slightest, glancing down at your bags with casual disinterest“You dont need to study”. And then he looks up at you and meets your eyes, your breath catching, they look closer to the shade of seaglass today. “You’re smarter than anyone i know, ___, and i know alot of people. Whatever you want to pass? You’re already there. Just come with me, please”  

Your eyes widen and your heart spasms in your chest, caught off guard by the raw honesty in his voice. He has moments like this, where he usually teases you and gets under your skin but sometimes he says something that makes everything in you jolt. Its not fair. Its confusing and it messes with your head, makes it fuzzy, weakens you and makes you do things you’d never do with a clear mind.  

You wish you could fight it, wish you could roll your eyes and tell him no and do what you need to do. But you don’t. Huffing you say, “Ugh, fine. Just let me put this stuff up, my ice creams probably already a puddle by now” you turn and rush up to your house, ears burning when you hear him call out, “Thatta girl!” 

You try not to put everything away to hastily, thinking he ought to squirm just a little, but even you can’t deny the eager buzzing under your skin. When you clamber into the passenger seat of his car eren turns to grin at you as he flicks his sunglasses back over his eyes. “Knew you’d see reason, bambi”. You roll your eyes at the nickname, crossing your arms over your chest as you side eye him warily, “where are you taking me jaeger, is this a kidnapping?” 

“Not a kidnapping when you want it, sweetheart”, eren says, putting his arm around the back of your seat as he backs up his car to make a uturn. You dont know if the flustered leap in your chest is from the petname or the way his forearm looks flexing, the cords in his neck prominent as he looks behind him for any oncoming cars. “Just trust me, yeah? You’ll like it” 

You sink in the seat, trying to get away from the warm heat of his arm so close to you, but hes taking it away soon enough, only to draw your attention again to the way his hands look steering the wheel. His hands….You turn to look out the window, opting for silence, because you feel like you’re about to lose your mind. This car is just so..him and its overwhelming your senses. It smells good, it smells like him, his cologne wafting all around you. The sleek interior of his car is crisp, clean, sharp, and just so richboy it feels surreal. You haven’t been in his car before. 

Eren seems okay with the silence though, tapping his finger idly against the wheel as soft music plays from the radio. Its strangely peaceful, actually. Before you know it, the whirring of houses and neighborhoods and highway turns into palm trees and sand. You sit up straighter, coming out of your daze when you realize eren is pulling his car into the sandy bank by a large body of water. The beach. You haven’t had a chance to go here. 

The water looks like black at this time of night, there are no waves, just sparkling dark abyss that stretches out for ages and ages, glittering under the moonlight. There are no other cars parked close to you so its just you, eren, and the sea. 

You spend quite awhile gawking at the ocean before you come to your senses and turn to face eren. He has his elbow propped on the wheel, chewing idly on his thumb as he peers at you from over his sunglasses. A small smile is playing at his lips as he watches you. 

You gape, “What…” 

“You’re cute when you’re excited, you know” his voice is low, dropped in that way that makes your toes curl in your shoes. You ignore the way your heart skips at his words, probing him, “Why did you bring me here, ren?” 

He turns to face forward, flipping the radio off so theres no background noise between the two of you. Taking his sunglasses off the folds them and puts them on the dash, sighing as he watches the ocean from out the windshield, gnawing on his lips. Tap, tap, tap, his fingers on the wheel go as you wait for him to speak. “Last week,” he starts, glancing at you, “When we had to do those presentations in class about places we feel at home..you talked about the library” 

He laughs under his breath like its some kind of endearing joke, shaking his head a little. You dont speak. “The library is where i first saw you, you know? I mean, before all this, before i..talked to you, i noticed you before you ever noticed me.” A small secret smile plays on his lips, “You were reading ‘percy jackson and the lightning thief’, and you haid your hair in pigtails. Your glasses were way to big your face. My first thought was ‘wow she looks like an owl’, but then i saw you laugh at something on the page and my second thought was ‘i want to know her’. We were in middle school.” 

Green eyes connect with yours, “You still go there, i know. But anyway..this is. My place, i guess”. He purses his lips “i figure since i'm always intruding on your little sanctuary , i’d let you see mine” 

You take everything he just said in. He’d known about you, noticed you, since middle school? You hadn’t acknowledged him until sophomore year of highschool, hadn’t spoken to him since senior year, when this tug and pull had first begun between you two. You remembered that day, your mother wouldn't buy you the series so you’d relied on constantly re-reading the books at the library. It was around that time you began to see that place as something special, too. Tucked away from the world, you could lose yourself in another's story. It was like magic. And to realize eren had been there the whole time, had glimpsed that, realized that the library was your special place, that he’d even payed attention to your presentation in class at all in the first place...that he was here, showing you something of himself in return, even though you’d never asked. You’d wondered of course. 

Eren was an enigma, he was on most days, the bane of your existence. He had made your life a living hell on many occasions, but with that, he also made you feel more alive than ever before. He’d dragged you out of your bubble and challenged you to see the world beyond school and books and fiction, he raised your emotions and forced you to experience everything head on. Anger, confusion, happiness, anxiety, thrill, lust and…

You look at him. The way the moonlight curls into the car like a kind of mist, making his eyes look absolutely beautiful. The soft wave to his brown hair, his eyelashes, everything about him made you ache with desire. All the time, even when you swore you hated him, you wanted him. 

“Kiss me”. Its whispered out so low, for a moment you worry he might not hear it. Its the first time you’ve asked for him, reached for him first without his taunting to guide a confession from you. With this request, filling the air between you, you’re making it known that you want him, want this. It doesn’t change anything and yet it somehow changes everything. You can’t look in the mirror and tell yourself he doesn’t occupy your mind and your heart anymore. Not after this. 

Eren seems to realize this too, his intake of breath letting you know he heard you loud and clear. “__..” he says, inching closer. His eyes, dark now, are so very hungry as he closes in. In a moment his lips, soft, so soft, are on yours. You sigh into his kiss, opening for him easily when his tongue glides into your mouth. His hand comes up to cup your jaw, tenderly, thumb stroking it. God, you want to eat him, you want him to eat you. The wet smack of your lips fills the car as you hungrily nip, and suck, and kiss at each others lips. 

When eren pulls back, he’s panting, hair disheveled. You don’t remember when your hands first sunk into his hair, but they must have, messed up as it is now. He looks at you like he wants to devour you, he licks his lips. “I’m gonna put your seat back,” he tells you slowly, each word dripping with finality, “im going to kiss every inch of your body and then you’re opening those legs for me and letting me inside, baby” 

You don’t have it in you to act scandalised, you know what you want. You’d basically asked for it. You just nod, never taking your eyes off his face when he reaches down and pulls the lever. And then you feel yourself being tilted backwards as the seat goes back, laying you flat. Your chest heaves with barely contained need as eren then settles above you, every clothed inch of him hovering just barely above you. 

Holding your eyes, eren lowers himself. You spread your legs easily to accommodate him, gasping when you feel his clothed cock settle right against your clit through your leggings. He rocks once, gently, against you, his hair hanging over his forehead as he looks down at you with utter want in his eyes, “Want you to feel me”, he murmurs, and rocks again, “Wanna fill you up so good, you can’t ever pretend that im not apart of you. Because, this, baby?” Another rock, a shuddered moan leaving your lips, “This is it. No ones gonna fuck you like i do, no ones gonna get inside that little head and play the games we play so well together.” 

One of his hands trails up your thigh, dipping his hand under the fabric of your leggings and pulling them slightly down, he pecks your lips, once, twice, three times. “Tell me”, he groans into your mouth, peeling your clothes off you slowly, “Tell me you understand, Tell me this is everything” 

And you tell him. Tell him through your whimpers when he parts the folds of your slick cunt with his fingers buried inside you. Tell him through your moans into his mouth when he shoves his jeans down and splits you open on his cock. Tell him through sighs of his name, when he rocks into you, licking into your mouth as he spears you open. Tell him through the way you claw your fingers down his back when starts to fuck you hard, rocking the car with the force of his thrusts. Tell him through the way you spread your legs, even wider, toes curling as he wrings orgasm after orgasm out of your tight little pussy milking him. 

“Its everything, you’re everything…” You cry out again and again, clutching onto him as he pumps you full of his cum, groaning brokenly into your neck. 

“Fuck”. He pulls back to look down at you, brushing your damp hair back from your face, still inside you. “You’re gonna fucking kill me, you little nerd” 

[hamsamwich23]

Twenty ref

Tw for: electrocution, heavy injuries, heavy scars, implied experiments/dissection, burns. If I forget anything please let me know

I was gonna make Daisy's ref first, however I really like my oc, and, although I wanted to be careful due to certain people trying to copy off of him (and if they copy off of anything here I'll have evidence) I also feel I should be able to show him to you all. So without further speaking, let's begin

Twenty (formerly Zimaki of dimension 2020) is a sixteen year old hybrid who was experimented on from the beginning of his existance. His dimension was destroyed when he was thirteen and has been living on Earth 100.5 for almost 3 years. He lives with his sister Kai (who's owned by my friend Kido!!)

Twenty's own appearance isn't actually caused by the curse, not fully at least. It's a result of what experiments were done on him. Which was mainly the empire combining his DNA with an extinct species (which I am still working on)

this is from my friend @we-dont-talk-about-kido-nonono :] (their old tumblr is here, I gotta link their new acc)

A more recent image of Twenty's face with the four eyes done by @/elysiblu (and another few images from the same person :] )

This was something I commissioned someone for!! By @/goldenkingyo !!!!

Body reference for Twenty:

Head + Neck:

Twenty's hair is REAL, unlike Zims which is very obviously a wig. It started growing when he was about seven. And it is, very fluffy

Twenty is supposed to have four eyes. The two he's originally drawn with here (that's on me because I'm inconsistent with design but what I'm typing ARE the final designs. I'm done with changing Twenty's around too). His two first eyes look humanish, with pink iris's. The two eyes below his are supposed to be much smaller than his original eyes. With red iris's and the sclera being black.

His right eyes are shown to have a burn mark around them, followed by a scar on the first eye (the original one)

There's also the scar on the side of his face as shown as well.

There's also a scar that goes all around his neck (left their by an shock collar that was used during physical based experiments)

The nose doesn't actually look like a nose, as seen here. Not too much anyways

The antennas are fuzzy and have a slighter hint of pink on the tips

His teeth are sharp, sharper than irkens zipper teeth

The tongue literally looks like a worm:

Like I can't make that up, literally.

Arms + hands:

Woah mate this dude has four arms!!! But the bottom pair of arms is optional and retractable

The hands and arms have this design on them, that reach up to his elbows (I literally pulled these from Pinterest, I have no idea WHAT that first one leads too I just hope it isn't smut/lh)

His arms are covered in scars, which are usually wrapped in bandages if he isn't wearing his signature hoodie (his new one, he has to give the old one to Scout since it wasn't for someone with four arms. So now they have Anti-Irken hoodies to match each other :])

The scars on his arms glow and are, strangely, all capable of glowing different colors. It's a faint glow that's only noticable during night in dark areas.

His hands all only have three fingers on them. And they're all clawed, as shown

There are also scars all over his hands. Which is why he wears the fingerless gloves. But there are also scars on his fingers as well (he loves feeling the texture of certain things, so he likes to have his fingers unhidden)

Body/torso:

Twenty's body type is at a healthier level, due to him occasionally working out whenever he wishes to (he has a gym membership and enjoys physical activities...when it's not part of an experiment), he's definitely not into sports though, nor is he super muscular. He's actually slim but with some muscle.

He is 5'5, four inches taller than Scout.

His entire body is covered in autospy scars, burns, and stitch scars from his experiences in labs with scientists. Luckily these are all decently healing. Although the burns might be more recent, due to the rainwater being toxic to his species, and being able to burn his skin

He has tattoos!!! Provided by Nick. So far he has one on his chest (where his "heart" is), that is a symbol for himself and Scout. And there is another one on his right shoulder for the Anti-Irken/rebellion symbol. There's another one that's on the left side of his stomach that's his own reminder of his mother figure from dimension 2020 (aka, Tallest Miyuki), and it's a picture of her face with the words "Rest In Peace' besides it.

He has a PAK, which is a storage tool, a weapon kit, and a lifeline all at once. The basic concept with the lifeline being "an irken only has ten minutes left before they die and the pak has to find a new host", as the pak is TECHNICALLY the brain of the irken. And once the host body dies it will seek out another. so they die, but they don't die at the same time.

(theoretically, Twenty can live without the pak. But he doesn't wish to test that theory out at the moment)

A PAK looks like this, except Twenty's is a bit bigger, due to him being taller than canon. And the circles are more of a brighter pink. With the top light being black

Twenty does NOT have sex organs (no nips, or reproductive organs. Or an ass), in all seriousness. His species is asexual and creates offsprings via cloning blood and DNA.

He also has a tail!!! Again as seen. The tail is all black, but the end of it has a red tip. It's quite soft.

Legs:

He does not have robotic limbs. His legs are very much real

His thighs, legs and feet are all covered In scars, and small burns.

His legs also have a similar pattern to what's on his arms. It starts at the feet and goes up to below his knees. The scars on there also glow different colors

The feet only have two toes and they're clawed. And somehow they aid to help him hang from high up places (aka the fucking ceiling, at three am for no fucking reason other than to terrify any poor individual who is also awake)

Preferred outfits:

Twenty's default outfit is just a Zip up hoodie (made for people with four arms) with a shirt underneath, a pair of black shorts and a pair of combat boots. Along with dark grey fingerless gloves. The back of the hoodie has the Anti-Irken symbol in pink.

He is also quite fashionable and enjoys wearing a lot of alt sort of fashions (admittedly enjoys the "e-boy' or emo aesthetic as well). And also just enjoys casual things. He isn't very picky about clothing (unless it's too bright for his taste. He doesn't like wearing certain colors)

Random facts dump!!

He is an incredible cook

He eats bugs and spiders

He's quite good at video games AND card battle games (like a certain card game series included here)

He knows how to drive a car (it's a lot easier than driving a space cruiser, he's found

He also loves sweet things

Unlike irkens he CAN eat meat.

He's also the one who made the puppets robotic legs (as he's had experience with advanced tech)

He also makes inventions that can make people's lives more convenient (however he has not shared this to the public)

His blood is hot pink

He's TRANS (ftm)

I apologize if this seems more rushed than before, I've been a bit sick today but I really wanted to get this done!! If there's anything that needs fixing I will come back to it. Thank you so much for looking!

(I also give anyone permission to draw him....but if anyone sees any questionable fanart of him being released, especially on my birthday it is VITAL that you let me know immediately)

Edited: this is what I imagine what the anti irken symbol would look like (except it's not horribly edited like this)

[dreamkidddream]

I’m the Doll!MC Anon and I just wanna say I’m so glad that you enjoy a soft/delicate!MC and I really didn’t expect it to get so much love!

Since I kinda want to be evil and see the boys be overprotective, can I request hc’s of them seeing Doll!MC getting hurt by some lesser demon that bumps her into the ground and she gets a bruise? 🌚

Omg Doll Anon I wasn’t expecting it to get so much love either (here’s the original Doll!MC HCs if anyone wants to read)!! So I actually had your request saved for when I was done with the prompt special bc it’s so good, so I decided to combine them and I have definitely been waiting to write this 😈😈 Reader is gender neutral!

CW: mention of blood (nothing graphic) and spoilers for Lesson 16 (Lucifer, Mammon, Beel, and Belphie’s part)

The Brothers and Diavolo with Doll!MC who Gets Hurt

Lucifer

Okay whoever is dumb enough to hurt you in front of him deserves this 100%

The air around this man is already more than intimidating, so whoever tries this is a poor, stupid soul

When he saw you fall down the stairs, he felt his stomach turn. He already caught you before you could injure yourself further, but after seeing the blood coming down your face, the damage was already done

Now, Lucifer is the brother who always has control over himself and what he does. But, we also know that how his temper can get, especially when it comes to his family

This demon is dumb enough to push you but not dumb enough to crack a smile in front of him, especially with how tense Lucifer is getting right now

He sat you up and tried to remember some first aid techniques to stop the bleeding. You’re on the verge of losing consciousness, but you’re okay right now. He’ll take you home, but first-

His glare is making the demon freeze in place right now, and the anger radiating off of him is petrifying

How dare- how dare this fool harm you, in front of him no less?! Did they think that he wouldn’t do anything? That Lucifer, the Avatar of Pride, one of the strongest demons to ever grace the Devildom, would just idly stand by and let this happen?

He’s stalking towards them, and he can feel his fangs showing and his diamond appearing on his forehead, growling out how they will pay for this-

But he’s stopped by Lord Diavolo, who was shocked by the scene. You’re unconscious, and Lucifer has this poor student hanging in the air by their uniform, claws ready to slice through them. Needless to say, he understands why his close friend is upset, but for everyone’s safety he should just take you home like planned

You thought Lucifer was a helicopter parent before? You haven’t seen NOTHING yet

He would start inviting you more to his room to sleep in his bed while he works away, and it started happening so much that he didn’t even ask anymore and started expecting you to always be in there

So instead of him being glued by your side, you’re glued to his. It’s obvious that he can’t let you out of his sight without something happening (again), so hope you’re ready to see experience Lucifer’s daily routine from sunrise to sunset and a whole new set of rules. Basically playing follow the leader, but with a lot more handholding and kisses

You had to practically beg to be back into the kitchen, and he only relented when he could be the one to supervise you, and even then he still didn’t want to hold anything sharp or be near anything that could injure you (which is pretty much everything)

The main one to put a stop to his brothers’ schemes, handing out harsher punishments than before each time they try to involve you. This man is not playing any games with anyone

You know he means well, he was already overprotective from the start, and this is just his way of showing that he cares about you. You can tell every time he gives you that soft look in his eyes, and the regret that he shows every time he catches sight of your bruise. He may not like to be vulnerable, but he couldn’t hide his emotions from you too long. You’re like a weakness to him, one that he isn’t against indulging in

And he hasn’t forgotten about that student, oh no. He made sure to have a nice lengthy chat with them when you both returned to RAD. You didn’t question it when he informed you that the student had been rightfully punished and no longer an issue, and you tried to ignore the red dots splattered on his shoes, or that sadistic gleam in his eyes...

Mammon

This isn’t happening, this isn’t happening, this isn’t happening-

The blood is pouring from your head, and your eyes are closing too fast for him, and his heart stops

You look lifeless, like when Belphie killed you, when he was too late to save you-

He’ll never forget that image, it’s drilled deep into his mind, forever a reminder of his failure to protect you. And now he failed again-

This demon is gloating about this, and that’s when he snaps

He was already in his demon form and beating the life out of them when he was restrained. Many people were shocked that he was capable of this, that Mammon the scumbag, Mammon the dummy, Mammon the punching bag was capable enough to be this dangerous, this deadly. He’s the second born after all, and he’s the strongest right under Lucifer himself, and he holds a lot in

He could- he would do a lot more because they deserve it, but just seeing you so still, it snaps him out of it. You’re more important to him than getting his anger out, and you’re the one he needs to be focusing on right now. But rest asssured, this isn’t over

You thought he was attached to you before? He is glued to your side 24/7 and will not be leaving anytime soon. Ever since you woke up he never let go of you, calling you “his human” and just hugging you tight

Also if you have to go down the stairs you guys are FLYING no exceptions! The stairs are the devil in his eyes (how ironic) and he will not be risking anything with you

If you guys aren’t out and about under his careful and watchful eye (and I mean very careful, he’s like your very own bodyguard but with a lot more growling and snapping on strangers than usual), then you’re in his room doing whatever. Watching movies, playing cards and somehow beating him every time (he swears that he isn’t letting you win! Lies), whatever you wanna do. As long as you’re with him, giggling and safe, he’s happy and stress free

You mean so much to Mammon MC, he can’t even tell you if he tries. Under his tsundere traits, he really loves you, like really loves you! He’s just so scared of being rejected and losing you a second time. But now that he knows you’ll always be there for him, he’s going to do the same for you (but he already was even if you didn’t like him) He hates looking at that bruise right now, but it’s set as a reminder to not let something happen to you again

Also, another thing that people forget about Mammon is that he can talk to crows. So it wasn’t much to have them track down the person who caused you pain, and it didn’t take long for him to find them either. He thinks that the aftermath will set a good lesson for everyone else who continues to underestimate him when it comes to you: don’t

Leviathan

See, this is why he never leaves his safe haven AKA his room!

After he saw your head hit the ground hard, he was freaking out. He doesn’t know what to do, he wasn’t prepared for this! He tried shaking you to keep you awake, but your eyes were steady closing

Everything is happening in slow motion. You’re slumped over on the ground while the person who did it is laughing at him

If anything, the person who did it should be the one on the ground, not you, not his Henry. It’s not fair, it’s not fair, it’s not fair!

The demon stopped laughing when their windpipe was getting crushed by the second. They couldn’t even try to loosen the grip, Levi’s tail is rather strong, and so is he. He is the third strongest out of his family and the Grand Admiral of the Navy, yet people tend to forget that

Everyone knows how bad Levi’s tantrums can be, but this isn’t just a tantrum, it’s much worse. Had the brothers not intervene, he would have done much worse than summoning Lotan (which he was on the brink of doing anyway)

When you did wake up, he was so upset. Of course he let this happen, he’s just a worthless otaku who couldn’t even keep his crush safe-

OMG why are you hugging him and patting his head?! Quit it- well wait, this does feel kinda nice...Ugh you’re such a normie! Getting hurt so easily and still trying to put a smile on his face. But it does make him feel better

He rarely left his room before, and you guys are definitely not leaving it now. It’s like having a sleepover, but it never ends. That sounds great, right MC? Endless marathons of TSL and other anime, co-op video games, trying on his cosplay outfits that he made (some even made just for you and he needs to cover that bruise somehow), it’s going to be so fun and you’ll be safe with him! Who wouldn’t want that??

We all know that Levi is very self conscious. He knows that he isn’t confident like Lucifer and Mammon, or attractive like Asmo, or smart like Satan or Belphie, or physically fit like Beel, he knows. But every time you listen to him ramble on about this new anime show that he wants you guys to binge, or when he rants about a stupid move his teammate did in an online match, he feels valued. He feels loved. And while it’s hard for him to express his feelings, it’s no doubt in his mind that you’re important to him, and that he’s beyond happy that someone like you is his best friend

One day he’ll get the courage to say those three words, but he hopes that you already know with everything that he does for you

For example, Levi is an aquatic demon, and he has the ability to communicate with all types of sea creatures. Granted, he knows right from wrong, but in his eyes he’s taking care of the problem. So it wouldn’t be a huge issue if he used them to clean up the remaining mess of said problem, right? I mean, his venom can only do so much, and he doesn’t need anyone questioning him, and Lotan does get hungry...

Satan

He could only see red. Both from his anger surfacing and from the fact that you’re bleeding

He had his claws wrapped around the neck of the one responsible before they could even think about running. This- this filth dared tried to escape after he hurt you? And they thought that Satan would just let them get away with it?

They must forget that he’s the Avatar of Wrath, the one who doesn’t show mercy

He just kept pounding the demon into the ground, over and over and over and over. He didn’t even care about the blood splatter it was leaving on the lockers or on him

He was this close to finishing them off when he heard you call out for him, and it took everything in him to drop them. He squeezed their neck a final time, not even close to being satisfied with the whimper he heard, and growled out a promise of that he will find them and will make sure that they suffer before he threw them down. They better count themselves lucky that they get to crawl away in one piece (for now), because had you not been there-

Oh, he is seething the more he thinks about it

But you bleeding is a distraction from it, even if it is making his stomach turn, it’s helping him know that he needs to help you now

He didn’t have to let his brothers know as they came to see what the commotion was, and Lucifer (even if he didn’t want to believe it himself) was anxious that he was the cause of it. But after he saw the hold he had on you and another demon barely clinging onto life, he knew otherwise

It was decided that you two going home would be the best course of action (which it didn’t matter to Satan, you both weren’t going to stay here whether it was demanded or not), and he calmed down enough to properly treat you

You didn’t leave his room for the rest of the day, and he even gave up his bed for you to lie in so that he can do some research. The human body is a complicated thing, but Satan can learn it like the back of his hand just for you. So just go ahead and rest for now MC- or maybe not, you might have a concussion according to this book and if you do he needs to monitor your condition!

Even after you were healed, he didn’t let you out of his sight and daily checkups were a must. Dr. Satan is in the building!

You eventually moved back into your room (you would have stayed longer but he’s a little nervous with his towering stacks of books and doesn’t want anymore accidents), but he practically moved in with you with how much he comes over, either falling asleep at your desk reading a book or falling asleep in your chair right next to your bed

Very reluctant to have you around stairs, it makes the hairs on his neck stand up. He’ll let you go down the stairs ONLY if you’re holding his hand. If you’re upset with those conditions (spoiler alert you’re not), then you better be ready to learn some teleportation spells (but even then he’s still not leaving your side)

He doesn’t hold his temper back with the others when it comes to you for the time being. If he even senses that Mammon, Asmo, or Levi is coming to you with something that can cause trouble, he’s growling at them to leave you alone, horns slowly coming out and tail whipping furiously

However, he tries not to lash out in front of you. He realizes that he lost control with that demon, and how it could have terrified you had you been fully conscious, but he doesn’t want you to think that he’s just a monster. He wants you to continue to treat him like you do now, and not have the image of bashing someone’s bloody body on the floor repeatedly

Speaking of bashing someone, Satan made well on his promise of coming back. The demon thought that avoiding coming back to school would save them, but Satan is a genius, and has many associates that he can sweet talk to get what he wants. It didn’t take much to figure out where they went, and he made sure to get out all of his pent-up frustrations from that fateful day. He felt better when he came home, but he needed to take a shower before he went to see you...

Besides from that, he does appreciate the peace that you do bring him. You just have this aura around you that’s so calming to him, and he needs to steal you away more he realizes

Also you make better cat-themed desserts than the cafe and he can’t risk Beel eating them all again

Asmodeus

He’s shook, and not in the good way

He just had your hand in his, complaining about how you cuticles look so good and his is lacking and how guys have to go to the nail salon after class, and then your hand is jerked from his, your form at the bottom of the stairs

The blood staining your uniform is alarming, but he can’t worry about that now. He’s trying to keep you talking, but you’re already on the verge of passing out

“MC, you can’t sleep yet! We have plans to go to the nail salon remember? And I need you awake so we can talk about what matching color we’re getting! So what color should we get now, MC? MC? MC!”

He’s trying to keep himself from panicking, but he can’t help it! You’re suppose to be smiling and laughing with you, loving him, but you’re unconscious on the ground, and he’s scared

Quickly dials Lucifer and tells him the whole situation, and he’s surprised to find himself blinking back tears

The demon who did this is long gone by the time Lucifer and Diavolo come, but he remembers the face, and he has something exciting planned when he comes face to face with them

Obviously you have to go home, but Asmo is so distraught that he has to go home with you. But when you wake up, prepare to be tackled to the bed with him crying his eyes out. All you can do is try to comfort him and tell him that okay, giving him little kisses on his cheek

But now that the sadness is out of the way (all this crying and worrying is causing him stress wrinkles), it’s time for a makeover/stress relief!

Fashion shows, makeovers, painting nails, face masks, the whole nine yards. All in the comfort of his dazzling room!

It’ll make you both feel and look better, and honestly you two need that right now. It also gives him the opportunity to cover that unappealing bruise. Your beauty outshines it but it’ll be best to cover it up for your and his sake (mainly his)

Every time Asmo sees your bruise, he gets upset and he’s tired of being reminded of what happened. He knows that he’s only loved for his looks, his vanity, but you see more in him than that

You’re...you’re the first person that loves him for him entirely, not because of his features. And when he tells you that he loves you, he honestly means it. He would have never thought he would fall so deep for someone, let alone a human, but...he’s glad that it’s you. He’s happy that it’s you

Which is why he wants to keep you safe and injury-free. Plus, your skin is too pretty and doll-like to be roughed up!

You guys still go out of course, he just has a better eye on you now. This one incident isn’t going to hold him back for picking out new cute outfits for you!

And don’t think he forgot about that demon who caused all of this in the first place. He actually waited by their locker, and convinced them to come with him. But what should Asmo do with them? He could always have them steal Beel’s food, annoy Lucifer, say something horrible about Ruri-Chan, the possibilities are endless! As long as they don’t cause him to get dirty, of course

Or maybe they should do something so severe that they have no reason than to leave RAD forever, or even leave the Devildom forever, depending on how far he’s willing to take it. He’ll do anything if it means you’re safe and he gets to keep you all to himself

Beelzebub

He thought it was an accident at first, you get so excited about things that you stumble over your own feet sometimes, but he’s always there to catch you or pick you up

You keep saying that you’re okay as he’s holding onto you, and after he sits you up he’s confused because he smells blood. His heart is beating a little quicker, and you’re not talking anymore, and your head is drooping, and that’s when he sees the blood running down the side of your face

He’s starting to panic, and he’s so scared that if he tightens his hold against you he’ll just make things worse, that he’ll just hurt you more. But he needs to go find Lucifer, he needs to get you help, you’re feeling so light in his arms and it reminds him of the Celestial War when he witnessed his sister dying-

He hears someone snickering behind him, and that’s when he loses his temper

You’re a part of his family now, someone that he loves and cares for more than he can describe, and they did this to you? Someone who wouldn’t even squish a bug, someone who made him late night snacks without even asking, always there to give him hugs after his games no matter how sweaty, someone that put his family back together and they did this to you?

Lucifer and Mammon struggled to hold him back after they found the demon flung through the wall, laying under the rubble. Beel just kept growling, fangs bared and wings buzzing. He won’t stop trying to get out of their hold, and he keeps inching closer and closer to the demon, and it’s only a matter of time before he finishes what he started

You were already in the infirmary getting treated, and Beel isn’t calming down anytime soon so you were both escorted home

You woke up to Beel upset and pouting. He’s so worried about you that he couldn’t even eat. Beelzebub could not eat, that’s how you knew this was a something serious

Poor Beel was so terrified of hurting you himself that he failed to protect you from the people that do want to hurt you, or worse

But this won’t happen again, he swears, both to you and himself. Move over Mammon, Beel is officially your new bodyguard!

Wherever you go, Beel is right behind you, literally. He’s like your shadow, just bigger and a lot more...menacing. Also isn’t taking any chances with Mammon’s schemes, just carrying you away before he can even open his mouth about another get rich quick plan

Speaking of carrying, you are not allowed to walk down the stairs anymore. As soon as you step near some you find yourself in his arms like it’s nothing. Both at home and at school, it doesn’t matter to him

Also he’s very cautious to have you around people besides his brothers, and the exchange students (but he’s still hesitant about Solomon, anyone who can cook food like him is automatically getting the side eye)

Also you practically moved in with the twins, and it’s nothing compared to the sleepovers before. Belphie sleeps easier, Beel’s stomach is satisfied (eating your homemade sweets with you is better than everything combined at Hell’s Kitchen, and trust me he knows) he feels all warm inside, and you’re protected. Everyone’s happy!

Beel is a sweet guy, just don’t come in between his family or his food. After that whole incident with the demon, everyone has come to understand that, especially after seeing just how much damage he caused both to the demon and the school in so little time...

Belphegor

If he was sleepy before, he’s completely awake now

You’re holding the side of your head, and he can see the blood seeping through your fingers, groaning in pain. You keep trying to say that you’re okay, but your words are starting to slur and he’s getting nervous, he’s getting scared

It’s reminding him too much of his worst mistake, of what he did to you, when he murdered-

No. He doesn’t need to be thinking about that right now, especially when the person who did this is bragging about it while your body is slumped over. Right there, he knows what exactly needs to be done

Belphie was already in front of them before they even registered it, and didn’t give him any time to form an excuse. His claws were already at their throat, inching deeper and deeper the more they swallowed

“I should just slit your throat now, it’ll be easy and not a lot of work. But you deserve much worse than that. You’ll wish I did by the end of this.”

After a tap to the demon’s forehead, they just collapsed before him, unmoving. He didn’t even look down when he stepped over them (or rather stepped on them) to get to you. You’re passed out, but still breathing. You can’t stay here like this, and he refuses to tell Diavolo or Lucifer. He’ll figure something out, maybe Satan has some books in his room on what to do...

When you woke up, you found yourself wrapped in blankets and Belphie sleeping beside you, arms wrapped tight. You were confused, when did you get home? You remember walking with him down the stairs, but everything was blurry after that. What happen-

“You’re always thinking so hard MC, you’ll never be able to get good rest if you keep that up. But Satan did say to check on you every couple of hours, so I guess it’s fine. And quit touching your head!”

“Oh, sorry Belphie, I didn’t mean to-”

“Tch, how annoying...”

But he’s lying. Even as he’s carefully re-wrapping the bandages, he’s relieved that you’re awake, that your eyes are still full of life, not like the dullness that he saw that fateful night

When Lucifer finds you he is not happy with Belphie, but he doesn’t care and tells him that everything is already under control and that he isn’t needed. Belphie didn’t miss the scowl that he sent his way, but he just smirked in response. You didn’t need Lucifer as Belphie is already taking care of you, as it should be

You know how he always carries around his favorite pillow? Yeah he’s doing that with you basically, minus the carrying. You’re practically attached to his side, wherever he goes you’re either right there with him or in his room, which is mainly just you two lazing around or sleeping (as usual)

Honestly, the only demons who he’s okay with disturbing you two is Beel and maybe Satan. Beel because that’s his twin and it’s his room too, and Satan only if he’s checking on you medically or if he has some new ideas to mess with Lucifer. Everyone else is just trying to bother you and be annoying, and you don’t need that

Of course he blames himself for this! How is he suppose to keep you safe, to make up for his mistake? But then it clicks

It’s not the fact that he’s weak, people think that he’s weak. But he realizes that this is fine, he’ll use that to his advantage.

Diavolo is upset and Lucifer is running out of excuses for him, but Belphie just plays stupid and says he can’t remember how to remove it (even though he does). Let the demon lose some more sleep until they learn their lesson, whether it’s from the constant nightmares or from sleep deprivation trying to stay awake to avoid said nightmares. He’ll remove it when he feels like it, and he doesn’t see that happening anytime soon

Let people think the Avatar of Sloth is weak, that he’s not a threat, and he can show them exactly how wrong they are. Better yet, this demon can be the perfect example, and many more if they become a bother to you (and him)

You’re too nice MC, too delicate. You treat him so good, like he’s not a demon, like he’s not the monster who took your life, and he has to thank you for that somehow. He feels like whatever he does won’t be enough for the kindness you give him, but protecting you from others who used to be like him could be a good start

Also now he can hog all of your head pats and cuddles for himself, and he doesn’t feel bad at all. Everyone else had their time with you when he was locked up, so he’s finally got the opportunity to be selfish

Diavolo

First of all...this demon is dumb enough to harm you in front of him??? The Demon LORD???? The FUTURE KING OF HELL??!

They have more than just a death wish

It all happened so quick, he just crossed paths with you in the hallways and started to ask about your day (and maybe invite you for a small tea date after school) but he didn’t even get the chance to open his mouth

One second he saw your eyes light up and hand extended to excitedly wave, then he saw your fragile form tumbling down the stairs

Barbatos was soon called to his side as Diavolo saw the red coating his palms and you barely staying conscious, trying to say that you’re okay and not to worry

See...he feared that this would be a problem. While Diavolo is a very kind and understanding ruler, there are still some demons out there who think he’s too lenient, too soft. But that’s where people are mistaken. Diavolo is kind, but do not mistake his kindness for weakness

He felt his anger rising, his demeanor starting to crack, but he set aside his emotions. You’re his first priority, and he needs to make sure that you’re okay! He’s still a ruler, and you’re his responsibility (and first love)

However, he made sure that Barbatos took the demon who did this and kept them in the dungeon until he was done treating you. He won’t let this go unpunished, he can’t and he won’t

You’re an important part of the exchange program, and you’re most important to him, and he’s upset with himself that you got hurt. You’re so delicate, and you don’t deserve any of this happening to you, but what can he do? While he trusts the brothers to keep you safe, he wants to keep an eye on you personally, but how?

Then it struck him

You liked to stay in the castle, always smiling and having fun whenever you spent time with him there, so why not relocate you there?? It’ll be like an extended sleepover/retreat with just you two!! You guys can do all of your favorite activities and won’t have to worry about going home because you won’t have to leave!! Why didn’t he think of this sooner?!

The brothers are very upset with this incident, and even more so when he announced this. Diavolo decided that your condition needed to be monitored closely, and since he’s the person directly in charge of the exchange program AND the ruler over the Devildom, there was no room to argue. You weren’t going to stay in the castle forever, just until he deemed it right to return to the HoL

Which would be...some time soon, maybe. He’s not really worried about that now, his number 1 concern is you after all!

You’re getting the royal treatment, literally. This is the chance that he gets to pamper you without interruptions and he is not wasting it!

You kept trying to convince him that you’re fine, but he wasn’t hearing any of it, especially after he sees the nasty bruise that was left. “MC, please! You still need to rest. How about I have Barbatos bring us some tea to help, and we can even have the royal staff bring us some outfits of your choosing if you like? Oo, we can even have our portrait painted!”

“Dia, I promise that I’m fine, you have more things to worry about than me-”

“Nonsense, MC. You’re what’s important to me, now and always. Don’t ever forget that.”

Even finished it with a hand kiss, UGH he really is a Prince Charming

Once you did return to RAD bruise free, Diavolo, being the gentleman that he is, walked with you everywhere in the beginning. Coming into the building, walking to class, lunch, even to the student council meeting, he was by your side. But he couldn’t avoid his duties forever (unfortunately), but he always made up for lost time afterwards

You never realized that when he wasn’t with you, someone else always was. Whether it be Lucifer who miraculously had spare time, or Barbatos who decided to escort you back to the castle to try a new recipe for his Lord, it was always one of them that stayed with you

Also, it never dawned on you why people were starting to be so nice to you. You thought it was because of what happened, not paying attention to how tense they would get, the fear in their eyes. You did notice that the demon who caused your fall never came back to class, and their desk is starting to collect dust...

When you did ask Diavolo about it, he just pat your head and said that what happened was unacceptable and that the demon has been dealt with accordingly.

You don’t need to hear about what really happened to them, he doesn’t want to scare you or taint your innocence! But he doesn’t mind if anyone else hears it, he’ll be more than happy to explain in full detail what happened and what will happen to demons that even think about attempting to harm you or think that he’s “too soft”. They won’t think he’s a soft ruler after that

Diavolo is a very sweet man, one that treats you as if you’re ruling by his side as his partner and one that you never have to be scared of, but even you didn’t miss the deadly glint in his eyes whenever he spoke about that demon...

But enough about that, he wants to try that new recipe that you made just for him!

He enjoys the time that he gets to spend with you, and after this, you’ll be in his company a lot more. He can’t risk having this happen again to his love- I MEAN favorite exchange student right?