#locke the distance demon

[uberthemeh]

LOCKE THE DISTANCE DEMON JUMPSCARE

[seventeenpins]

sniff

pairing: worst!Logan x neighbor!reader word count: 3k summary: You catch Logan with your stolen panties. content/warnings: pervy old man Logan, panty sniffing, masturbation with panties, mutual masturbation, a whole lot of fantasizing, kinda sub!Logan a/n: Still deep in the trenches here, folks. The Logan brainrot has gotten out of hand. Thank you to @ozarkthedog for making me worse ilu 😘

Logan was a bad man. He knew that. Had spent years knowing that.

Sure, he’d saved this universe, but he still had his demons.

The first time he’d crossed paths with you, you’d knocked him out. You’re a pretty little thing, all sweet and soft. There’s no way you’d ever want a man like him, all anger and failure, grey in his hair, face lined with time and exhaustion.

But you were kind, and charming. Made him smile every time you saw him in the halls or in the laundry room.

He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t. But when he sees you in your leggings and a tight little top, every curve on display, he just can’t help it. He can't tear his eyes away.

Your ass jiggles as you’re bent over the washer, tossing your dirty laundry in the machine haphazardly, and you don’t notice when you drop a lacy pair of panties.

He should tell you. He should really tell you. 

Instead, though, he moves closer to you. Makes up some lie about this machine having been on the fritz. Gives the washer a little smack, the metal of the machine twanging against the metal of his bones.

And, as you thank him and turn back, he snatches up your lacy panties and slips them into his pocket. 

“You have a good day, now, sweetheart,” he tells you, and you turn to face him, a bright smile on your face.

”You too, Logan! I’ll see you round.”

He makes a quick exit, cock already hardening, panties burning a hole in his pocket.

When he gets back to the apartment, he slams the door behind him hard enough to shake the doorframe. He slips into the bathroom, away (hopefully) from the prying ears of Wade and Al, double checking to make sure he has the lock latched securely. He thinks they’re out. He hopes they’re out. If they’re not out, they’d better not say shit if they hear him.

With a quick tug, he unbuckles his belt and unzips his jeans, letting his cock spring free from its confines. He slips the panties from his pocket and sighs. They’re barely more than a glorified shred of lace. He holds them up, examines them. Do you wear this style every day, a little thong like this, or is it only for special occasions? Maybe you were wearing them for someone else, some little boyfriend?

The thought enrages him. He knows it’s unfair, that your life is none of his business. Maybe you are dating someone. That’s fine. You’re young and pretty and deserve someone good. Someone better than a man like him.

But fuck he would take care of you right. Wouldn’t stop till you were shaking and crying, utterly fucked out and satisfied, covered in sweat, the slick of your release all over both of you.

With that thought, he brings the panties to his face.

He takes a deep sniff and groans.

He could smell them already, smell you, but it was different from a distance. With your panties in his face, he breathes deep, tries to take you in, all you, only you.

It’s dizzying, the scent of you. The smell of your pussy is intoxicating and he wants so much more. He darts his tongue out, licking at the crusty gusset. He groans as he tastes you. The panties had been worn days ago, but as he sucks at them, he makes them wet again, slippery.

He fists himself with one hand, painfully hard to the point he’s dripping, and with the other, holds your underwear up to his mouth, soaking the fabric.

Then, he wraps the wet panties around his cock and starts jerking himself off.

God, he hopes no one’s home. He tries to quiet the sounds coming out of him, but he simply can’t. The feeling of your panties choking his dick is incredible, even better than he’d hoped when he nabbed them. His breaths are coming out in pants and growls, and he feels more like an animal than he has in a long, long time.

“Fuck-” he grits, imagining all the things he’d like to do to you. He wants to taste you, straight from the source. Spread your pretty little pussy and spit, mixing saliva with your arousal. He wants to fold you over, shove your face into the pillow and ass in the air, all for him to smack and grope at. Spread your cheeks and thumb your asshole. Maybe you’ve never taken a cock in the ass before, maybe he can be your first.

His mind swims with every filthy thought he’s ever had about you. He wants, he wants, he wants—

He wants to bite down on your inner thighs, leave bruises on that soft, soft skin. Plunge three fingers into your glistening pussy and take.

Logan can still taste you on his lips. 

It’s with that thought, and one more slick tug, and he’s spilling into your panties.

There’s a lot. More than he would’ve expected. He keeps coming, the jerk of his hips punctuated with heavy breaths and growls, sweat dripping down his temples and brain blissfully blank from his exertions.

Fuck.

The post nut clarity starts to hit, slowly at first and then all at once.

FUCK.

He should not have done that. 

Stealing your panties? Really? God, he really was just a perverted old man. You could never know, he’d have to find a way to slip them back in your hamper the next time you met doing laundry.

And despite that, despite the shame and guilt and absolute self loathing, he brings the wadded ball of panties to his mouth and licks one last tentative time, tasting both of you together on the flimsy lace.

It tastes like heaven.

Gingerly, he tucks his dick back into his jeans. Glances at himself in the mirror, and fusses a little, straightening out his disheveled appearance.

After one more look over himself, ruined panties balled up in his hand, he unlocks the bathroom door and steps out. 

He exclaims when he sees you, smile on your face, reclined on the sofa next to Wade. Fuck these fucking walls had better be soundproof. FUCK.

”Peanut,” Wade sing-songs, “We have company! This little morsel from down the hall was just telling me how she’d run into you earlier today. She brought us some muffins.”

He puts undue emphasis on muffin in a way that makes Logan blush, just a little.

”Just had some bananas that were past their prime and I made too many. After I saw you earlier I thought I should drop some off as a thank you!”

“A thank you?” Logan asks, suddenly confused.

”Yeah, for helping with the washer!” You frown, surprised that he’d already forgotten.

Logan hesitates to make eye contact, instead only grunting vaguely in your direction with a curt nod.

He shuffles over to the kitchen and grabs himself a beer. Much to his chagrin, the muffins do smell good. 

He’s not sure if you notice that he’s trying to ignore you, but you still seem cheerful.

”Well,” Wade sighs, “I’d better get going. I have a hot date tonight and I will not be late. Again. By more than fifteen minutes.”

”Say hi to Vanessa from me,” you tell him, and right as he’s standing you turn to him. “Mind if I use your bathroom?” You ask, and Wade points you towards the door Logan had just exited.

”Have at it,” he says, and then in a stage whisper tells you, “But if you die, I’m not to be held responsible. Peanut was in there for a while and I can tell you from experience, a wolverine-dump is frightening to behold, even if it’s just the aftermath.”

You snort a laugh and move towards the bathroom as Wade tugs a particularly hideous hat on top of his heinous toupee. “Play nice,” he mock-glares at Logan, “We want more friends in this building who bring us delicious, delicious baked goods.”

With that, he slips out of the apartment.

It’s then that Logan realizes–the panties are no longer in his hand. He’d dropped them. He’d fucking dropped them!

It’s so fucking stupid. So unbelievably fucking stupid. He’d dropped the panties when he saw you, startled out of his train of thought.

And left them on the floor of the bathroom.

”NO!” Logan calls, and tries to get to the door before you make it there, but he’s already moments too late.

As he dashes around the kitchen island and towards the bathroom door, you’ve already shut the door behind you. At the sound of his footsteps, the door swings back open, and you’re standing there, panties in hand.

He physically recoils and then stares, deer in headlights.

You look at the bunched up ball of underwear and back up at him.

“Logan?” you venture.

He glares at the floor, refusing to make eye contact. You can see the tick of his jaw, the dart of his eyes.

“Are these mine?” you ask, already knowing the answer.

Logan gives one sharp nod.

“You seem to have made a mess of them,” you muse, suddenly feeling very, very warm. You should be angry. Hell, you should be scared.

But he stands before you, still looking at the floor, looking to all the world like a bashful child who’s just been caught misbehaving.

He doesn’t respond with words, only grunts.

You take a step closer to him.

“Logan, look at me.”

He finally does. He’s not sure what he sees in your eyes, but it doesn’t look like fear or anger. Instead, it’s almost a hunger.

“First," you tell him, "You’re gonna clean up your mess,” You're suddenly more bold than you know yourself to be, aching with it. “And then you’re gonna show me, and you’re gonna do it all over again.”

“I’m sorry, what–”

You take another step towards him, close enough to touch him. As he’s about to say something else, you take the opportunity to shove the cum-drenched panties right in his open mouth, shutting him up instantly.

He stands there, unmoving, panties half-dangling out his mouth.

“Good boy.” You say, and his eyes widen, mouth agape and panties nearly slipping.

Of all the scenarios he’s played out, for months now, this was never one of them.

He’d never realized how much he can enjoy surprises. The hunger in your eyes—it’s delicious.

He regains a semblance of composure and you guide him backwards. He stumbles blindly till the backs of his knees hit the sofa. He collapses with a huff.

“Go on,” you encourage, “You like playing with my panties so much, you get to do it for me.”

He groans, puts a hand to his mouth, and sucks at the fabric. 

It’s still wet, and full – full – of his cum. 

He slurps at it, pulls them out of his mouth and stretches the panties wide. Licks all over it, tongue running along the gusset where he can still taste the two of you together.

It doesn’t matter that Wade could come back home, that Althea may already be home. It doesn’t matter that he’s mortified; at the very least, his dick doesn’t seem to have gotten the message. He’s getting hard again, refractory period already practically nonexistent. He’s at a loss for words, but that doesn’t matter, either. 

All that matters is the panties in his mouth, and your eyes on him, slight smile tugging at your lips as you watch.

”Do you make a habit of this?” You ask, and it’s more curious than condemning.

Logan shakes his head. “Uh-uh,” it comes out muffled through the mouthful.

“Don’t make a habit of stealing my panties, or don’t make a habit of stealing anyone’s panties? For all I know, you’ve got some secret collection. Got a pair of Wade’s briefs in the back of your drawer?”

The blush that blooms is pretty, flushing all down his bared throat. You desperately want to touch him, but more than that, you want to tease him. Humiliate him. Call him a dirty old man and make him sweat, and then show him that you want him anyway. That you have been wanting him.

You just didn’t think he’d fall so easily for the bait of dropped panties.

“Suck em clean,” you tell him, and he makes a half-strangled moan, slurping loudly against them.

He works at them with his mouth. It could’ve been comical but instead he simply looks feral. He makes a lewd, wet sound, and pulls the panties out of his mouth, dragging them across his teeth, saving every last bit of the mix of cum and reconstituted pussy juice that had been soaking them.

You take them from his outstretched hand and sniff them yourself. You see the way his eyes widen again, but he’s restrained. He holds himself back, stays still.

“I’ve gotta say, you do put on a good show. You can keep these,” you smile, and toss them back at him, smacking him square in the face.

“But these-” you slip your thumbs up your skirt, the one you deliberately chose to wear just for this purpose. You hook the waistband of today’s panties and slip them down, stepping out of them and handing them to Logan.

“You’re gonna show me exactly how you touched yourself with those panties you stole.”

“Hey,” he huffs, “Look, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have–”

“I’m not,” you cut in, “If you hadn’t stolen my panties, you wouldn’t be showing me just how dirty an old man you are.” You wink, “And I like it.”

“Watch who you’re callin’ old, sweetheart.”

“Logan, baby,” you croon, “You ain’t the one calling the shots here.”

He opens his mouth to reply, but you take another step towards him and grab him by the belt buckle. He buffers, opening and closing his mouth several times, never taking his eyes from your face.

He watches, awed, as you undo the buckle, pop the button, pull down his zipper.

You grin when you see he isn’t wearing any underwear himself and, with a swift, deft movement, you reach into his jeans and slide out his cock.

If he wasn’t hard before, he is now. He moans as your hand wraps around him, pumping gently. It’s far too little pressure. He wants more. He needs more.

As if reading his mind, you snatch your panties from his hand and wrap them around his cock.

He whines, immediately overwhelmed. He’d barely dared to notice them when you’d placed them in his hand. Now, he realizes just how absolutely soaked you are. The crotch of your panties, (another lacy pair), is slick with your arousal.

“Show me,” you tell him. “Show me-”

Reluctantly, he tightens the grip on his cock and starts jerking himself. 

Against his own will, a ragged moan slips out. It makes your body hot and your pussy even wetter. You sit back on the sofa and spread your legs, letting your hand rest on your needy pussy.

Logan notices and, encouraged, wraps his fist tighter around his cock and strokes himself faster, his hips moving rhythmically.

You start to touch yourself in earnest, dipping two fingertips into your slick heat and swirling the arousal around your clit.

Little moans start to escape you, egged on but his ragged breathing. He starts muttering, worn and desperate; “Fuck, fuck, wanna taste that pussy. Eat you right. Smells so good, tastes so good, wanna make you cum on my tongue, hold you down, fuck you through it–”

The touch of your fingertips is exquisite. You’ve masturbated to the thought of him a lot. More than you’d prefer to admit. But seeing him like this, undone and aching, it hits you all the more. 

You sink into the fantasy. “Want you, Logan. I’ve wanted you for so long.”

“Gettin’ close now,” he warns. He should be embarrassed at the speed he's reaching his peak, but he's so drunk on sensation he simply cannot find it in himself to care.

You nod, and adjust the pressure on your clit.

“Wait for me,” you tell him. He groans, but nods. “Nearly there,” you assure.

You press tight circles around your clit working yourself up, closer and closer and closer to that high–

“Fuck,” you shout, suddenly overwhelmed by it, “Fuck, I’m— I’m coming. Show me, Lo, show me–”

You tip over the edge, cunt pulsing hungrily. You wish you’d had something inside you. Wish you’d had him inside you.

He lets out a ragged groan, followed by curses, and the most explosive ejaculation you’ve ever seen. The head of his cock is buried in your panties and he fills them, but his cum shoots out of the holes of the lace, spraying his spend across the floor and towards you. A single drop hits your cheek, and you nearly laugh, but the sound he makes–something primal and animalistic–sends another pulse through you and suddenly you’re coming again, untouched.

It takes a while to come down.

He’s panting, sweat dripping down his temples. Reality absolutely living up to the fantasy.

When you both catch your breath, you smile, sated and tired. You reach out a hand and, hesitantly, he hands you the ruined panties.

Mouth agape, he watches as you run a finger through the cum and dip it in your mouth, humming a pleased affirmation. Then, you step into the cum-drenched underwear and put them on.

He stares at you dumbfounded, burning with so many thoughts that he can’t pinpoint a single one.

“Next time,” you smile, standing up and pressing an unexpected kiss to his cheek. “You can just ask.”

You wink, half dazed yourself, barely able to believe everything had turned out exactly as you’d orchestrated it.

“I’m in Apartment 8,” you tell him, and then you’ve turned on your heel and stepped out the door.

Logan stands there, bewildered. He fingers the damp panties he still has in his pocket, and listens as your footsteps echo through the hallway.

[jinwoosungs]

11/29/24; 03:03pm

dragon!sylus x fem.reader

notes: for all the sylus girlies out there, this is going to be my thirstiest and most self-indulgent dragon!sylus fic (⺣◡⺣)♡ again, this is all just my interpretation and it may not even be close to canon!

warnings: monster f-cking oh my god i can't believe i'm going to do this since i've never written this type of spicy story before 😭😭😭😭😭 i'm sorry if this ends up sucking so bad !! i just want to type out my spicy thoughts hhhhhh

[ minors don’t interact; by choosing to interact with this content, you have consented to viewing something n-fw despite the warnings. ]

night had fallen across your small village, painting the once lively desert in somber hues of blue. with the moonlight as your guide, you drape your shawl even closer to your body to help with warding off the cold air.

as you made your way to the oasis, your mind was filled with anxious thoughts pertaining to your mother. she had once again fallen ill, her frail body being taken over by a fever as she struggled to even breathe while she lay motionless in bed. your heart was filled with love for your mother as you spent the night wiping the sweat from her brow with a damp cloth, not wishing to leave her side.

feeling your presence next to her, her eyes blearily meet with your gaze as a tiny smile paints her expression. "you should...rest..." even with her reassuring words, you refused to leave her side.

yet when your bucket of water runs dry, you knew you had to leave your mother to get more water. you needed to help her with breaking her fever, and in order to do that, you had to get more water from the oasis. leaving the damp cloth across her brow, you told her that you would return soon before setting off towards the crystalline pool of water. each step that you take brings an image of your sickly mother and the thought of how much weaker she had become-

with a click of your tongue, you banish such intrusive beliefs, refusing to even entertain the thought that you would ever lose her. fighting back against the cold, you push forward as you made your trek across the sands, noticing the palm trees and the sight of those ruby red flowers in the distance as they swayed in the wind. anticipation was felt coursing through your veins, your legs now breaking out into a run until you were just a mere few feet away from the crystalline waters of the pond-

but as fate would have it, you were not alone.

settled in the midst of the pond was what appeared to be a winged demon, his wings remaining spread as you felt pinpricks of fear clenching around your heart. your breathing was uneven and heavy as you slowly backed away from him, only to see the demon lift his head, his silvery hair seeming to glow beneath the moonlight.

"your heavy breathing is a dead giveaway." you gasp, feeling your heart jump within the confines of your throat the moment he suddenly appears before you. rufescent eyes gaze down at you in amusement as full lips remain tilted up in a smirk. your eyes trail toward his silver locks of hair and finally noticed the two horns settled atop his head (the image reminding you of a dark and regal crown). from his broad chest to the alluring crimson gemstone settled in the middle of his pale skin-

the demon was equal parts devastatingly beautiful and terrifying to you.

his wings end up engulfing you, trapping your body against his as he takes in a deep whiff of your hair before trailing the tip of his nose against your skin. as he takes in your scent, you were certain that he could hear the way your heart seemed to pound from out of your ribcage.

"yet perhaps what's more distracting than your breathing is the lingering scent of death you have..."

his words succeed in making your heart cease its beat, your fear now replaced with anxiety as you narrowed your gaze at him. "w-what do you mean?"

a look of intrigue was seen settled within his crimson gaze. "there's no need to be so frightened, treasure. you look to be as healthy as a mare... yet someone close to you-"

mother...!

you gripped at the demon's shoulder, allowing your nails to dig into them while your gaze became wild, "my mother... you're referring to my mother. please, can you save her?!"

he doesn't answer your panicked words, but at this point, you were willing to do anything to save the only family you had left-

even if it meant forging a deal with the devil.

"please, i'll do anything for her! if you have the means to save her-"

the demon lets out a deep chuckle, the sound being enough to send almost pleasant vibrations down your spine. using his free hand, he wraps it around your waist, bringing you closer to his naked chest while at nearly eye level with the ruby settled on it. "relax, treasure... if you're willing to do anything, then i suppose i can give you this."

as if it were made by magic itself, he gently pulls something out of your hair, extracting a vial that held a deep red liquid. "give this to your mother, and it shall heal any ailment that she has."

hope erupts within your chest, yet before you could utter another word, the devil whispers into your ear, "remember your promise to me, treasure."

and with those final words, he disappears away from you, leaving you alone with an empty bucket and a mysterious vial. not wishing to wait another second, you rush back to your mother, nearly pushing your body to its limits.

your lungs were burning now when you finally reached home, a quaint little hut settled near the edge of your village. you enter and immediately go to your mother, holding her frail frame closer to your chest as you uncapped the vial and open your mother's mouth, pouring the crimson liquid inside.

she coughs a bit, but manages to swallow the entire contents of the vial. once you were certain the vial was emptied, you toss it to the side, watching your mother with baited breath.

despite your anxiety, you felt your hope continue to grow when there were noticeable changes seen within your mother. the color slowly came back to her skin, her lips no longer appearing ashen and dry. along with those changes, you noticed how her hair slowly became glossier, and as she opened her eyes, it was clear that they were livelier than ever.

"mother...!" letting out chocked sobs, you cling to your mother, basking in her soft coos of your name as she places a gentle kiss against the top of your hair.

and as you sought the comfort of your mother's arms, you remained blissfully unaware of glowing ruby eyes watching your every move.

{ ... }

your life had gotten brighter with your mother by your side, healthy and glowing with vitality. now that you had her back, the memory of the devil and your promise to him became a distant memory-

however, it would quickly become apparent that not even demons would go back on their words.

one late evening, as you were in the midst of making supper with your mother, the sounds of a stampede approaching fills your heart with dread. the commotion doesn't go unnoticed by your mother as her eyebrows remain furrowed in response.

"what is going on?"

you put a finger over your lips, blowing out all of the lit candles as you listened intently to the conversation from outside of your home.

"our king has requested that we find her and bring her to him."

"but of course, as if i would be foolish enough to go against the drake borne from shadows."

upon hearing such a strange title, your mouth goes dry as your mind goes back to that fateful night-

the night the demon had helped with saving your mother from appearing at death's door-

he had remembered after all.

the sounds of footsteps grow louder and heavier, giving you little time to react when the flimsy door of your home was kicked down. dozens of men dressed in suits of armor began crowd around you, and your mother's panicked cries made your head spin.

"it's her, his bride...!"

"get your hands off of my daughter!" your mother's shrill cries echo within your ear as she tried to claw at the men who had captured you.

"get this wench away from us!" the broad man holds you close to his armored chest while tossing your mother a large pouch filled with gold. "take this as a gift from our king... consider it a dowry of sorts."

"you bastard, give my daughter back to me! SHE'S WORTH MORE THAN JUST A MERE FEW PIECES OF GOLD!" your mother cries out to them, about to reach out to you once more when you stopped her.

"no, it's okay... i'll be okay..." you swallow back your tears and meet her gaze, "i-i was the one who made a deal with the devil. h-he saved your life... and i promised to repay him."

a pained expression crosses your mother's features, "w-what do you mean...?"

the knights remain silent, yet still kept you in a tight grip to prevent you from running away, "that night when you suffered from a fever... you were close to dying... and he had sensed that. i didn't wish to lose you, so he gave me this vial filled with a deep crimson liquid-"

"you have been blessed by the shadow dragon's blood, do not let my king's sacrifice go to waste."

you felt your heart break the moment your mother's face crumpled a bit when she realizes the truth, with her hands immediately covering her lips as she watches you being taken away from her.

as they began to carry you out of your hut, you didn't wish to worry her as you cried out, "i'll be back soon... just please... do not worry about me! i'll come home soon..."

the last sight you had of your mother was of her falling to her knees with tears streaming down her face.

{ ... }

tarus city was what they called this place-

and you felt as though you were living in a dream, surrounded by glittering gemstones and polished gold. your eyes seemed to water with each new sight that came to you.

even with all of this beauty, you felt a little numb and homesick-

but a promise was a promise.

your devil held up his end of the deal by saving your mother-

and it was your turn to repay him.

you were broken out of your thoughts and given little time to take in the new sights as you were lead even deeper into the city. while the knights dropped you off in a golden palace, you were surrounded by women who helped with preparing you for their king. your body was stripped of your tattered clothing before being dunked into a luxurious tub filled with water warmed by what appeared to be heated stones. the sweet scent of rose petals fills your senses, putting you in a daze as the other maids worked on washing your hair.

once your body was cleaned, the women placed a thin sheen of rose oil against your skin, making sure that you were glistening before wrapping a sensual dress made entirely of silk around you. the finishing touches were added when they painted your lips in a light pink hue before taking you out of the palace.

and you were given little choice but to follow.

settled in a line, you follow the maidens as they walked across tarus city, keeping their heads down with every intention of bringing you to their king. your eyes take in the townspeople and felt a sense of discomfort fill you at how they were looking at you-

like you were someone that was meant to be worshipped.

your reveries were cut short when the women stopped walking, not daring to enter the gaping cave as they parted, settling your form dead in center as they made a path for you. with your heart racing with fear and anticipation, you step forward into the cave with your head held high.

the deeper you walked into the cave, the more you realized that the man wasn't a demon at all, but a dragon after all. when you were younger, your mother would read fairytales to you pertaining to dragons and how they liked to hoard and collect treasure.

and surrounding you was just that- an infinite amount of treasure.

you had never seen such riches before in your life. from rainbow gemstones and rare diamonds of every size to varying gold coins, it was no wonder that your mother had received such a high 'dowry.'

your eyes continue to scan all across the cave only to stop when you saw a familiar sight settled before you.

the devil's drake's back was facing you, and you watch as his serpent-like tail sways back and forth almost lazily. he lay on what appeared to be a smooth marble tablet, his wings nowhere in sight as he was dressed in his dark armor (was it even armor after all? or were they just a part of his body?)

"your footsteps are noisy, and you breathe heavily." the drake manages to reach out to your trembling form with his tail, wrapping the armored appendage around you as he brings your form down against the marble tablet. you land on your back with a gasp, heart beating wildly out of your chest when the devastating man smirks down at you. you were left gazing up at him through your lashes, watching as he closes his eyes before breathing in your scent, "ah, but it seems as though the lingering scent of death no longer haunts you."

he brings up a heavily armored and clawed hand up to your face, gently caressing at your skin with the back of it. even as your heart began to race within the confines of your chest-

you felt no fear-

only a sense of duty for fulfilling your promise to him all while ignoring the strange ache and tingling sensation felt between your legs.

"there's no need to be frightened, treasure." he leans closer to you, placing his lips against your temple. "sylus... you may call me sylus, for only you can call me by my name."

you shiver in response to his voice, feeling it reverberate throughout your body as sylus keeps his head hidden within the curve of your neck. "mmm, they did a good job, making you appear so utterly delectable for me..."

you gasp when you felt the tip of his tail travel between your legs, with sylus purposely sliding the underside of his scorpion-like tail against your slick folds. the odd sensation makes you writhe beneath him against the marble slab, your gasps echoing throughout the cave as you felt a strange pressure build up from within your abdomen.

"hah...ah... this feels... weird b-but so good." your mind was going drunk and hazy from the pleasure as you looked down to see his tail lazily going up and down your pussy lips, collecting your honeyed arousal. sylus lets out a soft groan before removing his tail.

"you smell so fucking sweet..." you tremble when sylus meets your gaze momentarily before descending upon your form. the tip of his horns gently gracing at the silk fabric of your dress, making paper thin tears in them as it slowly fell away from your form. with you remaining utterly bare for the powerful drake, you tremble as he lets out a guttural groan of your name, settling himself between your legs while breathing in your pure feminine scent.

with your slick entrance so close to his lips, sylus wastes no time diving into you, pressing his lips against your entrance as the sheer amount of pleasure he gifts you reaches almost dizzying heights. your hands grasp at his soft strands of hair, yet when he introduces a finger inside of your heat, you opted to cling to his horns for support.

sylus knew of how soft and pliant your body was compared to him, and he was able to maintain a certain amount of gentleness when he allows his hands to trace at your pussy lips. your sweet taste was all that filled him, and when he gently pinches at your hardened, bundle of nerves, he knew he was on the right track when it came to making you fall apart for him.

your back arches against the marble slab, hands gripping at his horns when you called out his name before allowing the tightness felt in your abdomen begin to snap. something warm and hot rushes out of you, earning yet another guttural sound from sylus as his tongue laps up everything you had to offer.

in the midst of your pleasured haze, you watch as sylus stands back to his full height, his hand gripping at the leather the covers his lower body before ripping them away from him. while watching him, you felt your eyes go wide upon seeing such a magnificently terrifying sight.

you had never once been subjected to witnessing a man's arousal before, watching as his cock goes hard while ready to be mated-

let alone two hard cocks that appeared pulsating with an angry shade of red. clear fluids were seen escaping from the tip, but perhaps what was more interesting were the ridges seen decorating the underside of his cock. sylus catches your wide (and admittedly, scared) eyes and smiles down at you. gently framing at your face with his free hand, he uses his other hand to help with further stroking his two cocks. "erase such expressions of fear treasure, for these exist for the sole purpose of pleasuring you."

sylus purposely leans over your, stroking his cocks against your slick folds. with a shaky sigh of his name, you wrap your arms around his broad back, feeling the strange ache become even more intense the moment sylus continued to rub himself against you. "my bride... my precious bride... i'm going to mark you as mine for all of eternity."

with those final words (sounding very much like an oath), sylus thrusts both of his cocks into your slick heat, making you cry out to him as your body struggled to take him all in. not wishing to overwhelm you with the flurry of new sensations, he keeps only half of his cocks within you, sliding them in a rhythmic, back and forth motion inside of you, making you feel not just every inch of him-

but each individual ridge as well.

the pain of having your purity taken was there, but more so than that was the intense pleasure you felt upon feeling his cock taking over the entirety of your slick walls. with his eyebrows furrowed in intense concentration, sylus works on pumping his cocks in and out of your aching cunt, basking in the squelching sounds that seemed to echo across the cave each time he rammed his hips back into yours.

"ngh, s-sylus!" being a now former virgin, you had never experienced such intense pleasure before, with your release rushing out of you in what seemed like an intense wave. the red hot sensation courses through your veins as you spilled your love juices down each of sylus's shafts, earning a broken groan from him.

"f-fuck, i can't last even a second inside of you!" stilling his hips, your moans quickly morphed into broken sobs when he pumps your womb full of his thick cum, with your aching entrance unable to hold it in as his seed spills out of your core in soft spurts.

sylus ends up landing on top of you, his chest pressed achingly close to your breasts as his cocks continued to pump you full of his seed. the intensity of his own release makes him let out a string of curses as he kept his hands in a fisted position next to your head.

when the twitching finally stopped, you were able to catch your breath, feeling the droplets of sweat running down your brow. it takes a couple of minutes for the post, lovemaking clarity to kick in, with sylus letting out a dreamy sigh of your name. he was ready to pull out of you, yet you had stopped him with your legs now wrapped tightly around his waist.

"wait, don't leave me..." you admit to him with heat felt against your cheeks. sylus meets your gaze while giving you a cocky expression, "oh? is my treasure getting greedy now?"

sylus lets out a rich chuckle before tossing both of your legs over his broad shoulder, making you moan when you felt both of his cocks harden while remaining buried deep inside of you. he begins yet another rapid pace while telling you, "hah, fuck, i wanted to go slow and be romantic with you... i had thoughts of spoiling you as my mate by promising to protect you and your mother... but that'll have to wait. right now... i wish to witness your further descent into impurity as i make you dumb and needy on my cocks..."

needless to say, your now husband and mate had successfully accomplished such hedonistic goals.

end notes: man sylus being canonically a dragon makes me so h-rny for him,,,, i need him so bad someone send h e l p. this is unedited, but my goal is to make all you sylus girles just as needy as i am with this post 🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠

all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!

[yeyinde]

preacher's daughter (Ethel Cain inspired) and biker Ghost would go so hard. all that corruption, religious trauma/catholic guilt, and small town gothic misery, you know?

sheltered daughter meets violence personified. the devil and the sacrificial lamb. you meet him when you wander up to the motorcycle club on the outskirts of town with a pamphlet about salvation clutched in your trembling hands. he leans his big, intimidating frame against the door jamb, and with his arms crossed over his broad chest, says must be good on your knees, aren't you, birdie?

(you answer with an earnest yes, sir, i worship on my knees everyday and pretend the heat that flares in your belly when he groans is from the too-hot sun; the first of many sins.)

later that evening, your daddy tells you that he's an honest and good man, but sometimes he prays that God strikes that vile place right down. you bite your tongue and nod, but sneak out at night and meet him there where you slip into silk lingerie and dance on stage just for him. he tells every man there that if he catches them staring at you, he'll stab them in the eyes, and you think it's the most romantic thing you'd ever heard.

it's love letters carved into the sunbleached bones of a half-submerged deer left to rot in the stagnant bog just outside of the abandoned white chapel. something watches you from the dark stained glass windows as he runs his tattooed fingers over your skin, leaving smears of gunpowder and soot.

(someone set the old man's car on fire—the who leered at you while you stood in the choir, wearing your lily white dress and sang glory be while you tried to forget what those tattooed hands felt like when they slipped under your skirt and between your thighs.

the old man was still inside—)

they call him a ghost. a demon. you call him Simon and daydream during bible study that you'll run away together. hop on the back of his old Harley and forget this place ever existed.

a daydream that quickly turns into a nightmare when your sordid relationship comes to light, and your daddy threatens to have him locked away for good. there's a gun in the safe upstairs. you think about the time Simon dragged you into the woods to shoot at cans and lose your faith under the sweltering sun when you pull the trigger.

"for us," you tell him, breathing in the dank church air ripe with sin and the stench of blood. "i did it for us."

it's leaning on the back of his Harley with your fingers threaded around his thick waist as the town grows smaller and smaller in the distance. staring up at the endless blue sky and grinning wide because you finally got your monster of a man wrapped around your finger.

(and all it took was a little deal made with the thing that lives in the abandoned church.)

[hxzbinwrites]

Hey!! Saw that u were taking request <3 I was thinking that an Alestor x wife!reader being a power (but absolutely terrifying) couple would be soooo cool, like maybe they already knew each other from when they were humans, and Alestor is just 10000% a simp for his wifey lol. Hope u like it!

Alastor x Wife! Overlord! Reader | Forgiveness |

Warnings ⚠️: Cussing, Death, Killing, Mentions of Alastor being a Cannibal, Reader makes STUPID DECISIONS

In the Pride Ring is where all of the sinners and Overlords alike mingle. The uppermost ring of Hell and the closest to Heaven. That’s where some of the most feared and powerful beings live. Two of those entities being Alastor, the Radio Demon, and (Y/n), the Jazz Demon.

Together, they rule their districts with an iron grip. While some Overlords team up, like the Vees, Alastor and (Y/n) were the first to do it. Well, it makes sense really, especially because they were close during their respective times alive on Earth.

——————

Three gunshots were heard that fateful night. One ending a mans life by his hand, one ending the witness’s life by his hand, and one ending his by justice’s hand. No more Bayou Killer, but he took two more lives before he went. Awful, sick man. Good thing he’s in Hell now…

Alastor hissed as his back hit the pavement. His squinted eyes took in his surroundings, he was in Hell. Hmm, no shocker there. What was a shock was seeing the body next to his.

“Ugghh” They groaned, sitting upright on the pavement next to him. They locked eyes. It was (Y/n). Before Alastor could even speak, she pounced on him, pushing him back into the pavement.

“You sick son of a BITCH!! YOU KILLED ME!! SHOT ME LIKE I WAS AN ANIMAL FOR YA NEXT MEAL!!” She yelled, shaking him back and forth by gripping his collar. His collar looked identical to hers, and he tuned out her yelling, he noticed her attire. She was now wearing a black suit with red and white accents, one that looked like a reverse image of his. Except a few details weren’t the same, hers looked more feminine, but also had less harsh edges to it. She looked more elegant while he looked more harsh.

He then looked up to her face, she had red eyes and long, silky black hair, with red underneath. He looked to the top of her head and noticed two fluffy, black ears. They were currently pressed to her scalp, a clear indicator of her unhappiness at the current moment.

“AND TO THINK, AFTER ALL OF THAT BEGGIN, YOU WAS JUST DYING TO GET ME ON YOUR RADIO SHOW!! WELL LOOK AT US NOW, MR. ALASTOR. LOOK. AT. US. NOW. WHAT EVEN ARE YOU, YOU SICK FREAK. EVERYONE KNEW THE BAYOU KILLER ATE FOLKS. IF YOU WERENT SHOT, WERE YOU GONNA EAT ME?? WAS I GONNA NOT EVEN BE ABLE TO HAVE A BURIAL NEXT TO MY PA, CAUSE YOU ATE ME!? OH LORD HELP ME!!”

Alastor rolled his eyes, feeling no remorse for the doe that whined above him. (Y/n) was a famous musician in Louisiana, particularly in Jazz. Alastor had begged her to come onto his radio show, play some tunes for his devoted fans. She agreed, but that night Alastor didn’t show to the studio. She heard shouting in the woods across the street from the building, stupidly she went to investigate. She saw the oh so famous radio host, and with a bang of a shotgun the other man was dead. Probably in Heaven now. Trying to stay silent, (Y/n) tried to back away before a branch snapped, like a doe her eyes widened before she darted away, only to be shot right in the heart and drop down to the ground. She heard another shot faintly in the distance before she felt the wind brush past her as she fell.

“My dear, I apologize.” Alastor said, gently grabbing (Y/n)‘s hand. “It was never my intention to make you my target. I knew that if word got out about my….hobbies….that my reputation would be ruined. No more radio show.”

“You can apologize for the rest of eternity” She scowled, smacking his hand away before standing up,” You’re a MONSTER. Leave me ALONE. Hopefully someone down here will be nice, but I’m not taking no help from you”. (Y/n) finally walked away, leaving a very annoyed Alastor sitting there.

———————

About 20 years later

Alastor was a feared Overlord now, rising the ranks out of seemingly nowhere. Even with this newfound power and respect, (Y/n) still wanted nothing to do with him. She was famous in her own way. Music was not very abundant in Hell, and she profited off of that. She had little to no competition in the music industry. Becoming an icon of Hell, her name was in everyone’s mouth, making Alastor yesterday’s news, which irked him to no end.

‘I need her.’ Alastor initially thought,’ with someone as influential as her now, having her on my side will make my power increase tenfold.’ But after many times of asking over the years, he just yearned for her admiration. Not only to be on his side, but by his side. He didn’t know where the newfound obsession came from, but Alastor knew he wouldn’t stop until he brought her to him.

Alastor made his way to her huge studio, basically a small turf at this point. Without ever fighting, she’d managed to become a little bit of an Overlord, just not to the extent she could be called one. He made his way up to her penthouse, knowing the way by heart since this is not the first time he’s made a visit for an alliance.

“What Alastor.” (Y/n) asked, not even looking up from her sheet music she was writing.

“Hello my dear!” Alastor said,”lovely to see you again! I just miss you so much darling!”

“Miss me from what?” She said, turning around to meet his eyes,” we were aquatinted when we were alive, and then you killed me. What exactly do you miss me from?”

“I just miss seeing you.” He said in a softer tone,”Please (Y/n), you must realize that your death was an accident. I was never planning to hurt you. I was never planning to do anything to you.”

(Y/n)’s head tipped down, her ears pressed to her scalp,”but you did, Alastor. You killed me.”

“My dear….” He said, getting closer slowly, like she’d dart off at any given moment, just for him to not see her ever again. “My dear, I cannot imagine the pain you’ve gone through. I know it’s been a few years now, but that’s a few years you could’ve still been alive. Found a husband, had a better music career, just lived. I took that from you, and I’m…..I’m sorry.”

“I know Alastor.” She said, hugging him. Even though he hated when people touched him, she did not know this, so he internally decided to let this one time be the exception. “You know I can never fully forgive you….but after all of these years, I think I can at least try to have you in my life….but if you screw up ANY, I’m gonna kill you. I don’t care if you’re an Overlord or whatever the hell you’re doing, I will kill you like you killed me.”

“Hmm, fair enough” He shrugged, breaking off the hug as he sat down in the chair across from hers.

———————

Present Day

“So hold up” Angel said, looking at the two powerful Overlords,”He literally killed you and you were like, ‘oh well, I forgive you’. What the hell (Y/n)?”

(Y/n) was a true Overlord know. Once she let Alastor back into her life, he taught her the ways of toppling Overlords. She didn’t posses near the amount of power that he had, so he did the gruesome part for her. Building her musical empire (and later on having to shoo of Vox who begged her to join his up and coming ‘Television’ idea after Alastor shot him down).

“Oh I’d hardly call it forgiving.” Alastor said,”I get constantly reminded about it every day, multiple times a day. You wonder why it took us 60 years to even get engaged.”

(Y/n) just rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. Alastor smirked, looking over at his wife.

“Well, what else was I supposed to do? The man kept coming by begging me every week for TWENTY YEARS!! Lovesick puppy if you ask me.”

Charlie squealed, hugging onto Vaggie. “Look Vaggie! That could be us one day!!”

“I hope not” Vaggie said,” A freaky cannibalistic overlord and his delusional companion. I’m fine with staying as us.”

“No Vaggie! I meant married! Wouldn’t that be fun!! Married for a long time!! Forever!!”

While Charlie was helping Vaggie stop short circuiting, (Y/n) and Alastor just looked at one another with a knowing glance. Alastor took her hand and kissed her knuckles, smiling up at her.

“Thank you again my dear, for letting me back into your life. I’m eternally sorry for what I did.”

“I know you are Alastor, plus I’d be dead already now regardless.” (Y/n) giggled,”I still don’t know what overcame me that day. I mean, who lets someone back into their life after doing that!! I am glad I did though. It’s like you said in that apology, I have a husband, I have a huge music career, but I’m not living, technically, but it feels like it!!”

Alastor chuckled,”that’s right, my precious doe. Now, I am off to go grab lunch for the both of us! If you excuse me, I shall make a trip down to the Cannibal District, and then over to the grocery store for your food!”

———————

Word Count: 1,560

[vaguely-concerned]

thinking about not only the specific people lucanis pulls in to represent the 'locks' in his psyche, but the storytelling that happens in the structure/order of them. the underlying ideas are presented something like:

the lucanis who went into the ossuary never came back out again; he died down there (the boy caterina raised is gone forever) -> you're putting yourself in danger doing this (by being close to me), you should leave because I can't bear it if you get hurt because of me -> it doesn't matter even if we do try this, it won't work anyway (again because of me) ('you know what he's like, you can open the door but he won't walk through it' :'( oofie doofie) -> what if the real secret is that there was never anything but the monster in here from the beginning. you should leave, there was never anything here worth saving in the first place. (implicitly: what if I deserved what happened, all along.)

it runs pretty cleanly from outward-oriented attachment anxiety ('caterina won't even want me back like this, she won't recognize me (the same way I no longer recognize myself)) and gradually deeper inwards until we reach self-image and self worth. or you know, the harrowing basic lack of it lol.

"careful -- they'll know we're not right," spite says in one of their first scenes... but clearly, some very deep part of lucanis has feared or suspected for much longer than that that there's something inherently not right at the core of him, way before any demon entered the picture. and the voice he gives those lines to is the person who should know him better than anyone in the world, who he has loved more than anyone in the world -- and who deliberately chose to hurt him so horrifically anyway. 'It's better if I'm just a monster and deserved what happened than it is to allow for the idea that the brother I love doesn't really exist and maybe never did'. it's better if he's fundamentally flawed in some way that needed fixing to help him survive, and that's why caterina chose to hurt him again and again -- out of love. (this one I think he might have a very sad wakeup call on one day if he ever ends up with the responsibility and care of a child of his own in some way and realizes just how alien the idea of ever intentionally hurting them for any reason is to him. oh buddy. also interesting that he keeps caterina as the outermost lock -- there IS a distance he keeps there that he hasn't with illario. he doesn't resent her 'anymore' he says, but he also keeps her carefully further away from his deepest self.)

as far as I could tell the only note in the mind prison that's fully hidden and needs to be uncovered is the sad painful helpless stupid little truth that even after all this, even knowing what happened... he still loves his brother. is there anything illario could ever do that would make lucanis completely stop loving him, do you think? sometimes the trouble with unconditional love is that it is, well. unconditional, even when some terms and conditions probably would have been in order haha.

that's the pattern you see there again and again; he would rather destroy and abandon and imprison himself at every turn than let go of love, even when it's just scraps, even when there's only ever enough of it to hurt him. it's only when rook shows up and as it were takes his hand and walks along with him that he can entertain the idea of changing the story of what walking out the door might mean in the end.

[spencessocks]

through the silence

summary: bucky struggles with his inner demons and fear of hurting you, keeping you at a distance with his whiskey and self-doubt.

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

word count: 3k

warnings: angsty sad bucky with a little bit of a drinking problem, happy ending

you fiddled with the lock, hands full with bags from the grocery store. the door swung open, he‘s sitting on the couch, seemingly zoning out before turning his head to you as he sees you walk inside, his gaze grumpy as usual.

"hi, buck." you said with a sigh.

after his pardon, you'd thought that it would all be a fresh start. he had been home for months, but the weight of the past never left him. his court-mandated therapy had maybe helped somewhat, but whiskey was what helped dull the edges, numbing the guilt and the nightmares.

the serum running through his veins made it hard for him to ever truly be drunk, but it wasn't for a lack of trying.

he nods silently as a greeting before taking another sip from his whiskey bottle, his eyes narrowing into a curious look as he gives you a once-over. he watches you from the couch for a moment, his eyes following you as you entered the kitchen. he couldn’t help but glance at the grocery bag you had set down.

“..whatcha got there?“

your eyes met his as you looked up at him.

"if you want more whiskey, you're out of luck." you quipped.

bucky let out a soft huff of annoyance at your blunt comment. he leaned back on the couch, his gaze shifting to the television instead.

“was just trying to make conversation, that's all.“

you let out a small 'mhm'. you couldn't help it. it seemed like every exchange you shared nowadays was some passive-aggressive back-and-forth, a dance between anger and frustration. you sighed, pulling out the groceries and setting them on the counter, trying to ignore the pit in your stomach. it was getting harder to reach him, to find the man beneath the silence and whiskey haze.

it wasn't always like this, you remembered when he first came home—how he tried, at least for a little while. he went to therapy, tried to keep a routine, even let himself smile every now and then. but that didn’t last. the weight of it all was too much, and he started retreating, piece by piece, until all that was left was this—Bucky Barnes, slumped on the couch, a bottle in hand, eyes empty.

it all had happened gradually. you had, in some ways, gotten used to this life. some days were harder than others, but you had largely given up trying to get through to him.

you wanted to help him—you really did—but the truth was, you didn’t know how. you had tried everything: patience, encouragement, giving him space, then not giving him space. nothing worked. every time you reached out, it felt like grasping at smoke, like trying to hold onto someone who had already decided to let go.

and maybe that was the worst part—you didn’t know if he even wanted your help. if he wanted to get better. if he wanted you around at all.

you were struggling too, though you never said it out loud. the weight of it all—watching him disappear into himself, the nights spent lying awake, wishing for things to be different and yearning for the past. it was exhausting.

so you stopped saying much of anything.

every conversation led to nowhere. empty words, half-hearted replies, moments that used to mean something, now stretched thin with tension. you missed him—even if he was right there.

but you stayed despite it all. you pathetically clung on to the moments you shared that weren't drenched in silence or awkwardness. like the nights when, despite everything, he still pulled you close.

there were times, in the quiet of the dark, when he would reach for you, almost instinctively. his arm would wrap around your waist, his fingers gripping the fabric of your shirt like he was afraid you’d slip away. he never said much, but you felt it—the way his breathing evened out when you traced circles on his back, the way his body relaxed against yours, like you were the only thing grounding him.

every nightmare he had, you were right there by his side. it was just routine now. you knew the exact things to say and do to bring him the comfort he so badly needed.

some mornings, if you were lucky, you’d wake up with his head buried in the crook of your neck, his hair tickling your skin, his hold just a little tighter, like he wasn’t ready to let go just yet. and then there were the rare days when he’d find you in the kitchen, his arms sneaking around your waist, pressing a sleepy kiss to your shoulder, mumbling something about how beautiful you were.

those moments kept you tethered to him, to the hope that maybe, somewhere beneath the weight he carried, the bucky you loved was still there.

bucky’s eyes were back to the television, but it was clear he wasn’t really watching it. the silence between you hung heavy, filled with all the things neither of you knew how to say. you turned around, packing away the groceries, and you could feel the weight of his stare on your back.

bucky let out a sigh, his voice low as he spoke again. “you know, it’s been a while since you’ve even tried to talk to me.”

you froze, your fingers gripping the edge of the counter, feeling a sudden tightness in your chest. you wanted to say something, to turn around and face him. but you couldn't. did he really think that things were fine?

you were worn down emotionally. it had been a while since you had tried to talk about things, and you felt pressure rising in your chest. you didn't know if you wanted to shout or cry. you took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. you could feel it building inside you, the way it twisted your insides, the frustration that threatened to spill over. you didn’t want to snap at him, didn’t want this to end in a round of hurt feelings, but you were so tired, so damn tired of pretending that everything was okay when it wasn’t.

"i don’t know how, bucky," you said, your voice bearly above a whisper. "i don’t know how much longer i can keep doing this."

you couldn't face him in this moment. you didn't want to see the look on his face. a moment of silence passed between you, the weight of your words hanging heavily in the air.

a soft thud echoed through the room, the bottle of whiskey now on the coffee table. you heard footsteps approching the kitchen island.

"what are you saying?" he exclaimed, his voice cautious.

your heart felt heavy, weighed down by the truth you could no longer keep to yourself. you still couldn’t face him. you couldn't bring yourself to meet his eyes, afraid that if you did, the dam inside you would break. you weren’t sure if you were ready for that, or if you could even handle it. you weren't good at things like this.

“i don’t know, that i'm tired,” you whispered, your hands gripping the counter harder.

“i’m not just tired, bucky. i’m... i’m exhausted. mentally, emotionally... you can’t keep pushing me away like this and expect me to stay strong. i’m trying—i really am—but i don’t know how much longer i can keep pretending like i'm okay when i'm not."

your head hung low as you tried to maintain your composure. you slowly turned around to face him, your hands trembling slightly.

you could see his posture stiffen, the way his eyes shifted, guilty and conflicted. he opened his mouth to say something, but the words escaped him. you averted your gaze, unable to keep your eyes on his.

"i don’t want to leave. i don’t want to walk away from you, but i can’t keep losing myself in this—in us. i can’t keep putting on a brave face when every part of me feels like i'm drowning. i just don’t know how to keep going like this.” you had put it all out there, wiping a tear that you hadn’t realized had fallen.

you wanted to feel like you weren’t alone in this, like he would hear you and see you, but you weren’t sure if he would. you weren’t sure if anything would ever change. and that was the most painful, terrifying part—the possibility that time wouldn't heal this.

you tried not to think about it. losing him. the love you felt for him, you knew that would never go away—you'd live the rest of your life wishing things had been different.

finally, his voice broke through the quiet, rough and hesitant. “i didn’t mean for it to be like this," he said, his words slow, almost unsure. "i didn’t mean to make you feel like you’re... alone in this. i know I’ve been pushing you away.”

"but i don’t know how to fix it. i don’t know how to be... the guy you need me to be, not when I can barely stand myself.” he sighed, rubbing the back of his head.

your breath hitched in your throat, suprised at the vulnerability he was suddenly presenting you.

“i just—i'm scared, okay? scared that i'll make it worse, that i’ll drag you down with me.”

there was an ache in his words, a deep and raw honesty that you hadn’t heard in so long.

you stood still for a moment, letting his words settle in the space between you. his honesty hit you hard, more than you expected, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you weren’t just angry or frustrated. you felt a sadness—because you knew he didn’t want to be like this. you just couldn’t seem to find a way out of the mess you both were tangled in.

you finally met his eyes. your heart twisted at the vulnerability there, the way he seemed to shrink under the weight of it all. god, how did you get here?

“i…” you paused, swallowing the lump in your throat, fighting the wave of emotion that threatened to break through. “i’m scared too.”

“i’m scared that i'm losing you. sometimes i feel like i already have. i tried so hard, and i couldn't reach you. and i don’t know how to keep going like this, with this distance between us.”

you wiped your hand across your eyes, trying to keep the tears at bay, despite some of them having already escaped. “i don’t know how to help you when you won’t let me in, when you push me away like i'm... like i’m just a part of the mess you’re trying to escape.” your voice cracked at the end of your sentence, you looked away—taking a deep breath to compose yourself.

“but I’m not going anywhere, bucky. i’m here, and i'm trying to understand, even when it feels impossible. i just… i need you to meet me halfway. i can’t fix this alone.”

Bucky’s gaze softened, his eyes locked onto yours with a mixture of blame and something deeper—something almost like relief. relief that even after everything, you still were extending him an olive branch.

he wandered around to the other side of the kitchen island seperating you, now at your side.

your hands were softly clutching the edge of the counter, searching for comfort.

bucky stood there for a moment, just close enough that you could feel the heat of his presence, but far enough that the space between you still felt heavy. the quiet in the room stretched on, thick with unspoken words, as if he was gathering the courage to say something. then, without warning, he reached out, his hand brushing against yours, tentative, like he wasn’t sure whether you would pull away.

you didn’t.

he sighed, an abysmal, worn-out sound that seemed to come from somewhere deep within him.

“i'm sorry,” he murmured, his voice low, barely above a whisper. “i didn’t mean to push you away. i didn’t mean to make you feel like you’re not enough.” he paused, his thumb brushing lightly over your hand, the movement barely perceptible. “i’ve got these thoughts, these... memories that i can’t get rid of. they don’t stop. and sometimes, i’m afraid that one day, they’ll take over, and i’ll lose control. i know i was deprogrammed, i know he's gone, but the fear—it's still there. deep down, it’s still there."

he paused, swallowing hard, the weight of his admission sinking in. “i keep thinking that one day, i’m gonna snap, and i’ll hurt you. you’re the best thing that’s happened to me, i feel so undeserving of you. you’re everything I’ve ever wanted, everything good in this messed up world, and i... i don’t know how to be the man you deserve. i don’t know how to be the person you see when you look at me."

you breathed his name softly, "bucky..." your voice unsure, a mix of compassion and concern threading through each syllable.

he shook his head, running his free hand over his face as if trying to erase the doubts he couldn’t shake. "i’ve done horrible things. things i’ll never be able to make up for, no matter how hard I try. you know that. even now, i feel like i’m still that same broken soldier, still capable of hurting the people i love. you don’t deserve someone like me."

his words came out with such quiet devastation that it made your chest tighten even further. you could see how much he was struggling with the weight of his past, how it felt like a shadow he couldn’t escape, no matter how much time had passed.

"i look at you, and i see all the love and kindness you’ve given me, and i just—i feel like I’m not enough, like i’ll never be enough."

you felt an overwhelming mix of empathy and frustration swirling inside you. you loved him so much, more than he could ever know, and yet here he was, convinced that he wasn’t worthy of you. it hurt, but what hurt even more was that he couldn’t see it—that you had chosen him, not just once, but every single day. through every struggle, every painful argument, you had stayed.

"you don’t get to do that. you don’t get to act like you know what’s best for me, like my feelings don’t matter. i love you, bucky. i chose you. not because you’re perfect, not because i expect you to be someone you’re not, but because i see you. you. and i want you, just as you are."

you turned your body towards him, your eyes now staring up at him intently.

"you keep saying you’re scared of hurting me, but don’t you see? this—pushing me away, shutting me out like i'm not capable of helping you carry your burdens—that hurts more than anything else ever could." you exhaled sharply, trying to steady yourself. "i don’t need you to be perfect. i just need you to let me in."

you gripped his hand tightly in yours. bucky’s breath hitched as he stared down at you, his adam’s apple bobbing with the force of the emotions he was trying to hold back. his fingers twitched in your grip, and for a second, you thought he might pull away.

his chest rose and fell with a shaky breath, his blue eyes flickering back and forth into your intense stare. he was searching—maybe for reassurance, maybe for proof that you really meant every word. “i don’t know what to do.” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper, his eyes leaving yours as he stared off into the kitchen.

"let me in. that's your only choice if you want me to stay." you said, practically a demand.

bucky swallowed hard before his gaze finally met yours again. there was hesitation there, fear still lingering in the depths of his tired eyes, but there was something else, too—something softer, something that looked a little like hope.

he exhaled, shaky and uncertain, but then he gave a small nod. “okay,” he murmured. “i'll try.”

relief flooded through you, and you reached for his hand again, giving it a firm squeeze. “that’s all I need,” you said gently. “just try.”

bucky looked down at your joined hands for a moment, his thumb brushing absentmindedly over your skin before he let out a quiet, almost self-deprecating chuckle. “guess that means i should probably start by putting down the damn bottle, huh?”

a small smile tugged at your lips despite the heavy conversation. “wouldn’t be the worst idea.”

without another word, bucky turned, walking back toward the couch where his nearly empty whiskey bottle sat on the coffee table. he hesitated only briefly before reaching for it, lifting it just enough to stare at the amber liquid inside. then, with a deep breath, he stood up straighter and walked toward the kitchen sink.

you watched as he uncapped it, his fingers tightening around the neck of the bottle before tilting it over the drain. the scent of whiskey filled the air as the liquid splashed against the metal, swirling away until nothing was left.

bucky set the empty bottle down with a quiet clink, then looked back at you. his expression was unreadable for a moment before he nodded, hands on his hips, as if trying to convince himself of his own decision. “there. that’s a start, right?”

you stepped closer, pressing your forehead softly against his shoulder, your fingers curling gently around his waist. “yeah,” you whispered. “that’s a start.”

he lifted his arms and wrapped them around you, pulling you into his chest. it wasn’t desperate or suffocating—it was sweet, careful. you melted into him.

he buried his face against your hair, his breath warm against your skin. “thank you, doll.” he murmured, so soft you barely heard it.

you squeezed him a little tighter, your fingers pressing into his back. “always.”

[devildomditzy]

“aaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!”

The sound of a scream rarely can pull your attention away from your D.D.D. nowadays.

Oh no, you know far better by now.

The days where once you panicked with worry, quickly stumbling over yourself to find which one of the brothers was in danger were long over - now that you know the only real danger in this house hold is the fact that they are dangers to themselves.

You lay lazily on your bed, scrolling through your Devilgram feed on your phone when you hear it: a scream off in the distance, slowly getting louder.

Actually, not louder. Closer.

You can hear it through the thick, oak door that divides you from the rest of the house. There’s some extra noise there too. Perhaps, one or two pairs of footsteps quickly falling on the hardwood floor in succession out in the hallway.

The only action you bother to take is glancing up from your device just to make sure your door is shut, and locked.

You expect it, you could even count down the seconds till it happens. Like clockwork, ever so predictable. The footsteps only get louder until you hear the inevitable banging on the other side of the wood.

Knocking, vigorous knocking. A loud fist slamming against your door so hard and so frantically you thought it might break.

“MC! Are ya in there? Can ya open the door please? Preferably within the next ten seconds.”

You roll your eyes, not bothering to move. Nope, you don’t want any part in this. You can ignore it all you want though, you know how persistent he is. Mammon always gets what he wants.

“MC, please. Ya gotta open up. I’ll do anythin’ ya want for the whole day- no, week if ya let me in!”

Now, that was an interesting proposition. Having a demon butler doesn’t sound too shabby. But Mammon isn’t Barbatos. And the idiot forgets he’s already pact bound to you, forced to do whatever you command on a whim.

You roll your eyes, calling out to him from your bed. “Hmm. Tempting, but not good enough.”

“Not good enough?! Whaddya mean not good enough you lousy-“

He’s cut off by a monstrous roar, one you’d distinctly recognize anywhere. Oh good, Levi summoned Lotan.

Mammon’s knocking gets faster as he pulls on your door handle, practically shaking the frame.

“Please please please please please!”, he pleads with you, sounding increasingly more panicked.

“Okay, okay, fine! I’ll take ya out to that nice restaurant you’ve been yappin’ about all week, that really fancy one!”

Now, you know Mammon good and well, so you know good and well to be suspicious of him and his motives. But, you trust him well enough to not flake out on a deal. He’s a business man and all that.

“Tonight?”, you question, trying to dull the hint of excitement in your tone.

“Yes! Tonight, fine whatever! Just open up already!”

You hear an angry shout of Mammon’s name that could only come from the third eldest getting louder, nearer into earshot.

“Fine.”

You open the door with no warning nor fanfare, causing Mammon, who had been practically leaning his whole body against it, to fall directly flat onto his face in front of you.

You hear a muffled “thanks” from the floor as you quickly shut and lock your door, effectively hiding the troublemaker from the sea monster (and his owner’s) eyesight.

“What’d you do this time?”, you question, arms crossed and peering at the man on your floor with feigned annoyance.

He slowly raises himself up, pushing off the floor and sitting up. He puts a hand to his head, rubbing at a tender area that must have hit the hardwood as you reach out a hand to help him up.

“Argh… What makes ya think I did somethin?”, he grumps. “Do ya really have that little faith in me?”

All it takes is an eyebrow raise from your unamused face before he growls at you- and spills his misdeeds.

“I thought maybe Levi wouldn’t notice if some of those little anime dolls of his went missin’”.

You sigh at him and shake your head in disappointment, multitasking as you take a look at the spot he was rubbing on his forehead, pushing his bangs out of the way to see if it bruised.

“How many did you take?”

“Only one!”, he says, almost as if he’s insulted that you’d insinuate that he took more- but then he falls apart under your gaze.

“Or three.”

“How about you give them back, huh?”, you muse, guiding him to sit down on your bed while you move about the room, walking over to a small antique looking ice chest you kept in the room as a mini fridge and opening the lid, peering inside before moving to your desk to grab something from the drawer.

“Cause I kinda loaned them out-“

You throw a dangerous look over your shoulder at him causing him to flinch and gulp.

“to a pawn shop.”

You make a few small ‘tsk’ sounds at him, reaching into the chest to pull out a handful of ice, wrapping them in the handkerchief you pulled from your desk drawer.

You walk over to him and place it over the red mark appearing on his forehead. Using your hand not holding the makeshift ice pack, you grab one of his, moving it up towards the bundle to replace your own with his, making him hold it instead.

“You know Lucifer’s gonna kill you AND Levi when he finds the hallways flooded with sea water for the second time in a month”, you say, taking his chin in your hand and carefully tilting his head side to side to look for any other cuts, scraps, or marks. You could pretend to be annoyed all you want. You both knew you didn’t mind playing nurse for him.

“Why do ya think I’m hidin’ from em ?”

You let out a small laugh, but shake your head at him all the same.

“Well, I’m looking forward to our impromptu date, but first we’re gonna head to that pawn shop to buy back his figurines, okay golden boy?”

He grunts at you before making eye contact and melting. He could never say no to you, not under that gaze.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll even buy him another one to go with ‘em. He’s been talkin’ about some new magical girl or whatever, I’m sure I could find one of her.”

You smile at him, cupping his cheek in your hand.

“Perfect, sounds like a plan. Let’s get going”, you smile, moving in to lay a kiss on his cheek, only stopping when you both hear a trickling sound.

You look over at your door only to find water beginning to flow underneath and into your room.

Aaaannnddd, the hallways flooded.

“We are going to have to leave through the window though.”

[obeymeshallwedateaddict]

MC who's eyes change color to their pact mark when they feel each of the brother's sin? How would each of them react when they see it?

(Can it be a little NSFW for certain sins *cough* Asmo *cough* and maybe luci and satan too? yea i'm a simp...)

Hiiii i finally finished this omg. It's been staying in my drafts for waaayyy too long. It also became a little longer than anticipated but I hope you like it. And I totally missed the part that you wanted all the brothers and only certain with nsfw 😭 sorry about that.. I'll make up for it and write for all of them sometime.

Summary: During an argument the only way you can shut them up is through the pact but it doesn't go exactly as planned.

Contains: NSFW (Minors do not interact)

Pairings:

Reader x Lucifer, Satan, Asmodeus

You can find more of my work here: Masterlist

During a heated argument

Lucifer

You and the eldest had gotten into a serious argument over some trouble stirred by the rest of his brothers. And usually Lucifer wouldn't give it much thought since it's daily life for him to deal with his brother's antics but today you were at the peak of it. You didn't try to stop his brothers but rather it looked like you helped them. That's what made Lucifer feral. The thought of you helping his brothers with something you know you should prevent made the demon of Pride snap.

You were on your knees before the demon, about 2 hours into a big scolding. Though your patience was wearing thin.

-"You shouldn't be so reckless! What if something had happened to you?" –The demon yelled, his red eyes shining with wrath. You looked up with him with annoyance.

-"Nothing happened! Everything's okay! I'm okay! Why are we even having this conversation when everything is completely fine???" –You snap and raise to your feet, taking a few slow steps towards the demon.

-"Because I'm trying to prevent future situations like this! I'm trying to protect you, MC!" –He yelled, his eyes locked on you as you slowly closed the distance.

-"Yeah and by trying to protect me you're constantly suffocating me! 'You can't do this, you can't go there' stop controlling my life, Lucifer! I'm not a child!"

-"You're not a child hm? Then should I leave you alone? Is that what you want? To get eaten faster than you could call for my help?" –The demon speaks and runs a frustrated hand through his hair you close your eyes, trying to suppress your annoyance and anger but it's too much for you to handle. Frustration surged through you and you let a loud groan before speaking.

-"Aghh! Stop this! It's enough!" –You yell on top of your lungs. Your command seems to trigger the pact between you two and Lucifer is thrown across the room to his knees while your eyes shine in crimson blue. The raven-haired demon's eyes widen as he takes a sharp breath, trying to contain the pain your powerful pact caused. He takes in the sight of you and his eyes lock upon your eyes. Crimson blue - his colour. As well as Lucifer's pact mark on your left eye - it was also shining bright through the dimly lit room. The sight of you radiating such confidence, such pride. Your eyes shining with his sin caused a shiver of possessiveness to run through him. A sadistic smirk appeared on his face as he raised to his feet. Your face fell to the sight of his smug grin and you knew nothing good was in it for you. You took a step back but soon enough you were trapped in between the wall and Lucifer, who was beaming with pride and lust more than ever.

-"You look so beautiful in my colour, my master.. so powerful.. so fucking sexy.." his hands found your hips and he pulled you flush against him. The feel of his touch lit a fire inside you. You could feel your cheeks flush and your body melt into his hands even if that's not what you anticipated to happen. Your mind screamed at you to push him away, to remind him of the argument that had just occurred. Yet, the heat of his touch was impossible to ignore. He leaned down, his breath hitting and caressing your skin which drove shivers down your spine before pulling you into a desperate, passionate kiss, full of all the frustration from earlier. At first you struggle, trying to push him away but he's insistent. After a bit of struggle you finally give up and let yourself be tangled and surrounded by him. His hands travel up and down your body, making sure to touch and grab every curve it. You feel yourself spread your legs for him which makes the demon break the kiss just to look at you with that hungry gaze of his. He chuckles before speaking.

-"Already so desperate for me are you, MC? Hmm... Though I wonder.. should I give it to you or.." He pauses and presses his knee in between your legs, rubbing your heat which makes your breath hitch.

-"Or.. should I teach you a lesson for your disobedience?" He groans with frustration as he feels himself throbbing against his pants. His cock is screaming, begging to be free and to feel some kind of stimulation but Lucifer waits, knowing it's not the time to reward you. Meanwhile you grind against his knee, seeking even the last bit of pleasure it can give you. But The Avatar of Pride is not dumb. He is fast to notice that and smirks before picking you up and throwing you onto his bed. Surprise washes over you as you grip the sheets in uneasiness. Lucifer chuckles and unbuckles his belt as he makes his way to the bed.

-"I will make you scream my name tonight, master. And I won't stop until you're thoroughly punished. So I hope you're ready.. because you're not going to be getting any sleep tonight." The demon disposes of his clothes faster than you can imagine and he begins leaving open-mouthed kisses all over your neck, collarbone and face -everywhere he could reach bare skin, leaving a burning trail behind. Though his patience was wearing thinner than what he'd like. His hands gripped your shirt and tore it apart without even struggling. Soon follow your jeans and your bra, leaving you in only your lacy little thong that was soaked with your juices. Lucifer stopped in his tracks to admire the view.

-"Would you look at that, you horny little thing.. did you wear those for me? Tell me it's for me because if it isn't... I'm going to tear up to pieces whoever it was for..." The demon growled, admiring the view one last time before hooking his fingers into the waist band of the thong.

-"So warm.. so humid.. and it's all for me isn't it, my little human?" His fingers graced your clit which provoked a quiet moan out of you.

And so he continued teasing you just like this for god knows how much time. Bringing you ever so close to the peak and stopping, just to see your frustrated expressions to your denied orgasm, feeding the sadist in him. After a long while when he finally decided he had enough he raised on his knees, moving on top of you so his cock presses to your overstimulated cunt.

-"Are you ready, dear master? Because the fun is yet to start... The night is still young after all.." After those words the demon thrusts into you, making you let out a loud moan. He smirks as he begins fucking you. -Slow and steady at first but soon enough it becomes hard, raw, deep and fast. His cock was hitting all the right places inside you. You could feel each and every vein covering his shaft. And it wasn't long before you finally reached that blissful release. And so as the night went on Lucifer brought you to many more climaxes. More than you thought possible. And as promised he went on for the entire night. Lucifer had an unbelievable amount of stamina after all.

Satan

You were studying for the upcoming exams in RAD and it was a big struggle. There were a lot of concepts that weren't clear to you, making you question the possibility of those things. What do you mean demons can manipulate energy so much that they could take all the energy from one subject and turn it into something else entirely? And how were you supposed to do that yourself? You sighed burying your face into the books, praying that none of this nonsense will be on the exam and then it clicked. Why don't you call for someone's help? You looked through your contacts settling on two of them. Satan and Lucifer. Both were well aware of the subject you couldn't understand and now the question was which one? You began thinking.. you overheard that Satan has had a rough week and was on the verge of throwing a tantrum. It would take one mistake of yours for him to blow up the house. Lucifer on the other hand is a great teacher. He can be patient when teaching but is also a stressed man. If you don't understand the concept after many explanations he'll grow irritated. You decided you wanted to give Satan time to blow off some steam and calm down so you called Lucifer.

A few hours later you find yourself in Satan's room. He was mad that you had chosen Lucifer over him for such a simple thing as helping you understand that subject.

-"I am fully capable of explaining that concept to you, MC! Why do you always run to Lucifer when you face a problem??? Why??" –The demon yelled, the sound of his voice making shivers run down your spine. You looked down at the ground, fidgeting your fingers, hoping Satan wouldn't get too mad.

-"I.. I just thought you needed to calm down.. I heard you had a rough week.. I just.." You stammer out but Satan's angry glare stops you in your tracks.

-"You think I would refuse to help you just because I've had a rough week? You think I can't be patient with you when I'm irritated? And is that why you had to run to Lucifer??" He yelled, rubbing his temper, struggling not to lose control. He knew that if he lost control now it would make matters worse and you would avoid him even more than you are now.

-"Lucifer is not more capable than me, MC! I can control my anger! Don't you trust I can??? Lucifer is one to lose his mind because of the smallest mistake!" Satan yelled, jealousy flashing through his eyes. Hurt and wrath. You knew you were the one who hurt him. Guilt was tugging at your heart, hoping Satan would understand the situation but he didn't even want to look into it properly. Satan has always been like that when you do something with Lucifer instead of him. The fear that he could be the same as Lucifer or worse than him tugged at his heart. Always layed at the back of his mind. Creeping up at moments when he was unsure about himself.

-"Satan, listen to me-" You tried to explain but he was lost in his wrath so much that he wouldn't listen.

-"How could you? With what exactly is Lucifer better than me, MC? What makes him your first choice rather than me? Why not me MC?" He spoke his voice screaming hurt.

-"Satan it's not like that. I trust you Satan, please listen." You tried again and again but nothing seemed to work. The demon of wrath was blinded by his rage and the only thing you could do is use your pact to stop him before he destroys the entire house. You take a deep breath before speaking.

-"That's enough! Satan, stay!" You yell and seconds later the demon goes flying into a bookshelf, causing most of the books to fall on the floor. Satan groans in pain as he sits on his knees before you. You feel the power of the pact surge through you. It's like liquid has been poured into your veins. The strength flowing through your body. Your eyes shine green. The same colour of Satan's sin. Though that isn't left unnoticed. Upon seeing your shining bright green eyes a mischievous smirk appears on Satan's face and he raises to his feet.

-"I'll forgive you.. just this once.. because..." He takes a few slow steps towards you. His intimidating presence makes your breath hitch in your throat.

-"... because the way your eyes shine with my colour.. like I'm the only man in your eyes speaks much about who you prefer. That loser Lucifer or me. And the answer is crystal clear. So.. my master..let me indulge in you.." His hands find your body, caressing all your curves and leaving open-mouthed kisses all over your skin. He slowly walks you to the bed before pushing you down. You see the hungry look in his eyes that draws a fire inside you. He's quick to dispose of his clothes and moves onto your own. He unbuttons buttons and takes off pieces of clothes in-between kisses and caresses. He's desperate to see, to touch your skin. And when he finally reaches it it's like he's reached heaven. You can see the fire burn in his eyes as his fingers inch closer and closer to your throbbing pussy. Satan smirks and gently drags his fingers down your slit. All the way from your clit to your asshole before circling the little bundle of nerves with his thumb. You let out a soft gasp to the sensation.

-"Don't hold those noises in, MC. Let me hear you. Let my brothers hear who's making the human feel this good." –He works on your clit and your entrance for a while. His skillful fingers, caressing and rubbing all of the right places before his patience finally wears thin and he hoovers above you, rubbing the head of his dick to your entrance. You whimper in pleasure and the demon smirks, proud of himself for making you feel this way. Soon enough he pushes in and fills you whole. You can feel him hit each and every spot, rub your insides just right, making you see stars. He makes love to you sensually, making sure you feel each and every sensation that comes with being taken by the Avatar of Wrath. That night he makes sure you're thoroughly satisfied. As well as himself of course.

Asmodeus

It's been really busy for you lately. It was exam week in RAD and you've been studying nonstop. It was rare for you to spend time with the brothers during this period since you were buried to the hilt with books, notebooks and studies. You barely had time for yourself considering how hard and co confusing all Devildom subjects were. 'The steps to the ultimate love potion' ... Wait that's a real thing? 'How to seduce and manipulate the human mind' ..uhm... I'll act as if I didn't just read that.. 'Binding curses for advanced' ...Why just why? Overall it was crazy confusing. A few hours into studying you decided to take a short breath. You sat away from all the books, taking a deep breath and rubbing your temple in frustration. You were going to have the biggest ass headache tomorrow morning and you couldn't do anything about it. Well that's not entirely true. You could use one of the spells that stop any kind of pain in the human body for which you just studied about but... that's if you remember them... There is just no way out of this. Suddenly your phone buzzed which grabbed your attention. You looked at the phone. Asmo's name was on the screen. You smiled briefly and picked up the phone to answer and before you could even say hi you heard Asmo's frustrated voice on the other side.

-"Well you took your sweet, sweet time to answer me, MC. What's keeping you so occupied, hm?" –Your eyes widened briefly. It didn't take you long to answer the phone though? That's when you noticed the six missed calls from the demon of lust, all in the past hour. You froze in place. The only good thing that came out of this is that the missed calls weren't from Lucifer. If they were.. you'd probably end up dead. But other than that everything was a disaster.

-"Asmo, I'm so sorry.. I was busy studying and I didn't notice." –You apologised, hoping the demon would understand but exactly as you feared he didn't budge.

-"You didn't notice? Would that also happen to be the same excuse you'll use for all the times you avoided me this week?" –You could hear the slight hurt in his voice. The way his voice broke at a few words made your heart stop and shatter to tiny pieces. You never meant for this to happen. There was only one rational thing to do.

-"I'll be right there, Asmo. Just give me a second." –You spoke and immediately stood up, walking hurriedly towards the fifth-born's room.

-"If I'm so unimportant to you, why bother?" –You rolled your eyes upon his words. Sure, you understand that he's seeking your attention but it was a bit over the top. Drama queen much? You hung up the phone just as you knocked on his door. But you didn't receive an answer.

-"Asmo, open the door." –You asked in a high voice so he could hear you properly.

-"Would it make such a big difference if I did? Would you care?" –He whined through the door, making you roll your eyes once again.

-"Asmodeus, stop being difficult and open the door. Talk to me. Don't shut me out like this." –You pleaded, hoping the demon would give up the attitude and talk to you openly. After a few long seconds, the door finally opens slightly ajar. You see Asmodeus' tear stained face. All puffy and red. It's not often you see him like this and it gnaws at your heart. You swallow the limb that's been clogging your throat and push open the door.

For the next few minutes you try to reassure the upset demon that he is, in fact important to you. And that you didn't have enough time to catch up with your studies as well as spend time with him but he wasn't having it.

-"Do you even care about me anymore? Am I not your priority any longer?" –He paused to swallow his tears before speaking up again.

-"You don't care about me anymore, right? Am I right? I was just a temporary fling to you?" –He continued but your anger boiled and boiled since he wasn't listening and wasn't even trying to. And that's when you finally snapped.

-"Asmodeus, I command you to shut up!" –You speak loud enough for the command to be executed. Asmodeus stops in his tracks, the direct command preventing him from saying anything else. You feel a fire surge through you. The feeling, the power of commanding a demon and binding him into place with just a few words. Your eyes shine pink-the colour of Asmodeus' sin. They are bright and radiant. Anyone could see how much power you hold over the demon only if they were here to see. But the only one that's with you at the moment is Asmodeus. And he does notice the colour of your eyes and the power in your expression. Suddenly the hurt vanished from his eyes and is replaced with something else. He takes a deep breath and walks towards you slowly, sensually, making your breath stop. You can command the demon of lust but can you command the lust itself?

-"So it is true.. I can see it in your beautiful, radiant eyes... I am in fact important to you.. and not just important... The most important.. your eyes don't shine like that for anyone else.. do they?" –He slowly takes your hand and intertwines his fingers with yours, pulling you towards him until you're pressed against his chest. He leans down, savouring your scent. You could feel his nose slighty brush against the side of your cheek and it sends shivers down your spine. The fifth-born's eyes are burning. You could see the desire in them and he slowly begins guiding you to the bed.

-"If that really is the case.. Prove it to me tonight, sweet, sweet master.. prove it to me until I've had enough of you.." –He pushed you down onto the bed and looms over your, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. His hands slide over all your cracks and curves, trying to reveal more and more skin.

-"Those clothes are getting in my way.. I need you au-naturel..." –He speaks and slowly begins taking off your clothes, revealing your bare body to him. Soon enough you're fully nude in front of him and so is he. You didn't even notice when he managed to take off his clothes as well but it didn't matter now. You gripped the back of his neck and pulled him into a kiss - more desperate than the last few. His fingers travelled down your body reaching your center and digging his fingers inside. He slowly worked on your clit. Caressing ever so slightly. Giving the smallest amount of pleasure. You groan and grind your hips against his hand, hoping to create some more friction and he chuckles.

-"Desperate to be pleased are you? Well now you know how you made me feel the past few days, master.." –He speaks quietly into your ear. A fire burns in your body and every flick of his fingers over your clit makes you tremble and whine, hoping for something more. After a long while he finally inserts a finger inside you. Guiding it in and out, slowly and sensually. You moan and press yourself closer to him. His fingers work on your cunt while his thumb circles your clit and before you know it you were trembling in pleasure. Lost in the feeling of the fifth-born's hand on your pussy. After your powerful orgasm he gently removed his fingers and replaced them with his rock-hard length.

-"The fun hasn't even started, MC.. Were going to be having fun all night long.." –He says and thrusts into you, filling your whole. Your eyes roll to the back of your head and you let out and extended moan. His thrusts are sensual and pleasureable. Hitting all of the right spots inside you. And before you know it you're clenching around him, milking his dick dry. And with that the fun continues into the night.

[mediumgayitalian]

Hazel thinks she hates New York.

It’s not Camp Half-Blood. She likes Camp Half-Blood, actually, likes the sweet-smelling strawberry fields, the rolling waves in the distance, the way every colour, every conversation or moment, just seems more. Louder, livelier. It’s only been a couple days but she’s fond of the place, even though the people are odd and the customs odder (seriously — who came up with the curfew harpies? Hazel is no stranger to demigod structural violence, but a group of demonic bird ladies let loose at a random time of “after the sun sets, usually” to kill and devour children and teens is a new level of weird even for her. Percy assures her that the harpy murder is alleged, as he has spent several summers in camp and has not seen it happen, but he is also an amnesiac and an enabler so what does he know).

It’s the stars, she thinks.

New York doesn’t seem to have any.

It was a shock when she was first brought back. How dim the night sky had become, how devoid, bereft. Uranus’ dome now pales in comparison to the dazzling Alaskan skies decades ago, even in New Rome, huddled away from California’s worst light pollution. Even in the middle of the Pacific, in quiet midnights aboard the Argo II, the sky seemed lonelier. She’s gotten used to it, for the most part, the tar-coloured skies, but New York is like the inkwells on the desk she shared with Sammy. They spilled them, constantly, clumsy hands taking the slap of the ruler in exchange for tapping fingers and quiet giggles, and the dark-stained woodgrain is a perfect amalgamation of the skies she watches now; stifling over the screened tent roof, silent as a packed grave. Unsettling.

She should be sleeping. Gwen’s snores beside her are familiar, and the ground is solid. A welcome reprieve from the months she’s spent at sea. But despite the exhaustion twisting in her limbs and bagging under her eyes, she cannot convince herself to drift. Her eyes remain stubbornly open, locked in with the stillborn sky, waiting, waiting, waiting.

Even the moon is dull.

Finally she can take it no longer. Careful not to wake her friend, she creeps out of her sleeping bag, wiggling out over the course of several minutes to avoid the loud rip of the zipper, The tent’s door she can’t muffle, so she opens it as quickly as possible, somersaulting out and zipping it shut behind her in under ten seconds. She holds her breath, hands braced on the taut plastic, straining to hear a shift, a sniffle, a snort of disruption, but there’s nothing. Gwen remains blissfully unconscious, snores steady and even. Good.

Sword firmly in her hands, watching warily for demonic chicken ladies (who are nowhere as sweet or cool as Ella, awful cousins are universal among species it seems) or whatever other horrible ‘features’ Camp Half-Blood forgot to mention to them, she picks her way out of the Roman encampment, through the strawberry fields, and towards the main.

It’s around three in the morning, she’s pretty sure. She can’t be certain, because she cannot see the sky, but she’s always had a knack for navigating the dark. Nico can, too. Perks of being an Underworld child, she supposes.

Hopefully Nico is asleep. (She replaced his cabin door with a solid brick of obsidian to force him to sleep, yesterday, so he better be, but he’s a slippery little brat and she does not doubt his ability to squeeze through the air vents she left for him, or something. His hair was probably greasy enough to slide him right through. He better have showered, or she is going to smack him. Hard.) If he isn’t, though, she wouldn’t mind his company. She is in the mood to complain about the modern world. And if he is, maybe she’ll go wake up Percy. Or wander around until the sun rises. Who knows.

She notices, as she wanders along the edge of the wonky cabin-omega, movement coming from the Big House. Most of the windows are dark, but the bottom floor on the left — the infirmary, she thinks — is dimly lit, conscientious of the late hour, and there is definitely someone moving around. She pauses, watching for a moment, and — yep. A blond boy, every couple of minutes, rushes past a window, stethoscope bouncing off his chest, new thing in his hands with every trip.

He seems harried.

Without much thought, Hazel pushes through the rickety screen door.

At first, he doesn’t seem to notice. Hazel is camouflaged, slightly, but the shadows, her black bonnet and dark sleep clothes blending in with the many shadows cast by shelves of equipment and gently swaying privacy curtains. The boy is busy, flitting from cot to cot, scribbling on charts and tripping over chords. He moves so quickly he is blurry, hard to focus on. It takes him almost a minute to stop, freezing in the dead centre of the overcrowded infirmary, and turn to face Hazel. He is tired, she notices. His eyes are darker than the bruises under them; glassy like black labradorite, and widen as they notice her.

“Oh my gods, you’re — you’re Hazel Levesque! Holy moly.”

“Hi,” she says, smiling slightly. “You look busy for this time of night.”

The boy waves a hand, returning to his fluttering — a little slower, this time, though. Less frantic.

“Oh, yes, well. Lots of things to do. Julia’s collarbone was totally shattered, have to keep monitoring that, and there’s a group who got drop kicked into a broken onager, their recovery concerns me, and we’re rationing nectar again, and I swear I’m always running out of bandages, and I keep getting that niggling feeling, you know, when — you’re forgetting something? Important? But of course you have no idea what, and — I’m sorry.” The boy twitches, freezing midway through changing an empty saline bag, glancing back over at her. “Oh my gods, are you injured? Fuck, of course you are, it’s the middle of the night and you’re here, obviously —”

“Wait, I'm completely —”

“Oh, no, you’re fine.” He sighs, a full bodied thing, and turns his attention back to the chart in his hands. “You’ve got an old riding injury ‘round your left patella, though. You should get that checked out.”

Hazel blinks.

She…does have an old knee injury.

It was a riding accident, when she was nine. She doesn’t remember much, only flying, warm wind kissing along her face, bubbling out of her lungs as she laughed and whooped and forgot who she was, what she was, forgot the stones popping up behind her. They couldn’t catch her anyways. And she remembers falling, wind at her back, instead, and she remembers Sammy’s face, and the panic that clouded it, and her mother’s shouting. She remembers cold marble and an oil-slick voice and cool hands on her forehead. 

She blinks, shaking her head slightly. The blond boy has moved past her, now, pacing up and down the rickety cots, trailing his long fingers over bandaged foreheads and crooked elbows. His mouth moves softly and silently, hands glowing along, shoulder sagging, slightly, with every person he visits.

“You’re exhausted,” she observes. 

The boy smiles slightly, finishing a whispered hymn before turning her way. “Who isn’t?” His fingers twitch, in absence of a task, and start picking at the bandage around his wrist, wrapping, unwrapping, wrapping, unwrapping. “Is your knee bothering you? Unhealed injuries last longer for demigods. Especially after battle. Something about unsettled scores, I don’t know. The concept pisses me off so I refuse to entertain it on principle, but I can ease the pain if you like.”

Her knee does twinge, actually. It’s a damp kind of ache, like a headache in a rainstorm, but it's old and familiar, and hardly even registers. It smarts far less than her heart, anyway. 

Gaea’s gone. 

So is Leo.

Leo is gone.

She swallows. “I’m okay. I’m used to it.”

“Three years ago, a man named Michael Moylon went to the ER for a ‘headache’ he’d been ignoring. Turns out he was shot in the head but was used to the pain, so he didn’t bother.” The boy stands starighter, scolding hands on his hips. Hazel stares at him. “So.” He pats a padded bench with a papery cover over the seat. “Let me take a look.”

…Camp Half-Blood will always be, Hazel thinks, a strange, strange place, with strange, strange people. It’s hard to believe she once thought the Apollo-descendants of Camp Jupiter oddities; it’s hard to believe she once found anyone odd. Even outside of Camp Half-Blood. 

Gods, child-eating harpies. She really can’t get over it.

The medic wastes no time. The second she forces her feet to move, settling in on the cot, he is in action, tapping her pant leg gently so she rolls it up – which she does, flushing red and pretending not to see his bit-back smile – and prodding gently at the area, humming to himself. 

“Jeez,” he murmurs, pushing the tip of her kneecap with his thumb until she winces. “You shattered the whole bone!”

“There is no way you could possibly know that,” she argues. “I broke it – gods, I broke it ninety years ago, almost. And it healed.”

“It healed ish,” the medic corrects. “By ish I mean maybe someone tied a bandage on it and you were on crutches for a week.”

Hazel has seen a grand many things, even for a demigod. She has faced Titans. She has faced Giants. She has won, in all of these fights, she has held fallen comrades, she has wept for them, she has wept for decades, cursing and loving her mother in equal measure. She has stood her ground in front of six of the most powerful demigods to ever walk the Earth and defended her brother. She has faced off her own Father, even, and the broken power behind his eyes. She has bent the Mist to her will. She has bent the Earth to her will. It is not cocky to say she is strong, it is not arrogant to claim she has seen all there is to have seen. 

Still, the small pop of her gaping mouth echoes in the quiet, midnight infirmary, and the boy smiles, sideways and crooked, and shoots her a wink. 

“I could tell you how often someone two hundred thousand years ago ate shellfish by looking at a fossilized tooth. Believe me, I know what a shattered patella looks like.”

Modern medicine is a wild thing. Hazel has found that a lot of her friends in modern times have no idea how good they have it, and how wildly medicinal science has progressed in the last century. Aside from machinery and accurate devices, the pure knowledge that is widely available is mind-blowing. Hazel still remembers the looks she got when recommending calomel to a stressed out mother of a colicky baby in a cafe – it’s not like she knew mercury was poisonous. She remembers dosing out her mother’s calomel solutions for her deepest depressions. 

Still. There is a difference between modern medicine and near-divining her past with the barest touch of a bone through layers of skin and fat and muscle. 

The boy hovers wide, scarred hands over her knees, waiting for her nod. As he rests his palm on her skin she sighs, quick and startled like the quick collapse of a carnival tent; the bright, clear heat of his hands sinks into the pores of her skin and settles deep inside her brittle bones, warming a cold she hadn’t realised she’d been harboring. He begins to sing, under his breath, first, but slowly swelling with the night breeze through the open windows, swirling around the climbing plants hanging from the ceiling and weaving through the stone fountain in the room’s corner, pulling her lingering pain away with it. Hazel watches, wide-eyed, as the shadows take shape, chasing the song, of a horse, red-eyed and panicked, and a small little wisp of a thing, weak and limp. With every lilting note, the shadows get softer, and softer, and softer, until they wash away in the fountain’s stream. 

In the silence there is the warmth of the medic’s hand still on her knee. In the silence there is that same warmth, liquid, slowly pushing its way through her veins and blood, settling curled and tired in the marrow of her bones. In the silence there is, for the first time in nearly a century, a stillness, a total lack of the low, pulsating, ice-cold pain that has been quietly pushing from her knee for longer than it hasn’t. 

“Can everybody do that here?” she asks, finally, breathlessly. “Or just you?” 

Hazel makes no habit of the infirmary in Camp Jupiter, but biannual check-ups are mandatory and she is not immune to injury. Still. This is a relief unlike she has ever felt. 

The waves his hand, pulling back, and grins. “I take it you feel better?”

She answers honestly. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt better in my life.”

There is an ache, still, home in the dead centre of her chest, a lump still growing in the back of her through, and should she think too long, her eyes sting. But Leo is not…Leo is missing. And he is troublesome, like his great-grandfather, and slippery, and she has more faith in her friend than in Death. The ache is not overwhelming. The ache is tinged with something spiked and fiery, fueled by the genuine strength she feels in her body for perhaps the first time in my life. 

“Good.”

The medic twitches, slightly, as if he were about to reach out but thought better of it. He nods, instead, smiling, and walks back off to the end of the cots, where a monitor is beeping softly. This time, Hazel follows him, sliding off the bench and peeling the crinkling paper off her backside, stepping nimbly over taped-down cords and kicked-off blankets. She stands behind him, on her tiptoes, straining over his (too tall. People should stop growing after five-ten, she believes, except Frank who is an exception because he is cute) shoulders to watch what he is doing. He explains, around another muffled smile, each number and symbol, pointing to the freshly bandaged chest of the patient and muttering about reckless, thought-averse fools and internal bleeding isn’t real, nyeh nyeh nyeh and when I finally go insane and quit, they will have to beg for six business years to get me back I mean it. 

“Are the other medics this…” Hm. Unprofessional is probably not the word to use, here. “...Spirited?”

The boy raises a perfectly-shaped eyebrow. Hazel flushes. 

“The other medics are eleven and thirteen,” he says dryly. “And Kayla is currently over there –” he points to a snoring girl with dyed-green hair, who is bandaged in six different places and is sleeping upside down – “because she makes bad choices and has been demoted to assistant until I’m less mad at her, so.” He shrugs. “Spirited is what y’all get.”

“I didn’t mean to offend,” she tries. The boy just snorts. 

“Y’r’gonna havta try a whole heap harder to offend me, that’s for damn certain,” he assures. “If I was really gonna quit, I woulda done it two years ago when they slapped the head honcho badge on my shoulder and told me to get crackin’.”

Hazel stills. Demigod life is a – wild thing, she knows, and most have not lived as long as she has, ageing like amber in the depths of the Underworld while the world stretches on ahead. Percy’s face when he realized demigods could live longer than eighteen still haunts her nightmares. Camp Half-Blood is a loud, lively place, that burns brightly over its layers of ashes and yells over the sound of weeping ghosts left behind. That much she can gather. It should not be strange to her for an eleven-year-old medic, or an army of teenagers. Her own camp is guarded by an eight-year-old. 

But this boy still has stubborn baby fat clinging to his cheeks, for all his height. He cannot be more than fourteen. Fifteen, if she stretches. 

The youngest head medics at Camp Jupiter are twenty-two. Regardless of demigod life, skills take time to learn, and stomachs and hearts take years to turn to stone. 

“I’m – sorry,” the boy says, voice crackling like burning pyres. “I’m –” he forces a smile, a quick, strained thing – “I am, uh, spirited. Unprofessional. I haven’t slept in several days and I’m – uh, I don’t like working Austin too hard. He’s still learning, and he doesn’t like healing much, anyway.” He busies himself quickly with the patient he pointed out earlier – Kayla, the thirteen-year-old medic. It is quickly apparent that there is nothing to be done for her, and he stands there, back turned to Hazel, scarred hands twitching above her forehead until they settle, finally, featherlight, like he’s scared a touch will wake her. Like he’s scared a touch will hurt her. 

His shoulders shake, slightly. It’s too dark for anyone else to see the twin droplets, splattering on the corner of her cot. 

Hazel’s chest smarts something awful. 

“Where are the other medics?” 

She knows there are none before he answers. He must know that she knows, judging the careful steadiness of her voice, the fleeting touch of her finger on his clenched fist. She pulls back when his hands begin to shake, worse than before, and his finger worms under the bandages on his wrist, pulling and twisting, twisting, twisting. He stands close to Kayla, still. Hovering, careful. His lips part, and Hazel holds her breath. 

“There were more of us,” he begins, hushed. His dark eyes track Kayla’s snoring. “I was the thirteenth. They were –” He looks up, suddenly, looks over, and the look in his eyes is like cracking ice, like a glacier that has stood for thousands of years breaking finally into the arctic sea and falling under its own weight to the sandy floor. Like the fractured flash of sky between lightning, like the azure glass shards of a Christmas ornament refracting back the twinkling candlelight. “It was so loud in here, once.”

Hazel tries to reconcile that, in her head. This boy standing at the edge of his younger sister’s hospital bed, his younger brother tucked safely away, awake for maybe the fourth or fifth day in a row. I was the thirteenth. 

Hazel knows a little something about unlucky number thirteen. 

“War?” she asks, quietly, remembering something Jason had told her, on guard on the Argo, about a Titan’s battle on two sides of the country. About an army of snake-monsters for them, and something on the other end. Something worse. 

“Slaughtered,” the medic says hoarsely. Another tear traces the path of the first, low light flashing off the sheen of it. “First the – first my sisters, the oldest, then my brother, then – all of them, at once, at the same –” He chokes, on something, on the truth of it or the pain of it or both. Something bubbles in Hazel’s chest, thick and oily, something like horror and pain and hatred; a pit of the same tar that killed her the first time bubbling through her veins and burning the back of her throat. Twelve children. Her throat dries.

“All of them?”

“Every last fucking one,” says the boy, and the pain swells from him so thickly and ardently Hazel is half-sure each ghost is standing behind her, boring into his gaze. “Every last one. I watched them.”

Hazel watched. She held her eyes open for as long as she could when the tar swallowed them, when Gaea dragged them down. Her mother’s kiss burned hotter on her forehead than the boil of the earth exploding around them, and the shine of Marie Levesque’s guilty tears glittered brighter than the diamonds popping like falling stars everywhere Hazel touched. She held her eyes open until the heat dried them blind. She watched, as long as she could, her prodigal mother sink, her beautiful, broken mother die. She had thought she would feel something worse, something like satisfaction. Vindication. Nico told her they hold grudges. She had known it about herself before then. But the pain of her body ripping from her soul was secondary to the pain of realizing, to the pain of finally understanding that her mother suffered, too. Pluto’s wanting had cost them both, and Marie had only barely been able to apologize. She had never been able to make amends. And now she walked, like all souls do, along the beaten paths of Asphodel, reduced to her guilt, to her anger, to her wanting. 

Hazel sits heavily on the one remaining cot. After a moment, the boy joins her. 

“I don’t think it’s worth it,” he admits, quietly. He meets her eyes when she faces him, blue-black in the candlelight. “All – this.”

She follows his gesturing hands. To the bandaged girl, Kayla, to the bloodied, to the sheets pulled over small faces. To the brothers and sisters slumped exhausted by bedsights, tear tracks dried on young faces. To the faded pictures rubbed worn with mourning, gentle fingers. 

They have never been thanked by the gods. 

She’s not sure it would be worth it, either.

“There’s nothing that will bring them back.”

It’s not consolation. It doesn’t sound like it, either; to her own ears it sounds defeated. Agreeing. 

“Do you think they’d even want to be back?”

“Probably not.” She swallows, thinking of Leo. Is he relieved? He’d insisted on being the sacrifice. She hadn’t fought him. She couldn’t blame him for wanting. “I wouldn’t.”

They sit in the non-silence. The medic pulls the bandages on his wrists until they are bruising; Hazel’s fingernails, unbidden, reach up to her lips, pick, pick, picking until salted iron dribbles down her chin, onto her pajama shirt. In the heavy stillness of the twilight there are people coughing, and snoring, and worse, moaning, groaning. Crying. Calling out for their mothers, for their sisters. Birds wail outside the open windows. Cicadas weep. Dryads murmur amongst themselves, sap dripping out of them in swathes.

“I know you’re a big-shot Prophecy of the Seven kid,” says the medic, smiling wryly at her. He sniffles, swiping a hand over his face; as the first rays of sunlight begin to stream in Hazel realizes he is spattered with a night sky’s worth of freckles. “But, uh. If you’re not busy, I could use a hand today. Every day, really. Whenever you’re free.” He exhales. "Sometimes it makes it a little bit worth it."

There is a veritable library’s worth of to-do lists for Hazel to work through tomorrow. Today. She’s a high enough rank that her presence and her direction will be missed. 

Regardless, she smiles back. 

“Yeah.” She reaches for his hand, and he releases his bandages, holding their palms together. “Yeah, I’ll hang out in here today.”

[bl6ks5wan]

“Keep you always with me”

The demon brothers like to always keep a trinket that reminds them of their beloved partner with them.

But what would it be?

Lucifer who probably has always an picture of you in his wallet (like some dad) so that no matter where he is or for how long you both are apart he can always see your bright smile. He’s nearly constantly stressed, may it be because of work, his brothers or something else, so the moment he’s alone and able to catch his breath he instantly takes out his wallet and the picture inside it. The avatar of prides fingers would softly trace over your features as his indifferent mask slips and lets his eyes be filled with a soft, loving look. He has many different pictures of you or with you so that he can switch them. (Probably has an drawer dedicated to gifts and pictures of you.)

Mammon who adores matching keychains (he of course wouldn’t actually admit how much he loves them.) Doesn’t matter if you or him are in a new place, if there happens to be keychains then they have to be bought ASAP. It’s like an tradition between you both at this point. If you happen to forget to buy some at your latest trip then he’s gonna brush it off. “Tsk. Why would I care? It’s just some stupid keychain.” Would be Mammons respond but you’d be able to see him sulking quite a lot for the remaining day. And despite the second oldest denial, he doesn’t have a pair of keys or even a trouser that don’t have a keychain hanging onto them.

Leviathan who got you both matching plushies of your favorite characters or ship before he later on made plushies of you both, so that you two can always have a mini version of each other wherever you go. Levi would also make a little shimeji of you. He’d poke the little figure and drag it around, smiling softly at its expressions, which he put a lot of time into to make them as similar as your real ones. If you ever happen to find out about the shimeji he’d get quite embarrassed but if you’d like one of him too then he’d gladly make one of himself for you.

Satan who loves to read the same book that you read at the time, no matter if he already read it or finds it uninteresting. Something about knowing that you both would sink into the same book -into the same world- bringing you close again despite the distance is making him feel comforted and warm. He’d also be the type to keep an small lock or necklace with an piece of your hair in it. Sometimes he’d taking the hair out and brush his fingers over it, careful not to lose some of it, as he can’t wait to be actually able to run his fingers through your hair again.

Asmodeus who already is all for matching clothes but he especially loves having matching accessories with you. Big reason for it being that he gets them extra customized for you both, making them more special and unique. He always makes sure that the accessories fits you and your taste but also would still match with his. Asmo also adores painting his nails in the color of your eyes, making sure the tone is as close to your eyes as possible. Sometimes he’d just space out as he stares at his finger nails, the color seeming to work like an spell on him but not as good as your eyes would do.

Beelzebub who has a stash of candy wrappers in all kind of places but especially his trousers. All these wrappers are from candies that you’ve given him, whenever it was from when he was hungry or simply cause you didn’t like the sweet but didn’t want to waste it. For everyone it would be insignificant -trash to say the least- but for Beel it’s a trinket of love. Such a small actions that came from the purest of your heart and held affection and care for him. So, sometimes when he’s hungry again the avatar of gluttony likes to take out one of these candy wrappers and stare at it. Feeling how his hunger leasend for a while, instead replaced with your warm, genuine love.

Belphegor who would have the same perfume as you or hell, even extra let someone make own that has your exact smell. He adores sleeping on your pillows or in general anything that got your scent on it. For Belphie it’s the sweetest and calmest smell to ever exist, softly wrapping around his like an blanket and pulling him into the nicest, deepest slumbers. So it’s for sure that whenever he’s away from HoL or you he’d have a small bottle of your scent in his pocket, ready to spray anything or anywhere he’s gonna sleep.

[uberthemeh]

Locke the distance demon

rig done

ready for animation

[thewickedjazzy]

Level 1: "Taste" [Erotic Asphyxiation] For Kinktober.

ᡣ𐭩osamu dazai x afab! reader.

ᡣ𐭩Synopsis: four years have passed since you last saw dazai, but now your ex is back in the port mafia basement, dragging you back into the rabbit hole of affairs that you thought you left behind.

ᡣ𐭩Warning: nsfw mdni 18+ content, smut, sub! dazai, dom! reader choking/erotic asphyxiation, degrading, edging, orgasm control, mention of cum, cowgirl position, not proofread..etc.

ᡣ𐭩Word count: 2k.

ᡣ𐭩-check Kink Coin to unlock bonus fics´-

you pinch the bridge of your nose, making it clear that your patience is wearing thin. unbelievable. of course, it’s him—your ex, the one who abandoned both the mafia and you without a second thought. but even with everything you know about him, you never imagined he’d stoop this low.

in front of you sits the former demon prodigy, osamu dazai, hands cuffed to the chair in the port mafia's gloomly lit basement. the strangest part? no one had captured him. all you know is that one of the lower-ranked mafiosos had interrupted you in the middle of “interrogating” a particularly troublesome target, telling you that someone is waiting for you downstairs. handcuffed and refusing to leave until he sees you. and that’s how you ended up here.

it was a bad idea. why would you agree to meet someone who willingly gets themselves into the port mafia basement playing the victim? it's risky, especially not with your reputation—admired and feared in equal measure. you should’ve turned back the moment you stepped into the room, but curiosity got the better of you.

“that's absurd,” you sigh, crossing your arms. “why would you go through all this when you know i've already buried us in the past?”

his honey-brown eyes that you once adored meet yours, and despite everything, that familiar smirk pulls at his lips—the same one that used to make your heart race, but now it only irritates you to no end.

“you’re underestimating yourself, sweetheart,” he purrs. “you may not want anything to do with me, but I know for sure that you still miss me as much as I do”

you narrow your eyes, taking a step closer. “you don’t get to say things like that anymore, asshole!” you snap. “you gave up that right the moment you walked away.”

he chuckles lowly, eyes fixed on yours as if savouring your every move. "you really think i gave up on you? on us? never.."

your fingers twitch at his insinuation, irritation boiling in your chest—how dare he!! — and before you even realize what you're doing, you move to close the distance between you, gripping the collar of his beige coat and yanking him forward. his breath hitches slightly, but that stupid smirk stays plastered on his face, his eyes still locked onto yours, amused?

“bullshit!” you growl, pushing him back against the chair with enough force that the wood creaks under the pressure. “you’re delusional if you think i'd fall for your games again.”

“i’m not here to play games, baby. i came here because... I made a mistake.” his smirk fades, and for a while, you hesitate, torn between anger and love? something you’ve buried deep since the day he left. but you can’t let yourself fall for this again, can’t let him back in after everything.

“I don’t need your apologies, osamu. I’ve moved on.”

“doubt it” he chuckles lightly,“you're still calling me osamu...doesn't sound like someone who's truly moved on.” his sick smirk curls back.

without warning, you shove him again against the chair, your fingers trail up to wrap around his throat, thumb pressing down just enough to restrict his air.

dazai doesn’t flinch, if anything, his mouth parts, and a strained, breathless sound escapes—somewhere between a moan and a groan.

“stop it,” you snarl, leaning in close enough that your breath skims his ear. “I'll kill you if i have to.”

the way his adam's apple bobs beneath your hand when he swallows tells you everything you need to know. his head falls back slightly, offering more of his throat, as though inviting you to take everything. his hips shift subtly in the chair, and you almost laugh at the realization.

“oh... you still enjoy this?,” you snarl, fingers digging into the delicate skin of his neck as you feel his pulse hammering beneath your touch. his eyes flutter, pupils blown wide, “sick bastard...”

you can see the bulge straining against his pants twitching beneath the rough fabric, “...i know you very well. you think you can just fuck your way back through anyone and anything.” you growl, leaning down until your lips hover over his. “filthy womaniser”

“—you think I care about those women?” he gasps for air, his hips shifting beneath you as if to prove his point,“they were nothing. filthy, meaningless distractions...none of them mattered, none of them were you.”

you grit your teeth, but before you can reply, you feel something shift. his hands?—his cuffed hands—are no longer bound. a soft gasp escapes you as his fingers press against your lower back, pulling you forward with a sudden, fluid motion. you didn't even notice. when did he undo the cuffs? your mind races, but the thought quickly slips away as your body drags closer, your thighs with your short black skirt spreading wide over his hips, now straddling him.

your eyes widen for a moment, but the way he's staring up at you, eyes filled with lust? longing? as if he's been waiting for this moment his entire life. the teasing, bratty glint still in his eyes as he leans in, his lips brushing the corner of your mouth. “i miss you,” he whispers, “please...just one kiss, let me taste you one more time.”

your breath hitches as he draws closer and you can feel how desperate he is, his longing wraps around you like a warm blanket. his long, slender fingers graze your back, the gentle caress making you forget everything he did. his eyes, half-lidded pleading for you to close the distance, to say yes, to lean into his touch.

as he leans in, his pretty lips capture your lower one, teasingly pulling you closer. a muffled moan escapes him as he finally tastes you again, gets lost in you again, stirring emotions that you fought really hard to suppress.

his soft tongue darts out, exploring every inch of your mouth, and you can’t help but kiss him back, grinding against his clothed, hard cock.

your lips part for a moment as he pulls away slightly, “fuck...I missed the way you taste" he murmurs, his tongue brushing your parted lips softly eliciting a soft mewl from you.

you can't take it anymore, the flood of desire makes your brain short-circuit, your senses heightening, you want him again, want to feel him again, without think you yank his pants and boxers down just enough for his cock to spring free. it’s already leaking, rock-hard, twitching at the slightest movement of your hips as you position yourself over him.

you push your panties aside, and before he can say another word, you sink down onto his cock, taking him in one swift motion. he gasps, his entire body tensing as his hands fly up to grip your hips even harder. the stretch of him filling you is perfect, god, you miss how his delicious cock used to fill you up so perfectly. you can’t help but let out a low moan as you begin to ride him. his eyes flutter shut, and his head lolls back against the chair, soft involuntary whimpers escaping him. you catch his lower lip trembling, his jaw slack, utterly fucked-out beneath you.

you yank him forward by his hair, forcing him to keep his eyes on you. “don’t look away, asshole. i want you to watch while i use you.”

a needy whimper escapes his lips as you set a punishing pace, riding him hard and fast. every thrust drives him deeper inside you, the slick sounds of your bodies moving together filling the room and you can feel his warm cock twitch inside your velvet walls with every movement.

his body trembles, hips jerking uncontrollably as he teeters on the edge, barely holding on. “please—baby...i can’t—i need—nnghh..”

“you came here cuffing yourself like a good boy huh? nghh hoping i- ahhh would break you?” you coo in his ear.

his hips jerk up bouncing into you in response to your words chasing his release, but you don’t stop. you ride him mercilessly, heat building inside you signalling that you're too close. finally, when you feel his cock twitches inside you, threatening to spill at any second, you lean down, tearing off the bandages around his neck. you wrap your fingers around his exposed throat, choking him just the way he likes it.

his breath catches in his throat, eyes rolling back, a blissed out expression settling on his face.

his hips jerk up faster, slamming into you, you can’t help but match his rhythm, riding him harder, taking every inch of him as he drives deeper inside you. the tight grip on his throat sends waves of tingles and pleasure through his entire body, drool slipping from his parted lips. in a feverish moment, you catch his mouth with yours, tongues tangling as your spit mingles together, the taste of him making your belly sink in pleasure, you would never admit how much you crave him, four year— four fucking years.

“don’t stop—mngh—fuh-k mmph..yes yes i'm close—” he gasps, zoning out everything else except how your walls feel tightening around him, you continue to match his pace, but just as he's about to cum, you suddenly stop, lifting your hips so his cock slips free from your slick heat, enjoying the way he now whimpers in desperation.

“n-no- no, no... nghh.. why did you mmph..let me cum please, let me cum inside you, it hurts”

you tighten your grip on his throat, a chuckle escaping your lips as his hips buck up, instinctively chasing after your warm folds once more. “mmph..pathetic”

“no n-o, i’ll do anything—just don’t tease me like this. need to feel you around me, pleas-e..ahh!” his words turn into a moan as you squeeze his throat a bit more tighter, making his eyes roll back.

“then beg for it,” you command, your tongue trailing along the sensitive skin beneath his ear “show me how much you want it.”

he bites his lip, fighting against the urge to thrust upwards again. “please,” he gasps, lips trembling “please...i can’t hold on any longer—just let me cum inside you baby please..”

his hips buck again, more insistently this time. and with that, you sink down onto him slowly, relishing the way he gasps at feeling your slick tight walls swallow his cock,. “mngh...now, move for me,” you purr, your grip still firm around his throat.

he digs his fingers into your hips harshly, bouncing into you with fevered speed, each thrust brushing against every sweet spot you crave as he whimpers like a bitch in heat, feeling the pleaure build up once again. “fff—uhck—i’m ngh...so close!” he hisses, chest heaving with breaths to fill his burning lungs.

his last thrusts take your breath away as he thrusts up deep inside of you. the only sound left is your shared gasps and moans as he cums, coating your insides.

his jaw go slack as his release hits hard, muffling his cries as his eyes roll back, spilling deep inside you. he shudders beneath your touch, his hips bucking wildly as he rides out his orgasm.

you don’t stop riding against him, milking him for every last drop, and it’s only when his entire body goes numb, trembling and panting, that you finally slow down.

“you always come back, don’t you?” you murmur with a shaky breath, releasing your grip on his throat. “even after everything we’ve done to each other.”

“i can’t help it,” he breathes out,“every time i try to walk away... i find myself right back here... with you.”

even though you wish every inch of your body wouldn’t react to his words, you can’t help but feel the tingles run down your spine—he’s twisted, messed up even, but he never fails to pull you back in.

TAGS: @a-smol-bean @violetbutterflix @amanoava @falloutjuli @embersweapons @warriordemigosworld @cathias @v15aexe @vasarii @pe4rl-diver @sukidenks @dazaifavbandage @chuuminn @fyodorsprettynun @ace-0fspades69 @irasamu @trippyserval @alyszuha @bittysuguro @writingandmusing @thedamselzelda @corruptedwrathkitsune

[liliannadelaphinehartifelt]

Alastor - [TOUCH STARVED]

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A/N: Photo/Fanart Credit to @/Nyer_roth on Twitter (hiatus)

[ NSFW ] + [ MDNI ] + [ FEM/CAT HYBRID DEMON READER ]

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Touch Starved Alastor prefers your presence over anyone else’s in the Hotel. His shadows linger by your side if he’s not physically there and when he is it’s quite obvious to everyone how closely the Radio Demon is guarding you.

No one dares to breathe a word about his behavior but the moment he’s out of sight or ear shot Angel will tease you endlessly. “Seems you have Mr. Fancy Creep wrapped round your little finger, toots.” Your face flushes ten shades of red as the spider demon nudges your side while giggling at your flustered reaction. He knows -well everyone knows how you feel about Alastor- but you’ve made it a point to never let the overload onto your attraction to him.

Even if he already is aware of it…

Angel’s teasing doesn’t help your little crush dissolve as you wished it would, so with a huff and a rushed whisper you excuse yourself from the group. “N-no I don’t Angel and…I’m heading to bed. Goodnight…” Angle snickers at your deliberate deflecting, but says nothing else as you waltz up the staircase, barely listening to Charlie yelling “good night” to you, and failing to notice the dark mass of spectrums trailing your every step.

Touch Starved Alastor listens in on those pesky conversations the others have when it comes to you and him. You’re always so skittish and docile under their prying, blushing at the slightest implication of his attention being on you, and to say it intrigues him would be an understatement. Alastor isn’t one to entertain those who show him affection, let alone acknowledge it, but when it comes to you the overload’s mind runs rampant with devious desires. At first he ignores them, content with keeping your connection to him cordial, and that works for a time.

It doesn’t last forever though.

Especially when you unconsciously tend to him so reverently. You’re a people pleaser by nature -he’s sure of that- but the immediate stars in your eyes whenever he instructs you to do something strikes just the right nerve for him.

It’s always the simplest things, tedious tasks he burdens you with just to see your eagerness to please him on repeat, “My dear, would you be so kind as to hand me that book over there?” Your head lifts, hopeful eyes staring at him as you nod with a genuine smile, “Of course!” You chirp, walking right over to the bookshelf without question to acquire the item, and Alastor watches your every move.

The flutter of your lashes as you pinpoint the object, how you stand on your tip toes to reach it, and the gentle sway of your hair as you finally grasp the book. You’re so sweet, so gentle with everything, and Alastor spends hours trying to stop himself from thinking about your tender embrace being spared his way.

Touch Starved Alastor starts to lock himself in his room or radio tower more often than usual when he can’t seem to keep his distance. His shadows still lord over you but are never seen which makes it that much easier for him to watch you from afar.

His sudden disappearance and lack of socializing affects you heavily. You don’t smile as much and when you do the light in your eyes wanes. You’re still kind to everyone, but choose to sit alone during group activities, or wander the halls humming to avoid them all together.

Alastor takes notice of every frown adorning your face when someone mentions him or inquires as to where he is and for a split second guilt creeps its way into him seeing your energetic mood dwindle at his hands.

He can’t let this go on forever, not when you look so betrayed at the sound of his name, and mindlessly wander towards his empty room every night as if to check on him just to leave in fear of embarrassment.

Enough is enough.

Touch Starved Alastor finds you alone on a rare stormy night in Hell, an old book opened up to your curious eyes as you lay flat on your front across the parlor’s couch. He watches you from the shadows for a long while, studying the slight scrunch of your nose as your gaze happens open a certain line of text, and the way you gently kick your feet as your chin rests on the back of your hands.

He’s seen and met a mass amount of beings in his time in hell and not one has ever emitted anything close to your ethereal beauty. You swear you’re not a fallen angel to anyone who asks and it baffles him how a soul so light could end up here.

Unruly luck….maybe?

Fate, possibly?

He’ll figure it out one way or another.

“Hello, my dear, late night reading I see…” Alastors voice grasps your attention immediately, his usual staticky tone leaning towards normality as you peer up at him with a growing smile. “Yes…I couldn’t sleep,” you respond quietly, relatively shy around the overload, and trying hard not to seem overexcited to see him. You missed Alastor dearly the past few days but it would be embarrassing to show that longing outright….

The deer demon picked up on your excitement right away despite your attempts at casualness, his smile softening as you held his stare and bit your lip. Delicate fanged canines poking out just enough to prick your lower lip.

How adorable, Alastor inwardly muses at your nervous habit and continues with his light hearted interrogation. “Hm, I suppose a restless night can have that effect. ..Would you mind if I joined you then, darling?”

Touch Starved Alastor is elated when you nod gently, shifting to sit up properly, and give him a space beside you. “Of course Alastor…it gets lonely staying up by yourself. I’d appreciate the company.” Your sweet tone dazes him for a moment as he sits next to you, unconsciously disregarding his aversion to interpersonal space…

Odd…

He never situates himself this close to you, always looming, but never actively seeking your side. It’s strange to you at first but as he visibly relaxes you don’t mind the deliberate position he’s taken.

He could very well be tired or you might be hallucinating that he was putting an arm around your shoulders.

Either option didn’t ease the rapid pace of your heartbeat..

Alastor was careful with you, incredibly gentle as he pulled you to his side, and rested his chin on the top of your head. “Such a sweetheart you are, my dear.” He speaks quietly, oddly calm as you hum in agreement, your soft ears flattening as you breathe in his scent.

A smidge of brimstone mixed with the aroma bourbon and pine.

He smelled just like a lovely forest, a secure scent you wouldn’t mind getting used to, and tried to commit it to memory just in case Alastor never let you get this close to him again.

Touch Starved Alastor chuckles lowly when you breathe him in, finding your feline tendencies endearing, and listening to your soft purring become a vocal indicator of how comfortable you felt with him. You’d long forgotten the book, nuzzling your head under Alastor’s chin instead, getting lost in your innocent desire to be under him, and he makes no move to stop you.

If anything the radio demon welcomes your touch, sliding you onto his lap with ease, and that never ending smile of his becoming genuine when you absentmindedly compliment him. “…You smell…sweet,” you hum, speaking more to yourself than him, but he hears you and responds promptly. “Is that so, darling?”

You nod, head lifting to stare up at him through your lashes, “Mhm…I missed it..I…” you pause, face flushing red as the deer demon peers back at you, red eyes glinting with dormant affection as he studies your expressions.

“Come now, use your words dear…” he reassures you his patience isn’t waning with a gentle hum.

Alastor is tempted to watch your plush lips move as you struggle to speak up but it’s hard to resist when you finally whisper a confession -one you think he’ll be off put by…

“W-well I missed you entirely Alastor… a lot actually.” And there you go again, eyes wide with apprehensive hope, and ever present adoration. He’d felt his fair share of adrenaline rushes, experienced the “blood rushing to your head” urges that sinners and demons alike couldn’t resist, and though Alastor prided himself in remaining in control of such things…

You brought them out of him without even trying.

Ridiculous, truly…but the longer you fawned over him the less cordiality Alastor maintained.

Touch Starved Alastor lets his smile soften, deeply appreciating your timid vulnerability, and much to your relief he lets you know it. “Missed me? Well, I must have quite the effect on you to instill such a sentiment,” His tone is abundantly softer than usual, quietly echoing in the hotels parlor, and tickling the nerves in your ears.

They perk up along with your tail as he rests his hands on your waist, pulling you impossibly close until the only proper place you can latch your hands onto is the back of the carved mahogany frame of the couch. “Al…” you sigh softly, eyes fluttering shut as his grip on you tightens a tad in response.

When had he gotten so touchy? Better yet, why?

All logical questions that you were asking yourself weren’t granted answers as the overlord inhaled heavily. Breathing you in just as you’d done to him moments ago.

Your unsteady pulse, rising lust, slight confusion, and underlying fear of him coursing through your veins in waves. Alastor identified each emotion, practically tasting them on his tongue, and his hunger rose again from it.

He could just eat you alive at this rate and from the whine you let out as he trailed his hands down to your thighs, claws ripping right through the sheer white thigh high socks you’d paired with a modestly short nightgown made it abundantly clear to him you wouldn’t mind if he did.

How sweet you’d taste?

How the shaky whines you were letting out now could turn to bashful screams?

How sickeningly perfect you’d look broken, bloody, and marked by him and him alone?

He’d wondered about these things constantly…feverishly…

Touch Starved Alastor lets his mirage of being a “true gentleman” dissipate entirely when you subconsciously roll your hips down on him for much needed friction -and in an attempt to dissolve the pain his scratches on your skin brought.

Fuck. This. Alastor curses himself, swiftly repositioning you both in a blink of an eye. Your back hits the velvet cushions with a gentle ‘thud’, earning a soft gasp on your part that’s inevitably silenced by one of his shadows wrapping around your mouth, and another gingerly snaking round your waist. He chuckles as you squirm underneath him, clearly wanting to be in control of your own body, but what would you ever need that autonomy for?

He’s here for a reason, right?

Why grant you more agency than required?

“Comfortable, my dear?” The leering stag above you chides, grin wide as you groan in frustration, eyes sliding shut as he slips between your parted legs. His red irises show brighter as your lower halves press flush against each other and you shudder from the contact -inwardly congratulating yourself for not wearing much underneath your nightdress to begin with.

Alastor allowed your hands to reach for him, your delicate claws gripping his suit collar as firmly as possible, tugging him lower as you shifted under his weight to grind against him. “Patience is a virtue, sweetheart,” he half reprimands half teases as your bare slit passes over the crotch of his black dress pants. There was no doubt your slick was leaving a stain and if it were anyone else -in any other situation- Alastor would’ve had their head for ruining his attire.

Luckily, you were to receive anything but his wrath.

How fortunate…

Touch Starved Alastor feels himself going mad when you mindlessly use any part of him you can reach as a bid for more pleasure. Eyes watering, begging him to touch you, help you, and it’s one hell of a sight to see in his opinion. “Desperate aren’t we, darling?” His cooing drives you insane, large hands wandering under your nightgown to trace your warm skin -not helping your dazed state at all.

Alastor purposefully claws at your body, placing surface level scars on it, letting the small droplets of blood that escape his cuts paint your skin and his fingertips. You struggle every soften, train of thought lagging as pain and pleasure start to intertwine.

“….please don’t stop..”

“What a sick & twisted little thing you are..”

Tears run down your face, drool dripping from the corner of your lips, and your cunt leaking all over him and sofa. Blood starts to seep through your nightdress in random streaks and it’s only then that Alastor decide it’s redundant to keep it on you. “Let’s get rid of this, shall we?” That’s all the warning you get from the radio demon before you feel his claws shred it to pieces.

Thank heavens you hadn’t chosen your favorite one tonight or you’d be devastated…

“Much, much better, ma chère,” Alastor praises you as if the task was at your own hands -and to some degree it was for letting him get this far- and yet your face flushes a deep shade of red as you nod in agreement.

The shadowy tentacle covering your mouth tightens its grip, shifting sharply to expose your neck to him, and Alastor seizes the opening immediately. Taking his time finding your sensitive spots, marking them with his teeth and tongue until there’s dark bruises left behind, and you nearly came undone from the relentless precision of love bites he inflicts on you.

Touch Starved Alastor allows your hands wander wherever they please, quite taken with the feeling of your dainty claws raking down his back, or shifting up to pet his ears. They flicker about at your touch, ever so sensitive, and heightening the pleasure he gets from torturing you. Every sound you make, the shuddering moans against his lips, and the muffled cries that build in your chest when Alastor toys with you muddles his focus further.

Bit by bit you’re chipping away at his sanity by simply enjoying his caress and offering him yours.

Alastor isn’t one to succumb to pleading easily but when you’re given the chance to use your voice and beg for release without a second thought….he hasn’t got the gall to deny you.

Not when you’re looking up at him like you might die if he denies you, so worked up that you stutter, and shake uncontrollably.

“N-need to….p-please let me…come,” you whine as quietly as possible, ears laying flat on your head as he hums melodically in false consideration for your plight.

It’s fueling his already massive ego that you’re poised to come undone when he’s barely done a thing to you and he has half the mind to pull away and watch you fall to pieces…

You’d surely give him a show then, pouting helplessly, or cowering from embarrassment realizing how much of a mess you’ve made of yourself for him.

It’d be pure entertainment.

However, why waste a prime opportunity to see you utterly satisfied by him?

By his mere presence even.

The deer demon refuses to pass up such a rare occurrence, flipping your position again so your smaller frame sits atop his larger one. “F-fuck..” you hiss as you settle on top of him, eyes rolling to the back of your head when he guides your hips to keep riding him at a rough but languid pace. Alastor observes you above him for a long moment, smile widening when your hair falls in front of your bright eyes, and your hands splay across his chest to keep yourself steadily upright.

The scratches he’s left on you are still fresh, mixing with the tears that flow down your face, and your arousal pitifully dribbling down your inner thighs as well.

Exactly how he pictured you time and time again.

“You may,” he finally exhales, static completely gone from his voice, and hearing it elicits a newfound spark of heat in your core. Your legs shake involuntarily, hips stuttering in tight circles over his clothed erection as you chased your high. Alastor watches you intently, tonguing his cheek to keep from groaning, and his body running hotter than usual as your cunt drags against him.

Touch Starved Alastor can’t fathom how a soul as tender as yours can dwindle to filth in the midst of cumming. Head lulling at an angle while your back arches just right to define your silhouette in the dark room.

The coil in your stomach snaps faster than you can gauge a reaction. A scream threatening to leap from your chest as it washed over you, but his shadows return, clasping tight enough to muffle it. “Easy, my dear…you wouldn’t want to disturb the others, hm?” Alastor bucks his hips upward to make his point clear and you visibly jolt from the overstimulation he causes.

It was clear he needed his end met too and that brought a grin to your face as his shadows receded from your lips when you quieted down. “No…” you sigh, inching a hand lower to trace over the rise in his pants. Alastor stiffens under your touch, nearly snarling when you palm him slowly, eyes never leaving his as you do. Tempting and sweet as always, “Careful, Mon Cher,” he warns, voice thick with allure.

He’d only come to seek a warm body to torment, assuming he’d take care of his own needs later, but you -the ever so caring sinner you were- seemed intent to shoulder the task now.

You licked your lips, tongue grazing your fangs as your peered down at him defiantly with a warm smile, “M’ not one of your little puppets…” Alastor raised a brow at that, noting the mischievous glint in your eyes as you leaned forward, “….and I never will be.” You finish your statement, smiling wider before lowering yourself down his body. He lets you do as you please, stuck between observing, and enjoying the attention you give him.

It’s very rare to see the overload so willing to be tested, but you made your stance clear with a singular lick up his clothed length with the softest smile on your lips. “Fuck…” he groans then, static nonexistent again as you playfully repeated the action until he became agitated enough to fist a handful of your hair and drag you back up to face him.

“It’s not very polite to tease, sweetheart.”

You smirk and reach for his belt, skillfully undoing it without breaking eye contact, feigning humility through half lidded eyes“Then would you be so kind as to correct my manners then?”

“It’d be my pleasure, darling,”

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My head was all over the place with this one ❤️ I need some sleep…

[ BONUS CONTENT + ]

He’s a literal walking red flag 🚩 and unfortunately my favorite color is red 😭 Credits to the creator 🖤

[lumitoiile]

☆ :  xiao headcanons

summary : happy lantern rite!! literally just fluffy bf drabbles... falling in love with the vigilant yaksha. gn! reader, (no pronouns.) ╱ word count : 914.

he's scared at first

love is a very foreign thing to xiao. he's heard the term before, he's seen couples stroll through the streets of liyue harbor, but he's never truly understood the concept—not really.

not that it mattered. such attachments never appealed to him anyway. love was a distraction, a vulnerability he could not afford. for as long as xiao could remember, his purpose had been clear: to protect liyue. to shoulder his karmic debt, and atone for the blood staining his hands.

he'd spent centuries alone, tethered to his role as the conqueror of demons... and he was perfectly okay with that.

but then you appeared, threading your way into his life with a softness he didn't know how to guard against. initially, he thought nothing of it. you were simply just another kind soul, one whose time in this world would pass in a blink of an eye. he convinced himself that whatever it was drawing him toward you would fade, just as all things eventually do.

except it didn't.

instead, you lingered. in his thoughts, in his days, in his heart. you had an air of resilience about you, a kindness that extended even to someone like him.

you didn't flinch at his cold demeanor, nor did you try to pry into the shadows of his past. instead, you offered him something he never knew he craved: patience. understanding. acceptance.

it confused him greatly, this persistent and unfamiliar pull. xiao had always lived within the confines of his duty, firmly rooted in his solitude. he'd mastered the art of suppressing his emotions, locking them away so they would never interfere with his purpose.

yet here you were, a mere mortal, breaking him out of his shell little by little.

this would not do. he'd already decided the best course of action was to avoid you entirely. surely, this was the answer—distance himself, cut off whatever thread of connection that had been woven between you.

it should have been simple. keep his distance, let these feelings fade; it's what he felt was best. you didn't deserve to be burdened by someone like him, after all. but the more he avoided you, the more it hurt, the ache in his chest only intensifying the further he pulled away.

and when it finally happens, the realization strikes him like the sharpest of blades. the adeptus is no stranger to pain, but this feeling is something far too gentle to be compared to as such.

he didn't know what to do with the warmth that bloomed in his cheeks whenever you smiled his way, or the ache of longing that tugged at him whenever you left. he realized that the thought of keeping you at a distance suddenly felt unbearable.

oh. is this what humans call "love"?

xiao is not one for words, so when the confession finally slips past his lips, it is raw and unpolished. a quiet admission, barely above a whisper. he braces himself for rejection, for the weight of his existence to be too much for you to endure.

but you don't turn away. instead, you give him the same unwavering warmth that has undone him from the beginning, and that's when he knows it will be alright.

loving xiao is a lesson in patience. unfamiliar with tenderness, he hesitates in his affections. but that doesn't mean he won't try in whatever ways he can manage. he keeps watch over you as you sleep, urges that you call his name whenever danger arises, and offers lingering touches that make it seem as though he's afraid you'll slip past his fingers.

physical touch is definitely a learning curve for him. he startles the first time you take his hand, and stiffens whenever you lean against him. in the early stages of your relationship, he was often prone to pulling away—what if he does something wrong? what if his karmic debt ends up hurting you by mistake?

but even in his hesitance, you are patient. you never push, and you never demand more than he can give. and somehow, that makes him want to try; to be better, to be someone worthy of the warmth you offer so freely.

he's... he's learning. what it means to love, and to allow himself to be loved.

his affections are subtle, but they are there: his lingering gaze when he thinks you aren't looking, how he hovers nearby even when he insists he isn't worried. small yet significant moments where he allows himself to reach for you first—be it a quick brush of fingers or the silent way he rests his forehead against yours.

he's still not the best with words, either. but over time, he finds his own way of saying things that he can't. "be careful," really means "i worry about you." when he says "call my name if you need me," he means "i will always be there when you need it."

and on the rarest nights, when the world feels quiet and safe, he whispers the words he once thought he'd never be able to say to another. hushed and reverent, afraid the syllables will crumble if spoken too loudly.

"i love you."

for the first time in his long, weary existence, love does not feel like a weakness. with you, it is neither a curse nor something to guard against. it is a soft, enduring thing. a promise. unspoken, but deeply felt.

and for xiao, that is more than enough.

© lumitoiile. please do not copy, steal, or edit my work.

[cece693]

Brooding Edward (Edward Cullen x M! Vampire Reader)

I got a comment some time ago asking for more Edward Cullen fics, so I came to deliver :) Hope you guys enjoy it.

Summary: You don't know when your dislike of Edward turned into adoration, but you did know that you didn't like how close he was getting with the human, Isabella Swan.

tags: scheming Edward, jealous reader, hater to lover, making out, Bella used as a pawn in Edward's plan, mentions of Bella x Edward

Forks was a dreary town, always dripping with rain and cloaked in mist, a far cry from the places I’d roamed over the centuries. I’d arrived here on a whim, seeking nothing more than a quiet place to blend in, disappear among the mundane, and watch as the world turned on without me. But I wasn’t completely alone here. There were others of my kind, tucked away in the dense forests.

The first time I laid eyes on Edward Cullen, I knew immediately what he was—beautiful, yes, but also cold and distant, a façade of perfection wrapped around a soul that seemed perpetually weighed down. We didn’t speak much at first, just acknowledged each other as predators passing in the same territory.

But the more I saw him, the more I realized how irritatingly complex he was.

He wasn’t like the others—his siblings, his parents—who seemed content with the life they had carved out here, blending in with humans, attending school like everything was perfectly normal. Edward. had this air of constant torment, like he was wrestling with demons none of us could see. It grated on me. The self-imposed suffering. The way he would sit in class, staring out the window like the weight of existence itself was crushing him.

I couldn’t stand it.

“Edward’s always been like that.” Alice once told me when I asked why her brother seemed more brooding than the rest of them. She smiled, almost fondly, as if his moodiness was something endearing, but I couldn’t wrap my head around it.

“You mean miserable?”

“He’s complicated.” she explained, and for some reason, that word irritated me even more.

Complicated. Right.

The more I was around him, the more I was drawn to observe his every movement, his every interaction. And it only made my disdain grow. Edward had this way of pulling people in without even trying—his impossibly good looks, the air of mystery that seemed to cling to him like fog, his quiet intelligence. Everyone wanted to know him, to understand him. But he kept everyone at arm’s length.

He was a contradiction—mysterious yet aloof, compassionate yet disconnected. And I couldn’t stop watching him.

It became a sick habit of mine, this strange fascination, though I told myself it was just that. I would catch glimpses of him in the halls at school, his expression always distant, as if he were somewhere else entirely. He rarely laughed or even smiled—everything seemed so goddamn serious to him. His siblings would joke around, ease into their lives here, but Edward? He remained on the outskirts, as though he couldn’t let himself relax, couldn’t let go of whatever it was that tormented him.

There was something maddening about it.

It wasn’t until Isabella Swan came into the picture that everything shifted.

She was new, fragile, and completely unaware of the supernatural undercurrent running through Forks. But Edward saw her. And it wasn’t just passing interest. I noticed it from the beginning—the way his gaze would linger on her in class, how his jaw would tense when she got too close to any of the other students, or how he disappeared for days after their first encounter, struggling to keep himself in check.

I remember the first time I heard them talking, watching from a distance, seated in the cafeteria among the other Cullens. Edward’s voice was soft but strained, his gaze locked on hers like she was the most precious thing in the world. The intensity in his eyes, the way his entire being seemed to revolve around this human—it was unsettling.

"She’s different." he told me once when I couldn’t stop myself from asking why he was so fascinated with her.

"Different?" I echoed, unable to keep the disbelief out of my voice. "She’s human, Edward. She’ll die in a blink of an eye. What happens then?" He said nothing, just stared off into the distance, as if the very idea caused him more pain than I could understand.

It was then that the slow burn of jealousy began to fester inside me, though I couldn’t name it at first. The fact that Edward, who seemed indifferent to everything, had suddenly fixated on this girl—this fragile, breakable human—made something inside me twist. I was used to seeing him as distant, untouchable, yet here he was letting his guard down for someone like her.

I wanted Edward’s gaze on me. His intensity. His focus. The realization hit me harder than I expected, and it wasn’t long before that jealousy bubbled over into anger.

One night, the tension reached a boiling point. Edward had just returned from dropping Bella off, his face drawn, like always, but with something else in his eyes that I couldn’t ignore. Satisfaction. The kind of satisfaction that came from spending time with her. The kind of satisfaction I wanted him to feel when he was with me.

“Isabella this, Isabella that.” I sneered, my voice cutting through the stillness of the forest. Edward stopped in his tracks, his expression hardening as he turned to face me.

“What’s your problem?” His tone was cold, guarded.

I stepped forward, closing the distance between us, my chest tight with the jealousy and frustration I’d been holding in for too long. “My problem is that you’re throwing everything away for her. And for what? She’s nothing special, Edward.”

His jaw clenched, his golden eyes flashing dangerously. “You don’t know her. You don’t understand.”

“Understand?” I laughed bitterly. “What’s there to understand? She’s human. You’re a vampire. End of story.”

“It’s not that simple,” Edward hissed, stepping closer, his presence looming. “It’s never been that simple.”

I stared him down, anger boiling over into something sharper. “You think I don’t see what’s happening here? You’re losing yourself in her. You’re forgetting who you are, what you are. She’s going to be your downfall.”

He glared at me, and I could see the storm brewing behind his eyes. His hand shot out, grabbing the front of my shirt, pulling me roughly against him. “You’re wrong.”

Before I could snap back, Edward’s lips collided with mine like a strike of lightning, fierce and demanding, with none of the hesitation I’d come to expect from him. The initial shock froze me for only a second, but then the fire that had been building inside me for so long erupted, and I grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, yanking him closer, forcing the kiss deeper.

His body pressed hard against mine, the coldness of his skin a sharp contrast to the heat pulsing through me. This wasn’t like anything I’d imagined—there was no softness, no careful exploration—just raw, primal need. His lips left mine briefly, trailing down the line of my jaw, his breath cool against my skin as he whispered, “You think I’m hers?” His voice was low and dangerous. “I was never hers.”

I gripped his shoulders, shoving him back slightly, forcing his eyes to meet mine. “What the hell are you talking about?”

He smirked, that infuriating, knowing smirk that sent another wave of frustration and heat crashing through me. His eyes darkened, the gold-flecked with something more primal, more dangerous. “My relationship with Bella means nothing to me.”

I tried to shove him away again, but he held firm, his grip on me unyielding, his body pressing me back against the rough bark of the tree. “Bullshit,” I growled, but the anger in my voice was already fading, replaced by something I didn’t want to admit. “You’ve been obsessed with her—”

“Lies.” he interrupted, his lips hovering over mine, so close I could kiss him again if I leaned forward. “I needed her to push you, to make you feel what you’ve been ignoring for months.”

My mind reeled. “You’re saying this was all some kind of game?”

His smirk widened, but it wasn’t cruel—it was victorious. “Not a game. A plan.” His fingers trailed lightly over my collarbone, sending sparks through me, and I hated how easily he could get under my skin, how quickly he could break down the walls I’d built. “I’ve been waiting for you to realize it, to stop fighting me.”

“Fighting you? You never said a damn thing.”

“I didn’t need to. I knew you’d come to me eventually.”

The kiss that followed was harder, more desperate, and I couldn’t stop myself from pulling him closer, the fire that had been smoldering between us now raging out of control. His hands roamed over my body, each touch stoking the flames higher. I couldn’t think, his presence overwhelming every sense, every thought.

“I'm yours,” he growled against my lips, his voice rough and possessive. His hands slid under my shirt, cold fingers tracing over my skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. “Not hers.”

The words hit me like a punch, and I grabbed his face, pulling him back just enough to meet his gaze. “Say it again.”

His eyes bored into mine, that same victorious glint dancing in their depths. “I’m not hers. I’m yours.”