#its so evident of how much hes grown while still fighting

[twentyonefirstmates]

Anyway oldies station is the most beautiful song ever written sorry I don't make the rules

[plasticflowersinahistorycemetery]

malevolence

part I

Pairing: Demon!Dean x Bobby's!Niece!Reader

Summary: You've had a crush on Dean for longer than you even remember, but Uncle Bobby told you not to play with fire. When Dean returns home from a hunt, you knew something was off... you just didn't expect it to be this.

Warnings: 18+!, language, violence, manipulation, gaslighting, corruption, pining, smut (kissing, spitting, marking, fingering, oral/cunnilingus, p in v, implied breeding kink, rough sex, dirty talk, mildly dubious consent, cum-play), I may have missed some.

Word Count: 5,887

A/N: Oh my god. This has been in my drafts forever and I'm so happy I've finally put it out. I'm thinking... three parts? If I get all of the story down as it is in my head, then for sure... should be about three parts. It's set not long after John's death, so Dean is still a baby boy. <3 I found these gifs ages ago and I was like, "oh, I need to do a Demon!Dean fic where he's early seasons Dean." because ugh, the potential. You know the drill. If all the warnings listed above aren't evident yet? They will be. Oh, boy, will they be. I hope y'all like this. All the love.

You didn’t remember when it started. Maybe it had always been there, tucked beneath your ribs like a secret. Something soft and patient, biding its time in the dark. A seed waiting for heat and blood and something wicked to make it bloom.

Dean Winchester had been in your life for as long as you’d had a life worth remembering.

Not family, not really. But close. Tangled up in the same blood-and-oil world that raised you. The golden boy in your uncle’s long, strange shadow. Loud, sharp, sunburnt around the edges—he came and went like a storm, shaking dust off his boots and filling every room he entered with too much heat.

He was six years older, which had once felt like a canyon.

When you were ten and he was sixteen, he may as well have been a movie star. Too cool. Too fast. All swagger and sarcasm and smudged knuckles from a fight he didn’t bother to explain. You remembered the first time he called you sweetheart—just a tossed-off thing, barely looking at you as he handed you an ice pop in the middle of a sweltering July.

“Here ya go, sweetheart.”

And you remembered the way it made you freeze. How the word hung in the air like cigarette smoke, thick and confusing and too warm. You didn’t know what to say. You didn’t know why it mattered. You just knew that your name had never sounded like that before.

He’d swung you up onto his shoulders that same day—hands sure, grip steady, like he didn’t mind your weight. Like you belonged there. You’d clutched fistfuls of his hair and shrieked with laughter while Bobby hollered from the porch to “cut that damn foolin’ around before someone breaks a bone.” Dean had just grinned and jogged faster.

You were twelve when he taught you how to throw a punch. Fourteen when he handed you your first switchblade, silver and wicked and gleaming like a promise in your palm.

“Keep it in your back pocket. If a guy gets too close, don’t hesitate.”

He said it like it meant nothing. Like he hadn’t just handed you the sharpest thing you'd ever owned and trusted you not to flinch.

He always trusted you not to flinch.

That was the difference.

You knew what adoration felt like long before you understood it. You knew you liked his voice, liked his hands, liked the way he’d lean against the hood of the Impala and call you trouble when Bobby wasn’t looking. You hated the way your stomach twisted when he brought girls around. Hated the way you’d listen for laughter through the thin walls of Bobby’s house and feel sick when you heard it.

You were seventeen when it changed. When it stopped being something soft.

You’d grown into yourself by then. Still not tall, still not loud, but sharper in the eyes. More aware. And Dean—he’d started looking at you like he wasn’t supposed to.

It was in the way his gaze lingered a beat too long when you passed him in the hallway. The way his voice dropped when he asked you how your day had been. The way he smirked when you snapped back at him, low and dark, like he liked it. Like he was daring you to try again.

You didn’t say anything. Didn’t push. But you started wearing tank tops when he was home. You started sitting a little closer on the couch. You let your fingers brush his when you passed him a drink.

You told yourself it was nothing.

Bobby, of course, saw it all.

“That boy’s got too much fire in him. You don’t go pokin’ it just to see if it burns.”

But by then, it already had.

You were twenty-one now. The canyon had closed.

That afternoon, like so many before it, you sat curled in your usual spot on the porch swing, the cushion beneath you faded from years of sun, the book in your lap more of a habit than a distraction. Your bare legs were pulled up under you, one foot tucked beside the other, your back pressed to the peeling white wood of the armrest. The breeze was warm, sticky with late-summer heaviness, and the cicadas sang like they didn’t know how to stop.

Out in the yard, Bobby cursed low under his breath as he wrestled with the rusted insides of a pickup that hadn’t run since the Reagan administration. His ball cap was pushed up on his forehead, sweat darkening the brim, grease streaking his arms all the way to the elbows. There was a glass of sweet tea beside you, sweating rings into the wood, forgotten in the quiet rhythm of turning pages.

The world hadn’t shifted yet. Not that you could tell. Everything was still where it belonged.

You’d been half-asleep in the sun, lulled by the rhythm of cicadas and the creak of the porch swing, when Bobby’s voice cut through the quiet like a blade.

“Son of a bitch!”

You blinked, looked up from your book. A moment later—

“Goddamn bastard bolt won’t budge—get in there, ya stubborn piece of shit—”

Yep. Classic Bobby.

You closed your book around one finger to mark your page and leaned forward, peering past the porch railing toward the truck hood and your uncle’s hunched figure.

“You need a hand, Uncle Bobby?” You called, voice lazy with the warmth of the afternoon. “Or want some tea?”

There was a pause. A soft clank of metal against metal. Then, gruff:

“Tea, girl. And ice this time—I ain’t drinkin’ lukewarm leaf water in this heat.”

You huffed a laugh and stood, arms stretching up overhead as your back arched, joints crackling from the hours spent curled on the swing. The hem of your tank top slid up your stomach, bare skin catching the last of the sun as you padded barefoot across the porch.

Your cutoffs were frayed at the bottom, threadbare in the way only your favourite ones could be. Your legs had picked up freckles over the summer. You felt them heat now under the open air as you reached for the screen door.

Inside, the house was cooler, dim and familiar. You moved on autopilot, pulling a glass from the cupboard, grabbing the pitcher from the fridge. The ice clinked softly as you poured. You lifted it, turned—

And froze.

That sound. That rumble. Low. Hungry. Home.

The Impala.

You nearly dropped the glass right there on the kitchen tile.

You turned so fast your bare feet squeaked against the floor. The screen door banged open behind you as you stepped out onto the porch, tea sloshing over the rim, eyes locked on the long black shape pulling into the drive like it owned the world.

She slid to a stop in a slow growl of gravel. The driver’s door creaked open.

And then—there he was.

Dean climbed out like a scene from a movie. One hand on the roof, the other shoving the door closed. His boots hit the dirt and your heart tripped over itself. He looked broader than you remembered. Taller somehow. His hair was longer than it had been last time—curling just slightly at the nape of his neck, damp with sweat. His jacket was slung over one shoulder, and he moved like he hadn’t just been on the road for hours. Like his body didn’t get tired the way other people’s did.

Bobby looked up from under the hood.

“Well I’ll be damned,” he said, already wiping his hands on a rag. “Where the hell’s your brother?”

Dean just smiled, that lazy half-smirk you knew too well.

And then you called his name.

“Dean!”

His head snapped toward the porch so fast it almost startled you.

And when his eyes landed on you—barefoot, flushed from the sun, standing under the porch roof with your tank top clinging to your ribs and the glass of sweet tea still trembling faintly in your hand—he grinned.

Not like he used to. Not like the soft smirks he’d given you when you were younger, teasing and warm and safe.

No. This one was sharp. Wolfish. Like he’d been starving and just spotted his first meal in days.

“Well hey there, sweetheart.”

You didn’t think. Didn’t hesitate.

The second his voice hit your ears, smooth and warm and laced with something low and dangerous, your body moved before your brain caught up.

The glass of tea hit the porch rail with a clatter, sloshing again, forgotten as your bare feet left the wood and hit the gravel, sharp stones biting into your soles. You winced but didn’t slow, teeth catching your lip, eyes locked on him like nothing else in the world mattered.

“Girl!” Bobby hollered from the front of the truck, voice sharp as a whip. “You’re out here barefoot on the goddamn gravel again—what’re you, feral?”

You didn’t answer. Just ran faster.

Dean was already grinning by the time you reached him. One brow quirked, his whole face lit with smug delight like he’d known you’d come running. Like he wanted it.

You could see it in the way he stood, relaxed and ready, arms just starting to open. Like he was expecting to catch you.

And God help you, he did.

You threw yourself into him without grace—without shame—legs wrapping around his waist, arms around his neck, breath catching somewhere between a gasp and a laugh. His hands caught you under your thighs, rough palms settling against bare skin, fingers pressing. Harder than they needed to.

He smelled like heat. Like leather and road salt and motel soap and something darker curling beneath it. Something you couldn’t name.

Your voice came out soft, pressed close to his ear as you held onto him tighter than you meant to.

“We missed you.”

His hands flexed where they held you—gripping tight. You felt it. The possessiveness in his touch. The way his thumbs slid just slightly against the crease where your thighs met the curve of your ass. The quiet exhale that ghosted down your neck.

“Speak for yourself,” Bobby grunted from behind, but even that sounded weaker than usual. More bark than bite.

There was a pause. Then:

“Dean,” he said flatly. “Put my niece down. Don’t think I ain’t seen where your hands are, boy.”

Dean turned his head just slightly, that grin never leaving his face. Still holding you.

“Just catchin’ her, Bobby. Can’t help it if she’s a little…” His gaze dragged back to you. Slow. Heavy. “Squishy.”

Your breath hitched. You felt heat rise all the way up your neck.

Dean’s fingers squeezed again. Barely perceptible. Just enough for you to feel it. For Bobby to notice.

“Dean,” Bobby snapped, and this time there was steel under it.

With infuriating ease, Dean let you down. Gently. Like he didn’t want to. His hands slid down the backs of your thighs as he lowered you, only releasing when your feet touched dirt and your balance returned.

You took a half-step back, suddenly too aware of the heat between your legs. Of the gravel under your soles. Of the way he looked at you like you were his to pick up again whenever he pleased.

Bobby was already walking past, muttering to himself and wiping his hands again.

“Damn fool boy…”

Dean just chuckled, low and satisfied. His eyes never left you.

“Miss me, sweetheart?”

The house smelled like garlic and onions and whatever Bobby had pulled from the freezer that morning and declared dinner. The table was set with mismatched plates, forks with dull edges, and two sweating bottles of beer you’d pulled from the fridge yourself. One slid in front of your uncle with a thunk, the other nudged across the table toward Dean with just enough force to draw his eyes back to you.

He caught it easily, grinned like he knew the touch of your fingers on the bottle had been deliberate, and then tipped it in a mock toast before popping the cap with the edge of the table. You pretended not to watch the way his throat moved when he took the first sip.

You took your usual seat to Bobby’s left, legs tucked beneath you, sipping your water slow and quiet. The table was warm and familiar. A little too small for three grown bodies. A little too crowded in the heat.

Dean and Bobby talked like no time had passed at all.

“So where’s your brother?” Bobby asked around a mouthful of food, squinting at Dean like he expected bad news.

“Chasin’ some lead out in Idaho,” Dean replied, casual. “He’ll meet me back on the road. Said somethin’ about needing space.”

“From you or the case?”

Dean just smirked. Shrugged. “Probably both.”

You didn’t join in. Just twirled your fork in your noodles, dragging them across the plate like you were thinking hard about something. You weren’t. You were trying not to look at Dean. You were failing.

He looked good. Too good. Tanned and broad and infuriatingly comfortable, leaning back in his chair like it was his own damn kitchen. Like he belonged there. Like he always had.

You caught yourself staring and dropped your eyes back to your food.

Then something brushed your foot. Just a light nudge. The kind that might’ve been an accident. The kind that would’ve been nothing, if you weren’t barefoot and hyper-aware of every single thing about him.

You froze. Fork paused mid-twirl. Eyes still on your plate. The nudge came again—more deliberate this time. A soft push against your arch.

You looked up. Dean was still talking to Bobby. Still sipping his beer, leaning back in his chair like he didn’t have a care in the world.

But his eyes cut to you. And he grinned. Slow. Shit-eating. Wolfish.

Your stomach dropped straight to your knees. You cleared your throat and took a sip of water, suddenly warm all over. Bobby was still muttering about Sam, something about demon omens in Ohio, and you tried to focus. You really did.

Dean’s foot slid along the curve of your ankle. A slow, lazy stroke like he was petting a dog. You flinched. He didn’t.

You jabbed him back without looking, your toes kicking out under the table—more annoyed than anything else. But all it earned you was a harder nudge, right against your calf this time, like a shove disguised as affection.

You looked at him again. He didn’t break eye contact. He arched one brow, lips twitching around the mouth of his beer bottle.

What’re you gonna do about it, sweetheart?

You wanted to kick him. You wanted to crawl into his lap. You wanted to do something reckless. But you just stabbed a piece of meat with your fork and tried not to choke on your own pulse.

Bobby looked up, finally catching the flush on your cheeks.

“You alright there, girl?”

You smiled too quickly. “Just hot.”

Dean chuckled. Low and full of teeth. His foot bumped yours again under the table. You didn’t look at him this time. But you could still feel him.

You barely touched your dinner after that. Every bite tasted like heat. Every sip of water failed to cool you. You could still feel the press of his boot against your ankle long after he’d stopped. Like his touch had sunk straight through your skin.

You were the first one to stand when the plates were empty, scraping your chair back with a little too much force.

“I’ll get this cleaned up,” you said quickly, already stacking yours and Bobby's plates, trying to busy your hands so they didn’t shake.

Bobby looked up with a lazy arch of his brow.

“Someone’s in a damn hurry all of a sudden.”

You forced a small laugh, ducking your head. “Just trying to be useful.”

“Mhm.”

You were already halfway to the sink, rinsing plates under warm water, grateful for the hiss of the faucet and the hum of muscle memory. Plate, rinse, stack. Forks, soak, scrub. Your feet shifted over the cool tile, and for a moment, the tension in your shoulders started to melt.

Behind you, a chair scraped back.

“I’ll help.”

Dean.

Bobby snorted from the table.

“You? Since when do you ever lift a damn finger after supper?”

“Feelin’ generous,” Dean said, all smooth edges. You could hear the grin in his voice. “Must be the company.”

Bobby huffed and pushed to his feet with a grunt, grabbing the last beer and heading toward the living room.

“Well, bless your heart. I’ll be in my chair, pretendin' not to hear whatever dumb shit you’re about to break in my kitchen.”

And just like that, you were alone.

You didn’t turn around. Just kept scrubbing the last plate, shoulders a little too stiff, breath caught somewhere too high in your chest. You heard him behind you—soft bootfalls, the clink of glass against glass as he gathered the empty bottles and his dish.

Then—

Heat. He was behind you. Close. Then closer.

The heat of his chest pressed flush to your back, hard muscle and worn cotton, and you froze. Completely. Your breath caught in your throat. The plate in your hand nearly slipped from your fingers.

Dean reached around you, casually, his forearm brushing the side of your breast as he slid his plate into the sink with a quiet clink.

He didn’t move. He lingered, then stepped back a beat too slow.

“Oops.”

Your whole body burned.

You turned your head, wide-eyed, and found him just watching you. That smile on his face wasn’t sheepish. It was smug. Knowing. Unholy.

You tried to say something—tried to form any kind of reply—but your tongue felt thick and your heart was pounding in your throat.

Dean leaned one arm against the counter beside you, his body angled lazily toward yours. He was close enough that you could see the faint pink line of a healing cut along his collarbone. Close enough that his scent wrapped around you again—leather, motel soap, motor oil, and something else. Something you couldn’t name. Something dark.

“You always clean up this fast, sweetheart? Or just when I’m watching?”

Your mouth parted. Nothing came out.

He tilted his head, eyes dragging slow across your face, then down your neck, then back up.

“You've never been shy.”

You tried to laugh. It came out breathless.

“You’re messin' with me.”

Dean’s smile widened, teeth flashing.

“Am I?”

You shook your head—barely. “You don’t… You don’t look at me like that.”

“Don’t I?”

His voice was low. Deliberate.

You turned back to the sink, trying to hide your face, the blush crawling down your throat. Your hands moved automatically, scrubbing at a plate that was already clean.

Dean didn’t leave.

“Been gone a while,” he said, voice softer now. “Did you miss me?”

Your hand paused on the dish. Your voice was almost a whisper.

“Of course I did.”

He leaned in closer again, heat at your back, breath on your neck.

“Yeah?”

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak.

And behind you, he chuckled. Low and dark and pleased.

“Good.”

You didn’t move. Couldn’t.

Dean was still behind you, heat pressed too close, breath ghosting somewhere near your ear—and for a second, it felt like he might lean in further. Might say something else. Might do something else.

But before anything could shatter, Bobby’s voice cut through the house like a crack of thunder:

“You two done makin’ out in there or can I start the damn show?”

You practically jumped.

Dean chuckled—soft, smug, low in his throat like he was deeply entertained by your reaction—and stepped back just far enough to let the heat leave your skin.

You scrambled into the living room a little too fast, like Bobby’s voice had tugged you from the edge of something you couldn’t name. Your skin was still warm, your breath still not quite steady, but you dropped down onto the couch with a half-hearted exhale, like you could shake it off with the right posture. You curled your legs up beside you, pulled a throw pillow into your lap, and clutched your glass of water like it was going to save you.

“Eastwood or MASH*?” You asked, too quick, too light.

Bobby looked up from the remote, squinting at the ancient television like it had personally offended him.

“Whichever channel works. If I get static again, I’m throwin’ the damn thing out the window.”

You smiled, even if it didn’t quite reach your eyes. The house had settled into its familiar hum—floorboards creaking under the weight of time, cicadas still buzzing low through the open windows, the faint clatter of Dean moving around in the kitchen.

You heard him before you saw him.

He entered the room like a slow-moving shadow—easy, casual, like he belonged there more than the furniture. Your stomach twisted.

He didn’t say a word. Just met your gaze for a moment—sharp, amused—and then reached down, hooked his hands under your ankles, and lifted your legs without asking. You startled slightly, not because it hurt, but because it didn’t. Because it felt so easy for him.

Then, with a slow exhale, he dropped onto the couch beside you, your legs falling across his lap like he’d planned it that way all along. One of his arms rested along the back of the couch, close enough for you to feel the heat of it at your shoulders. The other—casual, lazy—settled over your shin, fingers tracing an idle path along your skin.

You tried not to tense. You tried not to breathe. He didn’t look at you. Didn’t need to.

And Bobby noticed. He turned his head slowly, one eye narrowing as it moved from the screen to your legs across Dean’s lap, then up to the hand that hadn’t stopped moving. His jaw clenched. His beer bottle landed on the side table with a quiet clunk.

“Touch her like that again,” he said, voice low and dry, “and I’ll break your fuckin’ hand.”

Dean didn’t flinch. He didn’t even stop. Just kept rubbing slow, maddening circles along your shin with the pad of his thumb. He still hadn’t looked at you.

“Aw, c’mon, Bobby,” he drawled, the smile curling across his lips like smoke. “Ain’t like I’m doin’ anything wrong.”

Bobby didn’t laugh. Didn’t even blink.

“You think I don’t see it?” He asked, and his voice was sharper now, honed to an edge. “The way you been lookin’ at her since you pulled up? I ain’t blind, Dean. And I sure as hell ain’t stupid.”

There was a pause, a hitch you felt more than heard. Dean’s smile wavered for the barest second. Just long enough for you to wonder if Bobby had struck a nerve.

Then it returned, just as cocky, just as easy.

“She’s not a kid anymore,” he said, casual, like that settled something.

Bobby leaned forward in his chair. His eyes were cold. Steady.

“No, she ain't. Which is exactly why I’ll put you in the goddamn ground if you so much as look at her like she ain’t got a choice.”

Something shifted.

You didn’t understand it, not fully. But you felt it. Something sharp beneath the surface. Something not quite right. Like there was more to what Bobby said than what he said.

Dean’s silence stretched long enough to be dangerous. Then he tilted his head, eyes still on Bobby, and smiled.

“She looks like she can make her own choices to me.”

You tried to move your legs. Tried to pull away, just a little. Dean’s hand pressed down. Not painfully. Just firmly. Deliberately. Bobby was still watching. And so was Dean.

“You touch her like that again,” Bobby said, lower this time, the threat coiled beneath each syllable, “and I’ll remind you who the hell you’re talkin’ to.”

Dean didn’t answer.

The television filled the silence, tinny dialogue from a rerun you couldn’t focus on. And under the hum of it all, Dean’s thumb resumed its lazy stroke against your skin, like nothing had happened at all.

The house was silent, save for the low creak of floorboards beneath your bare feet.

The kind of silence that came only after the heat of the day had broken—after the static between bodies had faded into cool sheets and shallow sleep. Bobby had gone to bed not long before you had, muttering something about his bad knee and early mornings, casting one last look between you and Dean like he was waiting for something to ignite.

But nothing had.

Not then.

Now, it was past midnight. Maybe closer to two. You didn’t check the clock—just blinked awake with your throat dry and your skin too warm beneath the sheets. The house had cooled but your body hadn’t. Something restless sat in your chest like a live wire humming under your ribs.

The floor was cold beneath your feet, quiet in the way old houses only were when everyone else had gone to bed and the world had softened into stillness.

The air felt different after midnight—cooler, heavier somehow. The way it settled in your lungs felt like a warning, though you couldn’t say why. You moved without thinking, sleepy and restless, fingers trailing along the hallway walls as you padded toward the kitchen, drawn by nothing more than the dryness in your throat and the weight of something unnamed sitting beneath your skin.

Bobby’s old shirt hung off one shoulder, worn soft with age, the hem brushing the tops of your thighs as you walked. No panties. No bra. Just that and bare skin and the ghost of sleep still clinging to the corners of your vision.

The fridge opened with a low hum. You filled your glass slowly, letting the cool water slide over the ice and kiss the rim, the glow of the open door painting your skin in pale blue light. You lifted the glass to your lips and drank.

And that’s when you heard it.

The creak.

Not the house settling. Not the wind. Not the sound of an old man in the hallway. Boots. Slow, deliberate.

You turned just as the light from the fridge caught the edge of his silhouette, cutting him out from the dark like something carved from smoke and heat and half-formed sin.

Dean.

Leaning in the doorway like he hadn’t been asleep at all. Like he was waiting. He didn’t speak at first. Just looked at you. And when he did? Something in his expression made your stomach twist—not with fear, not yet, but something so thick and dark and electric it almost knocked the air out of you.

That grin.

It was the same one he’d worn when you were sixteen and he caught you staring at his mouth. The same one he used when he fixed cars with the sleeves of his flannel rolled high and the cigarette tucked behind his ear. Familiar. Easy. Pure Dean.

But something about it wasn’t right anymore. It was too still. Too slow. Too hungry.

“Well,” he said, and his voice was rough in that way it always got when it was late and he hadn’t talked in hours. “Aren’t you a sight.”

You swallowed hard. “Couldn’t sleep.”

His eyes dropped down your body. Then rose again. Like he had every right.

You didn’t move. Didn’t cover yourself. You should have.

“You always walk around like that?” He asked, stepping into the room. “Wearing nothin’ but some old shirt and a smile?”

You didn’t answer. The question didn’t feel like a question.

Dean smiled again, slower this time, head cocked to the side as he watched you over the rim of the glass in your hand.

“Bobby know his niece’s struttin’ around like a damn centrefold at two in the morning?”

You flushed hot. “It’s just a shirt.”

“Mm.” He nodded slowly, stepping closer. “Yeah. I can see that.”

He was close now. Close enough to smell—leather and heat and that undertone you still couldn’t quite place. Something wrong. Something sour-sweet and unplaceable. It made your knees feel unsteady.

His hand lifted—not fast, just steady—and pushed the fridge door shut behind you. The kitchen plunged into shadows again, save for the faint light of the oven clock. He was still grinning.

“Didn’t think you’d grown up this much.”

You laughed, shaky and quiet, trying to ease the weight of his stare. “Been a year.”

“Yeah,” he said. “It’s showin’.”

Your breath caught.

He took another step. Close enough now that the fabric of his shirt brushed your arm. He tilted his head down, voice dropping just slightly.

“You used to look at me funny,” he said. “Back when you were younger. Always staring. Thought I was imaginin’ it.”

You blinked, pulse pounding. “You weren’t.”

“No,” he murmured, and his eyes flicked to your mouth. “Guess I wasn’t.”

You could feel his breath on your skin. The heat of him. His fingers brushed the side of your thigh—light, just once, and then gone. It burned like fire anyway.

“You’ve really come into yourself, sweetheart.”

He said it like a confession. Like a revelation. Like it was all finally clicking into place.

And you couldn’t breathe.

His voice went softer. Meaner.

“You want me to look at you like this, don’t you?”

You didn’t speak. He didn’t need you to. Because he already knew.

You didn’t know who moved first. Didn’t know if it was his hand on your hip or the tilt of your chin or the way the space between your bodies seemed to vanish all at once—like the air itself had given up pretending there was still a line that shouldn’t be crossed.

All you knew was that you were suddenly there. Back pressed to the counter. Dean’s body crowding yours like gravity had finally remembered what it owed you.

And then he kissed you.

Not softly. Not hesitantly. Not like a maybe. No, Dean Winchester kissed you like he was claiming you.

His hand came up to your jaw, thumb pressed against your cheek, fingers curling behind your neck as he pulled you in and kissed you like it was the only thing that had ever mattered. Like he’d been waiting too. Starving for it. For you.

You gasped into it, lips parting without thought, and he groaned—"fuckin’ finally"—and kissed you deeper, tongue slipping past your lips like he knew exactly how to take what he wanted. And he did.

You were drowning in him. Pressed between cool counter and burning heat, chest heaving, hands fisting into the hem of his t-shirt just to keep from sliding down the cabinets. Your knees had gone weak. Your body was molten.

When he pulled back, it was barely an inch. His breath hit your lips. His grin carved into you like a knife.

“Goddamn,” he whispered, voice thick and low and already wrecked. “I always knew you’d taste this fucking sweet.”

You didn’t get a chance to reply.

His hand was already moving. Down your side. Over your hip. Between your thighs.

You gasped.

He grinned harder.

“No panties,” he murmured, dragging the hem of the shirt up your thigh with his knuckles. “You really were asking for it, huh?”

You opened your mouth—to protest, to deny, to confess every filthy thought you’d ever had about him—but then two of his fingers slid between your legs and found you already wet, and the words died on your tongue.

“Fuck,” he breathed, eyes dark and hungry, lashes low. “You’re soaked for me. All this time, and you’ve been walking around just beggin’ for me to get my hands on you.”

He didn’t stop. Didn’t hesitate.

He slipped one thick finger inside you, slow and deliberate, watching your face as your jaw dropped open around a gasp. Then another, stretching you perfectly. You choked on a sound, back arching, thighs trembling.

“Shhh,” he crooned, lips at your temple now, the hand at your jaw moving to cover your mouth. “Gotta keep it down, sweetheart. Bobby hears you moaning like a whore in his kitchen, he’s gonna come down here and shoot me.”

His fingers curled.

Your eyes rolled back.

You moaned—muffled, desperate—against his palm as he started to fuck you with those fingers like he meant it. Like he’d been thinking about it for years.

And maybe he had.

His hips were pressed against yours, his breath against your cheek, his mouth dragging along your jaw as he fucked you slow and filthy and completely possessed.

“You ever think about me, baby?” He whispered. “Late at night, all alone in your bed? Bet you used these pretty fingers trying to imagine mine, didn’t you?”

You whimpered under his hand, your body jerking with every pump of his fingers, slick and obscene.

“Bet you used to fuck that little pillow, huh? Crying into it thinkin’ about me pinning you down, stretching you open…”

You were going to come.

It was embarrassing how fast it was happening—how quick he’d found every nerve, every want, every buried need you’d never let yourself speak out loud. But now it was all on the surface, raw and exposed, dripping down his wrist.

He growled in your ear, soft and dark and lethal:

“Come for me, sweetheart. C’mon. Be a good girl and come all over my fuckin’ fingers.”

You did.

You shattered—silently, somehow—body writhing against his hand, nails digging into his shoulders, whole frame trembling with the force of it. His fingers didn’t stop, fucking you through it, dragging every last wave from your body until you were limp in his grip, gasping into his palm.

He finally pulled his hand from your mouth, cupping your jaw again, kissing you slow and deep, like the filth he’d just whispered into your skin meant nothing. Like it meant everything.

He pulled his hand away, brought it up to his lips, and licked his fingers. Then smiled.

“Told you,” he said. “Sweet as goddamn honey.” 

Then his lips were back on your neck.

You were still trembling, thighs slick and trembling where he held you, one hand gripping the back of your thigh, the other back between your legs, slick with everything he’d pulled from you. You were floating, dizzy, pressed between the cool of the counter and the heat of his body, his mouth trailing kisses up your throat like he was about to say something—

And then the kitchen door slammed open. You barely had time to register the heavy feet pounding across the floor before—

Splash.

Dean staggered back with a sharp, visceral hiss, smoke curling from his shoulder where the water hit, his skin bubbling in a flash of red.

You gasped, shoved back into the counter, heart leaping into your throat.

“What the fuck—!”

Dean growled—growled—low and guttural, his spine arching with the burn, lips curling back to reveal teeth that didn’t quite look like his own.

And Bobby was standing there. In boxers and a flannel and socks. Holding an empty mason jar in one hand and a shotgun in the other. Breathing hard. Rage in every line of his face.

“Get. The fuck. Outta my house,” Bobby said, each word like a shotgun blast. “Now.”

Dean turned his head slowly. Eyes flashing black for a moment before shifting back to the green you'd always known.

“Well, shit,” he rasped, voice raw. “Knew you were smart, old man. Didn’t think you’d catch on so fast.”

“Yeah, well,” Bobby snarled, stepping forward, “I’ve seen a lot of demons pretend to be worse things. You just happen to be wearin’ a face I liked.”

Dean smiled—teeth too sharp, too wide.

“I’ll be seeing her again.”

Bobby raised the shotgun in his hands.

“Not if I have anythin' to say about it.”

Dean looked at you once. Only once. That same smirk, but now you saw it—really saw it—for what it was. Too smooth. Too slow. Something evil wearing something you used to love. And then he vanished. Not in smoke, not in fire. Just… gone. The air thinned out. The heat left the room. And the absence of him was a screaming thing.

You were still shaking. Still pressed to the counter, shirt rumpled, legs slick, skin flushed. The high hadn’t even left your blood yet. You didn’t speak. You couldn’t.

Bobby lowered the shotgun, then turned to you.

“It ain’t safe anymore.”

Your lips parted, but no sound came out.

He crossed to you slowly. Gently. Like approaching a spooked animal.

“That thing,” he said, voice quieter now. “That thing wearin’ Dean’s face? That’s a demon. And he’s been here all day.”

You stared at him. Everything in you recoiled. Denied. And yet—you knew.

Bobby exhaled hard. His hand came up to your arm, grounding you. Steady.

“I’m sendin’ you somewhere safe.”

You blinked. “What—?”

“Somewhere he don’t know. Somewhere he can’t get to you. You’re leavin’ in the mornin’. No arguments.”

You were still in Bobby’s shirt. Still barefoot. Still breathless. And now the world had cracked open beneath you. You nodded. Because what else could you do?

@mostlymarvelgirl @losers-clvb @lunaleah @itshellfire @drakulana @sl33pylilbunny @suckitands33 @nevercameraready @0ccvltism @lyarr24 @podiumackles @spxideyver @tinas111 @cevansbaby-dove @paristheonewhoreads @winchestersbgirl @blossomingorchids @sacr1ficialang3l <3

[lovenonymously]

1527

I didn’t care about either of them. Until now.

This is one of those stories where the more you think about it, the worse it gets. The more you read, the more details surface, the more you realize how much was hidden in plain sight.

And now, a month after her death, the weight of it is finally settling in.

For years, this man was untouchable. His image, pristine. A career so carefully crafted that even now, even after the internet exploded with these allegations, Korean media is barely touching it.

Silence. Hesitation. The kind that only comes when you’re dealing with someone so high up, so protected, that no one dares to challenge him.

And the worst part? A lot of people still don’t care. They think it’s another scandal, another tabloid story. They don’t see the pattern. He can't be blamed alone for her death, they say.

But this isn’t just about him.

The playbook never changes.

A young girl, a powerful man. More then a relationship between a minor and a grown adult, he was also her boss.

The imbalance of it all. The way these stories always follow the same trajectory—an older man picks a teenage girl, keeps her close, isolates her, makes her dependent, and then discards her the moment she becomes an adult, the moment she starts to have her own thoughts, her own independence.

She drinks to cope. Crashes. The world turns on her.

Now she’s the villain. She’s the cautionary tale.

He? He moves on. The industry protects him. The public defends him. People say, "Well, she was an adult when they broke up." Ignoring the fact that he got to shape her entire adolescence. Ignoring the fact that by the time she was "an adult," she had already been broken down in ways most people don’t recover from.

Why didn't she expose him?

That’s the question everyone keeps circling back to.

But that’s not the real question. The real question is: Why did she have to fight this battle alone?

She had the proof. The texts, the photos, the letters, the witnesses. If she really wanted revenge, she could’ve posted everything. But she didn’t. And that tells you everything you need to know.

She could have still had hope. That she will pick up her pieces. That one day, she would look at his photo and wonder "who was that again?" People without hope don't change their names or try to make a comeback in a play or have plans to open a café.

It also means she still thought, on some level, that keeping his secrets was worth something. That her silence would be repaid in kindness.

And maybe, deep down, it means she knew the truth: Even with all the evidence in the world, we, the people, still wouldn’t believe her.

We never had anyway.

The silence is the loudest part.

This is what gets me. Not just the details of their relationship, not just the fact that his agency sent debt collecting letters to her while making sure exactly why she couldn’t pay.

What gets me is the silence.

Her death on his birthday and the pictures of them together speak LOT LOUDER than her words ever could have.

Maybe she knew this. It break my heart...

Yet, will this change anything?

Korean media is barely touching it.

His agency is scrambling but saying nothing of substance.

People are defending him out of reflex because "he was so young too" (he was 27) or because "she should have said no, she consented" (gee, I wonder why children need guardians) or "her family should have stopped the relationship" (y'all have never dealt with lovebombing narcissists and it shows.)

And even now, the people with power are waiting. Waiting to see if they can let this pass.

And if they can, they will.

They’ll bury it. They’ll rewrite the narrative. They’ll let time do its thing, because they know the public has the attention span of a goldfish, and in a few months, some other scandal will come along, someone else will die, and people will forget.

That’s what always happens.

So why do I care so much?

I keep wondering this. I don’t follow celebrity gossip. I don’t usually get invested in these stories.

But this one got under my skin.

Maybe because I remember seeing that photo last year and brushing it off. Maybe because I know exactly how easy it is for a powerful man to get away with this. Maybe because deep down, I feel caught off-guard to realise that this is the best example of how celebrities are humans too. Good and bad.

I didn’t care about either of them.

And now, I can’t look away.

[cheesycatz]

Worm in the Apple is at 200k words now! Also, happy Pi day.

HE'S FINALLY FREE YIPPEE *non-biodegradable confetti*

Essay I just wrote 👇

Spamton’s goal since the very beginning was freedom. More specifically, the freedom to go where he pleases, do what he wants, and interact with the world without the constant fear of being killed. He initially sought to gain freedom by somehow overcoming the antivirus forces and repopulating his species, destroying the wretched city he was trapped in and controlling what remained. His disguise wasn’t just a way to blend in, but a way to infiltrate and gain the power he needed to enact his plan. But, he became very distracted by the addisons before he could get very far. They unknowingly taught him empathy, something different from the cold apathy and spite that normally fueled him. No matter how much he yelled and threatened them after his true identity was revealed, Spamton blamed himself for becoming too attached to the fake life of his puppet. He knew they never loved him, but the prospect of pretending they did was as alluring as a moth to a flame. He now saw every interaction with the addisons as a business transaction; he would only hold worth if he could hold up his end of the deal. His old motivations surged stronger than ever. With less than a second thought, he stalked Kris through the entire city, cornered them in the mansion basement, and dedicated every last scrap of energy he had to killing them. It wasn’t enough. He wasn’t enough. Whether Spamton died with the rest of his species or clung to life, the outcome was the same. Nothing. He was now a ghost, still stubbornly clinging to the mortal plane because he didn’t know what other choice he had. A parasite can’t live without its host, no matter how much it hurts them. After all this time, his teeth were still latched into the addisons, and he kept trying to pull away even if he knew he’d rip out flesh in the process. But, they’d grown tired of this constant struggle. They cut through every mask he hid behind, prying the truth out. Under all of his vengeful fantasies, what he truly desired was to be loved. A desire the addisons had introduced him to. A desire he finally understood. The teeth finally let go. He is so very tired, but his life was finally crawling back up. Yet, while he was no longer alone, he was still suffering. They knew how he still longed for freedom, and they’d do whatever they needed to fight for it. In the end, the bonds he had formed with them were all the evidence they needed to grant him freedom. It was enough. He was enough. Spamton finally learned what it meant to be loved.

don't worry about the confetti being non-biodegradable wormton ate all of it

[valeriefauxnom]

The Only Tierlist that Matters(tm)

'Best in Element' this, 'Best character that'...

Here's the only thing that you need to know about Dragalia and its lore: who's the best at Alberian Chess.

A fair portion of this is both evidenced and guesswork. Evidenced guesswork? I'll just walk through my analysis for anyone going ??.

In short, I think Leonidas is the best chess player shown. Leif outright states him to be a 'particularly cunning opponent' in comparison to Chelle and Phares, whom he both considers very skilled. Leonidas is the only one to have beaten Leif.

So if 1st and 2nd are locked, I'd say it's a more blurry picture between Phares and Chelle. Chelle I put lower just for the fact she explicitly finds Alberian chess a bit 'too restrictive' in rules and thus might not be quite as studious or caring of its games, and with Phares seemingly capable of getting Leonidas heated while appearing calm himself in "A Royal Tea Party", I think he might be better by at least a little bit. We know the current Chelle vs. Leif meta is a Leif win (though starting to tax/surprise him), but alas, we've no Phares-Chelle or Phares-Leif matchup to settle the big dog league for good.

A tier brings in Regina, who is only A just because I don't have any evidence to suggest how she might stack up against our formidable S-tiers. She's also native in a different variety of Alberian Chess, which further complicates how she could adapt against the southern rules most other players use here. In her own league, who knows? She could be S.

Discount Deku-looking-creature- er, Eugene, is shown to be a very skilled player, and yet his record is 0-2 vs. Leif, Leif not feeling incredibly threatened both times, and so A he goes.

Valyx here is mostly from a lack of evidence, as we never really see him play chess to my knowledge, but Leif at least will endorse him to be a skilled player. For Leif, no.2, that counts for something, and so into A he goes. We would need more sibling match-ups to see how he stacks up against his elders.

Ilia is similarly fuzzy in exact placement but we do know that Leonidas does not feel threatened by her, implying at least some tangible gulf in talent that I think bumps her down at least one tier. That being said, he also compliments her as skilled in reading his intent in chess, which, since Leo is no.1, having good reads on him is likely a very strong point to succeeding in Alberian chess. Besides, if it's 'Alberian' chess to begin with, she very well might have only recently learned the game, as Alberia as a state only started to exist 700 years after her time. That she's this good already is impressive!

Aurien provides some distinguishment between himself and Eugene by losing against him. He's still high up because Euden is very surprised he lost, and had made it in the chess tournament far. He seems to be pretty keen on the strategic understanding of the game, as well.

Falling all the way to D, we've Pinon, who understands some of the principles of strategy, etc, but still is inclined to making big mistakes for players like Regina to exploit. Even when she tries to bring back and challenge Regina with the southern rules she's learned from her travels there, Regina can still beat her comfortably.

Euden just wanted to be in 'E' tier because of his name No, it's mostly because he only just started learning at Gala Leif time in canon. And Euden... doesn't exactly seem to have a natural gift, as, per him when learning:

Or, more eloquently,

In short, he's not quite 'moving pieces at random' F tier for a complete novice, but we just have no evidence he's grown since. He's simply too busy fighting a war and having identity crises and stopping the Halidom from being blown up for the 3rd time today to have much time to practice, either. That being said, since Leif was the one to first start instructing him, he might very well have an edge when it comes to getting better over time!

[avid-corvid]

My top 5 watcher shows

@watcherwiki has challenged the watcher community to rank their favorite watcher shows, Top 5 Beatdown style, and I wanted to join in!

(Don’t mind me posting this late lol)

#5- Too many spirits

I don’t know what it is but I love watching these grown men slowly become more and more intoxicated while reading ghost stories to each other, it’s just so goofy and it’s become one of my favs for a good reason. Also something that isn’t talked about enough is Steven and Ricky’s friends to enemies to kind of friends arc is so damn funny, every time Steven pulls out the ice you can almost always expect Ricky to flinch away lmao. Also the meatball story still makes me lose my shit to this day.

#4- Weird Wonderful World

This show is truly about exploring the world with the people you love and care for. I always eat up Shane and Ryan’s dynamic in this show, their little names for each other (“big guy” and “little Mr B” etc..) and the way they just randomly pat or hold each other is so damn cute. Also the places they go to are always so entertaining and the owners are always so patient with Shane and Ryan’s shenanigans lmao. It’s just such a nice show displaying Shane and Ryan's friendship.

#3- Travel Season

I love this show so much, this show has to be infused with love or something like that because I can't help but feel so comforted by it all. It's two guys going out with a small crew and discovering different cultures through one thing that connects us all, food. It's such a beautiful show that I wished more people would watch. It's so funny because if everyone took the time, then they'd realize that this show isn't centered around price points like Worth It, it's actually one of the cheapest shows they've made, and its actually about the culture that surrounds different foods in the world. My favorite part is always the intro music, it feels like I'm a kid again, exploring the world for the first time with my friends. I seriously want them to make more of this, its just beautiful.

#2- Puppet History

Honestly just a beautifully made show, you can seriously see the love that Shane put into this show by the editing, writing, and characters. You might think to yourself, "Oh, it's a show about a blue puppet teaching history lessons, it can't be THAT emotional." Have you never been more wrong. It comes with a side of deep lore that will tear your heart in two. I’m not gonna lie, the season 5 finale actually made me cry when the meteor was talking about the beauty of earth, like I was full blown sobbing over a puppet show. Sometimes I want to look into Shane Madej’s brain to see what is going on in there, because one second a little puppet is holding onto his parents and telling them how much he loves them as a meteor crashes into earth, and then the next second Ryan is fist fighting a holographic puppet. This is the peak of cinema.

#1- Ghost Files

A classic, Ryan and Shane are the perfect skeptic and believer duo and practically changed the entire ghost hunting community. This show is something that Ryan got to have full creative control over and you can tell that he treats it like it’s his baby. There are so many classic bits that have been made in this show and it’s such a huge pillar for watcher's legacy. Ryan’s need to get definite proof is something I adore, too many times do I see people faking and over dramatizing evidence and it always pissed me off, but ghost files is so realistic. If evidence gets debunked, Ryan sees it as a good thing because he doesn't want fake evidence. His drive to have a good quality show with proper evidence is something I will forever applaud.

Anyways, let me know what y'all thought, I can't wait to read through everyone else's top 5s!!

[amethystfairy1]

*cracks knuckles*

these brids can fit so much trauma into them its insane. Anyway time for the Skyblings rant that i promised after the first chapter.

Let's start with Pearl. She is what I can assume to be the oldest out of the two twins, while also being the stronger one due to her just missing out on being retained. Her wings are a standard dark colour, useful for stealth missions and favoured among the colony. She has been travelling with Gem for over a year now, and in that time she opened up about preening in roughly a week if i remember correctly. Pearl appears to be more along the healing process than Grian is, however, made evident by them both denying knowing each other in the moment, there is still work to be done. However she is getting along that path to recovery. She openly admitted to Gem that Grian was her brother, even if it did result in her projectile throwing up. Another way that she still seems to struggle is in regards to her injury. She wants to help. She wants to be fighting and not to be a dead weight. She doesn't want to be injured because she probably views it as being unuseful towards Gem. And if she's unuseful she might be sold. At least thats the case in her head.

Now onto Grian. His wings are bright and colourful, not overly encouraged for fighting, especially with his short stature, and meant that he was used more as a display piece. Of course he was still forced to participate in fights, shown in the first fic of this series. He was brought by Mumbo and Scar a couple months ago, and has been slowly going along that recovery process. He does seem to be more adverse to physical contact compared to Pearl, as shown by how long it took him to allow Mumbo and Scar to preen his wings. This is mostly likely partly due to previous masters being incredibly rough with his wings, not to mention the stuff Duke Freemere did. He is more closed off than his sister appears to be, once again refer to the Duke Freemere incident and the recent relapse. However it does show how much he has grown throughout the months he's been with the swaggon based on how opened he was to talking to Mumbo in the newest chapter.

All in all, love TT, love Skyblings, Love your writing. Can't wait for the next TT fic. I am still in denial about what Scar did, so that in of itself might get a seperate rant. Please take care of yourself and make sure to eat and drink. <3

I LOVED THIS

This is so cool!? The breakdown of them both is so beautifully done and underlining why their trauma is slightly different, and you NAILED it, this is all so amazing! I adore the rants! Like seriously I do! I love them so much! So if you ever feel like ranting again by all means please please please do I would love to see them!!! Thank you for sharing!!!

[dystopianam]

Modern Veronaville Roleplay: THE PLOT

I really don't know how to start this post, but @gingersimmerr and I besides the historical (1300+ circa) R&J based roleplay (TS2 storyline version with VV sims), also have a modern AU roleplay set in 2023 and...I feel like talking about it because yes.

I start by saying that it is very stereotyped and clichéd, it's a clear modern version of R&J, very similar to the storyline of the game but with a few more twists and with a little Life Is Strange vibes. (P.S: geologically speaking, many elements are invented, we are both Italian so we don't have enough accurate information about America)

AND, is full of headcanons, so not every character is 100% accurate to its original version. With that said, let's get started.

THE PLOT

Somewhere in America, there is a big town called Veronaville. The town has a style that is a mix between modern white villas and Mediterranean style villas. It's like a little Italy, but very few real Italians live there. Most people choose to live there just for the vibes.

Two young businessmen in theyr 20s have nearly control of the entire city, having bought practically everything in there. The two are so powerful that even the mayor of the city itself seems to have much less authority than the influence of them both.

They are Consort Thebe, a British man, and Patrizio Monty, an Italian man.

You just have to imagine them like the Landgraabs and the Prescott (of LIS).

Consort Thebe is from a royal family, Patrizio Monty is from a noble family instead.

Business is booming, the two are best friends and therefore celebrate every victory together... but something suddenly changes everything. An x reason causes a strong fight between the two.

The two of them split up, the city is literally divided between the Monty's and the Thebe's. For years, the two of them never meet again.

Many, many years later, the two meet by pure chance when both decide they want to buy the same business.

They are both married now. Patrizio married Isabella Pantalone, Consort married Contessa Capp, renouncing his surname (Thebe) for his wife's matriarchal family.

Now, they are elders and have "children" too (adult children!)

Patrizio have three children: Claudio, Antonio and Bianca.

Consort have four children: Goneril, Regan, Kent and Cordelia.

Both are waiting to become grandparents for the first time. Their daughters-in-law and daughters are expecting their first children.

Olivia, Claudio's wife, is pregnant with Mercutio.

Hero, Antonio's wife, is pregnant with Viola.

Cordelia is pregnant with Tybalt.

Tybalt is born. Mercutio is born, Viola, Romeo, Miranda, Juliette and Hermia are born.

This group of children plays together for many years, while their grandparents are still friends.

But a tragedy suddenly strikes the Capp family: Patrizio Monty, out of a hidden grudge, sets fire to a business building which he and Consort had purchased jointly. His excuse was that he wanted to collect a very big insurance, but unaware that the building was not empty, that day, Cordelia Capp, Consort's youngest daughter, lost her life in the flames.

The Capps are rightly in mourning. The Montys are reported to the police by the Capps and taken to court for arson and the murder of Cordelia Capp, but having no evidence, Patrizio is freed from all charges.

The two families split up. Now they despise each other to death. The children are separated.

It's been about 10 years. The children have now grown up and with them the resentment and feud between the two families.

The Capps attend a private school financed by themselves: the Stratford Academy, the Montys attend public school, but Patrizio wants a better education for his grandchildren and so, reluctantly (because the school is financed by the Capps) he is forced to enroll them to the only prestigious institute in the area.

It's a September evening. Patrizio and Isabella invited their entire family to have dinner together and celebrate their grandchildren's entry into private school. But there's a problem: everyone arrives... except Viola.

Hours pass. But it's getting terribly late, Viola doesn't even answer her cell phone. Mercutio and Romeo go to look for her, but only find her cell phone fallen in the alley that she would have taken to her grandparents' house. This means that Viola was coming but...something happened in the meantime.

Everyone at home is terrified. Patrizio doesn't want to call the police because that would draw too much attention to his family. Hero is tired of listening to her father-in-law's stupid reasons and so she calls the police.

After a couple of investigations, following some testimonies, the police are certain: Viola was kidnapped by someone.

Do you want to know the characters infos in another post...?

[lizlives]

This is going to be a very different kind of thing than I usually do, but randomly I've been thinking about how much Dreadnought (from the Nemesis book series) would be a good opponent for a death battle style matchup against Homelander. Unlike Omni-Man or Superman, she's not clearly stronger while still having some things that could potentially be a boon for her such as her lattice ability. Anyways, I randomly decided that I would use their respective r/respect threads on reddit and try and construct evidence based research on who I think would win in a fight. Here is what I've put together! The opening introductions are sampled directly from the original respect threads so credit to them, the rest is written by me. Also, I'm going by the Amazon version of Homelander for this obviously.

“I see a world that is terrified of me. Terrified of someone who would reject manhood. Terrified of a girl who knows who she is and what she’s capable of. They are small, and they are weak, and they will not hurt me ever again. My name is Danielle Tozer. I am a girl. No one is strong enough to take that from me anymore.”

Danielle "Danny" Tozer led a miserable life as a closeted transgender teenage girl in an abusive household. That is, until one day she witnessed the world-renowned hero Dreadnought suffer a fatal attack from a supervillain. With only moments to live and knowing that the world needed his powers, Dreadnought bestowed his powers unto Danielle, granting her not only his superhuman abilities and senses, but also, as a side effect, molding her body into it's ideal form. Reborn, Danielle must learn to accept the weight of the responsibility of not only being the fourth incarnation of Dreadnaught, the attention of being the most publicly visible transgender superhero, but also the challenges involving the presence of the Nemesis and its effect on the world.

"I don't make mistakes. I'm not "just like the rest of you." I'm stronger. I'm smarter. I'm better. I am better. I'm not some weak-kneed fucking crybaby that goes around fucking apologizing all the time. And why the fuck would you want me to be? All my life, people have tried to control me. My whole life. Rich people, powerful people have tried to muzzle me, cancel me, keep me impotent and obedient, like I'm a fucking puppet. You know what? It worked. Because I allowed it to work. And guess what. If they can control me, then you can bet your ass they can control you. They already do. You just don't realize it. I'm done. I am done apologizing. I am done being persecuted for my strength. You people should be thanking Christ that I am who and what I am, because you need me. You need me to save you. You do. I am the only one who possibly can. You're not the real heroes. I'm the real hero. I'm the real hero."

Homelander is the home grown All-American Hero represented by the Vought American Corporation. He is the leader of the Seven and considered the most powerful Supe on Earth. He's the result of a refined compound V fetus that became Vought's first successful superhero. He represents nothing more than deceit, profit and the Vought American Way!

Striking strength: Dreadnought has more control of her strength than Homelander it seems, able to move her strength up and down depending on how careful she wants to be. Homelander more frequently aims to disembowel his enemies with gut punches and does so with general ease, while Danny frequently aims to break bones and does so with relative ease. At near max power she's ripping into heavily armored war machines and flying through box cars strong enough to rip them completely apart. Most of Homelander's striking strength achievements amount to either trading blows with people of near power to him such as Soldier Boy, Black Noir and Butcher on temp-v, or immediately killing and disemboweling regular humans, usually killing them instantly. The only other notable strength achievement he has is listed as "damaging" a concrete wall, a metal fuel container, then a larger metal fuel container, but this doesn't seem like much compared to Danny's ability to rip into reinforced metal, albeit sometimes with some effort, and with much greater control and handling. For this, I give the win to Dreadnought.

Lifting/Throwing: Notably, Danny is able to save a plane with some effort only a few days after getting her powers, though the plane nearly falls apart in the process. The end result was minimal casualties. Homelander is faced with a near identical situation and doesn't even try to save it, likely due to fear of optics and damage to his brand from survivors, but potentially suggesting a lack of genuine ability. Danny has claimed she can bench press a school bus and Homelander seems to be able to escape after being crushed by one, making it kinda a draw in that particular case. Most of the rest of Homelander's achievements amount to being able to throw small objects long distances and being able to lift other people of a similar power level off of him. Meanwhile Danny is able to redirect and lift satellites, jets, train cars, and mechs with a great deal of effort depending. For this, I give the win to Dreadnought.

Blunt Force Durability: Most feats Homelander has shown show him able to withstand a great deal of damage from similar opponents. Danny has had her bones broken by opponents at least as strong as her if not stronger but not completely folded. She takes hits from Red Steel a super on par with her in strength. Sense we've already established she's at least a bit more strong than Homelander at least in terms of her striking ability, I'd say that gives her at least a slight edge in durability? It's a bit hard to say, Homelander rarely ever shows any sort of affect or damage from his fights, but Danny does, and yet she's still able to generally to take most of it to a seemingly greater degree than he does? It really comes down to which you think is better. A person facing smaller threats and barely flinching, or a person facing bigger threats and flinching but not completely folding. It's a bit weird, but my intuition is for Danny due to facing stronger opponents and more regularly.

Piercing Durability: Both seemingly can survive point blank bullets with minimal feeling. Homelander specifically seems to have no feeling at all when faced with bullet damage, while Danny mentions feeling some discomfort, albeit minimal. A person did attempt to slice her neck at but this effort failed, however her ability to withstand piercing is tied to her lattice ability, meaning she can switch it off. This could be a slight advantage to Homelander given he seems to be incapable of receiving any damage regardless. For both of these reasons, I give the edge to Homelander.

Heat Durability: Danny is able to withstand beam sabers with some blistering afterwards, ignores flamethrowers, and endures atmospheric re-entry with some admitted risk. Homelander has taken Butcher's heat blasts and gotten up, was early on able to survive putting his hand in fire, and also was caught in a gas explosion that he escaped unharmed. Dreadnought is able to withstand heat damage with minimal damage while Homelander seems to be unharmed by any heat. Homelander wins this one.

Speed: Lots of specific numbers, but just based on what we've seen them do, either based on the compared speed of known jets or based on directly stated speed, both are capable of breaking the speed of sound, but Danny seems to just have higher speed numbers in general. She's also theoretically able to fly faster in areas with less wind-resistance. Also worth noting, she has dodged multiple laser beams in the past, only getting tagged a few times in the process, meaning dodging Homelander's single heat blasts might not be much of a problem for her. For this, Danny gets the upper hand I think.

Other: The lattice ability possessed by Danny seems to be much more advanced than Homelander's x-ray vision, able to see down to molecules, not to mention able to influence them at that level.

Conclusion: Homelander's main advantage in this fight might be his laser vision. Danny has been shown to be impacted by concentrated heat and some mild impact from piercing. Besides that she takes blunt force trauma decently well given her opponents and seems much stronger and faster than him overall. I would say this would be one of the most difficult fights of her life, but I think she would make it out on top due to the edge her lattice ability gives her with healing and molecular manipulation. If cornered, and this would absolutely be a desperate move, it might be theoretically possible to give him brain damage, as she was able to untangle one consciousness in someone's mind from another. That suggest some sort of ability to manipulate minds, if only to unravel them.

Also worth noting, there's a small precedent for Compound V still leaving someone's interior weak to damage (i.e. Translucent) but at one point Danny drinks enough cesium and strychnine to “light her up like Chernobyl”, and remains unaffected by it, suggesting her body is more densely protected while technically having weaknessess Homelander's less dense defense doesn't.

Ultimately, I would also say just her attitude makes her a strong contender. She regularly deals with opponents who are similarly obsessive and intimidating much like Homelander and are at least as strong as her and she seems generally unphased by them, only responding with more energy alot of the time. Homelander is going to rely on intimidation to an extent, something Danny is familar with. Not to mention, once she realizes he doesn't measure up to her in some key ways, this intimidation will work even less, thus giving her a psychological edge. Her bravado has a decent chance of throwing him off, especially the longer the fight goes on. Homelander being emotionally volatile makes him, well, more volatile, but it also makes him unbalanced and sloppy, something Danny could theoretically take advantage of. She has demonstrated in the past being able to make smart calculative decisions even when under immense pressure. Able to muster up the mental fortitude to heal a golf ball sized hole through her whole torso despite not being able to breath and struggling to retain consciousness. The same could not be said for Homelander, who is extremely easy to undermine emotionally if faced with any sort of genuine threat, even partially. For me, I say the winner is Dreadnought.

Overall, I would just really love to see what kind of verbal sparring these two would have. Righteous anger vs childish rage. Spirited passion vs insecure posturing. It would be so interesting just to see them interact. Also, read the Nemesis books! They're really good!

[x-enocyon]

Snippet *Sunday

Or, well. Technically snippet Monday now. Tagged by @bleumanouche, thank you Bleu!

No pressure tags: @druidgroves @hotwifeluigi @bigfan-fanfic

Grabbed this snippet from a scene in which Wes and Avery are 19 & 18 and in the aftermath of a falling out with each other. Both of them cope with their emotions poorly at this age. Avery does it more violently. Wes is the patron saint of repression. I have a lot of fun writing scenes while these two are younger because it really shows how much they've grown by the time they're 30.

And as always Wes belongs to @hotwifeluigi

And so Avery gets himself a shot. And another, and another, and another. 

The more Avery drinks the louder he gets, the louder he gets the more other bar patrons want to drink with him. It’s all jovial celebration but it’s a thinly veiled vicious cycle, smiles and laughter encourage poisoning the well. A cheap excuse to justify the means of self-medication, still, to everyone but Avery he’s having a lovely night. And who could blame them? It’s New Years, ain’t no threat in having a good time.

The momentum carries up to a finite point; Avery exists in a state of perpetually teetering over a ledge. All it takes is one nudge and he’ll tumble, push finds its shove when a man built like a bull decides faggot is a good way to describe the way Avery talks. 

One black eye, a busted lip and two sets of bloodied knuckles later, Avery finds himself on the curb outside. His saving grace was the firm belief that fighting dirty is fair game if an opponent really deserves it, dropping slurs in a bar meets that qualifier. They both got kicked out of the bar when it really came down to it, but Avery’s content with knowing that motherfucker took a boot heel to the balls. 

Avery spits to his side, saliva marbled with blood colors a small spot in the dirt. He grunts, sighs from behind his teeth and lifts a cigarette to his lips. The orange glow briefly fills the dark night air, Avery perks up when he hears the door open behind him. 

“What the hell were you thinkin’ pullin’ a stunt like that?” Even while drunker than a cow on a diet of fermented corn he’d recognize Wes’s voice. Oh, so now he can tolerate being near Avery. 

“Dude had it comin’,” Avery says with all the nonchalance in the world.

Wes stands over him with his hands on his hips. Avery tilts his head up and back to stare at him, he can’t help but smirk a little when he gets a good look at that pursed-lip, low-browed expression. He carries a similar cadence to a horse with his ears all pinned back. Careful, he might kick.

“How d’you figure he had it comin’? I watched the whole damn thing from the other side’a the bar, far as I know he mighta just looked atcha wrong and you took a swing,” Wes uses one hand to make frustrated, vague gestures as he talks, “Which, if I’m bein’ quite honest, Mr. Moreno, I wouldn’t put such a thing past you.”

Avery takes another slow inhale off his cigarette. Flicks the ashes into the dirt, mixing with his spit like gold flakes in resin. “Call me a faggot, get your teeth busted out. It’s as simple as that.”

“Oh,” Wes breathes as his expression cools to something a grade calmer. He stands there statuesque for a short spell, evidently unsure just what to say. He clears his throat and adds, “I guess it’s for the best then that you uh, you stood up for yourself.”

Standing over Avery while he’s sat there on the curb, Avery decides he should invite Wes to do anything other than loom. “Want a smoke?” He says as he pulls one from the pack he has in his coat pocket.

“No, that’s a’right,” Wes declines and Avery isn’t sure if the feeling cropping up in his chest immolates or if it’s so cold that it burns, somewhere in the back of his head he’d hoped Wes would sit with him out here. “I had somebody waitin’ for me back inside. Just wanted to see what’d happened with you.”

 Avery finds that he has nothing to say, silence lingers between them until Wes opens his mouth again.

“You plan on comin’ back in anytime?” Wes asks.

“Nope,” Avery responds simply, cigarette held up to his mouth.

“A’right. You make it back to the room safe then, okay?” Wes’s voice sounds so strained that Avery could almost mistake his tone for guilt. He makes it a few feet closer to the door before he pauses— again— hesitating seems to be a skill he’s gotten good at. “Want me to walk back with you?”

“Nope,” he lies through his teeth. 

[bringerofdeathandtheapocolypse]

So I've been on a Gajeel fic binge right now (It was originally a Fraxus one but then somewhere along the lone I picked up interest in Gajeel fics and changed course) and I was reading one fic and a little something jumped out to me. It was a fic that was set somewhere after the 7 year gap and in it mentioned Jet and Droy still not liking Gajeel. I'm here to argue why that isn't the case. (And also complain how we never actually get to see much of Gajeel being around them)

So def during Fantasia, they don't like Gajeel. That's obvious. I would say they start to change their view of him a little when they realise he was letting both them and Laxus beat him up with no pushback so that they wouldn't see him as a threat and would accept him as part of the guild along with him taking a pretty nasty hit to protect Levy despite already being in bad condition before hand (I do hope at some point if it ever came out what happened, that someone told Laxus off for that but if not, he did still get punished for his actions later) I wouldn't say they liked him but I think that's when they might have stopped being angry that he was there.

This is supported when around Tenrou, the only objections they have about Levy teaming up with Gajeel is that they weren't picked. We don't see them say anything about Gajeel potentially hurting her (Something the audience knows he won't do since he has used his own body to protect her from Laxus' lightning twice) And while sure that could have happened off screen, its not something we can confirm either since again, it isn't on screen.

After the 7 year time skip, they def seem to have forgiven Gajeel since we see them (once) go after Gajeel and Lily on a job and during Kotsh, they all seem fine with working together (Even if Lily and Levy are there as a kind of buffer) and don't appear to show any malice towards any of them (I will complain about Lily acting like Gajeel is a child earlier in the arc though because he is a grown man and if he decides he doesn't want to fight Laxus and doesn't show up by sunset then that's his business) I honestly can't remember exactly their reactions to Gajeel's fights in GMG since its been awhile since I've seen the arc in its entirety. I do remember that they were teamed up during Tartarous though but not much was shown there either.

But most definitely by the time Alveraz comes around, they are friends since when Gajeel "comes back from the dead" and starts defending Jet and Droy, Droy is telling Gajeel that he doesn't need to risk his life to save them, that they know he's been through a lot and that he should protect himself. Gajeel literally calls them his friends when he declines the offer to save himself and both Jet and Droy are happy at being called friends by Gajeel. They clearly at that point, like Gajeel and have forgiven him for what he did in PL.

The only sad thing about this is the lack of screentime they get together. Most of it involves Levy being there as like a buffer or the reason both Jet and Droy and Gajeel would be there which is kinda a shame because Levy wasn't the only one hurt by Gajeel. They were too. I wish we got to see some screentime of Jet and Droy being in a situation with Gajeel that didn't involve Levy because I like Gajeel being friends with them. Its sweet and a nice full circle for his character and gives Jet and Droy more than just being Levy's teammates.

Like maybe have Gajeel teach them self defence classes(Like a lot of people believe he did with Levy) so that they can defend themselves if someone were to ever surprise attack them again. I personally like the idea of him giving them knives made of his own metal (Something I headcanon he does for the people he cares about so that if they don't have magic at their disposal and are in a tight situation, they have a knife that won't break to most if any metals) but there are other options too.

This is just me giving out evidence to back up why Jet, Droy and Gajeel are friends and should both be portrayed as such and have been given more screentime. (I do hope we get to see their reactions to finding out Levy is expecting in 100 years quest and that they congratulate Gajeel too)

[cindrikat]

Randomly unlocked a core memory while I was at work and I can't stop thinking about it

When I was 11-12, I watched Mewtwo Strikes Back for the first time

I had watched other Pokemon movies already, but accidentally skipped over the very first one; loved Pokemon 2k at the time and enjoyed MSB just as much, but with an added bonus of brainstorming a crazy what if idea after I finished watching it

Around that time, I was also avidly watching DBZ Kai; and just so happened to watch MSB not very long after seeing Super Saiyan for the first time

So kid me came up with the idea of "What if instead of losing the will to fight after Ash gets turned to stone, Pikachu just fucking snaps?"

Memory is a bit hazy after that because I was too busy hyping myself up after remembering it, but having the knowledge I have now I think I have the perfect vision that kid me would be proud of-

So imagine this: Once Ash is petrified, Pikachu approaches him and cries as he tries to revive him like normal, then as Pikachu's tears are hitting the ground, lightning strikes around the area, striking more frequently and barely missing people and pokemon alike Once Pikachu turns to face Mewtwo, he looks pissed, tears still streaming down his face; Pikachu then shouts at the top of his lungs as a giant lightning bolt strikes him from the sky, a call back to the ending of S1E1 where he saves Ash from a flock of Spearow When the dust of the lightning strike clears, Pikachu is looking pretty different, having grown fangs and horns, his fur frizzed out and now colored a dark saturated red-orange and white, even his own electricity changed to be red instead of yellow Pikachu hasn't technically evolved, these changes are fleeting as evident by how he looks to be flickering between this new look and his normal self at first, but he plans to fight as much as he can while he can maintain that state

Basically what I'm describing is Pikachu almost becoming Gorochu, I always imagined Gorochu being part dark type too, so that'd be a big part of how he'd be giving Mewtwo a run for their money

Hell, I even thought about Gorochu being implemented as the final evolution of a regional variant Pichu/Pikachu evolution line where Pichu stays as a pure electric type, then gains dark after evolving into Pikachu

As far as abilities go for this line, they'd still have Static as their first ability and Lightning Rod as their hidden ability, but as for a secondary ability for Pichu and Pikachu, I feel like they could make good use out of Reckless especially if they use Volt Tackle, but for Gorochu, Reckless gets replaced by Sheer Force

I like to think Gorochu would get a signature move too in the form of what I'm calling Vengeance Bolt; it's a special electric type move with 65 base power with a chance to paralyze, and its power boosts based on how many teammates have fainted, gaining 15 more power per fainted ally, pair that with Sheer Force and it'll shred through most foes when it needs to most-- and I think it'd go so hard if this move referenced Goku's angry Kamehameha; Gorochu charging up all that electricity into their arm, the color of that electricity changing from yellow to deep red and blasting the opponent with it

Okay, crazy concept hyperfixation ramble over, but holy fuck I'd love to see Gorochu become real some day

[asoulofatlantis]

Imagine a time travel scenario where Shirley and Cedric's kid were sent to past (someone brought up time travelling kids on. A fanfic thread) how does randy during crossbell duology or cs3 react to the fact they have a kid in future (no spoilers)

(I wish I had any spoilers for a question like this XD)

This sounds like the plot of FireEmblem Awakening. The Trails world has gone into ruin because of an evil... uh... something and so the heroes AND antagonists as well as villains' children travel to the past to make their future better by saving their parents...

That WOULD be so much fun, seriously XD Imagine Lloyds son and Reans twins show up and EVERYONE is waiting for the moment they finally reveal who their mother is and they just don't? *lol* (But I am sure that one of Reans twins is blond and the other one has red eyes and SOMETHING about Lloyds son just looks like Elie but they never say it out loud, so, who knows?)

*achem* Sorry, but the idea is really interesting XD

But back to the topic at hand....

I found the timing you chose extremely interesting because pre CS4 Randy does not even know of any connection between Shirley and Cedric. I guess that at first, he wouldn't believe it. I mean, once again Orlandos have strong genes, so Shirley being the mother should be obvious from afar with that red hair but the freaking crown prince of Erebonia is the father? Never! He is supposed to become Emperor one day, he would never have a kid with someone from a dangerous Jeager-Corps like the Red Constellation. Or any Jeager-Corps really. Also... how would they know each other? Nah. There must be a mistake. I guess over time he would notice the advantages of the Arnor-Blood, which is apparently a shitload of Mana and strong spells. Maybe that Kid is even fighting with a Sword like Cedric instead of some crazy weapon like Shirley does. With that evidence and the kids word, how long can you deny it? I think maybe at first Randy would think Shirley got pregnant while drunk and just told the poor kid that Cedric was the father because it was just some random drunkard-dude that she can not even remember or something like this. I think when the realization hits that this was neither a lie nor a mistake he will be in total shock at first. Wondering how the freaking hell that happened... and why.

He will protect the child either way of course, even if it wasn't Shirleys child. It is a child after all. But it is also family to boot. And I guess the child being Cedrics will also make it a bigger reason to protect it, because freaking hell, if something happened to it, what will happen to Erebonia? (I mean Randy likely assumed it is a bastard but it could still end up an heir to the throne so better safe than sorry.)

So he will go through like some stages of anger (about the lie), shock (about it not being a lie), confusion (how and why that happened) and then reculant acceptance and with that an even stronger will to protect the child.

I could imagine in the beginning Randy considers preventing Shirley and Cedric from meeting or at least getting together in whatever shape or form but in the end he likes the kid and the kid might talk about its parent in a way that shows that they have grown in a way they might not have without the child (and each other) so he decides to let things happen the way they do, but still tries to save the future of whatever else that kid came to the past for.

[buckybarnesdiaries]

a piece of cake

© @jamesbrnes

bucky barnes x reader. ⎢ masterlist.

Something happens at Shuri's birthday party that leads to a heated fight.

word count: 3k words. (fuck, it worth every damn word)

warnings/tags: nsfw, +18!!! angry jealous sex, let's start there. unprotected sex, oral sex (face fucking and ridding), fingering, brief daddy!kink, brief praise!kink, language, cursing, handcuffing, mention of bodily fluids, and probably i'm forgetting something else, i just lost my mind. bucky being the cutest and loving man on earth at the end.

author notes: none of my stories contain reader’s body descriptions to be inclusive.

join the tag list here.

You had never been so quiet, but you knew that opening your mouth only could cause a storm inside the car, on your way back home. Believing you could have a pinch of luck, Bucky wouldn't notice that something was raving you mad since the moment you watched him letting another woman give him a spoon of cake. Straight to his mouth. You almost choked on your drink, talking to Shuri about how excited she was to celebrate her birthday in New York, when you witnessed the scene hearing their laughs and watching how they dared to touch his metal arm constantly. Your boyfriend was talking with some of his old friends from Wakanda, not even knowing he made friends there. He never said a word about it. Even so, they didn't have the right to flirt with him. Unless he didn't say anything about you.

But Bucky wasn't stupid. Or at least, not like you thought. Gazing you by the corners of his blue eyes, he was conscious that something was going wrong. He licked his upper lip briefly, slowly. He tasted the waters putting a hand on your thigh, which was your favorite gesture while he was driving, deriving with your fingers laced and him placing kisses on the back of your hand. But you didn't move an inch, still staring through the copilot's window with your elbow nailed there and your chin resting on your knuckles.

“What's wrong?”

“Nothing”.

Your passive tone and the lie as a response caused him to frown, pulling over the car to focus on you. He turned on his seat and placed a hand behind the headrest of yours.

“Spit it”.

You couldn't help but raise an eyebrow ironically, looking at him for a second. If he had to ask it was because he wasn't really seeing the dilemma there.

“I'm just tired and I wanna go home, James. That's all”.

James. James. You did it unconsciously, but he didn't take it as an innocent manner of calling him. Unexpressive, the soldier joined the highway driving faster than he used to. You had pissed him off, but it wasn't your problem. He had hurt your feelings with something he didn't give any importance to. The only thing you wanted was to take a shower, put on your comfier pajamas and go to sleep, probably you'd see tomorrow that situation differently than today and you could move on from your insecurities and the jealousy running through your veins.

You arrived at your apartment in record time, keeping the car inside the parking under the building. You removed the seat belt to wear your leather jacket and grab your purse on your feet, stepping out when you were ready. But Bucky stayed inside, just turning off the engine. He didn't have any intention of leaving it, maintaining his hands tightly gripped around the wheel. You ignored him as soon as you couldn't pretend you were just tired anymore. It was the first time something like that happened and you were having a strong desire to throw your guts up.

Three minutes later you were under the warm water with your forehead resting against the cold wall and your eyes closed. Maybe you were overreacting and the rational, mature behavior would be to go to talk with him, tell your boyfriend what made you feel upset. Sighing as you nodded two times, determined to put the cards on the table, you shut off the faucet and walked out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel.

“Oh, fucking hell!” You growled because of the scare of your life when you found Bucky already in your shared room.

He had his back supported on the wall, a leg flexed, and his hands behind himself. No expression on his face, but expecting an explanation from you. You were hoping for something from him too, maybe I don't know what I've done to make you feel like that, can you give me a clue? He just stared at you in silence, drying the pearls of water decorating your body before wearing a pair of black panties and your forgotten pajamas instead of one of his t-shirts impregnated on his scent.

“Com'ere”. Bucky whispered, stretching his flesh hand on air when you were about to go to sleep.

“No”.

Well, that wasn't the proper way to talk like grown adults. You crossed both arms on your chest, standing next to your side of the bed.

“What'd you say?” He squinted incredulous, slowly standing from the wall, pretending you hadn't uttered that word.

“I said no, you fucking punk”.

“The hell d'you think you're talking to, darling?”

“To the cretin who let other women flirt and touch him”. You replied with evident annoyance. “Why don't you go to show them your daddy's skills, uh? Sure I can find someone who respects me in the meantime”.

Suddenly, a grimace you hadn't seen before on him appeared like a thunderbolt. You weren't sure if you just made him feel more furious or if you just broke his heart. But before you could figure it out, Bucky shorted the distance between both in two fast strides and his hands gripped your throat and the back of your neck respectively, pinning you to the closest wall and tossing the lamp on your nightstand to the floor. You complained slightly —with his tongue wildly invading your mouth— because of the strength he used to put you against the wall.

You tried to push him away, to not fall into his charmings, but he made your mind blank when his fingers were firmly nailed in your ass and his body was accommodated between your legs. Your fiery provoked a bulge under his pants so painful that in every rock against your core he wasn't sure if it hurt or if it was some kind of pleasure he couldn't handle. Out of breath, Bucky attacked your neck, digging his teeth in your neck with so much passion that you screamed delighted his full name while pulling his hair. That gesture drove him insane, losing the less sanity he had at that point. With just a push, your boyfriend ripped off your shirt to strip you, in anticipation of your panties suffering the same fate.

Bucky threw you to the mattress on your abdomen, perfectly positioned to what was about to happen. He was so eager, so desperate for showing you what he was feeling that he didn't lose time taking off his clothes, just undoing his belt and unzipping his jeans to pull them down to his ankles along his boxers. You heard him spitting in his hand to use it as lube, although you were sufficiently soaked and ready for your Buck that neither of you needed his saliva. He rammed his dolorous erection into your cunt, crashing his pelvis and pressing it against your ass with all his strength, causing you to drown a loud cry in the sheets.

Tangling his fingers with yours and lacing your arms around your neck, putting all his weight onto your back, Bucky pounded you with an insanely quick rhythm, not giving you any chance to mold your throbbing walls around his length. Your pleased vocals echoed inside your room in total sync with the hits to your g-spot. Your body received with every one of them soft cramps mixed with pain and pleasure, making you roll your eyes and tear your throat.

“'S that wh— what you wanted, uh?” Bucky snarled against the back of your neck, totally gone, not giving you a break or showing any mercy.

“Fuck, no…” You replied, challenging him.

He swallowed a rough moan, wrapping his cold fingers around your throat while using the other to pull back your hair and arch your body. “Don' fucking… lie to me, doll… You wan— wanted your daddy to make you… feel desired over tho— those women”.

And yes, he was right. More or less. But you didn't expect him to react like that. Bucky was rabidly fucking you, moving the bed from its position with every angry thrust into your pussy. You knew you weren't going to last for too long if he continued impaling you against the mattress, just like that. But you both had to recognize that it was the best session of sex of your life.

“You were… fucking mad watch— watching 'em touch my arm… your arm, right?”

You whined at the brutality he used to push his hard cock beyond your limits, holding it there as he tilted your head to crash his lips on yours. Bucky devoured them until they were shiny, swollen, slightly ached because of the bit he left on your bottom one.

“If you don't tell me… the truth… I swear I'm not gonna let you come”. The whisper fell into your ear with such a raspy tone of voice, conscious of him being very capable.

“It was… your fucking fault, James. Not… Not mine”. You grunted, feeling him going a little deeper. “I di— didn't let anybody flirt with me… as if you didn't exist”.

That was the truth, but the wrong answer for him. Suddenly, Bucky pulled out his dick covered in your arousal, freeing you from any grip. A pause that only lasted the time he took to grab the handcuffs from your nightstand to place them in your wrists and secure them around the headboard. Now you were under his total control, defying him by strongly closing your legs and frowning at him, panting and sweating.

“Lemme tell you something”. Your boyfriend said, dangerously crawling over the bed till reaching your knees and forcing them to be separated, wide spread for him. “If you think I was flirting, but you didn't see… how uncomfortable I was… This situation is not my fault”.

The tables were turned as he finished his sentence, settling himself between your legs yet kneeling to raise your ass above his lap. “Not so mouthy now, are you, doll?”

You wanted to speak back, to say something after having a second to reconsider the reason why you were so angrier at him when Bucky pushed you down and rammed his dick back to the place it belonged. You forced unconsciously your hands gripped, wanting to put them on him —wherever—. As soon as he handcuffed you, your desire for touching him used to be suffocating. But you were the one who played from the start, instead of telling him how you were feeling about that situation at Shuri's party.

Bucky didn't even let you kiss him, stabilizing you on top with an arm around your waist and his cold hand holding the back of your head. His hips rocked straight to your g-spot once and once, making you lose any kind of control over your body as your boyfriend didn't have any compassion, needing to find relief to his sorrowful erection by cumming inside your clenching walls. You were driving him crazy, maintaining your eye contact at all moments and almost drinking your delighted, obscene crying, aware that only him could cause you to be so dirty.

“Feels good, uh…? You like it?” Your boyfriend brushed your lips with his, depriving you of his kisses or any other touch. “Bec— 'cause you take your daddy... so damn good, baby girl… So tight… so tight you could kill me”.

“Yes, da— daddy”. You whimpered nodding your head. “Only you… can fuck me li— like that… Only you”.

“That's it… that's it, oh, fuck… fuck, doll”.

You saw him roll that pair of beautiful blue eyes to the back of his head, feeling Bucky's thighs tensing under your legs. You didn't want anything else than making him cum, after overthinking about how he felt, and not about what you witnessed. He was right, more or less. He was still being so innocent in those kinds of situations that he used to feel like a scared kid.

You suddenly fell back to reality when the emptiness sensation invaded you. Bucky pulled out his length from you again, causing you to beg in silence for not denying you the orgasm you were about to reach. But he warned you. Bucky asked you to tell him the truth and you chose to challenge him. Letting you sit on the mattress, he flexed a leg to guide his twitching cock to your mouth, not needing to tell you what he wanted you to do. You just parted your lips, receiving him without protesting, curling your fingers when he forced your limits, and positioned both hands on your head. Twirling your tongue around his base as you could, with your cavity completely invaded, Bucky provoked you a strong gag. A gesture that led to his warm seed being spilled down your throat.

“Fuck my life, baby girl!” He couldn't help but howl driven by the pleasure as you coughed and made vibrate his sensitive skin.

Just holding his dick trapped by your lips for a second, he freed your mouth, taking his time to admire you swallowing his cum and showing afterward your tongue. God, you looked so beautiful disheveled, with teary eyes and swollen lips because of the effort.

“Want me to tell you something else?” Bucky asked while cleaning the sweat in his forehead with the back of his arm, taking the small key to liberating you with his free hand.

You didn't reply, not needing to, as he rubbed your wrists to comfort your skin before lying by your side.

“Com'ere”. He whispered, yet trying to recover your breathings. Bucky wrapped you with his flesh arm, rubbing his iron fingers up and down your tense belly, creating a contrast that caused you goosebumps. “'M so sorry for making you feel like that”.

He kissed you. Slowly, passionate, tasting his own juices mixed with your saliva. Caressing your tongue with the tip of his, and no rush. You felt his digits touring down your skin, till finding your throbbing and needed clit. You weren't able to hold back a sweet moan when he circled his fingertip over your sensible pearl, gladly drinking your vocals.

“When I wanted to react… she was putting that damn spoon into my mouth. It felt horrible, doll, I promise”. He murmured, venturing his long cold finger to part your folds and sink it inside you —moaning at the fulfill sensation—. “You always save me from those awkward situations… but you were having fun with Shuri and I didn't want to interrupt you”.

You were feeling like shit, looking at him through your eyelids as he curved a second finger into your cunt and increased the pace of the pounds with his hand made of vibranium. Bucky spread some gentle kisses all around your face, ending with a tender bite to your lips.

“When you told me you wanted to go home, I felt a huge relief… 'Cause that was everything I wanted. Go home with you. Maybe watch a movie… cuddle… fall asleep on the sofa”.

“Oh, God, Bucky”. You wept onto his mouth, as soon as a third finger filled you, nailing his hand in the perfect position to be moved up and down. “I'm so— sorry, Buck… I'm sorry”.

“Fuck, no”. He let out, thrusting you harder, faster, creating a melody of filthy sloppy sounds while your moans were louder and louder. “I should stop 'em, I didn't… I didn't. But I respect you more than anything, doll… I love you with all my heart. I care 'bout you, 'bout your feelings… Can you forgive me? Can you… Can you cum for me?”

You nodded your head running out of words, seeing your boyfriend snaking his body down the bed to between your shaky legs, yet having his fingers knuckles deep inside you. “Keep 'em open for your man”.

The blow to your abused cunt provoked you a lash up to your backbone, landing your hands on his head as Bucky sank his face straight to your center. His digits fucked you savagely, while his tongue took control of your swollen pearl —sucking, licking, kissing, pulling it back—. He wasn't going to deny that pleasure to you, quite the opposite. You pressed unconsciously his face a little closer to your pussy, swinging your hips and riding his mouth when his caresses and his pushes became too much for you.

Bucky made you cum harder than ever, crying his name till you didn't have any strength and you were just a sack of bones under his expert mouth, devouring you and drinking your juices as if it was the elixir of life. And when he was satiated, you glanced at him using the tip of his tongue to trail a path up crossing your abdomen, the gap between your breasts, your throat, until kissing you again getting comfortable on top of you. It was a kiss full of love, and guiltiness, and necessity, and pure devotion for you.

“Did I hurt you with what I said?” You murmured, still enraptured by the fireworks fluttering within your belly.

“This isn't 'bout me”. Bucky clicked his tongue, hiding his face into your sweaty neck. “This is 'bout what I let happen”.

“That doesn't answer my question, Buck… I'm sorry about what I said. I was just… I feel insecure". You confessed stroking his scalp and back with your hands, lacing your legs together. “I didn't mean it. I would never try to… find someone who respects me more than you do. That's impossible. And not talking about how much you love me”.

“I love you with every inch of myself”. He swore, he promised, raising his face to look straight at your eyes. “I can't imagine a life without you”.

“Me either… Your love makes me feel alive”.

Bucky left one last tender kiss on your lips before suddenly standing up and holding you onto his arms to carry you to the bathroom and take a shower together —wash your hair, worship your body again as if it was the last thing he was going to do—.

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[getouswh0re]

Howdy!! Could I request Yandere Gojo and Geto from jjk, with a special-grade sorcerer reader? Ty in advance, I really like your writing!✨

an; thank you for the love ˊᗜˋ💕 here are some drabbles for them separately, hope you liked it :3

warnings; yandere, gore, blood, unhealthy relationships, obsessive behaviour. do not condone such actions in real life, and please kindly read at your own discretion.

THE night was quiet, almost serene, totally at odds with the glowering menace in Geto’s eyes. Gone was the subtle gentleness in those inky slits you had grown to adore; in its place, inscrutable darkness bore holes into the back of your skull as you shuddered beneath the curse user’s glare.

It was still Geto in the flesh: the same face, unique hairstyle and robes he’d wear just like any other day. Yet it was no longer the special-grade sorcerer whom you once knew and loved. You never knew what caused such a drastic change in him; all you wished for, was for the old Geto to return, hoping that all of this was none other than another nightmare.

“Suguru? W-What are you doing at my door? It’s already late, you should be taking some rest ...” A hint of dismay — maybe sadness, ghosted his expression when the raven picked up the quivers in your tone. Nonetheless, a gentle smile adorns his face, emerging from the shadows to reveal himself as the raven explained himself.

“Why? Can’t I come and visit you?” He cocked his head, a playful smirk evident. Geto never ceased to make your heart flutter; perhaps it was his flirtatious nature and mellow personality that drew you towards him, but even after being one of his closest friends for a long time, at times you felt like you couldn’t understand him at all, with this being one of the occurrences.

You chortled, about to invite the raven into your apartment when warning bells started to ring incessantly in your head, warning you that there was something awry about him once you caught a glimpse at his clothes imbrued with crimson splatters.

“Sugu ... what is that on your clothes?”

“Oh this? Satoru splashed me with red paint, it’s not much of a big deal.” You knew he was lying, instantly picking up the revolting metallic stench from the stains. Dread filled your mind while you staggered back, keeping a distance from the male who gave you a perplexed look in return.

“You and I know a smell like this isn’t red paint ...” Trying to be as calm as you could, you retracted a step backwards with every stride Geto took. “Be honest with me. What on earth have you done?”

“Sharp as ever, y/n.” A condescending look took over as Geto finally revealed his true colours. “The world needs to change. All these monkeys are the reasons why curses exist. They can’t even control their cursed energy properly, and we sorcerers have to battle with death every time a curse poses as a threat to them. Their ignorance is revolting in its core, and I believe to make the world a better place, it would be better off to remove all of them out of sight. Don’t you agree —“

“What the fuck are you thinking?” Unable to withhold your seething rage, you snapped at the curse user. “This isn’t what sorcerers should do! What you are doing is of no difference from a brutal murderer Geto! I can’t fucking believe you!”

“How can you think of me like they y/n? That hurts my heart you know.”

Before you could even scream, he was already inches away, blood-stained hands caressing your cheeks tenderly as if you were made of fragile glass. “I just want to make life easier, there’s no need for us to put our lives at stake every time we exorcise curses. Right? We could be enjoying peaceful days together, free from the dangers of this world ...”

“Stop! Your delusions are sick, this isn’t you at all Geto! I don’t know what is wrong with your brain, but it’s never too late to turn back —“

Suddenly, your vision darkened — your consciousness sinking into a bottomless void as the raven carried you in a bridal style, the two of you vanishing into the tenebrosity of the night.

“And I thought you were the only one who’d understand me ... love.” He shook his head in disapproval, but the disappointment in his eyes were eventually replaced with glee as Geto stared at your limp figurine in his arms.

“But don’t worry, what needs to be done will be done. For our sake, for our future together.”

EVERYTHING would always be uglier up close.

At first glance, one might find Gojo Satoru a perfect man: with talent, looks and wealth all in one package. Men envy the greatest sorcerer of all time, and women grovel at his feet, desperate for a sprinkle of the man’s attention. Despite living the life everyone dreams to be in, the heir of the Gojo clan couldn’t care less about how the world spins around his axis. For the sorcerer has his eyes set on something much more worthy of his time and effort. 

He is a man of determination, willing to achieve his goals with whatever means possible — even resorting to dirtying his own hands. It is such an irony that underneath the charming façade, such a disgusting soul exists.

“For the last time Satoru, I am not interested in dating anybody.” Heaving an exasperated sigh, you politely shoved the lavish presents piling up at your front door back into the man’s arms. 

“I feel really flattered that you have feelings for me, I truly do. But I’m sure you know as sorcerers, we fight with death every day. If there is any regret that I’d dread to have ... it would be to leave everything I love behind. And I would rather die alone than leave my partner suffering on their own.” 

“That’s what I love about you y/n.” 

A loving sigh slipping from his tongue, Gojo took a step forward, cupping your face with utter delicacy. Yet you felt more than revolted by his sudden intimacy, struggling to writhe away from his tightening grip.

“You are always so kind, so considerate ... something I cannot find in anyone else other than you. But think about it sweetheart! You and I are both special-grade sorcerers, but I can protect you from the curses — at the same time giving you the moon and stars. We could move in together, you wouldn’t even need to work anymore. Why make your life harder when I could simply provide for you? Seriously —” 

“S-Satoru, I hate to tell you this but you’re pushing the boundaries right now.” Trying to reason with the sorcerer, you spoke with a harsher tone, praying that Gojo would get the hint and respect your choices. “You’re out of your mind! And why would you force 

Nonetheless, your words fell on deaf ears. 

“Now this is not how you should react when someone offers you their heart and soul.” The light in his cerulean eyes darkened, cyan hues glimmering beneath the penumbra of nightfall. “And I know you are a smart young woman, so you’d come to realise what is in your best interest. I really don’t want to do this to you y/n; but if you are trying to push me away from your life again, I would have to keep you to my side — the hard way.” 

With that, he pulled down his blindfold.

You were aware of how dangerous Infinite Void was; still, experiencing it first-hand was one hell of a terrifying experience. Fleeting images flashed across your vision as if all of this was in fastforward motion, depicting your fate in the past along with future. As certain blurred vestiges showed up, your heart sank in indescribable despair; moments of you and none other than Gojo were portrayed — blood splattered across the labyrinth of streets in Tokyo, your trembling hands intertwined with his, platinum bands wrapped around both of your ring fingers, adorable kids that were exact replicas of both of you. At this point, you could feel the will to fight back dwindling to fickle embers. 

No matter what you did, Gojo would always find his way back to you.

Even if he had to tear the world apart with his hands. 

[cerebrumrott]

Obey Me! Shall we Date?

Brothers x MC

Synopsis: Reaction to one of the other brothers insulting you

Lucifer

It had started out as a nice evening for once. Though of course that would never last with his brothers. Levi was at Mammon's throat all through dinner over some dumb figurine he was missing.

The argument quickly escalated into a full on screaming match, just as Lucifer was about to tell them both to shut up or take their pissing contest else where. You had chimed in asking them rather politely not to fight at the table.

Leviathan on his war path didn't stop to think before insults were thrown your way. "Shut up you worthless human and stay out of it for once!" Levi had snapped.

Everyone almost leapt out of their chairs in fear when Lucifer's fist loudly collided with the table silencing the room. "Leviathan you will apologize and go to your room." Lucifer said clearly a command and not a suggestion.

Levi now scared and embarrassed muttered a rushed apology to you before scampering away his tail literally tucked between his legs as he had been so startled by Lucifer's intervention that he had poofed into his demon form.

Once dinner was over Lucifer pulled you aside to ask if you were okay. With reassurance from you that you are indeed fine and didn't take anything that was said to heart he can go about his night without worry.

Mammon

It had been a rather stressful day for everyone in the house. Tensions were high and it resulted in Mammon acting as the punching bag for his younger siblings. Not that he really minded in all honesty as he knew they were just letting off steam and didn't mean anything they said.

Asmodeus was currently laying into him as the two sat in the living room. Mammon admittedly antagonizing Asmodeus into saying some particularly mean things as he just played stupid further annoying his little brother.

You had been an innocent bystander, sitting on the other side of the room just watching the whole spectacle before you whilst working on a school project. Mammon had something particularly weird in response to one of Asmo's outbursts which had pulled a small laugh out of you.

Though that had been enough for Asmodeus to turn his frustration on you in that moment. "Shut up you ugly bitch!" Asmodeus snapped but as soon as the words left his mouth the regret seeped into his features.

Mammon was far past playing now as he rose from his seat glaring down at Asmodeus. "Apologize Asmodeus." Mammon nearly shouted. Asmodeus was taking far too long for Mammon's taste to apologize and it was quickly angering him to the point he could feel his teeth grinding together.

Asmodeus quickly apologized to you after seeing how serious Mammon was before excusing himself. You weren't so much as hurt by the words as you were just taken aback by the sudden turn on you.

Mammon none the less joined you were you were sitting practically draping himself over you as he pulled you into his arms. "Don't worry MC the great Mammon is here there is no need to cry." "I'm not crying-" "Shhhh, it's okay." He would loudly hush you while smiling feeling better when he hears you laugh again.

Leviathan

He was sitting with you in your bedroom. Excitedly explaining the plot to this new game that was coming out and how it ties into the tv show it was based off of. Though Mammon who had been pacing around the room sulking was getting rather sick of Leviathan's consumption of your attention.

Mammon short on patience snaps at his brother urging to him to just shut up and get lost. Before Leviathan could retort for himself you had leapt to his defense.

"So what you are just as big of a loser as he is now?!" Mammon scoffed though the panic in his eyes was evident when he saw how upset Leviathan was at insulting his henry.

Leviathan literally hissed in anger at his brother as his tail lashed out behind him Demon form in full swing as he positioned himself between you and the idiot now backing up with his hands raised.

"N-Now Levi lets think about thi-" "Apologize and get out!" Leviathan roared his fangs bared to his idiot of a brother.

Mammon sputtered out an apology over his shoulder as he ran out of the room slamming the door behind him as Levi turned back to you. He spends the next ten minutes making sure you are okay.

"Levi I promise I'm fine." "Are you sure?" "I'm sure." "Are you sure you're sure?" "Levi please..."

Satan

Satan had been sorting through his collection in the library when you joined him. One thing led to another and now the two of you were working on using one of the spare bookshelves to turn it into your own little reading nook where Satan could put books he wanted you to read and you could easily browse your way through them.

Things were going swimmingly if Satan had to say so himself. He was happily chattering about books he thought you would like and was even more excited when you suggested a few for him to read himself.

The two of you so engrossed in the world you had formed between the two of you had forgotten that Belphegor was attempting to nap on the couch.

Satan had handed you a book and was beaming down at you as you exclaimed excitedly starting to explain how this was one of your childhood favorites when Belphegor yelled out in frustration.

The rage in Belphegor was painfully clear to Satan as his younger brother sat up suddenly glaring at the two of you with irritation.

"MC Do you not know when to shut your damned mouth!" Belphegor snapped as he stood to leave in a fury. Though he hadn't taken more than a few steps when Satan's roar made him turn back in fear.

Satan was unable to hold himself back as he flew forward tackling his younger brother to the ground his weight driving the air from Belphegor's lungs. The two wrestled for a moment both now in their Demon forms lashing out at each other, Belphegor attempting to throw Satan off of him by kicking out and scratching him with his thorn laced tail. This did nothing more than anger Satan further as he screamed pulling back his arm to punch Belphegor right in his face.

Satan was a half a second from caving Belphegor's head in when he felt you throw yourself on him arms wrapped around his neck as you asked him to stop.

He hesitated a moment as he listened to your pleas. Belphegor used this opportunity to squirm out from under Satan bolting from the room with a speed that was unlike the avatar of sloth. Satan would have laughed had he not still been boiling inside.

Rather than chase down his brother he instead turned to you holding you against his chest as he took many, many deep breaths until finally the calm returned to him and he could look down at you without seeing red.

"Thank you for standing up for me but please don't murder the others for me." "Not even a little?"

Asmodeus

Asmodeus had acted on instinct as he felt his arm snap out from his side his hand cracking across his brothers face. Even when his brother turned to look at him with a devastated look he couldn't help the anger seeping from him.

Asmo had spent the morning with you helping to assemble a new wardrobe for you with outfits more suited to devildom weather. Seeing as much of the clothing in majolish was designed with demon physic in mind, you had grown a bit timid in some of your choices.

Asmodeus was having none of that, wanting to show you how beautiful you are insisted on a mini fashion show in his room.

You had been loving it so far. Asmo taking special time to pull you in front of his full size mirror and point out all the best parts of you and your clothes. He was also quite enjoying the snuggling and cuddling between outfit changes.

You were trying on your last outfit, one you had been openly against initially due to its sheer fabric and open back. While in the bathroom changing, Asmo took the time to fold up your purchases slipping in a few shirts of his own for you to add to your collection that he thought you would like.

When Mammon let himself in...

The second oldest threw the door open striding in going on about something about Asmo hoarding you all to himself just as you stepped out from the bathroom shyly showing off your new shirt.

Before Asmo could throw Mammon out by the scruff he turned to look at you and snorted upon seeing what you were wearing.

"MC, How can you let Asmo do that to you? Don't you feel stupid dressed up like some old geezer?" Mammon teased not at all seeing the effect it had on you. Asmo could feel his heart clench as he saw your face fall.

"You don't like it?" "I mean MC you look like one of the pirate people from the movies you had us watching." Mammon laughed as Asmo stepped forward glaring up at him

"That's enough out of you, get out." Asmo snapped motioning towards the door as mammon gave him a confused expression

"So you can let MC walk around looking stupid? I don-" Mammon wasn't able to finish his sentence as Asmo's arm snapped out slapping Mammon across the face.

The impact sounded much worse than it truly was as Mammon stared down at his younger brother in surprise.

"Don't you dare say such things to MC when you dress like a total slob half the time! They will be taking no mind to the words of a fool like you!" Asmodeus all but growled as he grabbed Mammon by the collar of his shirt and tossed him out of his room.

Asmodeus was absolutely fuming as he walked back to you pulling you into his arms and snuggling you against him.

"Don't you listen to a single word that come out of that idiots mouth do you hear me? He wouldn't know a thing about beauty if it hit him upside the head." "You did just slap him Asmo." "My point exactly! He still couldn't see how dazzling you look!"

Beelzebub

The two of you had been cooking dinner in the kitchen. Really it was Beel's turn to cook but he couldn't be trusted not to just eat it all before serving it so you were on babysitting duty.

Even though it wasn't your turn to do anything you still insisted on helping Beelzebub with chopping and prepping things while he took care of the more labor intensive tasks.

Whilst working Asmodeus had made his way into the kitchen to get himself something to drink. You had yet to notice him as you were too focused on kneading dough to realize the brother was walking behind you. It was only when you suddenly whipped around with a handful of dough and splattered the avatar of lust across the chest that you realized your mistake.

The shriek that came out of Asmodeus startled Beel from his own work turning back just in time to see the anger flash across his older brother's face seeing his shirt was ruined.

"MC why is it that you can never do the simplest of things right?! Are you stupid!?" Asmodeus had snapped letting his anger over take his thoughts. Too busy trying to clean his shirt he didn't notice the tears welling in your eyes, but Beelzebub did.

"Asmo, you know it was an accident so apologize for yelling at them." Beel said sternly coming over to look down on his older brother.

"I think not! Look at the state of my shirt!" Asmo huffed only now glancing up to see you wiping the tears from your eyes with the corner of your apron.

"Asmodeus, Say your sorry." Beel urged as Asmodeus pouted pulling you into his arms.

"I'm sorry MC I lost my temper and I didn't mean it." Asmo apologized and Beel beamed down at the two of you happy that you two had made up.

"Group hug!" Beelzebub announced as he was already wrapping his arms around the two of you and squeezing

Belphegor

Belphie had decided that today was going to be a day just for the two of you. With enough snacks and drinks hoarded up in the attic to keep even Beelzebub sated. He stole you away early in the morning content to snooze the day away with you at his side.

It was nearing mid day when Belphegor was roused from his nap. He was still curled into your side as he opened his eyes seeing you trying to have a whispered conversation with Lucifer who was looming over the bed with a sour expression.

"Seriously MC now is not the time to be wasting about when you have work to be doing. Now get up and stop being so lazy, You think you would know better than to-" Lucifer ranted his voice slowly raising in timber as he grew more heated.

Belphegor felt his own temper flare just from hearing Lucifer's voice but then knowing he was harassing you sent it over the edge. Belphegor couldn't help the growl that started in his throat his demon form appearing before he himself could register it.

Without rising from the bed he felt the thorns on his tail bristle as he wrapped it around you barricading you from his older brother.

"Go away..." Belphegor grumbled glaring up at Lucifer through his bangs. Clearly not wanting to deal with Belphegor's attitude Lucifer simply sneered and strode off making a few remarks as he left though Belphegor ignored them preferring to you you down into his arms.

"Ignore him he doesn't know anything..." Belphegor yawned tucking your head under his chin. He could feel the dwindling tension in your shoulders as he pulled you close. Rubbing his hand in circles on your back he felt the unease slowly slip from you before he himself slipped into sleep.

He admits he may be over reacting with this next part but Lucifer's already poor sleep may be just take a nose dive with the ideas he was cooking up.