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rae-writes · 10 months ago

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An Angel?

om demons x reader (+Simeon, Solomon, Mephi, Raph)

wc : 2.k

warnings : more simping bois, more humor, a lot more sprinkles of suggestive comments

synopsis : a deviltok trend has the boys on their knees for you, part two: electric boogaloo

a/n : for the record, Luke was in the room while Mc was making it, cheering them on, doing his cute little “Waahhh!” // idea brought to me by the lovely [your-next-daydream] // AND, as usual, let’s not talk about how ridiculously long this took me to finish ahaha rip me-

demon ver.

<Simeon> Mc looks rather...heavenly, don’t you agree?

[attachment sent]

Intrigued, he wasted no time in clicking on the file, grinning when he realized it was one of your deviltoks. Decked out in your RAD uniform, you sat in a chair with your hands clasped together.

“Who are you?”

Smoothly, almost as if you were floating, you stood and took a few steps towards the camera with a rather shy smile.

“An angel.”

You bowed ever so slightly, flitting your gaze to the floor.

“What’s your name?”

You spun suddenly, sending your red accessory swooshing in front of the camera, covering everything from view.

“Michael.”

As fast as the transition happened, it ended; the view was cleared to reveal you— angelic down to a T and beautiful wasn’t even enough to describe you.

You were adorned with sheer, white clothing that was loose and flowy, probably swaying due to a fan that was off camera. Light blue accents were scattered here and there- including an extension piece in your hair of the same color. Sparkling gold accessories glinted under the light, but not as much as the halo that hovered above your head. It was a gorgeous molten gold tint, partly transparent with glitter floating around inside (with a few cracks decorating the outside of it). It only brought attention to the snowy wings spanning out behind you, flecks of iridescent scattered amongst the feathers.

[9 people saved a video attachment]

Lucifer

Ah. Yes. He’s not combusting on the inside, not at all.

*insert internal screaming*

Ahem. Now that his jaw has been picked up off the floor, he is immediately wondering how the fuck Simeon of all people got access to the video before him

Don’t get him wrong though, he is on the way right now- leave the door open, Mc

He has to put his marks all over your body to get rid of the fact that you looked that pretty while using Michael’s name

Possessive urges aside, please keep the outfit on

Does not care if you’re dressed up like an Angel, he will gladly corrupt you

In fact, he wants to corrupt you- let him see that pact mark of his while you look so angelic, yeah?

might be into role playing it if you’d like

Mammon

Blinks a couple times before looking around slowly; poor boy really thought he’d been yeeted back to the celestial realm for a minute there

It’s all quiet before suddenly everyone in the house (and probably outside) hears “HOLY FUCK WHAT”

You never cease to amaze him, by the devils, is he in love

The blush on his face- if he was anything other than a demon- would look severely concerning. Like no, it’s not a red beacon of light, it’s just him coming through the halls

Is creepin outside ya door practically on his knees. Please let him in. His greed is flared and you’re the only cure even if you’re also the reason

He is dying to have a diy photo shoot of the two of you in your angel fit

Step on him. Do it- it’s the perfect angle, the shot comes out beautifully and he is putting it right in his wallet once it’s developed

Will step on you in return if you ask

You’ll let him kiss all over your body, wontcha, Mc? (he’ll even be gentle with his fangs when he nibbles around that golden necklace you’ve got on)

Levi

*cue his very nervous yet giddy laughter*

This is just like that anime he saw last week called ‘Help! My human s/o just turned into an Angel but I’m a demon and actually kind of into this?!”

Seriously though, you look so beautiful, Levi was immediately down in the floor with his face covered and tail wagging

Please allow 3-4 business months before he can recover

Jk lol he’s hovering in your doorway before you you can even click on his contact

Shyly asks if he can touch your halo and wings (and ends up with his tail wrapped around you, knocking you side to side because it’s still attempting to wag)

Unlike the eldest brother, Levi practically begs you to roleplay this with him and have a cosplay photoshoot

Will shamelessly keep you to himself for the rest of the day and hiss at everyone who gets too close

Please sit on him and call him mean names while also holding him sweetly

Satan

Sign him tf up- he’s got a pen at the ready

Irony aside, Satan thinks you look absolutely stunning— straight out of a fairy tale

Irony not aside, Satan is actually so into this and craves to play it out with you

He was never an Angel to begin with, he was born a demon; just thinking about making your ivory wings turn black makes him excited

Satan understands it’s just a simple spell you’ve casted so he won’t get too out of sorts (but if you like it, then what’s the harm?)

Wants to read a forbidden love trope book and maybe act out some of the scenes while you’re still dressed like that

The hopeless romantic in him is front and center the entire time

If you think he’s gonna let you go now, you’re sorely mistaken— let his brothers try and take you away

He’s got tons of scenarios to act out if you can handle him

Asmo

That weird high pitched sound you hear from across the house that should be something only dogs can hear? Yeah that’s Asmo squealing

Posting your video EVERYWHERE bc everyone needs to see how fucking gorgeous you look

You can hear his footsteps from a mile away as he hurries to your room

He MUST see your outfit in person ASAP

Azzy. Is. So. Fucking. Down. For. This. Shit. He thinks he’s dreamed about this once actually

Please let him just examine every inch of you, he’s begging

Once again his camera is out and ready for a photoshoot and his demon form is out right alongside it

He will be keeping you for the next 24-48 hours thanks

Beel

Choked. Again.

Don’t be alarmed by the loud rumbling sound— it’s not Beel’s stomach for once, but instead a growl

He didn’t mean to make that sound but you just look so— and he just— and you— and and— A a a A A

Has that cute little blush plastered over his face all. day.

Might be tempted- or actually try- to take a bite out of your halo or something else ifykyk

Rewatches the video at least ten times because you're just. Wow. Wow. W O W.

Is now in the mood to eat some celestial realm food with you

though his appetite is half for food and half for you

Pls don’t mind his staring or the way he’s probably drooling a bit, he can’t help it :(

Belphie

“...wait, what?”

Lays there staring at the ceiling for a moment bc PHEW you got him sweating and he hasn’t even moved yet-

Manages a straight face all the way until he enters your room and sees the outfits in person

To which he is, once again, dropping right at your feet with a look of ‘PLEASE’

He needs a whole ass minute or two to catch his breath from how fucking gorgeous you look and then he needs another whole ass minute or two to scan you over again

Please sit on him

Is uncharacteristically stuttering through every sentence— how can he possibly concentrate on stupid words in these [amazing] conditions?!

Gatekeeping you AGAIN

Underneath you the entire. time.

Barbatos

*windows shutdown*

*windows restart*

…aaand we’re back ladies and gentlemen and every cool dude in between but Barbatos is still fucking astonished— absolutely flabbergasted at how badly he’s got it for you

He dropped everything he was carrying in that moment and swiftly picked it back up, hoping no one saw

Diavolo saw. He recorded the entire thing and sent it to you, zooming in on Barbatos’ blush

There’s just something primal in him that makes him want to sink his teeth into you and coil his tail around your body so that you won’t be able to go anywhere else until he lets you

Everyone be damned, Barb will be having you to himself for the entire night

Will also run his fingers along the faux wings and halo before he absolutely ruins you until the magic dissipates

He is…totally normal about the entire thing..

Diavolo

His father help him— Diavolo is so incredibly thankful for the exchange program

Is OUT of the castle at mach speed before Barbatos can even say otherwise

And then he’s speeding right back and summoning you to him instead so he can have you to himself

Mans is kneeling at your fucking feet the second he lays eyes on you

And while it isn’t ‘proper’ for someone who wants unity between all three realms to want to corrupt you—

—he does. So badly. He thinks he might even beg you for it

Also wants to take a picture of the two of you with him in his demon form (it’s the it picture for weeks after he posts it)

Cannot stop looking at your halo; please let him touch it

(If you slowly begin altering your wings to bleed black, he’s practically foaming at the mouth—)

bonus:

Simeon

*sharp inhale* . . . *yeets halo*

He deadass forgets he’s an Angel himself for a few minutes bc he’s too busy simping fawning over you

God who?? Like get tf outta the way, beep beep, archangel on a mission comin through

Is begging as soon as he steps foot through your door. Please, please let him touch you and explore— he should be ashamed with how unabashed he is but fuck look at you

Will let his own wings out just so you can compare your angels forms (melted on the spot when you brushed your wings against his)

Honestly can’t decide if he wants you to corrupt him or if he wants to corrupt you…or both at the same time

He’s not sharing you. Not now. Not like this.

You may look like an angel, and he may be an angel, but he won’t treat you like one tonight

If you do the fancy trick of letting your wings turn black, he’s completely bowing down to whatever you wish right then and there

Solomon

Kinda forgot he was immortal for a split second and wondered if he’d either died or accidentally traveled to the celestial realm

Gains his bearings rather quickly, but the hold you have on him is still very much there

And he’d like you to have a hold around his throat— what? Who said that??

His pretty little blush where he averts his eyes all nervously? YEAH THAT

He’s taken aback for a couple moments before his usual shit eating grin comes back but that blush? Still there.

Backs you against a wall, in a corner, and let’s his hands roam with a small laugh, quietly asking how you manage to make him lose composure so easily

Is so soft and sweet for a minute before his eyes darken and that SEXY smirk crawls onto his face

Plucks that halo right from above your head and tosses it behind his shoulder because how could he possibly do what he has planned if you’re an angel?

Makes your wings bloom black himself (and challenges how long you can handle him)

extra little bonus:

Mephisto

Simply raises a brow and wonders why the hell his body got so hot all the sudden

Ignores the video for a couple hours until he realizes he can’t stop fucking thinking about it

Promptly decides he’s going to go straight to you and demand how dare you invade his thoughts like this

And then promptly decides he’d rather just revert to using his hands instead when the sight of you makes his mouth dry and water at the same time

Will take it upon himself, right then, to corrupt you

Because there’s no way in the seven rings of hell he’s letting you switch sides and he’ll break the magic you’re using as proof

After though *cough cough* he will bashfully tell you how gorgeous you looked…

Raphael

Let me tell you, mans was not ready

Like if you’ve seen the video of the person with a stacked ass on the stretcher being carried by and the news reporter’s face afterwards, that’s Raphael.

Luke takes a picture of his expression and makes a meme

Won’t address it until the very next day, stiffly telling you that your outfit was very pleasing to the eye (he thinks you’re drop dead gorgeous, okay, he’s just struggling)

If you offer to show him in person, he is ascending right back home. Won’t deny, though. Like please do.

In awe for the whole experience

And blushes an alluring deep shade if you show him some ‘corruption’ tricks you have up your sleeve

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tossawary · 3 months ago

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Thinking about missed opportunities in the "Star Wars" prequel trilogy again: it's weird with hindsight that Count Dooku doesn't appear in "The Phantom Menace".

Dooku was a Jedi, so it's perfectly reasonable for him to be at either the Jedi Temple or the Republic Senate when we visit Coruscant in TPM. It would have been easy to move a few things around and include him even as a member of the Jedi Council when initially constructing the films, if you were planning ahead when writing.

As Qui-Gon's former master, Dooku is in the perfect position to ask questions onscreen about Qui-Gon's conviction that he's found the Chosen One and Qui-Gon's decision to put Obi-Wan up for knighthood, both publicly with the Council and privately from a more personal standpoint. Dooku could be used as a tool of interrogation to better lay clear for the audience some of Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan, and Anakin's characters, their motivations and fears and their potential flaws. An intimate conversation with his master's master could definitely be used to give Obi-Wan some much-needed character focus and inferiority before his climatic fight with Darth Maul.

As the future leader of the Separatists, this is also the ideal point in time to have Dooku act as a voice of criticism, someone who laments both the greed of the Trade Federation and the inaction of the Republic. Dooku could have easily been the representative of the Jedi in the Senate, watching everything, offering grandfatherly sympathy to Padmé Amidala, remarking on the effectiveness of unrestrained power, perhaps even making a warning observation of the dangers of that as Palpatine becomes the new Chancellor. We don't have to see Palpatine and Dooku interact directly, the film could even suggest that Dooku finds this ambitious politician slightly distasteful, but it sets up an explanation for how these two might know each other.

And if we have reason to know and like Master Dooku, then it would actually hurt more when he becomes Count Dooku and betrays both the Jedi Order and the Republic. Even briefly, we could have seen him show frustrated affection and concern for Qui-Gon, give warm advice and praise to Obi-Wan, stand up firmly against the unfairness of the Jedi Council saying Anakin is too old at nine years old. We could have seen Dooku support Padmé in her struggles to make the corrupt Republic take action. We could have seen him as dignified and wise, perhaps one of the only members of the Jedi Council to immediately take the return of the Sith 100% seriously after Maul appears on Tatooine. We could have been made to feel like this experienced, slightly embittered, but righteous older man was the only one "speaking the truth" here.

It really wouldn't have taken all that much shuffling and reassignment plotwise to add him in as a supporting character.

We would feel intrigued at the beginning of "Attack of Clones" when we learn that Count Dooku has left the Jedi Order after Qui-Gon's death. We could see Anakin and Obi-Wan briefly exchange lines about how they miss Master Dooku as well as Qui-Gon (there is already an exchange in the films where they state they miss Qui-Gon), and how they haven't seen or heard from him in some time now. Anakin could suggest that Dooku is hunting down the Sith Master; Obi-Wan could counter with how Master Dooku has simply returned to his life on Serenno, which he couldn't have as a Jedi Master, which Anakin casually calls unfair and he suggests that Dooku can do far greater good as a powerful count (a parallel to Anakin's marriage to Padmé and own Fall). Dooku being established earlier in the trilogy would better highlight how he and Obi-Wan went completely separate directions after Qui-Gon's death.

And again, the reveal that Dooku has Fallen would hurt so much more, if we had actually seen him be affectionate and righteous and wise. If we had any point of comparison for how Dooku's embittered desire for peace and justice has been warped into the pursuit of control and tyranny. It would hurt to see that formerly good man sentence Padmé to death as "just politics, my dear".

"This will start a war!" Padmé tells the man who helped her help her people once.

"I know," Dooku replies, with ominous satisfaction.

It would hurt to see Obi-Wan beg Dooku to stop this (a prelude to him begging Anakin in the next movie: "Anakin, please, I cannot lose you too!"), only for Dooku to attack and nearly kill him when Obi-Wan refuses to join him. It would hurt to see this grandfatherly figure cut off Anakin's hand, someone he knew and was kind to as a child. Seeing where Dooku fell from would also make everything about his fight with Yoda hurt more as well. We wouldn't have seen Dooku's struggles directly, offscreen in the time skip between TPM and AOTC, but this Fall would help prepare us for witnessing Anakin's Fall onscreen in "Revenge of the Sith", illustrate for us how power and grief corrupts, how the desire to take complete control and "start over" corrupts.

And all of this would also make Dooku's death in ROTS hurt more: to see Anakin execute an unarmed, injured man who had once been kind to him, who had once had good intentions a long, long time ago. We could have even had Dooku perhaps try to warn Anakin about Sidious, as the fear cuts through him as he realizes Sidious has betrayed him, only for Anakin to kill Dooku out of anger (Dooku is responsible for so much death, Palpatine reminds Anakin) just before the ruined man can finish speaking. Dooku's former goodness underlines Anakin's arrogance in thinking that his own fate will be any different.

The novelizations of the prequel films and other extended universe materials build up an image of Dooku's life as a Jedi and his Fall for us. We can assume and imagine a lot. We can retroactively apply knowledge gleaned from "The Clone Wars" with Dooku as a major villain. But ultimately, Dooku as a more sympathetic and emotionally relevant character is just not in the films.

When "Attack of the Clones" reveals to us: "Oh, no! Dooku has betrayed the Jedi Order and the Republic!" I think that most of the audience is like: "Gonna be real with you, chief, I have no idea who that is."

He's only been mentioned before once maybe? In Palpatine's office? Master Mundi assures Palpatine that Dooku is a good man (or something like that), but we have seen no evidence of this ourselves. This line mostly just becomes really funny on a rewatch, rather than poignant, because the prequel films audience only ever gets to see Count Dooku as a Sith Lord and rather underdeveloped villain. We don't ever get to see him be a "good guy" first. We're told but not shown.

The audience has no solid reason to care that Dooku specifically has betrayed the Order, as opposed to any random Jedi, because we haven't seen him before at all, much less interacting with any of our protagonists or establishing himself as an opinionated player within the story. Which is a shame! Because he has strong opinions that stand in interesting ideological conflict with so many other characters, generating fun and dramatic exchanges! He has direct connections to and parallels with other characters! He's potentially a really useful storytelling tool within these films, and his character just doesn't get used to that full tragic potential.

In conclusion...? I wish I'd actually been sad when Dooku betrayed everyone and died at Anakin's hand, instead of mostly just confused and then vaguely pitying. I want to see some of the love between characters beforehand, so that it hurts more effectively when that love turns to hate.

#tossawary star wars #count dooku #obi wan kenobi #qui gon jinn #anakin skywalker #yoda #padme amidala #character death #long post #spoilers #tossawary script doctoring

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satangcrush · 3 months ago

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an ode to nicknames <3

✦ CAST: lucifer, mammon, and leviathan ✦ SUMMARY: f! reader, what nicknames (or lack of) will the cast use for you! ✦ WC: 1.8k

[PART 1] | [PART 2] | [PART 3] | MASTERLIST

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Lucifer may be a textbook sweetheart but unfortunately, he never refers to you other than your name in public as he does have a facade to keep up. Yet, his actions speak louder than words. As much as he would like to keep up a front, his body betrays him. He always somehow ends up standing nearer than the appropriate distance or having a hand on your back when leading you somewhere in public. He also unconsciously sneaks multiple glances your way without even realising. (Everyone else notices.)

Though in private, he deigns to use something sweeter to refer to you, such as calling you his star, his light, love, or darling.

Lucifer stares at your expression from across the room, watching as you yet stifle another yawn as you squirmed about in the sofa chair to find a comfortable position. He softly smiled as your face scrunched up into another frown as you watched a video on your D.D.D. In the back of his mind, he noted that you were watching it on low volume, presumably to keep from distracting him. It was rather endearing of you to think of him.

“My star, would you care to open a bottle of Demonus with me tonight?” His voice took on a gentler tone as he breaks the silence gracing the air in the study.

“What’s the special occasion tonight? Or are you stressed?” Your head had flew up at the sound of his voice and you met his gaze with a confused and concerned look.

You thought that today would be just like any other day in this week which he has been swamped with paperwork. And truthfully, you had been feeling just the slightest bit neglected, but you understood that this was part of his duty as Diavolo’s righthand man. Although, it still didn’t make you feel any better knowing this fact.

“Just thought I would spend a little time with you tonight.” He said simply, eyes awaiting an affirmative answer from you.

You pouted in disappointment, wanting to hear something sweeter from him.

“Try again. I want you to be more romantic.” You demanded, finally putting down your D.D.D and focusing all your attention on him.

His eyes crinkled, finding your demands to be slightly absurd. Wasn’t he already being romantic enough by putting down his pride to ask you?

But he knew he was in no place to complain. It was an unfortunate thing that he had not been paying as much attention to you as he would have liked so he sighed, standing up and walking over to where you were sitting at.

You craned your neck to look up at him, narrowed eyes watching as he knelt down in front of you to hold your hand delicately. He presses a kiss to your knuckles and muttered softly.

“I am extending a formal invitation to the light of my whole world, if they would indulge in my request to have a drink with me.”

══════════════════

As the Avatar of Greed, the highest compliment one can pay to him is through monetary compensation like Grims or jewels. In the same vein, Mammon definitely calls you his jewel, treasure, or even, his princess. That is… once he gets over his aversion of not calling you human. (affectionately)

“Baby. Love. Darling. Flower. Stupid human.”

“This ain’t gonna work out, ya. This doesn’t suit the taste of Great Mammon.” He muttered to himself, staring at himself in the mirror. He would need a better nickname than that to even think of uttering it in your presence.

“My jewel.”

“Princess.”

“...Treasure.” He finally nodded at himself, proud of his naming sense. They wouldn’t even know what hit them when he use this on them.

“Treasure?” You echoed from behind him, with a frown. Lucifer had tasked you to bring Mammon to him. So here you are, locating him in the bathroom, only to find out that he's talking to the ...mirror?

“W-wha-” His heart dropped and thudded in his chest. When had you come in? Had you heard his entire dialogue? Did you know that he was coming up with pet names for you? What would you think? Oh shi-

“Mammon, are you coming up with nicknames for Goldie again? I thought Lucifer confiscated it from you?”

He felt relief courses through his body but at the same time, he felt vaguely disappointed?

“Wha- no! Why do you gotta think the worst of me? Pfft.” He snorted and waved you off.

“Well then. What were you doing? Why are you whispering pet names to yourself? Are you cheating on me?” You looked at him suspiciously for a second, eyes narrowed. Then suddenly, the side of your lips was threatening to curl up for some reason.

“HUH?! NO WAY. Why would the Great Mammon cheat on you? I’ll let you know that the Great Mammon here was coming up with pet names for ya. You better be grateful, goddamnit-” The realisation dawned on him, and he started spluttering and looking for excuses.

“I mean, I’m not sayin’ that I’m comin’ up with them for ya! It’s..It’s just that ya name sucked! I’m choosing a better name for ya. You better be thankful that the Great Mammon here is takin’ time out of his day to choose a nam-”

There was a familiar warm sensation on his lips and his eyes instinctively closed and he tilted his head at the feel of it.

“H-h-huh? Why didya’ have to kiss me! Not that I was complaining, do that again.” He touched his lips with the back of his hands, cheeks flushed red and eyes wide.

“I knew.” There was a coquettish look on your face and you turned to peck him on the lips again.

He took a second to chase after your lips before remembering to reply to you. “What did ya know, huh!”

“I heard the entire thing. Aw, you’re so cute, coming up with nicknames for me.” You cooed at him, eyes turning into half-crescent moon, as you playfully nudged him on the shoulder.

“!!”

“By the way, I like ‘Treasure’ the most.”

“Fine, the Great Mammon will refer to you by that name, okay?! Don’t give me that look!”

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Honestly, can’t see Levi coming up with nicknames much. He probably only calls you Player 2 (unironically in public), /adjective/ human, and of course, normie. Rather, I see MC coming up with nicknames to fluster Levi than him doing the opposite.

You snorted at him, finding his attempt to come up with a good nickname silly yet cute.

“You know, you can just refer to me by my name right? I don’t mind if you don’t use any pet names for me.” You rested your chin on the back of your hand, lazily looking up at him. The lack of a nickname doesn’t bother you much, but you still found his efforts sweet regardless.

“N-no! But the anime said that nicknames are a way humans show love. So, I must find a nickname for you, to show it!” His determination was clear in his tone as he clutched your shoulders, shaking you from side to side.

“Alright, then.” You were starting to get a little dizzy with the shaking as well as watching him pace back and forth in the room. Honestly, it was just a nickname but the fact that Levi cared so much about it made your unspoken protest die in the back of your throat.

Huh, guess you’ll humor him then.

You turned to sprawl out on the floor beside Henry, watching as the fish swam back and forth in the bowl, reminiscent of Levi just moments earlier.

“How do you want to go about doing this?” You questioned him, eyes fixed on the bowl. Your thoughts drifted off as you started thinking about the upkeep of the goldfish. Does the fish need special maintenance? Actually, scratch that. Is the bowl even big enough for Henry?

“Um… Is there any nicknames you prefer?” You quickly shoved all questions regarding Henry to the back of your mind for later. One look at Levi’s red face and you’re automatically grinning again. You pretended to think for a while as you hid your face in your arms.

“Good question. You should come up with one for me.”

“Hm?!” Levi choked on the energy drink that he was currently downing after his exhausting rounds of pacing across the room.

“You know I suck at this, don’t you? Don’t make fun of me, you should tell me a nickname you want me to call you by.” The pitch of his tone rose up by an octave and you smiled secretly into the crook of your elbows.

“Well, don’t you consume a lot of media surrounding romance? You could just plagarise it from there.” You simpered, looking coyly at him. Briefly, you fantasized about Levi calling you honey. Hm, that does have a ring to it.

Levi panicked.

“N-no! Those aren’t good enough! You deserve a better nickname!” His voice squeaked as he bent down in front of you to catch your eye with a brave expression. Your eyes trailed the blush down past his neck and for a second, you wondered how far the blush would spread and stop at.

“I’m confident you can come up with a better nickname for me right, Levi-chan?” This time, you purposely pitched your voice a bit lower and fluttered your lids a little. It had your intended reaction as Levi shot back from you, almost knocking the bowl containing Henry over.

“Anyways, I like it when you call me by my name. It already sounds intimate coming from you.” You said truthfully, standing up to check on the condition of poor Henry, who was swimming faster now due to shock.

A weight barrelled into the side of your leg and you quickly reached out a hand to straighten yourself on the table with Henry on it. Thankfully, you didn't crash into the table, you would hate to think of the fate of the goldfish.

“Stupid normie… Always saying things like this to fluster me…” He mumbled under his breath into the fabric of your pajamas.

“Levi?” You didn’t know what you did nor could you hear him but it seemed like you had somehow gotten through to Levi who was no longer coming up with a nickname but rather morphing into a koala, with how intense he was gripping your leg.

“Levi?” You tried again.

“S-shut up, stupid normie.” You smiled gently, reaching down to pat his head.

Alright then, you’ll make do with normie.

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a/n▸ my boomer ass accidentally deleted this while trying to edit an mistake so excuse me... almost cried retagging 🥲 this was supposed to include all the dateables + luke but i ended up writing longer than intended for just these three lol. BUTTTT part two here!!! also, it was insanely hard to write for levi, im sorry to all levichan lovers out there </3 depending on my mood, i may or may not write for everyone else

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me swd #lucifer obey me #mammon obey me #levi obey me #obey me mc #obey me x reader #lucifer x reader #mammon x reader #levi x reader #obey me lucifer x reader #obey me mammon x reader #obey me levi x reader #obey me nightbringer

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shanastoryteller · 4 months ago

Note

Happy Pride ! Something Merlin ? Thanks !

a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6

Merlin walks in to see Arthur arguing with a dark haired, pale woman and he's pretty sure being alone with a girl in his bedroom is breaking some sort of rule of propriety. Although, he is a noble, and supposedly they do that a lot.

"Merlin!" Arthur says, before he can do something smart like backing away slowly. "Tell Morgana she's an idiot."

Ah. He hopes neither of them notice the blood draining from his face.

This is the apprentice that he's been trying so hard to avoid. How well can she sense magic? Does she already know what he is? Is it too late?

"I'm not an idiot, you're an idiot," she says sharply. "Overhauling a border town like that when you know it will incite King Uther-"

"Yes, a border town, meaning it's in our kingdom and not his," Arthur argues. "My father is lord here and if I want to invest in peasants and depleted soil that's my own concern."

"Are you talking about Ealdor?" he asks, the concern enough to push through his fear. "What do you mean incite?"

Morgana says, "It means to anger or enrage-"

"He knows what it means," Arthur interrupts. "Look, we already have poor family relations as it is, considering what happened with my aunt and cousin. Uther has gone to considerable effort to ignore us and some tilling isn't going to change that. And if it does, I'm certainly not going to arm the peasants!"

Merlin really, really wishes he'd been here for the beginning of this fight.

"You'll what?" she sneers. "Lead your knights there to defend them?"

Arthur's eyebrows go to his forehead and he spreads his hands. "Yes? Obviously? I've commanded before."

She's taken aback. "They're just peasants," she says, but cautiously, eyes sharp.

"You forgot an important word there," Arthur says. "They're my peasants. If Uther, or anyone, wants to mess with Ealdor, they're going to have to go through me first."

Oh.

It's just another version of noble greed, Merlin tells himself sternly, but that doesn't stop his eyes from burning.

#prompt answers #prompts are closed #asks #anon #merlin

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brittle-doughie · 4 months ago

Note

BRITTLE-DOUGH MAKE A BEAST ANCIENTS AU AND MY LIFE IS YOURS!!!!!

The Ancient Beast Order (Ancient Beast AU)

Ok, Kratos. I’m going to be tossing out ideas here, so you’re all more then welcome to give your own two cents.

Pure Vanilla Cookie - The Prophet of Salvation (Virtue of Perfection)

Pure Vanilla Cookie thought that he could save everyone, that no cookie would have harm befall them if he was there to protect them. This thought plagued his mind as he resorted to..less then ethical Dark Moon magic to help heal all around him, refusing to believe that his use of this magic leads to fatal results, going as far as to raise the dead, just so he doesn’t have him or others experience the agony that death brings. Cookies around him voice their concerns, but he doesn’t pay it any mind. It was for their own good…no matter the result

White Lily Cookie - The Lady of the Lilies (Virtue of Order)

Shoutout to @t-t-tau-me for their ask being an inspiration for Beast Lily

Dark Enchantress Cookie and now the Beasts, everything seemed to crumble away around White Lily Cookie. She pondered, was this really what freedom does? Help cookies find who they are, but also allow monsters to roam about the land, destroying cookies in their path? No, she felt like the way for cookies to obtain peace was to establish order, so that tragedies like Dark Enchantress never happening again and she now had the Faerie Kingdom to back her up.

Dark Cacao Cookie - The Relusive Tower (Virtue of Nolition)

Dark Cacao Cookie never left his kingdom much, his warriors doing little to assists others and many cookies having to pay the price for this by having the villages to fend for themselves. It’s said that when the time comes where he would finally stand from his throne, that dark times for his targets would follow.

Hollyberry Cookie - The Lover of Passion (Virtue of Mania)

Hollyberry Cookie’s passion knew no bounds, whether it be for her subjects or her own personal interests. It can border on obsession when she finds something that drives her to do everything in her power to get. The fires of her passion can never extinguish, leaving The Lover as a relentless beast that never gives up what catches her eye.

Golden Cheese Cookie - The Gleaming Goddess (Virtue of Greed)

She had everything, her people, her riches, her kingdom. Yet, there was this nagging feeling in the back of her head that had her craving for more. The Gleaming Goddess wanted the surrounding villages, then the villages around those ones, her greed will never satiating until Earthbread becomes an empire in her image and she’ll crush anyone that stands in her path.

The Cookie Kingdom is the last safe haven in the land, taking in cookies who want to escape the grasp of the The Ancient Beast Order. This spelled bad news when the Beast Cookies themselves have awoken as well.

You wanted to be the beacon of light in a world plunging into darkness, but when 10 Beasts have their eyes set on your kingdom and on YOU in mind, you worry if your forces will be enough to fight back…

#brittle answers #cookie run x you #cookie run x reader #cr x reader #cookie run #cookie run kingdom #crk x reader #cookie run kingdom x reader #cr kingdom #the ancient beast order au #dark cacao cookie #hollyberry cookie #pure vanilla cookie #white lily cookie #golden cheese cookie

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hazelfoureyes · 6 months ago

Text

A Doe in Fall (part 7)

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

Part 1 - Pretty in Red smut💦 Part 2 - Liar smut💦 Part 3 - A Tragedy smut💦 Part 4 - Enough Part 5 - Too Much Part 6 - Learning smut💦 Part 7 - Recognition smut💦 Part 8 - Trust sexual 🥵 Part 9 - Shiny Things Part 10 - Good Deeds Part 11 - Caught Part 12 - Eddie

Part 7 Recognition

It was time to start again. Alastor couldn't forget what his mother had wanted, even if she didn't ask it of him directly. And while he finds his comfort again in killing, Detective Brady finds a lead.

「Warnings/Promises: Human Alastor x Fem Burlesquer reader, smut, reader's thighs as ear muffs, referencing cruel racists in the early 20th century south, reference to marital violence, pussy eaten, p in v sex, no creampie BOO, bad dancing, Alastor's southern accent, Alastor's mother, gossip, murder, greed , two idiots pretending they aren't madly in love, poor family planning, lots of 1920's slang with notes for your ease」

I think I fixed the broken tag list!

....it's been over a month. Here's nearly 9000 words of our favorite idiots. I feel weird labeling this smut now as...we are...kinda past the smut point and just making sweet sweet love. lol ugh gross. thank you to everyone whose offered help, donated, and shared the word about my mom! It’s been an immense help and has made her a little emotional (in a good way) <Florida stole my moms teeth— explanation and donation link> unrelated, anyone want some RadioDust?

Minors…. Minors. My inbox counts as interacting when you’re literally in there requesting smut. I know your bio has no age but baby honey darling I can tell by your writing. 🔞 Do Not Interact 🏠🚗

A development he knew was coming even if no one else believed him. A drug addict with debts to the local crime syndicates disappearing was neither suspicious nor a mystery. Everyone was confident it was obvious Tommy was at the bottom of Lake Pontchartrain or halfway to California.

But not to him, not for Detective Brady. He had been on the beat for the better part of a year, convinced there was a connection between some of the disappearances in town.

No one wanted to hear it though, most people didn’t even care the people were missing. Only the occasional wife, concerned how she would keep a roof over her head and food in her kid’s bellies with the man of the house gone. But other than that, no tears or chest beating for the missing men and women.

Which made him confident there were countless more unreported cases. Just because no one missed them, a crime is a crime.

But, no bodies, no blood, no crime scenes… he looked like he had lost the fucking plot to his colleagues.

The city didn’t want the bad press, not to mention the fact there was no actual crime to be reported. Someone up and left down? Okay, he was a wife beater? Probably left with his mistress. The cruel den mother of the home for unwanted kids? Her assistant takes the lead and she moves onto a new town to menace. Probably running from the people angry with her.

But he finally had something. Tommy was pimping out dancers, and even laid hands on one. Surely there was a man looking for revenge for that. Can’t knock around a man’s woman and have it go unanswered.

So he tried again to find the woman whose only name he knew was a moniker. Autumn Hind.

Every time Brady came to the theater, another excuse. You left early. You were on the roof smoking—- oh, you slipped out the back. Weekends were your off days, so that was useless.

“You’re obsessed.” Detective Freeman threw an eraser he’d picked off his pencil at Brady. He had seen the man devolve slowly over the past couple months.

“Thanks.” Brady was staring at his notes.

“Not a compliment, Kenny. Shit happens, people leave town. You’re acting like a handful of no shows are some conspiracy.” Freeman came to stand behind Brady, leaning over to read his notes, “How can you even read that chicken scratch?”

He clapped the notebook shut, “Every report was a person less than liked. What are the chances they all leave town in the middle of the night, last seen in the same general area?”

Freeman patted his shoulder, “Did you just ask me why a bunch of assholes,” he stood up and made a show of stretching out tired muscles, “who liked illegal hooch* and jazz with plenty of enemies disappeared?” (*booze)

Brady slapped his desk, “There! You said it! They had enemies. But what— what if they had one enemy in common. A bar manager or — or a,” he was still looking for that link.

“Kenny, the boogeyman isn’t roaming New Orleans killing people. If the higher ups don’t care, if the families don’t care, it doesn’t matter. Let it go.”

The sleep deprived detective sunk into his wooden chair, swiveling side to side anxiously, “Tommy’s mother cares.”

“Yeah well mom’s are famously bad judges of character.” Slipping on his jacket, he shot a worried look to his partner, “Ya gonna go home? Janet’s probably a mess. You’ve been keeping late hours.”

“Nah not yet. I gotta get to the theater before this dame goes ghost on me again.”

“Yikes, still? You’ve been chasing her for a while.” He was making a slow inching walk to the door.

“It’d be easier if I had some support. I gotta do this on my own time.” A deep sigh, well past the point of hiding his frustration with his colleagues and bosses. Freeman looked over the wrinkled shirt and wilted tie, evidence of a man losing his grip.

“Welp, good luck buddy. Hope you get to the bottom of whatever this is.” He gestured at the messy desk and disheveled man, “See ya tomorrow.”

Brady waved without looking up. His eyes were staring into the black leather of his notepad. Tommy was the only recent assumed victim with any real suspicion. The woman whose husband disappeared after going to see a show? Only enemy to him was her, and she wasn’t strong enough to take him down. Deadend.

Most recent, nice young man from up north. Went out for a good time, hoping to catch a little lady for some stress relief, according to his coworkers. Never showed up at work the next day. No one had a bad word to say about the man. Making him an outlier, but still. He was young, strong, soft spoken. Not an enemy in sight but no family to worry, either. Deadend.

But Tommy. Someone cared he was gone. He was in the jazz game, the drug dens, the illegal drink business, and had a heavy hand. He was the perfect bad man, right?

He looked across his desk. Bad men. The occasional unsavory woman. Maybe it was just their time. They pissed off the wrong people.

Or the wrong person.

Someone who worked downtown, someone into dance and drink, someone with nights free to do his work. Maybe a hired gun? No, some of these people didn’t have the money for that.

Plus, one person and so many missing? That would be unheard of, it’d be some kind of record for Louisiana.

A record Brady could claim.

When he entered the theater James, the manager who replaced Tommy, noticeably rolled his eyes, getting in front of the man. “It’s real bad for business to have a cop in here all the damn time. Come on, if you’re not here for a raid then could you be a little less obvious.”

Brady looked past him, “What do you mean?”

“You’re— what is it? What can I do for you?”

“Here again for Miss Autumn. Care to give her real name yet?”

“No can do. Ain’t my business to tell. She’s finished her set, asked to head home early.” Brady turned and kicked a chair over, a large man approaching behind the manager before seeing the hip badge and backing up. “Nah we’re not doing that. We’ve told her you’ve come by but she’s a busy lady. Several gigs here and there. Enough, you’re harassing the dancers now.”

With a snap, Brady had his finger in the manager’s face, “Whatcha gonna do? Call the cops?”

“She. Isn’t. Here. What the fuck do you want? For me to tie her up and bring her to your station?”

That’d be ideal.

A month, nearly. Coming once or twice a week to try and speak to you but every time he missed you. He was going to snap if he heard one more time you were gone. Maybe everyone was in on it. Maybe you werenin the back right now laughing at him.

Brady scanned the room, “Where’s she live?”

“How the fuck would I know— please, leave.” James gestured to the doors.

He lifted his badge up, waving it at the patrons seated closest to him, “Yall know it’s still illegal to partake-,”

“Jesus! Enough!” The manager pushed him back, flashing an apologetic smile to the guests, “She moonlights Sundays at The Dime near the park on 5th, singing for a friend. That’s all I got about her life off stage. Will you fucking go?”

The detective perked up, “See, was that so hard?”

Finally, he could feel his fingers grasp the shifting shadow that was his only lead.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“I never said sorry.”

You turned your head, not expecting him to say something serious. Waiting, he didn’t add explanation. Sorry? What had he done… ran out of milk? Forgot to bring in the towels before it rained last week? A quick search of your memory yielded nothing.

“For what?”

He was staring off in front of him. “For putting you in danger before. In the park. I am sincerely sorry.”

You’d somehow almost forgotten. It’d been weeks. Every bad feeling that night had brought you had been carried away by good morning kisses and gentle words before sleep. Nearly every night was spent in his bed, Alastor dropping you off at your apartment when he went downtown for work. The incident in the park was a different lifetime already.

Had he really put you in danger? Or had you rushed into the danger of his hobby to feel closer to him?

“I put myself in that situation. You didn't throw me at that guy. I don’t do a damn thing I don’t want to do. You should have learned that by now.”

Tough act for a woman who jumped up to pour some man’s coffee.

You shook your head, you had to stop equating doting on Alastor as a show of weakness. It wasn’t. Even if admitting that meant admitting you were wrong.

But he had put you in danger’s way, he knew it. “No, you wouldn’t have ever been in that situation if it wasn’t for me.”

Your laughter bounced off the car windows, “Alastor, you met me getting choked to death by a strange man. People will always make dangerous situations for women to be in. Don’t act like you’re special.” A sly smile to ease his anxious heart. “I’d rather be in danger for you than just because I’m a woman. If it’s gonna happen anyway, might as well be worth something.”

His hand slipped onto your thigh, expression softening before his own smile grew again, “Don’t lie to my face so easily. I am very special, we can all agree.”

You looked around, the two of you alone in his car on a side street, “All? You know the trunk is still empty, right?”

“Oh, is that so? You’re quite dangerous yourself, I nearly forgot why we were here.” He patted his pockets to make sure he had what he needed. “When I give you a wave, back up to me, okay? Don’t leave the car. Just drive off if-,”

You kissed his cheek, “Shut it. Not a chance. Go give em hell, baby.”

Alastor crumpled against his steering wheel momentarily, your words cutting his heart open in a most wonderful way. He could never have predicted getting kisses before beginning his dark work. What had he done to deserve this? Perhaps proof someone in hell was in full support of his actions. Straightening his back and checking his hair and glasses in the mirror, he flashed you a smile before slipping out of the car.

When Alastor said he was ready to begin killing again, you were a mix of excited and scared. Excited for normalcy to return but scared of the dangers presented there in. You’d been dodging the blue eyed detective for a while already, and moving forward meant possibly making mistakes he could grab a hold of. Not mentioning the risk of someone hurting Alastor again…but for your part in everything, you and Alastor found a compromise.

A deal had been made. You’d stay in the car and bring it to him when he was done. He had asked you flee if something went wrong but you both knew that wasn’t going to happen. Crawling into the driver’s seat, you tried to remember what he had taught you. How to get it started up, how to make it go backwards. How to make it go, in general. You’d never driven a car. Well, not until Alastor insisted on teaching you. Driving up and down the long stretch of road he lived on, Alastor white knuckling the door handle as you jerked the car forward with every failed shift. You had started on his land, but he feared for his home's safety with you behind the wheel.

Your hands slipped down the steeling wheel, big and round. Your mother would’ve had a hoot had she seen you in the driver’s seat. Clearing your throat, you leaned into the back of the car and double checked the canvas was properly secured.

Another man tonight. The few times you’d both gone out for leisure, having preferred to spend time alone at home, Alastor had gotten gossip that piqued his interest.

You remembered the way the woman’s hand touched his arm when she leaned in. “You didn’t hear it from me but it’s best to avoid French Study on Thursdays. Real piece of work slipping something in drinks and robbing people.” He reported what she had said back to you. It’d panicked you, realizing you were closer to being on Alastor’s list than you’d realized.

“No, the issue isn’t the stealin’. It’s what he does with the people with,” he had been delicate as he said it, taking another long sip of whiskey, “other things of value. And the fact this man has no need to steal. It’s ridiculous! His family has been land ownin’ and well off for generations.” Alastor was always impassioned when discussing the things he hated, even when slipping into drunkenness. His accent came through when he had too much to drink, his real accent. The accent his mother had. “You robbed men for power balance, for their assumptions you were easy to manipulate to begin with. He? Uh, Him? He’s just a piece of shit. He thinks he’s better than everyone else. And no one would report him ‘cause his family name.”

His drink spilled a little, when you had offered to clean it he just slipped the button up off. He lost his usual classy air as the bottle emptied. Which you actually liked.

The benefits of drinking on his back porch was no need to worry about decorum. Music was softly spilling from the open window behind you, Alastor’s prized record cabinet spinning the newest presses.

“It’s like there’s a little bug under my skin,” he wiggled his fingers over his sternum, “It’s gonna dig into my bones if I don’t cut it out.”

Despite your own drunkenness, you nodded and followed along, “So, ya gonna kill ‘em?”

Alastor pouted, making you snort, “I don’t want to think about that right now.” He enunciated every word clearly in his practiced and professional voice.

You’d ended the evening playfully arguing the merits of prohibition on the jazz scene and watching Alastor dance around the wrap around porch. But the conversation hadn’t ended for him.

Little hints he was still focused on it popped up over the following week. Alastor randomly asking you how it felt to be drugged, did you wake up in pain? Embarrassed? Scared? You caught him staring at the greenhouse from the window one morning, lost in thought. Before he had finally said he wanted to go out again, you understanding what that meant, you’d seen him turning a dinner knife over and over in his hand impatiently.

And now here you were. In the car beside a park late Thursday, Alastor having done some scouting while you’d finished up early at the theater.

It took hours. Which was good, it meant Alastor wasn’t rushing. He liked the stalking aspect of killing, of watching someone from across a room knowing exactly how their night would end. And as that man whose name would soon be buried with him alternated smiling and barking orders at staff, Alastor felt his stomach flutter. Like watching a slab of meat slowly turn over the fire. The crueler he was, the worse he acted, the more Alastor found his fingers tapping on the bar with anticipation. Perfect. Damn yourself more. No fake smiles or double faces, no, people like him didn’t even try to play the game others were forced into. Born with money and land already theirs, they didn’t even know the rules.

But Alastor did. Alastor mastered them at the tender age of 14. When he realized his father’s features were a shield. His mother’s lessons on manners and charm his weapons. The first time he was in mixed company, when someone leaned in and whispered a cruel “prank” he had planned for a young dark skinned woman on the other side of the room, he understood. They pulled back and smiled at him, and he managed to muster one of his own. Just smile, they’d take it to mean whatever they wanted it to mean because they thought he was of the same mindset. They assumed it. Like so many other things people would assume about him as he grew.

When he told his mother the story after getting home, she shook her head. When he had asked her what he should have done, she set down her book.

“Well, I’d love to say you should have stood up for her. But I’d also like to have my son above ground.”

He asked her why she couldn’t have both.

“Sweetheart, we don’t usually get the choice to do either, let alone both.”

He offered a solution, after a moment of thinking, “I shoulda buried him first then.”

“Wouldn’t it be nice if that was how the world worked?” She returned to her book, “If God just struck em down dead as soon as they hurt people. Better yet, before.”

It would be nice. It was nice. Because Alastor couldn’t wait for God to make the world his mother mentioned. He grinned ear to ear, gloves a second skin, as the man crawled backwards in the grass like an animal cornered. His heart was pounding in his ears. Where to cut first? The gut, his family fat and soft from the money they made off the labor of others? The pale neck of a man who never spent a day outside, instead indoors drugging strangers for sport? The chest covered in a fine cotton shirt he didn’t appreciate?

He wished he had many arms, as many as he could imagine, to slash and tear in tandem.

“What do you want? Money?” the animal asked him.

Alastor shook his head no. No, he didn’t want money.

“Do you know who I am?”

Alastor nodded. “That is precisely why I am here.”

Would he beg? Cry? Bargain? Experience told him it’d be the latter.

“Alright well, if you know who I am you know you’re making a mistake. Here.” The man opened his wallet and pulled out a few greenbacks, holding them out for Alastor. Alastor’s smile softened slightly, remembering tossing you a wallet once before.

He reached down with his left hand to take the money, but instead grabbed the man’s wrist. Swiftly, quicker than the man could process, he took the knife tucked into his belt behind his vest and stabbed the man in the stomach.

Staring into his eyes, he could see his own image looking back at him. Smiling.

Alastor grabbed your face with both wrists, hands bloody and one still holding the knife, and kissed you when he’d flagged you down.

“Is this for bringing the car around without running you over?” Your eyes glanced at the knife beside your head. He apologized, tossing it into the trunk.

“No, just happy to see you.” A mischievous grin that made your knees weak, his body shimmied closer until he was pressed against you, stealing another kiss. His arms stretched out to keep from bloodying you. Your fingers slid up his cheeks to return the kiss. “Thank you, dear.”

When you returned home, to his home, that is, you took to task bringing in the laundry he’d left on the line and putting away the things still on the counters from breakfast. You couldn’t resist going to the second floor room and looking down into the greenhouse. You couldn’t see perfectly well, but you could see nonetheless. Alastor didn’t want you in the greenhouse yet when he was working. He said it was the ugliest parts, the kind that would sure give you nightmares or rob you of your appetite.

Considerate. But, it only made you more curious. Would you be sick if you saw? Would you never eat meat again?

What would you do if you didn’t have any reaction at all?

You watched Alastor leave the greenhouse and lock the door behind him, so you hopped down the stairs to meet him in the hall beside the kitchen.

He’d been sweating, shirt open to reveal a thin white undershirt, and under his arm was a canvas roll. He lifted it up, “Tools. Rinsed them off but I’d like to dry them under the electric lights.” You grabbed the aprons from the wall hooks, Alastor letting you slip it over his head and tie it for him. “Why so tight?”

“I like the way it makes your waist look.” You’d seen him wear it when making biscuits. It made his shape so clear. It reminded you of watching water drip down his sides and roll off his hips in the shower.

He beamed, “I’m listening. What exactly do you like about my waist?” Sharp brows raised as that friendly tongue peeked out at you.

“Hush.” You cooed.

You stood on the long side of the table, him at the short, and took turns wiping the tools dry and checking the other’s work.

As he grabbed each one he would tell you what he used it for. Holding up the garden shears and explaining the point along the blade that had the strongest force. The advantage of curved pruning blades when used on a human body. His eyes were gleaming as he spoke, looking so lovingly at each item like it was a loyal pet.

He finally noticed you were grinning and chuckling softly, so he dropped his smile for dramatic effect, “What? What’s so funny?”

Shaking your head, you set down the next item for him to inspect, “Nothing. You’re just so cute when you’re talking about your passions. Your face lights up from the inside out.”

His breath hitched, smile actually lost as he processed every syllable. Your turn now to notice him staring as you looked up from your work. You recognized that look though, the wide eyes and serious lips. The air of the kitchen felt like the atmosphere before a thunderstorm rolled in.

Alastor set the tools back onto the canvas one by one and carried them to the counter. Before returning he picked up a small knife and set it near the edge of the table.

“Come here.” He nodded his head to space in front of him. The way he said it, that tone, made your heart begin to skip beats.

You slid between him and the table, Alastor lifting you up with a startling ease and setting you onto cool wood. Kicking your legs a little, you set nervous hands onto your lap. You wanted to touch him. To pull him by the apron straps into you.

“How do you always say the right things?” He closed the distance between you, one hand on your neck while his mouth came to your ear. “The things I didn’t know I wanted to hear?”

Swimming. Your mind was swimming. “Why is your idea of right the same as my idea of the truth?” You could feel the grin. Sighing into your ear, down your neck, his hands grabbed your hips and pulled you off the table enough to press your core into his clothed erection. Even through his pants and the apron, you could feel him clearly. When did he get so hard? You always wondered in those moments if it was the topic of discussion. Or the knives. Or your need. Biting your lip wasn’t a thought out action, but Alastor loved to see it. Rolling his hips into you in response.

“Wanna go upstairs?” you asked.

He shook his head, slipping off his glasses.

“Oh no, don’t even wanna see me?” You teased, but firm hands held you tighter to him in response.

“I won’t be letting you get far enough away from me for that to be a problem.”

When he leaned down and his lips so very gently pressed into yours, you could feel it. That missing something from before. It was in the air, it was rolling off of his body and dampening your senses. A desire, a drive that you felt that first time you had sex with him in that apartment above the theater. A motivation that was lacking last time in his bed.

His eyes were staring down into yours, waiting for your response. Eagerly you replied by chasing his mouth with yours. A chain of kisses as you tried to ever remember enjoying kissing another person as much as him.

Not a single soul. Why did it feel like this was all you ever needed? Eyes closed and lips on lips, hands in his hair, it felt like you’d been holding your breath all of your life. His body on yours was a gasp of air.

For Alastor, he couldn’t even think of breathing when around you. Let alone when your mouth was on him. Every time you touched him all he could think about was the word ‘affection’.

So when your tongue swiped up his lips, he moaned as he opened for you. Not because he was new to kissing someone with so much lust. He’d grown accustomed to the things you did to him. No, because you were a fever that had taken hold of him and your kiss the medicine that soothed his delirium.

He wondered, was that why people called it ‘love sick’?

“You really like me, don’t you?” He asked, nose sliding up your jaw.

An opportunity presented to you. A chance to spill over the edges.

You pushed it away, legs wrapping around his waist and pulling him closer.

“Something like that, yeah.”

His hands pressed flat against the table to balance the deep roll of his hips against you. One of your own fell behind you to keep from falling backwards, the other flung over his shoulder. When you moaned into his cheek he captured the sound with his mouth and slipped his tongue back into you.

You liked him. He’d known people to love and not like their partner an ounce, but the way you appreciated his quirks made his heart sing in its brittle cage. You never ceased to see him. The issue with always putting on a show is people tend to be disappointed when the actors become human again. But you never met his persona. He was knife wielding, bloodlusting Alastor from the first word. So when he was himself, you recognized him clearly. Because he was all you ever knew.

And you liked him

You appreciated him.

He dared to think maybe he could inspire more from you. A thought that made him twitch below the belt.

Closer. He needed you closer. He needed you so near to him that he’d never forget the feeling of being wanted. It’d be imprinted on his chest and his arms and his lips.

Impatient hands slipping up your sides, along your neck, down your chest. His greedy mouth suddenly understanding the same greed he once marveled at in your own kisses. Hot tongue sliding over yours, delving deeper into you with every return.

When his hands seemed to come to an agreement, they yanked you forward again. You’d fall off ass-first if he pulled you any further.

You watched with only slight horror has he grabbed the small knife and hiked up your dress in tandem. A gulp, worried the other shoe had finally dropped on a too-good situation.

“Are you particularly attached to these panties?” His eyes were looking up and over his glasses.

“No?” Did you really need panties, you wondered. Ever? Girdles we’re falling out of fashion perhaps you’d all be naked again soon enough. Maybe you two could start another Eden. A pomegranate’s juice the new red staining his skin.

Not even a tremble, his hands lifted each side and sliced them free.

“Oh?” You didn’t have a real question in mind when he tucked the panties into his back pocket. Just a need to express you saw it and didn’t understand it.

Alastor took your hand and pressed it against his hardened length, eyes locked onto yours with a sharpness to them. But when your hand took hold of him and squeezed, everything softened in his features. Funny how where one area grew stiff another melted.

He rolled his eyes closed as you finally undid his belt and pants. A struggle you didn’t see, Alastor trying to keep from pouncing on you like a horny virgin. He didn’t want to rut into you, he didn’t need the pleasure. He needed something he couldn’t see or explain. He just knew you held it behind your teeth.

When your skin pressed into his and you both moaned together he was sure you were the same. One person, split into insufficient parts. Finally lined up flush in place.

When you circled your hips against his aching cock, he wondered what you were chasing after. Was it the pleasure? He’d give it to you in spades.

He was on his knees with his face between your legs before you could close your thighs in surprise.

You needed both hands now to keep from falling back onto the table. “Alastor,” a whine.

He knew better than to talk with his mouth full, so he let two fingers work their way into you with shallow thrusts. Easing you open for him.

“Yes?” His eyes didn’t leave his fingers, glistening under the kitchen light. You hadn't thought much ahead past his name, once his fingers were in you and curling up to find your spongy and soft bundle of nerves your mind had gone empty.

“We can just fuck, if you’re horny.” You watched him watching himself.

“Where’s the fun in that?” His mouth returned to your mound, broad tongue forming a point and finding your clit.

A lazy moving tongue would be frustrating if not for his fingers punishing your g-spot. Consistency was key, and his hand was focused and skilled.

Suddenly you remembered the piano in the sitting room. That’s where you knew that movement from. That clearly practiced muscle memory.

Alastor felt confident everywhere but rarely did he feel comfortable. When your thighs came together and squeezed him at the ears, he felt positively cozy. Would you be so kind as to be his ear muffs come winter? He’d have to remember to ask when his mouth was free. How many cold nights he could now rest assured he would have warmth just a little dive of his head away.

Lowering his mouth, nose buried in your muff, he wriggled his tongue in with his fingers. Not enough, rarely was anything enough any more. He stilled his hand and prodded at your sensitive walls with that intrusive tongue, relishing the little movements you made in response. Taking his digits out entirely, he buried his wet muscle as deeply as he could reach.

The huffs of exhales you were making triggered a moan from him that you felt through your skin. His enjoyment was tripling your pleasure.

Goosebumps ran up your arms at the combine sensations of his moaning and prodding.

When his lips and tongue returned to their uneven teasing of your clit, three fingers now swiping past your inner spot with every thrust, your hands came to his head. Fingers slipping through his hair and gripping every time your body shook. Encouragement, the more you tugged the surer he was he was doing the right things.

And oh, he was. You said the right things but Alastor always seemed to act on them. Your senses lodged themselves between the even stroking of your g-spot and the unpredictable movements of his tongue. One kept the pressure rising as your orgasm climbed, the other pushed you along jolt by jolt.

Curious thing. That night in the park he didn’t have much reaction to your enjoyment, but he found himself not fully softening in his lap as he continued. Normally, unless still physically stimulated or the rare time you stirred something in him, he wasn’t very… battle ready.

But the feeling of you pulling him in by the head, fingers in his hair and thighs at his cheeks; this was different than the others. He was sure now it wasn’t just physical pleasure you wanted. His pride said it was more.

Dozens of times before— he truly was a rake in some aspects, though admittedly it was all in the pursuit of avoiding “sex”, as defined by most, not chasing it — he helped a date find release with his tongue. But it never did anything for him. They moaned and said his name and screamed. Which was lovely. Who doesn’t enjoy recognition?

When you said his name, it was heavier. It was material, it had mass and as its gravity began its pull he found his mind circling that sound. He was pleasing his darling, not placating. And it made him react in that unusually crass way.

He felt like an apex predator when killing, tearing open animals made for him to hunt. But you made him feel baser. Prey in your gentle bite.

As your orgasm mounted, you began tugging at his hair to pull him off. You didn’t need him to stop, but everything was suddenly too sensitive. It was alarming to feel your body rocking from overstimulation. A strident cry filled the kitchen as your back arched off the table. He didn’t let up, despite how much you thrashed under his mouth. Rolling pleasure, muscles electrified and shaking beyond your control.

You patted his head harshly, “Good, I’m good. Alas—tor! Fuck!”

Ah, he loved when you swore. It punctuated your otherwise preternatural aura with a touch of humanity.

He stood and leaned over your now reclining body. Your pussy still clenching and legs shaking as he admired his work. You admired his shape in his apron, his broad shoulders and sharp eyes. Caught between your legs like a lion in a mouse trap; he acted like he had no way free of you. His grin widened and he made a display out of licking each finger clean. Eyes never leaving yours.

You knew many men to squawk at going down on a woman. To balk at wearing an apron. To grimace at the suggestion of cooking a meal while their lady took a nice bath or enjoyed a coffee. Alastor seemed to not think twice about any of it. How nice it would be. To have a partner beside you, to not be the woman in the often referenced “behind every great man is a great woman.”

“Alastor, I want you.” You pulled him down by the neck and stole a kiss. When he began to stroke himself fully back to life you pressed that hand to his chest. “Not like that. Though I’m not declining the offer.”

His eyes saw something in yours. “Sweetheart, you have me. There is no part of me that isn’t possessed by you. I know we keep things relatively… tightlipped for safety but I’m your fella and you’re my gal.” His nose touched yours. “But if you want more, I’ll become more. I’ll break myself apart and make myself better.”

Your heart sank. Sitting up to command a little authority, a feat given you were sitting panty-less on a kitchen table, “Don’t you dare. I’ll always meet you where you are, got it? Don’t go… groping around in the darkness for me; trying to find what I need. I’ll always come to you. Because you’re more than enough as you are.”

A little cough to clear his tightening throat, “I’ve not had a day of darkness since you arrived.” A kiss to your forehead before a soft thumbpad wiped at the corner of your eye. “Did I make you sad?”

You wanted to say it. But not now, not like this. You didn’t want Alastor to connect love and sex. To think one was necessary for the other.

While you were coming to learn how lovely it was to pair the two together, it was a fact they were wholly independent things. And you couldn’t allow him to think they were a set.

“You’ve made me too happy. It’s absolutely terrifying.”

But Alastor had found your expressions of acceptance always tumbled the circle of Love to overlap with that of Sex. It was only in that mixed space did he find desire in pleasure.

A wicked smirk, “Let me pile on my affections and drown out your fears.” His hips rolled into you again, a surprising eagerness returned to his lap. “Can I continue?”

With a nod and a smile, “But not another word of change, buster.” You leaned back on your hand for support. Alastor was happy to return to your heat, lining up and sinking into you. An embrace like no other, one he found particularly earnest when with you.

Close. Finally. You began where he ended, a natural extension of who he was and who he could be. The things he could have. A relieved sigh he didn’t try to hide before he began moving, a moment when his tension could melt. You were both an unseasonably warm autumn day and the cool comforting shade of an unfamiliar tree. Both the heat and the relief.

He watched your body rock against the table, even fully dressed you managed to look more scandalous than any show he’d seen downtown. He was grateful he didn’t seek this comfort often in others, the way his mind melted made him feel vulnerable. He couldn’t think straight. And then you began to make those lovely little groans, high pitched and needy, and he was sure his soul was errant.

As his thrusts deepened, cock no longer kissing your cervix but ramming into you with good intentions, you dropped back as you lost the battle against his hips.

Alastor’s arms slid up our waist and pulled your arms towards him, “Too far, I can’t see your face.”

Your arms were slung over his shoulders as your back curved for him, “You don’t need to see my face.”

“Tsk, wrong.”

Your new favorite place was right in front of him, wherever his line of sight was you wanted to be in it. Nose to nose, heads tilting to recapture soft lips and softer moans.

Until the softness left, Alastor’s skin slapping against yours as he dragged those lovely sounds from you. He watched your eyes roll closed, mouth open as you moaned with the safety of the seclusion of a country home. A thought bubbled up, inspired by you.

“I want the neighbors to hear you.” That smile half cocked across his upsettingly handsome face. His hand slipped between you both to repeat the motions he learned before. Hard and fast, no choice but to raise your voice.

Your head fell back, clit still sensitive, “You don’t have neighbors!” A new moan hitting the walls.

“I do— just a few miles down the road, dear.” His mouth latched onto your neck but he didn’t suck like he wanted, he couldn’t bite. Your skin was your job, your body not his to mark. Suddenly he remembered, “Do you still have that make up? For your bruises?”

You couldn’t understand why he would bring that up while balls deep in you but you nodded.

“Would it work on your neck?” He nipped lightly.

It clicked, “Absolutely.”

You felt like a teenager again. When his tongue swiped over your soft flesh before he began to suck on the skin there you could feel the heat rising off your chest. You could feel him everywhere, and with the knowledge he wanted to hear you, you tossed your shame out of the kitchen window and relaxed into the pleasure.

As he moved up your neck he left little marks behind. There was no sense left you didn’t occupy. He could smell the soap and sweat of your skin, taste your cunt still on his tongue, your sights and sounds a decadence he couldn’t get used to. And the feeling of you… velvety walls, a feeling finer than silk as he slipped in and out of you. So incredibly hot on his most sensitive areas, pulling him back in with admirable strength.

He felt his orgasm ratcheting up but tried to hold back. He wanted more time to experience your ecstasy, to wallow in your openness. Even pressed skin to skin now wouldn’t satisfy that deep desire for this unique level of intimacy. So he wanted to enjoy it for as long as he had it.

But, he knew he should prepare. “I don’t want to dirty your dress.” A lust heavy voice penetrating the nap of your neck. He’d made a risky release before at your urging, something he often thought about when work got quiet. But he knew he needed to think clearer now.

“Then don’t.” A terrible reply but you wanted all of him, every drop of his hunger for you. “Keep the mess in me.”

“My dear,” he slowed his hips, autopilot keeping them moving at all, “I don’t think now is the time for,” you tightened around him to trip him up, which worked spectacularly. Alastor had take several seconds before continuing, “talks on family planning.”

A pang of nausea and fear, small and sharp in your abdomen. It wasn’t that you weren’t aware of biology, just that Alastor brought out your baser animal instincts, too. And before, when he came buried as deeply as he could reach, it felt like you’d actually completed some ritual. Bears hibernated, birds migrated, Alastor came in you.

You’d never let a man do that before Alastor. “I just want to… accept everything you are willing to give me.”

He bit his bottom lip to redirect some attention away from his now throbbing member, “And when you’re sure on me, I’ll always provide.”

A pout that he kissed, you accepted the terms. An argument could be made you were already very sure, but you were well aware how naive that sounded when you’d known each other for so little time. Had a coworker told you she’d met a guy and within three months was ready for… the consequences, you’d have laughed and asked if she was drunk or just stupid.

Alastor wanted to provide. But he knew you’d be the one with the raw end of the deal, he couldn’t risk coercing a decision in the heat of the moment. If your mind was half was addled as his with pleasure then you were in no state for big decisions.

Life changing decisions.

Decisions that filled empty homes.

Fuck, why wasn’t he a less considerate man?

When his kiss deepened, so did his ministrations. He was fully sheathed and so unwilling to draw back more than a couple inches you wondered if he had changed his mind. It felt like a man not wanting to stray too far from home. One hand on the small of your back, his other other on the back of your neck. When he pulled out he pressed his tongue further, only stopping the kiss when he came onto the little space of table between your thighs. Soft and swollen lips parted as his breaths ran ragged. A smile spread across your face as you watched his eyes open, witnessing a pleasured blow out of his pupils.

When he grabbed a kitchen towel and cleaned the table, you chuckled at his grimace. “See? My way is cleaner.”

He didn’t reply at first, taking the cloth and hovering over the sink before tossing it into his trash. “Only in the short term. We can finish up tomorrow with the tools?”

Your legs kicked again, not ready to slide off, “Mm, it’ll be easier in the daylight.”

“Instead,” he zipped his pants but removed the belt and set it on the counter, “Let’s get zozzled* and sway around the sitting room? Crash where we land.” (*drunk)

“I’ll pour if you get the music on.”

He turned to leave but paused, “No, I’ll handle the drinks. You always have too heavy of a hand.”

“I didn’t hear you complaining last time…”

“I’m not sure I remembered I was at home and not at a drum* last time…,” He uncorked the label-less whiskey, grabbing two glasses with one hand. “Didn’t wanna insult the pretty waitress.” (*speakeasy)

Fair. You weren’t much for drinking and always underestimated the strength of illegal hooch. Some were weak and some could kill you. But fancy Alastor had connections with the kind of people no one dared to risk harm to, so he always had the most trustworthy goods.

Good music, great whiskey, and even better company. You thanked him for being safe while working, he praised your ability to learn new skills so quickly. After a few drinks he pushed the coffee table against the wall and you drunkenly swayed around the room to something playing smooth and low. As much as you enjoyed your conversations, having your head tucked under his chin as neither of you said a word somehow filled in the little cracks of your heart more so than any talk. For him too. No tension after sex, no stress of how long he’d get to breathe before the next instance of prodding to do it again. He could smile and close his eyes and feel the room swing and sway in total safety.

A safety neither of you knew was being threatened from afar.

When you woke, Alastor was gone. A note on the table letting you know he’d run out to grab some things for breakfast. Telling you to relax and recover.

You put the furniture back, bringing the glasses to the kitchen and his belt to the bedroom.

Coffee and a slow perusal of his home. Intimate details you tried to not stare at when he was there. The rare photo of his mother, a woman you didn’t speak about, a conversation you didn’t need to have, but someone you knew existed fondly still in his life. A silent thank you to her.

No photos of a man to give thanks to you so you turned to the little curios and mementos.

Little seashells and sand dollars, a small gator’s skull. Books, about anatomy and history. Novels about crime and love and mystery. Ticket stubs for films he’d seen. Little bits of his mother scattered in. A woman’s necklace. A chatelaine* with all of the accessories and tools. (*wikipedia page)

When you felt you’d spied enough, you crawled into his side of the bed and inhaled as deeply as you could. His pillow smelled like him. You let yourself sleep off the hangover surrounded by pieces of Alastor.

Pieces you couldn’t contain. Pieces left around town as a dick* hunted for his personal monster. (*a detective, but also, a dick, fuck this dude?)

Beth, or Betty as you called her, the friend you often sang for, was cleaning up from the previous night when Brady walked in. She tried to tell him they were closed, but he took a seat at the counter anyway.

“I’m looking for a singer named Autumn. She been around lately?”

She paused, knowing the name was tied to your work. This man didn’t know you. “Whose asking?”

“The city of New Orleans”, he set his badge on the counter top.

“Is she in some kinda trouble?”

“She the kinda dame to get into trouble?”

Beth laughed, “She doesn’t try to but men, liquor, and jazz tend to make it happen. She’s okay, right?”

He took a deep sigh, trying to blink away the exhaustion and remember he needed to be someone strangers trusted. Being honest hadn’t been working and being rough barely got him a lead. “Well I was hoping you’d know. Found out someone roughed her up a bit ago and just wanting to make sure she’s okay. But I don’t have her legal name, no address, nothing to track her down.”

Shaking her head, she leaned onto the counter, “What? Some egg* forget it’s just a show?” Brady shrugged. “I can’t say. She hasn’t been by in a couple weeks.” (*man)

He asked why. Feeling the deadend approaching.

“She was just doing me a favor. Once she got a guy she didn’t have much time.”

Fighting the urge to slam his fists against the wood and sling his notebook across the bar, Brady took slow breaths. Jaw clenched as he grabbed his pencil, “That is wonderful news. Hopefully a fit guy who can… keep her safe.”

Beth laughed a little, “I don’t know about that. He’s kind of a daisy*, but real kind.” (*a non-masculine man)

“Could I get a name? Or her address? Wanna follow up. See for myself that she’s doing well.”

She tapped the bar with two fingers and winked, “Ah no can do. Flatfoot* or not, I don’t tell men where to find sleeping ladies. But her fella is in radio though. I recognized his voice right away. Popular too, really ritzy air about him.” (*cop, detective)

As he left, he slapped the notebook against his palm over and over. When he stopped to take a second to congratulate himself something caught his eye. Across the street was a park he knew well. Following the block and turning, he could see the white and green awning of the cafe he’d seen you at before.

Had he been there? He hadn’t questioned why you were alone on such a nice day. But maybe you weren’t. Maybe you’d been playing him from the start.

Enough games.

When you took the stage that evening, a Friday show with a promising crowd, you felt like solid gold. Alastor would be there to pick you up in a few hours, you had every need met. And now you had the adoration of strangers to pump up your chest.

Until you passed your come-hither eyes over the crowd and a striking ocean blue pair knocked the wind out of you.

James was standing behind Brady, mouthing an apology. You missed a beat in your routine but forced your smile back. It took a second, to slide back into the actress you were when away from Alastor. Every time it got harder and harder to fall back into that role but you managed. His eyes never left your face, and you thanked God your heaving chest could be seen as fatigue and not the sheer panic that had taken ahold of your body.

When you were on the other side of the curtain you considered rushing out the side door, into the alley and down the street. But you couldn’t. You’d successfully brushed him off for so long but now that he had seen you, had made it clear he was there for you, you couldn’t flee. Innocent people don’t hide from cops.

Feet dragging, you saw some of the dancers standing around the dressing room door. “He’s out of his gourd if he thinks I’m changing with him in there.” One said loud enough to ensure Brady heard. When you entered the room he was sitting at your make up table, legs spread and your shoes in his hands.

“There she is!” standing, he extended the shoes to you, “Don’t stare like a deer in the lights. I’m sure you knew I was coming. Slip these on, we’re going for a ride.” He gave them a shake, “You can call your mac* from the station and let him know you’ll be late.” (*man)

˖ ݁𖥔.Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult.𖥔 ݁ ˖

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aspiringtrashpanda · 6 months ago

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✨MC teaches the brothers about "jinx"✨

“I’m kinda hungry,” you voiced, your Curses and Hexes homework doing little to retain your attention.

Mammon snorted in response, not bothering to look up from his D.D.D. “Who are ya? Beel?”

You waited a second before retaliating, hoping that someone would come to your defense. Alas, it seemed that the brothers lounging around you had long learned to tune out any word from Mammon’s lips.

“I have basic needs like all of you too, you know,” you huffed, gesturing to the Avatar of Gluttony, cross-legged on the carpet next to you. The warmth from the fireplace at your backs cast flickering light over the crinkled chip bag in his massive hand. “Eating isn’t trademarked by Beel.”

Beel grunted, sharp snaps sounding from the rhythmic churn of his jaw.

Levi’s handheld console let out a chime that signaled some sort of victory. “It’s only, like, his whole personality lmao.”

Beel’s chewing paused, but Asmo swooped in first. “There’s more to Beel than food,” he cooed, “I mean, look at those sculpted muscles! He’s also the most handsome little brother~ ♡ ”

“Gee, thanks Asmo,” grumbled the lump of blankets on the couch.

“Aw Belphie, don’t be like that! I like your slender physique, too!”

Somehow, the mound of linens seemed to shudder in distaste. Asmo only shrugged, losing himself in his hand mirror.

“Asmo is right though,” Satan hummed, turning the page of his current book – A Comprehensive Guide to the Devildom’s Most Toxic Plants, “To define Beel as solely a glutton does little to recognize all his positive characteristics.”

Beel swallowed, before flashing a dazzling beam. “Thanks, Satan.”

The living room fell silent once more, save for Beel’s snacking and the crackling of the hearth.

“Hey!” You thought you’d try again. “Know what I could go for right now?”

You paused for anticipation, readying your answer. 1, 2, 3 and...

“Hell’s Kitchen.”

Your spine went ramrod straight, eyes locking onto Mammon in the split second after your voices had harmonized.

“Jinx!” You gasped, “You owe me a soda!”

“Huh?” Mammon blinked owlishly.

“Jinx!” Your enthusiasm was lost on your company. Your neck cracked as you glanced from brother to brother, your grin dampening when they looked at you as though you’d grown a second head.

Satan frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“Is that some normie saying?” Though he sneered, there was curiosity in Levi’s eyes.

“You don’t have jinx here?” You barreled onward, explaining, “It’s a game we play in the human world when two people say the same thing at the same time.”

“How does it work?” Asmo pursed his lip, which only drew his attention to his shade of lip gloss, his mirror capturing his eyes once more.

You shrugged, “There are various versions of the game. Sometimes, the loser can’t speak until they buy the victor a drink. Other times, they’re silenced until their name is uttered aloud 3 times.”

Mammon lunged forward, toppling off the couch as he rushed on all fours to where you sat on the carpet. Before he could protest, eyes wild with a mix of fear and anger, you placed a finger to his lips.

“Nope! Not ‘til you buy me a Devil Cola!”

“LOL!” Levi rejoiced, “Mammon, you’re such a n00b!”

You weren’t the only one who noticed the way Mammon’s eyes brightened, Satan chiding, “Watch it. You can’t say his name or he’s freed, remember?”

“Oh~ I wonder how long he can hold his tongue?” Asmo giggled, finally distracted from his mirror. You couldn’t blame him. Mammon’s expression was a cross between anguished and constipated.

His jaw clenching, slivers of his teeth glinting through curled lips, you could feel the irritation radiating from the Avatar of Greed. Absently, you considered if you should tell him it wasn’t an actual curse. Did he know there was no power other than himself silencing him?

“Can he eat?” Beel inquired, genuine concern mingling with sympathy as he watched his older brother straighten up and march towards the entrance hall.

“You don't need to speak to eat,” Belphie's muffled voice reasoned beneath the blankets.

“HEY MAMS!” You called to his back, shoulders curled up to his ears in anger, “Buy me a Devil Cola, won’t you?"

And really, you hadn’t expected him to follow through at all. He left the room and you returned to your homework. Beel continued eating, Belphie continued sleeping, and Satan continued reading for the sole purpose of poisoning Lucifer, you were sure.

About thirty minutes passed before you heard the door to the Hall of Lamentation creak open.

“No way!” Asmo squealed, a shutter sounding before Mammon could sprint to the couch and swat the D.D.D. from his freshly manicured hands.

Your jaw hit the floor as you looked up at the second born, at the condensation dripping down the can of soda that he thrust in your face. A petulant pout only brightened his blush, the way his eyes looked anywhere but you. The red tint to his skin darkened as his brothers laughed, jeered, teased him.

The least you could do was offer him some praise. You smiled with all your teeth, “Thanks Mammon! The jinx is lifted.”

He scowled, waving off your gratitude with an unnecessarily noisy exhale. With his newfound freedom, he instantly started pestering Asmo, critiquing his most recent Devilgram selfies. As your heart swelled with affection, the words in your textbook falling on blind eyes too occupied by the tiniest movements of your family, you felt completely at ease.

You didn’t think you needed to elaborate, to clarify that you had used your pact and that there was no real magic behind the jinx.

However, when you entered the House of Lamentation two weeks later, you realized you had been very wrong.

The living room was a disaster, pillows tossed this way and that, candle wax oozing across something that looked suspiciously like a summoning circle. Splintered wood littered the carpet, broken chairs in a mangled pile next to the hearth. You were pretty sure you could smell something burning.

You nearly dropped the bag of groceries in your arms, Beel stock still at your side. One look at your shopping buddy told you he had no idea what was going on, concern blazing to life in his purple eyes.

“Lucifer?!” He called out, immediately seeking reassurance.

Instead of the eldest’s smooth drawl, you were met with an incomprehensible shriek from somewhere in the kitchen. A clatter of pots and pans. A crash.

Belphie came sauntering into the room, nodding in greeting. “The jinx didn’t work.”

“What?!” You gawked, surveying the damage to the room, “What is going on?!”

“He could still talk!” Satan fumed, stomping out of the kitchen with his bony tail lashing back and forth, “So I cursed him, but then that asshole reflected it, and it hit Asmo instead.”

Sure enough, a completely drenched Avatar of Lust was next to appear, his mouth moving a mile a minute and yet, not a single sound to be heard. He tossed his hands in the air, hissing something fierce before flicking a wet strand of hair from his face.

“And Asmo tried to charm Mammon to speak for him,” Satan was still ranting, “but Mammon tried to charge him for his services, which then set Levi off about repayment with interest.”

You hugged the groceries tighter to your chest, squeezing your eyes shut as you realized you knew exactly what was happening in the kitchen. You heard the roar, the rumble of the house’s foundation, the continuous rush of water drowning out twin shouts you had heard far too many times before.

But not as many times as the one voice that rose above them all.

“MAMMOOOON?!”

You winced. You’d have to buy your first a Devil Cola later.

*・゜・*:.。.*.。.:*・☆・゜・*:.。.*.。.:*・☆・゜

technically mammon was the one to provoke levi to summon lotan, so rip buddy. but let's be real, they're all getting punished.

REQUESTS ARE OPEN. READ MORE HERE.

#obey me nightbringer #obey me shall we date #obey me leviathan #obey me #obey me belphegor #obey me satan #obey me mammon #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me drabble #my writing #aspiringtrashpanda #if you want to send me requests you can #the inbox is open

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whore-ibly-hot · 1 year ago

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Yan!Husbands Boss x Married! Reader

"Just Another Day at The Office."

18+ Minors DNI

Warnings: Dub-con, misogyny, name calling, nude photos, coercion, dubcon touching, fem genitalia for reader, mentions of divorce, general perversion, praise, clit play, cheating, readers husband is a scumbag.

(AN: Requested by an Anon early today, and it made me feral.)

Tick... tick... tick... the sound of an office clock rings in your ears, the only sound louder is your heart, pounding in your ribcage. The clock was awfully loud, though you had never noticed it before, when you were coming to bring your husband a warm, home-cooked meal. Maybe then you didn't notice it because you weren't fearing for your future.

Morgan & Cole, the investment firm your husband had been working for for years had been doing better than ever, and in turn, so had your husband. Promotions, expensive raises, and more had been sent his way. The house was even being repainted. All that begs the question, how had you found yourself in this situation.

It was a few nights ago when your husband informed you of the deal he had made with his boss. Morgan, the co-owner of the company, had his sights set on you, apparently. At a holiday party, he approached your husband with an offer, an offer to get a night with you in exchange for another fat raise. You had always known your husband hadn't been the most loving, but you had never imagined his greed could get to this. The worst part was how casual the deal he described was. Approaching a man at an office party and asking to sleep with his life like you were discussing sports frightened you. You had only met Morgan once or twice, and while he seemed charming, him doing something like this made you very much doubt he was in actuality.

You are snapped out of your thoughts by the sound of a door opening. Morgan steps out of his office, fidgeting with his smart-watch when he looks up and sees your meek form in the office lobby. His brow furrows.

"Oh, Mrs. Peters, I hadn't expected you to met me here. I had intended to come pick you up. How long have you been here?" He asks. You gulp. "Not long, just ten or so minutes." You say, trying to hold eye contact. He sighs and shakes his head. "Well, I wish you would have knocked on my office door, I feel awful having left you out here alone. Come, we can head back into my office and chat." His voice is so soothing, and in any other situation it would have been nice. You enter his office, and he closes the door behind him, before sitting at his desk. You take the chair in front of it.

"So, I assume your husband-" His teeth grind as he says this. "Is assume he has gone over what this is about." You nod. "He did... and... and I don't know if I can do this. I don't know you at all, and I'm a married woman." You whimper. Tears begin to slip down your cheeks, and Morgan sighs heavily. He comes around to lean back against the front of the desk, one hand supporting him while the other touches your cheek.

"I know this must be scary, I understand that. But I'm gonna solve both of those problems right now." He kneels down so your eyes meet his. "First, you worry you don't know me. Let me fix that. My name is Morgan Brant, I am thirty-two, and I live in a loft down on 37th. I like charcuterie and making my own organic lattes. I work out everyday, and enjoy walking through the city. I have both of my parents, Ruth and John, and they live in the city as well. Anything else you'd like to know?" You're too stunned and still panicked to respond, so you just shake your head. "Okay, okay. Good." He murmurs. A hand strokes your hair softly, as if trying to soothe a wild animal. To your shock, for a man who basically paid for a co-workers wife to prostitute herself, he does seem genuinely upset at your fear. His eyes are filled with a sorrow, and he chews his bottom lip nervously. He looks down for a moment.

"Mrs. Peters, your second concern, about being a married woman, is very respectable. I appreciate that you respect the sanctity of marriage so much. I think your loyalty and love for your husband is beautiful." He pauses, and gently grips your chin so you look him in the eyes. "But... I worry that love and loyalty may not be returned. Mrs. Peters, I need you to promise me you will listen to what I am about to tell you." You gulp, his suddenly serious, yet still soft, tone worries you.

He stands, walking to the back of his desk and opening a drawer, grabbing a manila envelope before sitting down at his chair again. He pushes the envelope towards you, folding his hand together and sitting up. He looks as those this odd exchange is yet another business deal, as he sits like a man prepared to do whatever it takes to seal a deal. A real businessman. Your hand trembles as it opens the envelope. Your heart stops.

Inside, your husband can be seen in several photos, from many different angles. Some looked ripped from security footage, others appear to be taken at a distance. However, they all contain the same subject. Your husband, locking lips with various women, every photo a different one. Your hand covers your mouth as you let out a choked sob. "N-no... I mean, he was never warm to me, b-but..." Everything comes crashing down at once. All those nights you waited up for him when he was 'working late', all those warm meals you brought him at work, only to be brushed off so he could talk to his secretary. It all made sense.

"I can't believe this..." You squeak. Morgan shakes his head. "You can believe it, I know you can. He's never loved you, I've seen how he treats you. Rejecting your meals, ignoring you at office parties and work functions. My dear, he is actively sitting at home and preparing to count the bonus he received for pimping you out to me." Morgan exclaims, his shoulders tightening. You put your head in your hands. "I'm... what am I going to do?! I'll divorce him, but I'll have nothing. I, oh god." You cry. Morgan once again moves to try and comfort you. His broad arms wrap around your shoulders.

"I know, I know this is scary. You've been through a lot tonight, your entire marriage even. But it's going to be okay." He cups your face. "I've been watching the two of you, you mostly." He hands you something. An empty tupperware container. "This is from his lunch yesterday. Every meal he rejected from you, I gladly took. I hadn't had the chance to eat something made so lovingly in a long time. They don't serve home-cooked meals like this at business conferences." He chuckles. "I saw how you would cling to him at those same parties he was ignoring you at, and wishing, praying you would cling to me like that." You look up, his confession is shocking. "Your husband... he is a greedy man, but he has pride. I knew I wouldn't even get a moment along with you unless there was something in it for him." He shakes his head. "Darling, I was just as disgusted as you were that he'd agree to that. As excited as I was, as I am for this moment with you, I was thanking whoever is out there that no other person at this office had tried something similar. I'm not some deviant, or criminal. I've had my fair share of sexual encounters, with prostitutes and escorts, but... I never felt anything. I need to feel something. I do with you." He says.

You shake your head. "You don't know me." You say. He shrugs. "You don't need to someone to love them, not at first. I hate to say this, but you didn't really know your husband, did you?" You sob again, and his sticks his hands out. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry darling, that was out of line. I just needed to prove a point. What I'm saying is, I don't just want one night of pleasure with you. I want you to be mine. If you left him, you wouldn't be lost or desolate, you would have me. I could give your everything he has and more. Money, a penthouse, and my love. Real love. You deserve someone who wants to care for you the way you cared for that man-child. I can do that." You sniffle. "It's all so soon, and I don't... I'm scared." You say again. "I know. I hadn't wanted to do this here. I had wanted to show you the pictures and confess early on, I had plans to pick you up and take you somewhere nice to eat. I know the last thing you want right now is a fresh new relationship, I understand. But just maybe, the idea of revenge tempts you?" He suggests. You look up, and bite your lip. "What are you suggesting?" You ask.

"He thinks he's better than you, and that you could never leave him, because you have no one else, nothing else. Why else do you think he assumes their will be no repercussions for a night like this? He's so confident that you would never leave him, never even think about another man, that he truly believes you will return to him after he's pimped you out." Morgan moves closer. "I won't lie, I'll enjoy this, but don't just do it for me. Do it for yourself. Give in, leave him for a man who will worship you, who can give you more. Get back at him, and be with me." You shake your head. "You... you paid him to pimp me out to you like this though?" You exclaim. He nods "I had to show you how little he cared for you, same with the investigators I hired to get those photos." He nods in the direction of the envelope, now dabbled with your tears. "Besides, I've already signed his termination papers, I don't hire men like that here. He isn't getting shit for doing this to you." He assures.

In a moment of weakness, you break. The betrayal of the evening, the hurt and the fear, the anger, it's all too much. You sink to your knees, and nod. "Alright, let's do it. Just... be gentle, go slow." He nods. "Oh, my sweet. I'll do whatever you ask." He captures your lips, pressing your back against the front of his desk as he kneels beside you. His lips are soft, and taste of bourbon and mint. He smells like cologne, but a good kind, something smokey. Not like the tacky expensive stink of your husband, now ex-husbands favorite cologne. His tongue prods at your lips, and shyly you part them, allowing his tongue to slip in and suck against yours. He groans, and you both pull away breathlessly. While you take a breath, he immediately latches onto your neck, placing quick, feverish kisses along your collarbone. You gasp at the feeling, shrinking in on yourself. He grins.

"Does it really feel that good, that's quite a reaction." He chuckles. You blush and look to the side. "It's- It's been a while." He frowns and tilts his head. "How long is awhile, darling?" He whispers. "A few months, maybe eight or so." He shakes his head. "My poor girl, doing all that for him and he still wouldn't please you." He grips your waist, his lips on the shell of your ear. "To be fair though, even if he did, he couldn't make you finish. He would please himself, not you. But I won't, baby. Tonight, is all about you." You can feel a thick hardon pressing against your knee.

"Tell you what, darling. Let me make you feel good, real quick. Something nice and easy for my sensitive girl. Then, I'l take you out. I'm not just going to have sex with you without wineing and dineing you. Then, I'll take you back to my place, I-I'll send for your stuff tomorrow, and if you want, we can go for round two." He coos, looking up at you with admiration and hope. "Won't my husband try to resist my stuff being taken?" You ask. He shakes his head. "He's not your husband. If he calls, I'll hang up. He sold you out, and if he gets pissy, I've go the best lawyers in the country at my disposal. I'm not letting you spend one more night under a roof with that man. You aren't Mrs. Peters anymore, you're Mrs. Brant. Now... let Mr. Brant make you feel good." Hands cradle your thighs, slipping the skirt of your sensible slip dress up over your knees. A hand paws at your panties, cupping your cunt as he sighs. "So warm, poor little thing hasn't been touched in months. I've only kissed your neck a little, and your soaked. Is it because I said I love you? Does your little cunt respond well to just being admired and appreciated? Oh, my darling." He slips your panties aside just a little, not wanting to ruin your outfit for dinner later. Fingers part your lips as a long digit strokes up, from your entrance to your clit. A finger prods the entrance, and you gulp at the throbbing heat you feel.

"Gentle, slow please." You murmur. He nods, placing a gentle kiss on your neck before slipping in his digit. His long, calloused fingers rub your neglected walls in all the right ways. "A-ah, Morgan..." You pant. "Good?" He asks. You nod, breathless already. He thrusts it in and out gently, before asking to add another digit. When you nod, he adds another, while his free hand circles your clit with his middle finger. Perhaps its from typing everyday, day in and day out, but he is skilled. Even when your husband has slept with you, you had never felt like this. A coil forms in your stomach as you pant and whimper.

"M-morgan." You moan. "Please, I need to-" You're cut off by him sharply curling his fingers, as they hit a spongy spot deep inside you. "Oh, god. Yes." You moan again. "Cum for me, darling, please. I want to hear you." Morgan's tone is suddenly more desperate ethan you had heard it all night. He's needy, begging to know that he is pleasing you in the way he so desires. "Say my name, would you? I just want to please you, I need to know it feels good." He begs. "Morgan, I'm gonna cum, shit-" Your walls begin to pulse, juices coating his fingers. As you moan, finishing your high, he kisses you feverishly, desperate for closeness.

When you pull away, panting as you come down from your orgasm, he licks your juices off his hands with a squelching noise, putting your panties back into place. He helps you to your feet, and hands your your purse. "Ready for dinner?" He asks. Tired and very hungry, you nod. "Just one more thing, and you don't have to do anything, I've dealt with this myself plenty but-" He looks down, the tent in his pants is still very prominent.

"May I handle that before we go out?"

#yandere #yandere oc #tw.yandere #yandere fanfiction #yandere content #tw.dark content #x reader #yandere boy #tw.cheating #tw.dubcon #tw.angst #yandere boss #yandere ceo #oc Morgan #fem reader

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officialbruciewayne · 3 months ago

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Observations on Kryptonians:

Their Biology, Behavior and its Dynamic with Beauty

An anecdotal entry by Bruce T. Wayne, regarding his experiences with the Kryptonian People.

Over the course of the last century, Earth and Humanity has become aware that not only are we not alone in our universe- but that we are not alone on our world. At an undisclosed moment in our history, our homeworld became a refuge for the last children of Krypton, a world that was lost to unknown disaster.

Kryptonians are mysterious and alien, a recipe for rejection and prejudice on this planet. Not only this, but they have exceptional powers, which lure our worst impulses of greed and exploitation. We have not always treated them with kindness.

Despite our own lack of humanity, the most notable Kryptonians of our society continue to share their unique gifts and perspectives, choosing to help wherever they can.

As a Jewish man, and a Father, the legacy of the Kryptonian people, both in entrusting our world with their children, but with it, their future in the face of diaspora, humbles me.

I would like to offer my voice of support to our kin from beyond the stars. I have some personal experience with Kryptonians, and will attempt to demystify their habits and nature, to present them to you not as strangers from the skies, but as part of the infinite diversity of our world.

Not to be feared, not be used, but to be welcomed.

ברוכים הבאים לבית שלנו

Caveat on Kryptonian Powers

Most discussions of Kryptonian biology begin and typically conclude with a long list of the powers typical to Kryptonians. These powers are considerable, but are generally used to justify how they are treated. There is no value in me lingering on this much-speculated aspect of our Kryptonian kin.

Instead, I would like to discuss the lesser known traits that I have found to be personally charming.

Diurnalism and Sun-seeking

Kryptonians are naturally diurnal by nature, and are drawn to sunlight. When relaxed, they enjoy basking in our sun's warmth and when injured, or unwell, should rest in either natural sunlight, or be placed near a sunlamp.

Many Kryptonians display a tanned or dark-skinned complexion, which I found initially counterintuitive since it indicates protective melanin in Humans. In a Kryptonian, this coloration is actually indicative of stored solar radiation. In layman's terms, it's a sign of good health in your local Kryptonian.

(Art credit to @domnorian, please support the original work here, it is used here as an example)

Dentition and Diet

The intense demands of the Kryptonian body are supported by an incredibly high metabolism. Although they are primarily sustained by solar radiation, they can and do display a remarkable appetite. This energy is readily burned off by their bodies, so it should be considered offensive to shame or draw attention to how hungry a Kryptonian may appear to a Human.

Instead, attention should be paid to the variety of their diet. I have concerns that Kryptonian nutrition is not necessarily met by traditional human foods, and believe that supplements of various metals, sillica and crystalized minerals may be of great use to them. Further research is indicated, but consider they may not be fully satisfied.

This viewpoint is supported by the Kryptonian dentition, which features a diminutive but handsome set of fangs. As this is one of the more readily visible distinguishing features, some Kryptonians experience self-consciousness when smiling.

If it is of comfort to any Kryptonians reading this, Humans enjoy 'teefies' and like to remark upon the canine teeth of our companion cats and dogs. We find it 'cute'.

Ocular Notes

It has come to my attention that Kryptonian vision is more specialized for use during flight. It has great telescopic capacity, amongst its other various modes, but this can put them at a disadvantage in our society. Being so far-sighted, Kryptonians may struggle to read letters, smaller signs and newspapers without assistance.

If you see a Kryptonian puzzling over a piece of paper, and holding it at arms' length, any offers to help should be gently made. However, Kryptonians are notoriously friendly and inclined to offer help as much as receive it. You may well make a new best friend. In fact you probably will. Statistically.

A smaller note is that Kryptonian eyes- on account of the multiple facets to their vision -all appear to be a unique type of blue. This particular shade is potentially a generative emission of scattered sunlight, though it would require more detailed research and a far longer examination on my part to confirm.

They Purr

Yes, it is true. Kryptonians purr. It is a delight to listen to.

From my observations it seems readily triggered by the presence of children, or a desire to comfort others. As well as by their own contentment, whether physical, emotional and often both.

The frequency of the oscillations seem to differ between the two circumstances, supporting my current theory that this purring is both a form of communication, but separately resonant to encourage bone growth and soft tissue repair in the sick and injured.

Reproduction and Courtship

Having not conducted a relationship with a Kryptonian, I speak from a limited capacity of research. That said, to Humans looking to court Kryptonians, they appear to be receptive to forms of lip contact, and saliva exchange.

Further erogenous zones are speculative, but there is marked sensitivity along the length of the throat and just below the occipital bone.

Love

I put it to you that Kryptonians are not powerful - they are uniquely vulnerable. An endangered culture and people who have shown us compassion alone. They deserve our protection and understanding.

This is the only home they have ever known. They are not strangers from the stars, they are our friends sharing the same sunlight.

They love us. We should love them in return.

B.T.W

PS. @official-clark-kent I am no reporter, but I did enjoy trying my hand at a small thinkpiece. Perhaps we could go fishing sometime?

#I'm not an academic #but I do have opinions

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animentality · 1 year ago

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Dude I'm so confused

Why are the redditors refugees here-

Whats up with the tag 196

AND WHY IS EVERYONE BEING SO NICE WITH THE TWITTER REFUGEES CAME WE GAVE THEM HELL (almost)

The Reddit refugees are here because several subreddits have gone private in protest of reddit's new policy of charging third party developers for access to its API.

Hence the term reddit blackout.

196 specifically was a very queer friendly subreddit that had one rule: that you post before you leave. 196 is trending because those Redditors have come here and they're basically sharing their memery here instead as they protest reddit's greed.

As for why we're welcoming them when Twitter refugees were seen with a little more irritation, well.

Think of the culture similarities.

Tumblr and reddit have far more in common than Tumblr and Twitter.

Twitter is about clout and manipulating algorithms and discourse in 280 characters or less. It's about bad takes that reach the right people and it forces you to see things you don't want to see and it's crawling with the worst people imaginable and you're forced to see them, all the time. They also brought bad tagging and 2016 Tumblr discourse with them, because Twitter culture really involves starting fights for clout and braindead opinions that no one really wants to come back to Tumblr culture.

There was a time when Tumblr did the same thing, but worse, with more words...but nowadays, it's really calmed down.

The worst people...went to Twitter after the porn ban. Ironically, it made the site less toxic and hostile.

But then they came back.

And it was like...hm. no thanks. Stay back where you came from.

But Tumblr and Reddit have much more in common.

Both have a more streamlined way of customizing your online feed. You can choose what subreddits you see on your home screen, just like Tumblr only shows you the content of your followers, on your dashboard, and in chronological order rather than what's trending. You can join a very specific weird niche group of freaks with a shared obsession, and not care about the rest of the site at all. You also don't have a character limit on either site, which lets you ramble more and share weird detailed stories.

Reddit might have karma, but like Tumblr, the majority of people are lurkers and not posters. It also allows you to downvote bad opinions, and moderators who have to adhere to certain guidelines of behavior, which means a lot of banning disruptive people.

Granted, sometimes their mods are power hungry, but. You know.

It does more to control its users than Tumblr do, and that's a good thing in terms of keeping toxicity and illegal shit off its subs.

Reddit also has a way more leftwing attitude than you would think.

It has a reputation for being full of incels but I honestly think that's outdated.

It's cleaned up its act quite a bit since the old days.

I see way more vile shit from Twitter and TikTok. Like seriously.

Twitter is crawling with conservative bots and propaganda machines and just outright inflammatory lies. TikTok literally has the worst comment sections I've ever seen, like edgy teenagers cracking racist and misogynistic humor and acting like it makes them different and special. Its algorithm also spoon feeds you garbage and is designed to be as addicting as possible.

At least reddit's culture, while chauvinistic and regressive in certain subcultures, is mostly on the tech positive, atheist libertarian side.

It can be a little pretentious and caustic about certain subjects, and a little full of itself. Some reddits are also very male leaning and disregard female concerns in favor of moaning about how men have it worse than anyone else on earth.

But for the most part?

...well.

I welcome them here, because if they left reddit in protest, then we always support protests. But 196 specifically is also a queer subreddit, and we support that even more.

Plus they're funny as fuck.

What's not to like, really?

You should welcome them with open arms too.

#reddit blackout #196

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daydreamkissesxo · 18 days ago

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Father Charlie x reader| Sinner pt 6; Death is the only salvation

A/N; this is pure chaos and I am so sorry🫣

Mentions of murder, hospitals, medical terms, kidnapping, manipulation, swearing, blasphemy, dark dark themes (I hope I didn’t forget anything)

It had been seven months since you'd left with your daughter and Father Charlie was still no closer to locating you.

He'd heard from one of the sisters that your mother was just as distraught as she was the first time you'd gone missing, but he was in no position to comfort her this time.

The thought of losing you was painful, but the thought of losing his little girl was even worse.

He'd missed out on important milestones, her first smile or the first time she'd tried a delicious ice cream, he'd definitely missed out on hearing her first word.

He knew what he'd done to you was unforgivable, but he was an attentive father and your decision to kidnap his child was far more damaging than anything he'd ever done.

He'd often lay awake at night wondering where you were, whether another man had taken on the role of daddy to his darling girl.

Every spare minute he had was spent calling every motel in the next town and the town over from that, and despite there being no sighting of you, he never lost hope.

His desperation was so great he even considered leaving the church altogether so he could search for you in person, determined to search the ends of the earth if he had to.

It was a random call at 3am one morning that he'd finally gained information of your whereabouts, a motel owner that Father Charlie had once called and left a description of you with had claimed to have seen a young woman matching it.

Desperate to catch you before you'd inevitably move again, Father Charlie had made the decision to make the journey the very same hour.

The motel was a four hour drive away but he was determined to get there quicker, even if it meant endangering his life by dangerous driving.

He'd regretted not asking if anyone other than your daughter had accompanied you that night, the thought of any man sleeping beside you made him viciously angry but the thought of actually having to see it made him murderous.

While he was regretful of his actions, he was hopeful that they'd have at least ruined any chance of you ever trusting another man in your lifetime.

Father Charlie could tolerate most things in regards to your life after him, but replacement was never going to be one of them.

Father Charlie had arrived at the roadside motel at 6:45am exactly, it wasn't a place you'd take a child but in desperation it would suit anyone's needs.

The run down building and the shady characters that hung around outside were clear signs it was accommodating to all, it left him somewhat concerned about the conditions his dear daughter would be staying in.

He quickly retrieved a cash filled envelope from the glove compartment before slipping it into his coat's inner pocket and exiting the car.

He carefully stepped over the drunken man slumped in the doorway of the dingy motel before entering, the strong stench of alcohol lingering in the reception area was headache inducing.

"You here about that woman and her kid?" A man asked from behind the desk, he looked as rough as the motel itself.

"Yes, are they still here?" Father Charlie replied, stepping closer to the desk before reaching into his pocket for the envelope.

The man glanced down at the envelope with pure greed, he didn't care what Father Charlie wanted or why he was so keen to find you, he was simply after the reward.

Father Charlie watched as the man placed a key onto the counter, the small keyring attached was engraved with your supposed room number.

"Second door on the left." The man informed, sliding the key closer to the edge of the counter.

Father Charlie exchanged the key for the envelope of cash, watching as the man's eyes lit up brighter than a Christmas tree.

It sickened him to know someone was profiting off of his misery, but information of your whereabouts was worth the world's weight in gold.

There wasn't even as much as a thank you from either men, both satisfied with what they'd just received that it just felt even.

Father Charlie left the motel reception in search of your room and when he'd finally arrived, his mind had become torn on how he should approach the situation.

He wanted to punish you for what you'd done, he thought about snatching your daughter and fleeing in the same cruel way you did, or perhaps torturing you into sincerely apologising as he knew no sane woman would be apologetic towards someone like him.

His hand trembled both with anger and fear, fear towards himself as he worried just what he'd do when he'd finally set eyes on you.

Upon entering the damp ridden motel room, father Charlie was left confused as there was no sight of you or your daughter, but there were also no signs to suggest anyone was even staying there.

He was furious, either the shady man behind the counter has taken advantage of his desperation or you'd fled before he got the chance to confront you.

He checked the room regardless, almost breaking the bathroom door off the hinges in a rage as he flung it open.

It was as he was exiting the room that he spotted a familiar plushie tucked away beside the double bed, a small white bunny he'd gifted his daughter the very day she was born.

Father Charlie crouched down to pick it up, he held it in his hand as he examined just how loved it had been, the visible discolouration from the constant cuddling and the tiny little stains probably from all the travels she'd taken it on.

Discovering the bunny felt like a sign from god himself, it further fuelled his determination to find his beautiful little girl as she was now not only without her father but her bunny too.

He held the bunny close as he left the unoccupied motel room, knowing that you can't have gone far given both the time and the fact your daughter would have undoubtedly had you return for her bunny, he headed towards his car.

The distant sound of a young child crying pulled him out of his thoughts, it wasn't a familiar cry but one that would make any parent instinctively turn their heads.

Father Charlie glanced over at the car parked directly opposite his, and in an amazing turn of events, there you stood as you attempted to console your distressed daughter.

The small child in your arms had grown dramatically since the last time he'd seen her, she could now hold the weight of her own head and fit comfortably against your hip instead of occupying both arms.

She had perfectly plump cheeks, and a head of visibly soft hair, enough to tie back in a tiny ponytail.

Father Charlie could wait no longer, he stormed over and pulled at one of your arms in an attempt to spin you around to face him.

Your fear filled eyes met his and your arms instinctively wrapped around your daughter to shield her from the monster in human form.

"Stay away from us." You warned, attempting to sound brave despite the wavering of your voice.

He looked visibly wounded by the fear you displayed, he'd never considered himself as scary as you attempted to portray.

He took a step closer regardless of your warning, reuniting his daughter with her bunny would end her distress and reuniting with her would end his.

"Here, sweetheart. Look.." he whispered softly as he held the bunny up high enough for her to see, he'd noticed the way you flinched as his hand came closer and it made him nauseas.

Your daughter's small hand reached out for the bunny, and in return for her plushie she flashed her father a shy smile, one that made him smile warmly in return.

You allowed your daughter to retrieve her bunny, but you were in no way going to allow father Charlie to force his way back into your lives.

"I mean what I say, stay away from us." You calmly warned once more as you turned away from him, opening the front passenger door to place your daughter into her car seat.

Knowing that your daughter would be safe and secure in her car seat as he unleashed his rage on you was the only reason he hadn't fought to stop you, you just weren't aware of it.

He waited for you to close her door before stepping in front of you to stop you from walking around to the drivers side.

"It's funny how protective you are of her considering I was the one who stopped you from aborting her." He said casually, that same sinister expression staring back at you.

You were horrified at his crass comment, he always had a way with words and he always knew how to hurt you without even getting physical.

"I regret visiting that clinic, I really do." You confidently replied, boldly stepping closer as fear had very quickly been replaced with fury.

"But I regret what I did with you even more."

Your attempt to get under his skin was successful, he was allowed to regret it but you certainly weren't, your entire existence was only meant to be for him.

He refused to believe there was any truth in your words, you couldn't be as brazen as him even in desperation.

"You'd say anything to get me to leave you alone right now, but I'm not leaving my daughter! You can't deny her of a father." He asserted, stepping aside as you did to further block your way.

"This is harassment! I will call the police!" You angrily replied, struggling to push yourself past him as the car parked beside yours left you little to no room.

"Who the hell would believe you over a priest?!" He laughed, finding your threat all too amusing.

The mention of the police made him realise just how much easier it would be for him to retrieve his daughter as he could make any wild claim and they'd be trusting of him, so instead of fighting he simply stood aside.

"Please, call them."

You were naively unaware of his intentions, instead believing that he had finally come to his senses in letting you go.

You stepped around him and he turned to watch you as you began to walk around to the opposite side of the car.

You abruptly stopped and turned to face him once more, every last insult you'd waited to hurl at him springing to the front of your mind at once, and if it were to be the last time you ever saw him you'd definitely want him to hear what you now truly thought of him.

"I pray to god you're struck by fucking lightning one day, that or you're in some freak accident. You're no priest, you're the devil." You harshly spat, your expression both sour and resentful as you glared at him.

The smirk that grew on his face fuelled your rage even further, he was so sickeningly shameless it almost made your skin crawl.

You nervously laughed in response, your feet involuntary took several steps back while your head shook in utter disbelief.

"You need serious help, and I don't mean from the Lord. I mean real fucking help, you're a psycho!" You added, unaware that the distance you'd unknowingly created left you standing in the middle of the car park with a far distance between you and your car.

Father Charlie calmly shrugged off your insults, he took a step closer but the sound of a roaring engine prevented him from taking any more.

You were so preoccupied with your anger for father Charlie that you failed to register the car approaching at high speed, it was a matter of milliseconds before the vehicle's bonnet not only collided with your body but harshly knocked it onto the ground.

The impact was so brutal it left you immediately unconscious, there was a growing pool of blood surrounding your head that coated the gravel beneath it.

Father Charlie froze in shock, the timing was impeccable considering the mouthful you were giving him and your daughter was now free to take for himself.

He glanced over at the clearly intoxicated driver, unsure whether to thank him or curse him for what he'd just done to the woman he cared so deeply for but he was robbed of either chance as the driver reversed before conveniently swerving off.

Father Charlie remained still as he looked over at your lifeless body, his eyes scanned over every inch of you and for a brief moment he felt conflicted on what was best to do.

He could save you and risk losing his daughter once more, or he could simply take his child and allow her to finally live in peace.

Upon arrival at the hospital the doctors quickly confirmed you'd suffered several fractured ribs along with a punctured lung, internal bleeding, bruising to the chest and abdomen as well as a traumatic brain injury.

Your still unconscious body endured several scans before you were rushed into emergency surgery to repair your pneumothorax.

Father Charlie sat patiently in the hospital cafeteria, your daughter had fallen asleep in his arms and the peace had finally given him time to think of his next move, something he did quite often

After your successful surgery, you were then placed in the intensive care unit to be monitored as the doctors waited for you to awaken.

You were placed on a ventilator to aid your breathing post operation, while several tubes connected to your lungs rest across your chest and hung down beside your bed to drain the internal bleed.

Father Charlie sat in the armchair beside your hospital bed, your daughter sat on his lap as he held her close, he was amazed by how quickly she'd grown as the last time he'd held her at your bedside was the day of her birth.

He quickly came to realise that perhaps if he had not lied to your mother that day, the two of you may have been in completely different circumstances, and he wouldn't be sitting beside your now unconscious body.

He slid one of his hands into his trouser pockets to retrieve the small silver cross pendant that he'd hoped to have given you the day you left, he took a moment to admire it before extending his arm to place the pendant into your open hand.

"Mommy's going to get better, isn't she sweetheart?" He rhetorically asked, turning his attention back towards your daughter before lifting his hand to softly stroke her hair.

The gentle moment between father and daughter was soon interrupted by the sound of a loud bang, Father Charlie looked up only to be met with your mother bursting through the door in such urgency that the door handle at collided with the wall.

"Oh my god!" She exclaimed in panic, rushing to the opposite side of your bedside to gain a closer look at the injuries you'd sustained, she was yet to register that your daughter was sat on Father Charlie's lap.

"What the hell happened to her?" She asked, fighting off tears as she didn't want to cause further distress to your daughter.

It hadn't occurred to your mother that Father Charlie was always at the scene of your misfortunes, perhaps she was always too trusting of him, but the way he held your daughter made her question everything she thought she knew.

Your mother glanced down at the small child in his arms, growing increasingly concerned for her welfare as she believed the man that held her was nothing more than a stranger.

Father Charlie held your daughter closer as your mother began to walk around the bed towards him, his one hand gently holding the back of her head while the other hand held her mid back.

"Thank you for all of your help, Father..but I'll take it from here." Your mother said calmly, holding her arms out for him to hand your daughter over.

His resistance was unnerving and her thoughts began to spiral, had there always been a sinister twinkle in Father Charlie's eyes?

"I'd like to take my granddaughter now."

Father Charlie shook his head, standing from his seated position to take several steps back in hope of creating a fair distance between himself and your mother.

"I won't be handing her over to you, She's MY daughter. I've ordered a fast track DNA test so you'll get the confirmation soon enough." He calmly informed her, his thumb softly stroking the small girls back in an attempt to comfort her.

Your mother stared at him in absolute horror, her eyes wide while a montage played within her mind of all the times she'd unknowingly allowed you to be alone in his company.

She very nearly fainted from the shock, her trembling hand reached out for the frame of the hospital bed to support herself as her knees threatened to buckle.

"That day you supposedly found her.."

Your mother was breathless, panicked and in utter disbelief as the man she'd believed helped her daughter was the very cause of her suffering.

"Yes, she'd been there all along. She spent her pregnancy with me." He confirmed, shrugging it off so casually despite seeing the state your mother was now in.

"You didn't look very far, Perhaps you should reflect on your poor parenting skills? Some of us haven't stopped searching for our daughters." He cruelly added, cradling your daughter tenderly as if he were taunting your mother by remaining in possession of the little girl.

Your mother looked at him in absolute disgust, she felt physically nauseas now she'd been made aware of his manipulative ways.

"You chose the wrong family to do this to. I will expose the real you to every single one of the parishioners, to every bishop I can find." She replied through gritted teeth, remaining calm for the sake of your darling daughter.

Father Charlie looked at her in amusement, shaking his head at what he considered a pathetic attempt at a threat.

"Your daughter is unconscious, and I'm currently the only active guardian of your granddaughter..is it wise to make such threats?" He asked, tilting his head very slightly as his sadistic smile grew.

"You should leave, Y/N deserves to rest in peace."

His very clever choice of words paired with the current state of your body left your mothers entire body trembling, she came to the conclusion that Father Charlie was the one responsible for the accident in some psychotic revenge plot.

She feared what may happen if she were to leave, but she also feared what could happen if she'd refused to and given the state you were already in, your daughter's life was her current concern.

"I'll be back later to check on my daughter." She said timidly, raising her hand to nervously pull the strap of her handbag further onto her shoulder as she rushed out.

Father Charlie glanced down at your daughter as she lifted her head to look up at him, her infectious little smile causing him to chuckle despite his anger.

"That grandmother of yours is a silly woman, isn't she?" He asked, expecting no answer at all but a tiny squeal from her took him completely by surprise.

The big beautiful eyes that stared up at him held more light than the entire world possessed, and it was during that moment that he'd finally realised the two of you should have only ever prioritised her happiness irregardless of what either of you felt towards one another.

You woke from your unconscious state later that evening, your entire body ached as if you'd been hit by a ten tonne boulder but your only concern was your daughter's whereabouts.

Father Charlie was sat in the hospital cafeteria with your daughter when a nurse informed him of your awakening, he wasn't in a rush to greet you as he enjoyed the thought of letting you panic, just as he panicked when you'd ran off with his child.

When he did decide to return to your room thirty minutes later, he walked in so casually with your daughter sat on his hip while she held a small bouquet of daisies.

Despite the overwhelming pain in your chest and abdomen you'd managed to push yourself to sit up, ready to take your child from his hands as he walked over but instead he took the seat beside your bed.

"We got you these beautiful flowers." He said as he placed them into your lap, his sinister tone no longer lingering.

"Didn't we, sweetheart?" He asked as he turned to look down at your smiling daughter who sat happily on his lap, he loved how much she cared for him as she was the last thing tying the two of you together.

"Give me my daughter." You demanded through gritted teeth, groaning softly in agony as you attempted to reach for her.

"Did you know that daisies represent a fresh start?" He asked, casually dismissing your demand and clear display of pain.

"You're in no fit state to take care of yourself let alone our daughter, I'll be here to take care of you both." He added, looking up from your daughter to finally see the look of disgust staring back at him.

"Over my dead fucking body will I ever let you back into our lives." You spat back, tears of hatred beginning to flood your waterline.

Father Charlie chuckled in amusement, he could have very easily left your unconscious body on the car park gravel to take your daughter, but he didn't.

"The secret is out Y/N. Your mother knows all about our filthy little secret, so either appreciate my honesty and start complying..or I can make things very difficult for your family."

You couldn't even register his threat, the thought of your mother knowing the truth made your stomach twist in painful knots, your throat felt as if a sharp knife had been wedged into it as it became harder to even breathe.

"You should have seen the look on her face..god, she looked so ashamed."

His tone was so scarily casual as his words carved into your heart, his intention was once again to scare you into compliance.

"Imagine how she'd feel knowing that her daughter was so fickle, that she ruined the life of her church's priest by not only seducing him, but purposely impregnating herself simply for a bit of fun." He added, twisting the truth as he often did best.

You shook your head in disagreement with his false statement, your trembling hand clutched at the duvet beside as you could barely contain your anger.

"That's a lie. It's all lies! You're a liar!" You exclaimed, your free hand held the left side of your chest as it began to throb in pain from your sudden tenseness.

Father Charlie rolled his eyes in annoyance for your outburst, it felt it completely unnecessary given the condition you were in.

"We're going to be a family, Y/N. I'm going to give up my priesthood and renew my medical license. I've found a house in a gated community, it's perfect." He sounded so enthusiastic, oddly prepared considering you'd been in a potentially deadly accident earlier in the day.

Ultimately you had no choice but to comply, you were once again trapped in his web of manipulation as you feared the shame of your mother and your community more than you even feared death.

He was correct, you were in no fit state to take care of yourself or your child so until you were able to plan one final escape, the two of you were left in his care.

Taglist; @targaryenswhxre @psychocitylights @yoongling @malf-azx @laviedemarii @makky444 @melaninjhs @strnqer 🫶🏼

#father charlie #grotesquerie #x y/n #nicholas alexander chavez

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dlldior · 3 months ago

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VAIN — a kuro analysis of sebastian's character and his relationship with ciel

hi! so i've been wanting to make an analysis post for SO long but didn't really know where to post it, but tumblr is always here to answer my prayers. i just want to preface this by saying this is all my personal opinion and what i've taken away from the kuroshitsuji manga. there are so many layers to sebastian's character and his relationship with ciel, so many angles to analyse it from, they are extremely complex characters so there isn't one true take of their characterisation.

i'd be happy to discuss any disagreements or even other opinions you might have with my points in a civil manner. that's the beauty of media literacy!

my take on sebastian character!

sebastian is a really interesting character. being the main protagonist of black butler, it's surprising we don't know much of his origin or past—all we have of his character is how he behaves and interacts with characters now, and i'd like to further delve into this.

but from what we do know, sebastian is a hyper narcissist. he's unable to feel shame and thinks he is above everyone else; as illustrated and stated by the creator. most of sebastian's character is revealed through his relationship with ciel—which is the main centrepiece of the story—and how he behaves with him, as ciel is the only person (aside from the obvious exceptions) aware of sebastian's true nature and intentions. despite his "caring" facade towards ciel, sebastian is simply acting on the contract for his own best interest, and even ciel is aware of this fact which is why he rarely lets his guard down around him. his great means to preserve ciel's life is to preserve his soul, after spending the last 3 years cultivating it for him to devour after fulfilling their contract.

sebastian is too wrapped up in his own affairs and self-absored nature to even consider other people's concerns. he only feigns care for ciel due to his duties as a butler and maintaining the "aesthetic". the reason why he's so comfortable being in such a subservient position is because he knows deep down that he is above all humans. the best way i can describe this is a little odd but it's like when celebrities work at minimum wage jobs just because they can, not because they need to but because they know they're above these types of jobs with their level of wealth. they willingly put themselves in these degrading positions as they're comfortable enough with their wealth to be able to for fun. that is sebastian's case. he is comfortable enough with his power and tact as a demon to be able to don a tailcoat and play as a servant to the very species he sees himself above.

on top of that, sebastian appears to believe he is above those of his own kind, claiming that such gluttony goes against his demon "aesthetics" which is why he has invested so much time into cultivating ciel's soul instead of feeding off of multiple contracts. it reveals why sebastian is so into the "butler aesthetic" and finding himself in such a degrading position for one of his own kind. he seems to prioritise elegance, not greed, when it comes to fulfilling contracts.

however, sebastian's true nature is more prominent in the flashback sequence where ciel first summons him. he is extremely cocky, trying to manipulate ciel for a quick and easy kill such as when he was eager to kill everyone who has caused him harm, which does, in fact, reveal that he is not unlike most demons. the reason why sebastian picks such an appearance all ties into his narcissism, he gets off on impressing humans with his supernatural skills and ciel is only one who seems to understand that part of him, but it's always played off for comedic effect. sebastian soaks up in the praise he is given by these "puny" humans, always hanging onto their last words of flattery which reveals his true vain nature and that he is not as elegant and collected as he seems.

the fandom's take on sebastian!

i think the reason why the fandom is so fixated on sebastian's character is due to a myriad of factors. it can be due to how well he's able to play his facade; he's charming in a way and knows how to use his words to get into people's good graces, wielding his "elegance" and "aesthetics" to his advantage. as sebastian is forced to pretend to be human for the sake of their contract, he is able to analyse the qualities in people that others would want to see and apply that to himself. he's able to feign morality and charisma—partly due to his butler aesthetics but also for his own self-serving nature and receiving praise.

another reason why i think sebastian is the most popular character amongst the fandom is, yep, you've guessed it, his appearance. sebastian's appearance is no accident—both in his character's creation and the form he chose for himself in the story—he wields his sexuality and attractiveness to his advantage. his true nature and appearance are disgusting and unsightly, which is why he covers it up with a beautiful face; making it easier to deceive and manipulate.

however, the issue is with the fandom is that i think sebastian has the epidemic of what i like to call "attractive justification syndrome" where the fandom goes to great lengths to justify sebastian's actions and refusing to acknowledge his character for what it is—a self-absorbed, predatory narcissist—because he's attractive. however, sebastian is BEYOND morality and clearly lacks any remorse of his irredeemable actions. he doesn't feel shame and doesn't care to; i feel as though just because he's attractive, fans try too hard to defend him. don't get me wrong, i enjoy sebastian's character as well and i'm no different in admitting he is attractive, but i think he's extremely interesting and does explore different ideas of morality (more so, lack thereof) but i think it's rather off base to try and defend his character.

i think the bigger issue is that people tend to think enjoying his character says something about them, instead of what it says about the story. they're too afraid of liking his character for what it is. as they're scared of what that'd say about them for liking such a terrible person of a character. on tiktok especially, i feel like many fans sometimes try a bit too hard to have a moral high ground that they refuse to acknowledge the darker side of sebastian's character as then there goes their reason for liking him.

the anime adaptation doesn't help with this issue either for why sebastian's true character has been heavily lost. i feel as though they're eager to add some sort of movement or emotional depth to his character, which defeats the purpose of it. sebastian has a very static character, he doesn't have the emotional capabilites to feel empathy, he can sure as hell pretend, but at the end of the day, he's only here for his own best interest.

this is especially evident in the translation change in the public school arc where in the anime, sebastian justifies protecting ciel instead of chasing after undertaker because "he's spend too long raising him", whereas in the manga, sebastian justifies it for the true reason, which is because he's "spent too long cultivating his soul and won't let himself be robbed of it". there is a distinct difference as in the anime, sebastian appears to care for ciel's actual wellbeing, whereas in the manga, sebastian has established the foundation of the contract and how he's only preserving ciel's life for his soul.

anime translation

manga translation

my take on sebastian and ciel's relationship!

it is no surprise to say that their relationship is extremely unhealthy. due to the imbalance of power dynamics between them, there will never reach a point that their relationship turns healthy. it may look like ciel wields the power through their master-servant dynamic, but peeling away at this layer will reveal the foundation of their dynamic, being human-demon. but these are obvious points. sebastian wields his power as a demon to subtly manipulate ciel—his suffering and misery acting as a marinade for his soul. sebastian has no interest in ciel's wellbeing and, in fact, goes out of his way to contribute to his trauma.

a good example of this would be in book of circus during ciel's ptsd attack where he relives his trauma of seeing his brother be murdered in front of him. ciel is completely vulnerable, reaching out helplessly for anyone to help him and sebastian feeds off of his misery, caressing this child's vomit-coated lip and getting him to call his name when he is unable to speak. the scene is extremely grotesque and uncomfortable to watch as we see this adult practically looming over this defenceless, traumatised child who his gripping onto him for support. i usually dislike giving yana credit as she has done a pretty bad job illustrating their relationship with the unnecessary icky fanservice and horrible attempts of incorporating psychosexual elements into the story but i believe this scene was intentionally drawn this way to reveal sebastian's predatory nature. it's supposed to make you feel disgusted as sebastian uses ciel's codependency on him as some sort of power trip, feeding off of his trauma.

i got this point from a wonderful friend who i've analysed the story with, but sebastian is indeed a predator. he is textbook definition grooming ciel. he may not be sexually as grooming falls under the definition of "preparing/training someone for a particular purpose or activity", but his relationship with ciel is for the sole purpose of being able to devour his soul at the end. when sebastian was referring to "cultivating his soul" in the public school arc, he meant spending years using subtle manipulation and grooming tactics to get the desired flavour of ciel's soul.

just because ciel was aware of the terms and conditions of the contract, aware of his impending doom, it doesn't make sebastian's actions of preparing a child for death any more morally fine. the foundation of the contract was never fair; ciel had no choice. it was either sebastian left him to die in the cage, or he was to form a contract with him to gain the power to come back. all the power ciel has is not his, and one day, that power will be stripped from him, and he will have to face the one who gave him this power. it is the reason why ciel does not choose to pursue happiness after coming back, as he knows that if he even gives into the idea, sebastian will automatically assume he's abandoning his revenge and kill him. i'm not saying ciel is devoid of faults either, everyone in this show is morally grey and he can cause his own suffering too, but this is a sebastian-focused rant so i'll go deeper into this some other time.

i think the reason why dadbastian is such a popular headcanon, especially on tumblr, is because it subverts the unhealthy, grotesque aspects of their relationship and provides ciel with a healthy parental figure which he has been needing, giving him the solace he deserves from all his trauma. not to mention, there are scenes in the series where sebastian does act as a parental figure towards ciel. don't get me wrong, i ADORE this headcanon and will go down with it but i think the darker reality of their dynamics in the manga is the reason the headcanon is even more upsetting as we know it will never happen and this child will never get the peace and happiness he deserves.

TLDR; sebastian is a hyper narcissist and is there for nobody's best interest but his own, the only reason he goes to great lengths to preserve ciel's soul is because their contract wouldn't be sustained otherwise. the fandom tries to justify and defend his actions too much due to how well he's built his facade of desired human behaviour and his attractiveness. sebastian contributes to ciel's trauma, subtly manipulating him and mocking him for being taken to his limit. their relationship is extremely unhealthy. dadbastian reigns supreme because it subverts the grotesque factors in their relationship.

thanks for taking the time to read this if you've made it this far! i'd love to hear any of your guys' opinions and takes on their characters.

#this is a long and overdue rant #essay #character analysis #sebastian is a narcissist wbk #again please feel free to share your own opinion! i'd love to hear them #idk these aren't really shocking takes i feel like most are aware of these #but i wanted to string these together into one coherent essay #i don't have the hyperfixation the hyperfixation has me #these are the fruits of my kuro obsession oh lord #black butler manga #dadbastian #sebastian michaelis #ciel phantomhive #kuroshitsuji manga #black butler #kuroshitsuji

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lotties-ashwagandha · 5 months ago

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POWER CURES

tashi donaldson x fem!reader, word count 4.2k. NSFW!

your career in sports journalism has made you one of the most successful women in your field — a career you built on your own after you broke up with tashi donaldson at stanford. yet rivalry still burns between you, and whenever given the opportunity you can't help but add fuel to the fire. requested by @elaci who also writes for challengers so go follow :)

“It’s a miracle he’s still playing,” you say. “Art showed so much passion today, I could feel it. Maybe next time he could focus on hitting the ball instead of smashing ants on the court with his racket – it just sends the wrong message I think, not very eco-friendly.”

Tashi shakes her head, attempting to brush off your comment, but you can feel the silent fury you’ve stirred up in her. Her expression is partially hidden by her sunglasses as the two of you stand at the edge of the court, her only guard from your scrutiny. It’s been nine years since you’ve spoken to her, but the four years you dedicated to her before that taught you every one of her tells. She’s different now – she wears her hair short, her makeup darker, age and experience have made her seem solemn. But you can feel it, that under all of the change she is still the same.

“At least he still plays,” she says sharply. “You’re the critic, the journalist, but you would get on the court and get yourself knocked the fuck out. Art works, he doesn’t lock himself in the basement to write pity-party bullshit for money.”

“Neither do I,” you smile. “I don’t write anything for money, though I do enjoy the benefits.”

“You’ve always been greedy,” Tashi accuses. “You enjoy taking what isn’t yours, and destroying what you can’t reach.”

You shrug. You won’t attempt to deny it – greed is what got you into this profession, and greed is what has held you up to survive it. Greed is what got you a million dollar mansion and the audience that paid for it, and greed is what has you standing at the side of Tashi Donaldson as you watch her husband step off the tennis court after losing another match to add to his streak this year.

“If you write anything about this match, I will end your career,” Tashi says casually, because power means nothing to her, and using it is easy. She takes off her sunglasses, puts them in her purse that costs more money than your car. When she meets your eyes, there’s stoic sureness in her gaze.

“It’s sweet that you think I only came here for you.”

She gives you a hard look, searching you for the truth if she couldn’t trust it to come from your words. Whatever conclusion she would come up with was none of your concern – it’s true that you hadn’t come here for her, not completely. You’re here for another set of competitors, the headliners of the women’s division. If there was one thing you could use to define your career, it wouldn’t be the Donaldsons, or the Duncans – it would be your influence on women’s tennis. Your journalism through the years has put women in the spotlight of the sport, and for as long as you could you would continue the mission of keeping them there.

But when you had seen Tashi’s husband playing in the final match of the day, and when you had seen her watching him alone at the sidelines, you couldn’t help but take advantage of it. Your comments and motives were petty, but deserved.

You see Art begin to approach the two of you with his gym bag. “That’s my cue, isn’t it?” you ask. You try to avoid Art at all cost even after all these years, it creates a situation more awkward for you than for him. “I don’t think he needs me to lecture him, not again.”

You begin to depart from Tashi’s side, but then you pause and turn back to her. “I’ll be in New Rochelle for the Challengers tournament in a few weeks,” you tell her. “Maybe there’s someone there your husband could beat, for a change.”

Tashi scoffs, and you take your chance to leave before you can be joined by Art or any of the reporters or journalists following in his wake. You’ve done your work for the day, your air-conditioned hotel room is calling to you and you’re all too prepared to run to it.

When you stand at the exit to the tennis court, you spare a look back in the direction of the Donaldsons. Tashi is immersed in giving feedback to Art as he stands in childlike submission. Her hands are planted on his shoulders, she’s looking into his eyes, and when she spares a look at the court a sense of nostalgia washes over you as you remember how it felt to watch her play. How she used to win every game she signed to compete in, how effortless her victories were.

In a way, you miss it. You miss her. The promise of her victories that would pull you through in college, that you could look forward to watching and writing about. The memory of it sparks a flare of anger within you – four years, erased, yet still so potent in your memory.

You turn away from the court. You push through the crowd, in your pride you stand a little taller than the rest. Against you is the only match Tashi Duncan could never win.

You pass by the doors of the locker rooms on your way out. You know Tashi must have waited with Art in his locker room before the match started – a private locker room, you would suspect, or one they bought out for the day in a grand show of money.

You frown. How many times had you waited with Tashi in locker rooms until tournaments began, how many times had you come in after her matches to listen to her talk through them while she got ready to leave? Enough times to know you weren’t alone in reminiscing, that Tashi could escape the memories with no more ease than you could.

THIRTEEN YEARS AGO, STANFORD.

You resist a smile – you can’t let her win, though you can see she’s trying inexplicably hard to. She never takes it seriously when you try to interview her for assignments for your classes at Stanford.

“I can’t put that in my paper,” you tell Tashi. “I’d get us kicked out.”

Tashi shrugs, stepping toward you as you stand in the locker room alone together after her match. “You asked what I was thinking about during the game. I was thinking about you.”

You roll your eyes. You lean back against the lockers, and Tashi takes advantage of it, coming up in front of you to box you in. Her eyes meet yours – her intensity is unmatched, even after she’s won every game of tennis this season that’s been thrown at her by the university. Power means nothing to her, because using it is easy.

“You don’t believe me?” Tashi asks. Nothing goes unnoticed by her, it was brave to roll your eyes. “You’re all I think about.”

“Tennis is all you think about.”

Instead of correcting you, she kisses you. Your hands find her waist, and wrap around her back when you pull her closer. She consumes your thoughts, your mind, and you’re happy to keep it that way with disregard to the price you might pay for it.

Tashi’s hands slip under your shirt. One travels up your side, under your bra. You arch into her touch, senses clouded with her – until you hear voices outside the locker room, people leaving the building.

You pull out of the kiss as the voices fade, and immediately she’s kissing your neck. “This is a terrible idea,” you murmur half-heartedly. You want her to prove you wrong.

“No one’s coming in, I was the last match.”

“But they could come in.”

“They won’t.”

You don’t seem convinced. Tashi moves to look at you, and tilts her head.

“Tell me you don’t want this,” she demands. You see how she craves you, she’s willing to indulge herself after her latest victory. It wouldn’t be the first time you would find yourself here, against the lockers with every intention of letting her use you in the way she wishes. She sees through your words – she knows you want this just as much as she does.

“No,” you say, because you do want this. You’ve wanted her all morning, since you saw her warming up for her match. And even if someone were to come in and find you with her, pressed up against the lockers and at her will, it would only prove a fact you dream of everyone knowing anyway: that in every way, Tashi Duncan is yours. Audiences may celebrate her, anyone might desire her, but at the end of every day it’s you she comes home to. It’s you she wants.

“Good,” she mutters, and presses you harder against the locker, pressing space between your legs with her knee. She kisses down your neck, and one of her hands travels below the waistband of your shorts while the other is still at your chest. Her hands are cold against the warmth of your skin, sending a chill rippling down your back.

“Be quiet,” Tashi orders, and you nod. An empty promise, but you’ll try your best. “Good girl.”

Her praise has you biting back a moan as her knee moves away and her hand slides between your thighs. You can’t hold her gaze, the gravity it holds.

Your hips chase her hand as she circles your clit – your hips buck back against the lockers, and the sound echoes through the room, and your moan would accompany the noise if not muffled by Tashi’s hand over your mouth. A quick reaction on her end, she knows your body better than you do.

“Quiet,” Tashi whispers. She presses a kiss to the edge of your jaw, below your ear. You try for a deep breath, but it’s shaky. “I’m fucking you here, and you’re moaning? Anyone could hear you. But you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

You nod again, her hand still over your mouth. Your eyes fall closed, her touch burns through you like fire. It’s not enough, it’s too much, it’s everything you need and more.

Tashi feels the pleasure building in you – it inspires her to interrupt it, to pull both of her hands from you.

You whine in protest, watching her in curious alarm. You need this, she knows you do.

Tashi’s hands find your hips, and she watches you closely. A sadistic sort of smile pulls at her lips, one that has you squirming, reaching for her again. Your attempts are futile, your yearning feeds her desire to starve you, push you to your limits. “You have to be patient,” she says.

And you will be, though everything in you aches for her. You will let her win, let her pick your cards and cheat the game to end in her favor. You’re content with it – a side that is not without reward to you as Tashi lowers to her knees in front of you, and when she looks up at you, she already knows she’s won.

THIRTEEN YEARS LATER, NEW ROCHELLE.

The sun glares down at you through the windshield, but despite its best efforts, it cannot reach you. It’s cool in your car – it combats the sweltering heat of the morning in New Rochelle as you sit waiting for the final matches to start on the second day of the Challengers tournament. You don’t want to go sit down too early, there’s no point in submitting yourself to the discomfort of hot metal seats amongst the swarm of the audience until you have to. You’re content to sit here with your eyes closed for as long as you can, you finally have a moment to yourself after the chaos of traveling to New Rochelle.

Tapping on your window makes you jump. Your eyes snap open, and when you see who waits on the other side of your car window, you wish you’d never traveled to the tournament at all. You knew he would be here, you saw him competing yesterday, but you had successfully avoided him and had left early after the first few matches.

You roll your window down. Patrick Zweig stares at you with the most dumbass fucking smile you’ve witnessed in years.

“Well, look who it is!” He exclaims. He leans an arm against the top of your car, but you shove him off of it through the window.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” you snap. He frowns, and you sigh. It’s been nine years since you’ve seen him in person – since you broke up with Tashi – and not a day has passed in which you can decisively say you have missed him.

“I’m competing,” he says.

You furrow your eyebrows. “I know that. Why are you here, talking to me?”

Patrick shrugs. “Can’t I take a second to reconnect with an old friend?”

“An old friend?” you ask. “I don’t think we were ever friends.”

“Maybe not, but I know you’ll be hoping I win instead of Art this afternoon.”

You pause. “Art Donaldson? He’s here, competing?”

“Yeah. You know, I was told you invited him and Tashi. It’s everywhere online. That’s why I came over here, to say thank you for setting up the match. Art and I are the only ones left in the division. I wanted to wish you luck, too, with whatever it is you plan to get out of having us all here.”

You don’t respond for a moment. Vaguely you recall inviting Tashi to the Challengers tournament a few weeks ago after Art’s loss – Maybe there’s someone there your husband could beat for a change – but you had disregarded it. You had meant the entire thing as a joke, a jab at Art’s poor tennis performance. Never would you have expected the Donaldsons to remotely consider participating in a Challengers tournament. You regret leaving early yesterday, missing their arrival at a tournament so far beneath them. You would have enjoyed witnessing their shame.

“I didn’t set anything up,” you tell Patrick, yet you doubt the validity of your own statement. “And I’m not planning on getting anything out of it.”

“Whatever you say. I just know Tashi wouldn’t bother with something like this for the hell of it. Either Art’s tennis has gotten really fucking bad for them to stoop to a tournament this low, or she’s using him to be here with you. Or, of course, both can be true. I’m going with both.”

You shake your head. “Tashi has no interest in me.”

“It’s been nine years since she left you, and she still hates you. She would probably fucking stab you if given the chance. That’s not something to take lightly with her, it takes more than resentment to hold onto something that long. Even I’m not as lucky.”

“I’m not interested in making amends with Tashi Donaldson.”

Patrick shrugs. He gives you a look, I don’t believe you, that you want to punch him for. You have nothing to say to Tashi, no reason to wish to see her. You went up to talk to her those weeks ago at Art’s game because you wanted to taunt her with your presence. You wanted her to see that you were successful without her, you don’t need her.

You wanted her to see you – you realize how it sounds, and that there’s no way you would win a dispute with Patrick if your only explanation for reconnecting with Tashi is I wanted her to see that I’m better than her husband. You look back to him with a facade of nonchalance.

You don’t know what to say, so you shift the focus back to him. “You’re going to get killed in a match against Art.”

“How would you know? You haven’t seen me play in years.”

“I don’t need to.”

“Wow, thanks for having so much faith in me.”

You roll your eyes.

Patrick’s gaze shifts to something beyond your car, something his eyes trail for a few seconds before he turns back to you. “I need to go warm up,” he announces, and backs away from your car. “Write something heroic about me to publish when I win, will you?”

You roll up your window. You watch him disappear from the parking lot. Peace still evades you once he’s gone – that Tashi would be coming to the tournament is enough to have you nearly in hysterics. The promise of her soon arrival has adrenaline coursing through you, though the emotion accompanying it is indecipherable.

You loathe Tashi Donaldson. You hate her husband even more. But there’s something so addictive about being around her to prove it. To prove that it was a mistake to end things with you and pursue Art shortly after, that he could never live up to you. Your fame came from success in writing and journalism, Art’s fame came from Tashi and viral videos of Art flinging tennis rackets after his losses. It felt good for you to prove your worth in contrast to his. You finally have power over them, and you have every intention of using it.

For better or worse, you still care about Tashi’s opinion of you. For better or worse, you still care for Tashi Duncan.

A car pulls into the empty spot next to you. The glare of the sun against it burns your eyes, leaves you with the start of a headache.

You turn to look at the owners of the vehicle. Immediately you understand what Patrick had been spying beyond your car, and why he had been so quick to flee.

You missed them yesterday, but you wouldn’t miss them today. You turn your car off and get out.

“Need help carrying that?” You ask Art as he picks up his gym bag out of the trunk of the car beside yours. “I don’t want you to break any rackets.”

“That would look good for you,” he says dryly. He shuts the trunk. “To make it seem like you’re making amends.”

“I have nothing to make amends for.”

He’s silent. You have two thousand words to make amends for, actually, but you’ll never be caught apologizing. You wrote an article about Art’s tennis years ago that gave you much of your fame – an article that had suggested Art was one of the worst tennis players to come out of Stanford, and that it was a shame he was using Tashi’s injury to his advantage by convincing her to coach his mediocre games. You implied that he was using her, that he was a cheater in the very least as far as tennis was concerned.

It was never your finest moment, but you would never regret it. He deserved it, and so did Tashi for the way the two of you left your relationship.

A car door slams. You’re joined by Tashi. In a light blue dress she’s stunning, radiant beyond comparison with the man she comes to stand by. A man she knows she cannot defend, a man beneath her.

She gives Art a tyrannical look. He’s going to go find the locker room, he says, as if he hadn’t played here yesterday, and with a final look between you and Tashi he takes his bag and begins his way across the parking lot.

You’re left alone with Tashi. The two of you are silent – she’s waiting for you to say something, and you’re waiting to come up with something that sounds right.

“I saw you talking to Patrick,” Tashi says at last. You nod. “Did he tell you he asked me to coach him?”

A smile pulls at your lips. “No, he didn’t.”

“Good. Now you have something to write about,” she says, taking a step towards you, “when he loses. You can write about how he tried so desperately to come out on top, and you can write about who he lost to.”

It’s not about Art anymore. It’s not about Patrick, it’s not about this tournament. It’s about you. Tashi’s reversal, her revenge. She won when she left you ten years ago, you won with your article, and Tashi Donaldson has never been one to keep a tie. She’s been keeping score for nine years in preparation for an opportunity such as this, one to set the record in her favor.

“I’m not interested in placing bets on failed prodigies.”

“You’re not too good for it, though.”

“You are. At least you should have been.”

Tashi shakes her head. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“You know what it means,” you say, and step closer. “It should be you on that court, not them. I should be writing about you.”

You know you’ve struck a nerve. Tashi stills. Her expression was once unreadable, but now it reveals her resentment. At you maybe, but also at fate itself, because you’re right: it should be her competing. Winning for herself and not through others. She still bears the weight of power, but it’s no longer hers to use.

“Your husband is going to lose,” you say, and you both know it’s a lie. But you will be there when Art wins, you will be there waiting for her to prove you wrong like she’s always craved. If it is winning that will let her make amends with herself, you will be the harbinger. You will let her cheat the game just so she can win. Maybe it’s all you’ve wanted this whole time, inviting her to the Challengers tournament.

Maybe it’s your way of making amends.

“Any final words before the game?” You ask, in the way you always used to ask her before her matches. Any final words. You used to laugh together about how apocalyptic it sounded, and Tashi used to watch you write about her after and use her quotes for assignments for your university classes.

Tashi remembers the phrase, you see recognition sweep over her. She watches you closely, and behind her facade you see something too reminiscent to be hatred. “Fuck you,” she says, though her voice lacks animosity.

“Is that on the record?”

“Yes.”

An uncanny way of making amends, but one you would welcome all the same.

Her gaze sears into you as you sit in the stands watching the match. Tashi sits on the opposite side of the court, yet the two of you are positioned with a clear view of one another throughout the game.

The score has fluctuated throughout the match. Patrick and Art have stayed consistent in score and loss – it’s closer than you thought it would be, enough that you see Tashi’s concern growing over the end result. Art is wearing, he’s becoming tired, and you know if he quits in his exhaustion he’ll leave with another loss. The Donaldsons will lose credibility, Tashi will disappear in the eyes of the media.

You find yourself conflicted in all ways related to the match continuing before you. You want Art to lose every match he signs for – yet the thought of Tashi going down with him haunts you. Even after all she has done to you, all you have done to her, she deserves better than any path offered.

You pause – the match has ended, the audience stands in applause. You stand to view the court, peering over shoulders, pushing your way out of the audience.

Art Donaldson, standing in the middle of the court. He basks in the glory given by his victory, one long suspended in anticipation for you to be witness. He looks up to find Tashi in the stands, and you watch as something unsaid passes between them. An I told you so on Art’s end, and something unsatisfied from Tashi’s.

You don’t need to watch the rest of it. You don’t need to see Art’s self-ordered victory lap, and you don’t need to hear the speech he’ll give the reporters waiting to flock to him. You don’t need to see Tashi by his side, so you leave the court.

You make your way through the tennis complex. Fluorescent lights stare you down, their judgment shines brighter for you. You don’t give them anything to taunt you with, keeping your expression flat. It was obvious Art would win, and in his victory Tashi has been fulfilled.

The click of heels trails you. You spare a glance over your shoulder as you walk, and you pause. Her eyes are on you alone in the empty hall.

“Congratulations,” you say, dull. “Do you feel better now? I see Art does.”

“Fuck Art,” she snaps. Tashi is empowered in her pride, which has not been placed in her husband, but in herself. This is not his victory, it belongs to her. She closes the distance between you, and if you moved back any further you’d be leaning against the wall. The door to the locker room is across the hall – your memories hardly feel like your own, hardly feel like they belong just the same to the woman in front of you, but they crash through you anyway.

“This feels familiar,” you murmur, looking up at her. You look to see if the halls are empty, but Tashi wastes no such time – she pulls you against her, her lips on yours, hunger in her touch as the two of you realize how much time you have to make up for and so little opportunity for it. Her nails dig into the back of your neck until her hand weaves into your hair, and like you always have you melt into her every desire.

“I win,” Tashi says once she pulls away. Her eyes bear into yours, dark and unforgiving, dominating. “I fucking win.”

There’s nothing that could prove her wrong. Power cures, if you know how to use it.

—

i wrote this fic so many different times honestly and i kept a few of the scenes I deleted from it bc it was getting too long so if anyone wants a part 2 lmk andddd i can put something together 😔

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