#rare moment he’s using his magic for something other than getting himself hard

[annikuh]

damn, almost forgot that Panathir’s actually scaryevil & not just sweetiepie sensitiveboy

[highseas-swede]

Aziraphale and Trauma

[Just a note that I initially wrote this in response to this post: https://www.tumblr.com/theangelyouknew/732357015604756480?source=share&ref=_tumblr which is full of insightful info. I'm reposting my response here with some minor edits so it's easier to find in tags.]

This is something I actually find interesting within the fandom, because there seems to be this weird divide in fandom when it comes to Aziraphale.

See, I love Aziraphale. I think he's an amazing and well nuanced character, but a lot of the time fandom boils him down into this really simple version of himself. This happens both with people who dislike him and claim he's a bad person as well as with those who want to soften him up and make him more palatable. Aziraphale isn't the only one who has trouble with black and white thinking here!

Things like Coffee Theory remove Aziraphale's agency because the thought of Aziraphale doing something to hurt Crowley deliberately is something they can't stomach. If Aziraphale is acting under some kind of major magical influence, it means that it's possible to brush over the fact that he can - and has - hurt Crowley in the past and it certainly hasn't always been accidental.

There's a lot of Psychology I could touch on here, but it's honestly such a complicated topic that I don't really feel I can do it justice attached to a completely different topic.

But one thing I do want to touch on a bit is how Aziraphale asserts control in his own life via his connection with Crowley, and that touches on something equally complicated, which is something that's probably hard to understand.

Abuse victims are often manipulative.

I don't mean this at all as some kind of slight or insult. I've been an abuse victim myself and it's one reason I know it's true.

Fandom talks a lot about Crowley's trauma and he's got loads, to be sure. I think of that meme about "this bad boy can fit a lot of trauma" and it's very true. I've even seen people mention that Aziraphale has a different kind of Trauma than Crowley, which is also true.

What I haven't seen is someone addressing that the type of religious trauma is a form of CPTSD. CPTSD or "Complex PTSD" is a very specific form of PTSD. PTSD is characterized as being the result of a traumatic event - Crowley's fall, for example, is a good example of PTSD and I can go into that at some point. CPTSD is different because it's not a singular event, it's the result of being in a constant high stress situation. A lot of abuse victims - especially those abused by parental figures or significant others - have this form of PTSD.

A good way to see the difference is in comparing how they relate to their trauma. When Crowley thinks he's lost Aziraphale in S1, it sends him into a spiral. But importantly we see that this traumatic event is causing Crowley to go back to another traumatic event in time, triggering his memories of his fall. This emphasizes how much Crowley's fall defines his trauma. We rarely see him experiencing trauma at the hands of Hell, as he's mostly allowed freedom to handle his job on earth the way he wants.

https://cptsdfoundation.org/ defines CPTSD as "the results of ongoing, inescapable, relational trauma. Unlike Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), Complex PTSD typically involves being hurt by another person. These hurts are ongoing, repeated, and often involving a betrayal and loss of safety."

In humans, this is caused by having no sense of safety in key moments of development. It strips away sense of self, sense of worth and really any agency. We even see the angels using direct gaslighting tactics on Aziraphale in S2, which I'm surprised doesn't get mentioned more often: When they come to the bookshop looking for Gabriel, they mention Gabriel and then almost immediately when Aziraphale asks "you were looking for Gabriel", Uriel outright says a line that goes something like "Did we say we were looking for Gabriel?", leading Aziraphale to fumble and try to remember if they did, in fact, say that at some point (they did).

So, one big thing to know about CPTSD and this kind of abuse related trauma is that learning to lie and be manipulative is often what people have to do to survive. Children with abusive parents will learn how to be manipulative in order to get what they need or avoid losing things they need.

We see this with Aziraphale, time and time again. He could just ASK Crowley for things he wants. A lot of people point out that he could ask and that Crowley would probably give in to him most of the time anyway. But that's not how it works in an abusive home. Instead, Aziraphale maneuvers Crowley into situations where Crowley is forced to give him what he needs or wants.

His lack of agency, as a result of his CPTSD, is also why he needs to be worked into making decisions that he already knows - or at least suspects - are right. That's why they have their little dance every time Crowley has to talk Aziraphale into something by finding the right way to frame it so it makes sense with Aziraphale's strict rule structure. These rules exist as a defensive mechanism too. Having rules makes it easier to figure out how to avoid being hurt and Aziraphale cannot simply step outside the rules because it's Not Safe. Not even with someone he trusts as much as Crowley.

The entire apology dance scene stands out for a few reasons. Everything Aziraphale does in the entire scene is an act that allows him to take control of the situation. He's already won, so to speak, because Crowley is back and Crowley is going to do what he wants. The apology is unnecessary on every level.

This post talks about how uncomfortable Crowley has to be sharing a space with Gabriel. Gabriel is with the abusive team, whether or not he was directly involved with Crowley's fall. Crowley also harbors a severe distress and mistrust of Gabriel because of Gabriel's attempts to destroy Aziraphale, the most important person to Crowley. But it's worth noting that Aziraphale is uncomfortable too.

Another good indicator of how stressed Aziraphale is with all this is that he doesn't eat ANYTHING when Gabriel is in the shop. The only food he consumes in modern era is when he's in the Bentley which is a "safe" space. Gabriel constantly hounded Aziraphale over eating and despite offering Gabriel hot chocolate, we don't see him partaking himself. He does briefly drink to demonstrate how "drinking tea" works for Muriel, but he doesn't seem to drink from his cup at all after demonstrating.

The bookshop is also Aziraphale's safe space, his ONLY safe space - Crowley still technically has the Bentley, and honestly I feel like Aziraphale wanting to borrow the Bentley is actually partially because he needs to get away from Gabriel and the Bentley is the only place that feels safe for him at the moment. Shax ruins any illusion of safety for him, but Aziraphale is much more enthused for his trip in ep3 and a fair amount of it is because he's not trapped with Gabriel.

A small note here, as a thought occurs to me. Aziraphale asserting that the Bentley is "our car" is probably mostly for himself. He's trying to realign his thinking to make the Bentley an acceptable "safe space" for himself prior to the trip.

There is a very different relationship dynamic when it comes to Gabriel and Aziraphale because Gabriel is the constant source of Aziraphale's trauma. He's Aziraphale's superior, the one he has to report to, the one who passes down his missions and his punishments. When Aziraphale takes Gabriel in, he's just invited his former abuser of over 6000 years into his safe haven. This is a hugely uncomfortable thing for an abuse survivor.

Worst of all, because Jim is, for all intents and purposes, NOT Gabriel, Aziraphale can't bring himself to lash out at his former abuser the way he wants to.

That brings us back to this apology scene.

There are two major things going on here and both of them are bad and hurtful toward Crowley. They're also both intensely unfair. I love Aziraphale but this was definitely a dick move.

Firstly: Aziraphale is using Crowley to reassert a sense of control over the situation because he is spiraling. He can't assert control over his life and his shop, which is one thing that he falls back on heavily, and that leaves him scrambling to find somewhere where he can control his situation. He makes Crowley go through this whole unnecessary apology and dance routine because it makes him feel like he has control over SOMETHING in his life right now.

Secondly: Aziraphale is also enacting his own trauma on Crowley. He's treating Crowley the way Heaven treats him. This is a direct parallel to the way Crowley terrorizes his house plants because he can't do anything to the people who actually caused his trauma. This is, obviously, wildly unfair of Aziraphale to do - and I'm fairly sure there are other small moments where Aziraphale does this in a mild way, I'd have to rewatch again.

These are both behaviors common in CPTSD caused by environments that apply this constant state of stress.

I'm not going to say it's right, or that Aziraphale isn't being a bit of a bastard in this moment - he absolutely is - but this behavior does have some obvious triggers that might be easy to overlook. It's just important to understand that Aziraphale is falling into self-preservation habits that are actively detrimental to his relationship with Crowley. It's not just the manipulation, he's also hiding things and lying to Crowley when he really shouldn't be - both things often necessary in abusive environments - but he's doing it because that's the method that he's created that works with his abusive relationship in Heaven and he's falling back on it because he feels unsafe. The trouble is, this survival tactic does not work with Crowley and actively makes things worse because it shuts down open communication entirely.

[delicate-moon-princess]

Hello. Hope you are well. I don’t know if your requests are open, but I would love more Superman x reader stories. Maybe the reader is married to Clark. Clark is always very gentle, caring and soft. Always afraid of hurting the reader by accident. But maybe wants it a little rough? At least sometimes. Totally not against any dd/lg elements.

Bad Days and Bratty Ways

Trying to seduce your husband after a bad day seems to be futile. Good thing a little bit of misbehaving can tip him over the edge. -Daddy!Clark Kent x Reader

Warning: 18+ dd/lg, daddy kink, rough p in v, fingering, choking, light spanking, dumbification, squirting, creampie- Let me know if I forgot anything!

4.2k words

Any typos are my own!

A/N: This had been in my inbox for awhile, I’m sorry 😣 I hope you enjoy it!

******

Clark dealt his anger differently than most. Some people had hobbies that helped them de-stress. Or perhaps they went for a walk to clear their heads. The Kryptonians' fury morphed into something more carnal. His method to fighting any hostile thoughts was chasing them away with a good, hard fuck. 

It was a shock to learn this at first. Clark seemed like such a proper gentleman. And he was. Most of the time. Other times he ditched all gentlemanly standards, used your body for his own selfish needs. And you loved being there to help chase away his ire.

You cherished the times he was rougher with you. Your husband rarely got angry, so those moments were far and few between. His fits always left you aching in the most pleasant way. Despite being married for only a short time, you quickly learned to pick up on the signs that he was riled up.

That’s why you kept a close eye on him during dinner.

Something was bothering him. His mannerisms made it clear. The smiles he gave you were strained, as you observed how tired his eyes looked. His food was half heartedly pushed around with his fork, as if he had no appetite for the meal. He wasn’t very talkative, so you carried most of the conversation. You would get an occasional nod or quiet response.

When you asked him about his day at work, he changed the subject to something else. Typical. He always tried to ignore his emotions. He didn’t want to worry you, but more importantly, he didn’t want to hurt you if he became enraged with lust.

Maybe he just needed a little push? 

When the food was gone, he helped you clean up. No words were spoken as he loaded the dishwasher. His brows were pinched together, his jaw clenching as he pursed his lips. You saw his nostrils flare slightly.

“Daddy?” You stood behind him, your arms behind your back.

You held back a smile when you saw him freeze. There was the magic word. Now to watch him fold.

He turned halfway to look at you, brows raised. His expression softened when he took in the sight of you in front of him. You rocked on your heels as you patiently waited to be answered by him.

“Yes, sunshine?” He hummed, the sight of his precious girl gazing at him so adoringly made him want to melt.

“Did you have a bad day?” You asked, leaving him no choice but to confide in his concerned wife.

“You could say that…” He sighed, shaking his head when you frowned. “It was a long day, sweetheart. There’s nothing to worry about, though.”

Why did he always build these walls around himself? You stifled a groan when he turned back to the dishes. Just a little encouragement. If you approached this carefully, he would open up.

You made your way to him. You knew he could hear as you neared, but he did not turn to look at you. He only stopped loading dishes when your hand touched his bicep. The plate he was holding made a soft clinking sound against the counter as he set it down.

He looked at you while covering your smaller hand with his. You watched as he brought your fingers to his lips and tenderly kissed your knuckles. You lifted your other hand to his hair,  gliding your nails along his scalp. Your spouse shuddered.

“I could help you relax.” You hinted, trying to get him to submit to his urges. “I know how to make it better.”

He knew too. Clark knew what he needed to extinguish the smoldering fury he felt deep in his gut. He couldn’t push you that far. Not again. 

That’s what he always told himself.

Every time he used you in one of his primal trances, you wore bruises the next day. Along with a raw feeling between your legs. While the fact that he was the one to make you limp gave him a demented sense of pride, guilt always overcame him. How could he ever hurt you like that?

He was apologetic afterwards, but you made an effort to comfort him by stressing how much you liked it when it hurt. The tinge of pain you felt after taking on the Man of Steel in bed served as a persistent reminder of who owned you.

Still, he remained hesitant to let go of all ambitions and ravish you like you both desired.

“I don’t know if that’s the best idea, sunshine.” He shook his head, gulping at the thought of hurting you too much. It only took one time for him to forget his strength. 

One time and he could do irreversible damage to the most important person in his life.

He took your other hand away from his hair, kissing your opposite set of knuckles. Then he brought your arms back down to your sides, pressing his lips to yours. He pulled back before speaking.

“I’ll run us a bath after I finish this. Go wait for Daddy in the bedroom, okay?” He stroked your cheek, beckoning you towards the bedroom with a nod of his head.

Your pout deepening did nothing to sway him as he turned away. Letting out a huff, you crossed your arms. Obviously, more drastic measures needed  to be taken. More bratty measures.

You stomped back to your previous position a few feet away from him. Instead of continuing to the bedroom like he asked you too, you spun back around.

“So, what asshole pissed you off at work today?” You raised a brow, not surprised when his head snapped up.

“Excuse me?” He challenged, certain that his ears misheard. 

His little girl did not just utter curse words. Not his sweet, good little girl. She knows better. Clark could feel the anger that was simmering during dinner begin to boil over.

“You heard me.” You sassed.  “What prick got under your skin? Did you tell them to fuck off?”

You considered backing out of your bratty regime when the superhero growled warningly. Then you saw his lip start to curl, and you knew you were close to striking oil.

“You need to watch your mouth, little girl.” He asserted, abandoning the dishes to slowly make his way towards you.

That was your last warning. You paid no mind to it.

“Why don’t you watch it for me, Daddy?” You smirked, cocking your head back to look up at him as he got closer. Not an ounce of fear was in your voice, your teeth biting your lower lip excitedly. 

His eyes narrowed. Then before you knew what was really happening, you were spun around by a strong hand on your bicep. Gasping, you tried to gather your wits. A grin broke out onto your face, proud to have finally pushed him over the edge. You shuddered, attempting to anticipate his next move.

“I wouldn’t be so proud of myself if I were you, little girl. You won’t like what Daddy has planned for you.” He kept a stern hold on you, his front pressed firmly against your back.

“Are you gonna spank me?” You went to turn your head to look at him, still smirking. His hand was quick to grab your jaw, keeping you looking ahead towards the island in the kitchen.

“No, you’d like that too much, wouldn’t you?” He scoffed, walking you forward until you were trapped between him and the counter.

That was true. You bite your lip to quell your smile, eyes rolling back when his hand slipped down to your throat. You unknowingly let out a whine, wordlessly pleading for him to squeeze. 

Clark growled, his bulge nudging the crease of your ass. Your walls clenched, as if your pussy was instinctively trying to swallow his length. Despite the confines between your bodies. His other hand held your hip, keeping you from squirming. 

“You know how much I don’t like it when you use those words. Do you think you’re a big girl now, hm? You think you can spurt out such vulgarity and get away with it? No, I don’t think so.” He hissed close to your ear, the hand on your throat finally clenching. With your breath cut off, he effectively squeezed the last vestige of deviance out of you.

You flooded your panties, the fabric darkened with the amount of your juices. Stars flashed behind your closed eyelids before he let you go, and you greedily inhaled air. You hiccuped as your knees wobbled.

“D-Daddy, please.” You whimpered, your eyes closed as you begged for his pity.

“What’s the matter? Can’t say bad words with Daddy’s hand around your throat, can you?” He gruffed, your throat vibrating against his palm as you mewled.

“I see right through that bratty facade.” He growled. “You’ve been squirming since I got home. You like to see me in a bad mood, don’t you?”

You inhaled sharply, bashful now that he called your bluff. And maybe a bit guilty. You pouted, closing your eyes. It was wrong to push his buttons when you knew he already had a bad day.

“Yes, I know your little games. And all through dinner, I could smell that dripping cunt. I know what you really want. You just need to be fucked, don’t you? It’s all you can think about. My precious little girl has become a real cock-crazed slut.” He sighed while shaking his head scoldingly.

“D-Dadd-ah!” You were about to beg for forgiveness before he bent you over the counter, cutting off your plea with a soft yelp.

The cold marble shocked your blazing flesh. You moaned, still trying to catch your breath when you feel his fingers hook under the hem of your bottoms. He shucked them down your legs

His eyes burned into you as you quivered before him. A draft blew across the wet fabric of your panties, making your toes curl. His heavy hand trailed up the back of your bare thigh which gave you goosebumps.

“Look at the mess you’ve made of yourself, dirty girl. Does acting like a brat really get you this excited? Do you like seeing me this angry?” He chided as you whined.

It was hard for you to speak, all you could focus on was his teasing fingers tracing the seam of your underwear. You didn’t answer, not expecting him to sigh and rip your flimsy panties off like they were made of tissue paper. The brutal smack on your bare bum also came as a surprise. Your startled shriek rang through the otherwise quiet kitchen.

“Answer me, sunshine. You don’t want to test Daddy’s patience right now.” He huffed, squeezing your glowing ass cheek.

“Yes, I-I like it…” You muttered quietly, ashamed to say it out loud. He sneered in displeasure, and you grunted when he swatted you again.

“Louder, little girl. You were so brave a second ago, what happened?” He raised a brow.

You pouted, your bum stinging. He said he wouldn’t spank you. It’s only fun when you’re expecting it. The wetness growing between your folds said otherwise, however.

“I like acting like a brat, Daddy.” You whined clearly, shifting back and forth on your legs to relieve some of the pressure in your belly. “It gets me excited.” 

“And why’s that, huh?” He grunted, needing to hear you say it.

“Because…” You whispered hesitantly, glancing away from him. “Because I-I wanted to make you mad. When you get mad, you’re rough with my… princess parts. And I love it.” Your voice became close to silent, this time he didn’t correct you. 

Saying it out loud was embarrassing. This wasn’t the first time you had disobeyed to get the attention you wanted. And this surely wasn’t the first time he noticed. How humiliating. A small part of you was still relieved to finally admit it.

Clark narrowed his eyes. He knew he shouldn’t condone such behavior. Like all the times before this. But all he could think about was pounding your tight little princess hole so hard you screamed.

“Naughty girl. Instead of coming and asking Daddy nicely to fuck your desperate pussy, you decide to act out. Push me to the edge, until I have to punish you.” He chastised, the aching in his loins made his restraint weaken.

“Sorry, Daddy...” You huffed, peeking back at him with a pout. 

He seemed to be debating something in his head. You swallowed nervously, your tongue coming out to lick your dry lips. He watched your mouth intensely. A groan rumbled in his throat as he blinked slowly. Then his gaze snapped back up to yours, his expression hardening once more.

“I shouldn’t be indulging in such naughty behavior, but you’re lucky I’m pent up from my day at work.” He grunted, leaning down to whisper in your ear. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll give you what you want. I’ll fuck you so hard you won’t have a single thought in that pretty little head. The only thing you’ll be able to think about is how I’m pounding that tight princess pussy.”

A quick slap to your clit shook you, crying out in surprise. You melted into a pitiful puddle of desire, your skin tingling as he rubbed your thighs and hips. His touch disappeared after giving your ass a hefty squeeze.

With your head still spinning, you looked back to see him working on unbuckling his belt. The metal clinked together. A sound that made you whimper. You unconsciously pushed your hips up, presenting to him. He wanted to chuckle at how needy his little girl was. 

When you reached for him, he backed away so your hand fell. You gave him a big pout, even trying puppy dog eyes. Why was he teasing so much?

“Quit your pouting. You don’t get to decide the pace, little miss. That’s Daddy’s job. Now be a good girl and keep your hands to yourself.” He smirked. 

He resumed pushing down his trousers. You moaned when his manhood fell out, already half hard and growing larger by the second. You wanted nothing more than to touch him. While you reached for him again, your fingers made a grabby gesture. It was paired with a frustrated whine.

He wouldn’t budge, stepping just out of your reach. He smirked before movement below his waist caught your attention. He had grabbed himself in his hand, casually squeezing from his base to his weeping tip.

Pearly white precum beaded out from the slit, making your mouth water. Your taste buds ached for a taste of him. You huffed to yourself, licking your lips to keep from drooling. He grinned.

“Is this what you want so bad, sweetheart? Is this what you’ve been fussing over, what’s got you so bratty? You’ve become addicted. Daddy’s cock has got you drooling. From here.” He grabbed your cheeks, pushing your lips together. You felt the saliva in your mouth start to drip out.

“And from here.” He let go of your jaw, reaching down to cover your mound in one large hand. 

He groaned as you leaked onto his palm, stroking his fingers back and forth to coat his hand in your wetness. You twitched as he circled your oozing entrance with one thick digit. His thumb sought out your nub, putting pressure on the aching knot of nerves. You cried out softly, pushing your hips into his hand as he toyed with your most sensitive spot. 

“Such a messy girl. Dripping all the way down to my wrist and I’ve barely touched you.” He chuckled, and you buried your head in your arms.

“Don’t get shy now, sweetheart. Daddy still has to fuck the naughtiness out of your drooly pussy. Right after I make you gush around my fingers like the nasty girl you are.”

You gasped as he sunk a finger into you. Your body seized, but it wasn’t enough. He clicked his tongue as you hiccuped and ground your hips against his one digit.

“Oh, poor girl. You’ve got yourself so worked up. My finger isn’t enough.” He cooed mockingly. “How about another? But it just won’t be enough until Daddy fucks you nice and hard, will it?” 

You hide your face with a whine. He entered with a second finger, making you hiss. Your tight hole swallowed his fingers like it was starving.  He dragged his digits in and out of you, the tips of his fingers scraping the delicate spot residing inside you. You moaned, lifting your head off the counter to tilt upwards towards the ceiling.

“That’s it, work yourself onto my fingers. You’re absolutely soaked. You’re going to make a puddle on the floor if you continue like this.” He laughed while looking down at his glistening hand and forearm.

A third finger joined the rest, stretching you as his thumb found your pleasure button. Your legs shook with the pace he set, the rubbing of your clit was in rhythm with his pummeling fingers. A groan left you, your eyes rolling back.

“Listen to that wet little pussy.” He beamed with a wild look in his eyes as your tightness squelched. “You’re going to do it, aren’t you? You’re going to make a mess all over, like the dumb little baby you are. Such a poor little thing, you can’t help it. Feels so good, doesn’t it?”

Sobbing, you nodded to everything he said. This got him to chuckle, the muscles in his bicep bulging as he fucked you with his fingers. He curled said fingers downward, knocking against the spot that made your heart stutter. 

“Go ahead a cum, sunshine. Show Daddy you can still be a good girl and gush all over my hand.” He growled, his thumb winding tight circles as you mewled like a kitten. “So close, baby, just a little bit more… Theeere we go, good girl.”

He cooed as he felt you clench around his fingers, smirking as he knew what was about to happen. The wail you let out made your own ears hurt, but you couldn’t help it as you squirted all over his arm. You heard some of it hit the floor, as he anticipated.

You humped against his hand as he shook his fingers inside you, stretching your climax out for as long as he could. Your flesh had a light sheen of sweat, which Clark licked off your neck while nuzzling your shoulder.

“There’s a good girl. I knew you could do it. Maybe you’re not so naughty after all…” He hummed.  

Your head snapped up when you felt the sensation of his hard member against your dewy petals. Instinctively, you pushed your hips up. This gave him a perfect angle to plunge into you as he teased the tip against your aching clit. You hiccuped as he groaned deeply, still hazy from your climax but you never forgot your need for him inside you.

“There she is, there’s my girl. Getting ready to take it in her little hole because she can’t seem to care about anything else. Beg for it. Go on. Daddy wants to hear you beg to get your tight pussy demolished.” He traced the head of his length up and down your slit, coating himself in the juices leaking from your core. 

He teased your entrance, but never filled you like you wanted. A deep ache was building in your gut, tight and throbbing. It was beginning to hurt, being unsatiated for so long. 

If he wanted you to beg, you would grovel at his feet. If that’s what it took for him to fuck you.

“Daddy, please.” You whined, swaying your hips back and forth. “I-I need to be fucked. ‘M all wet and achy down there… Need you to fuck me. Wreck my princess parts, Daddy, please! Demolish me-AGH!”

You interrupted yourself with a loud cry when he plunged into you in one deep thrust. It took little effort on his part, your tunnel lathered in your arousal made easy passage for his manhood. Your mouth dropped open as he claimed every inch of you from the inside. 

A strangled gasp escaped your throat. It felt like the air was stolen from your lungs, only this time his hand wasn’t around your throat. The sheer size of him rendered you breathless.

“Look at that…” He murmured with adoration in his voice. He watched your face as all thoughts escaped you, becoming a panting and pliable doll for him.

“That’s really all you needed, sweetheart. You get Daddy’s cock inside of you and all the brattiness slips away, doesn’t it? It’s like your own kind of paci…” He murmured, chuckling under his breath when your walls fluttered around him.

He gave you no time to adjust, not that you really needed it. His thrusts were brutal, as promised. Your lips separated as a resounding cry forced its way from your chest. Finally, you got what you wanted. The euphoria was so strong, it was borderline painful.

With your face twisted, you tried to match his animalistic pounding. Soon, you found it too hard to keep up, so you arched your back and let him rail you. Clark found leverage with your hips, gripping them hard enough to cause bruises. He snarled, jaw clenching as his skin smacked against yours.

Your pussy gushed around the thick intrusion invading it. You could hear it when you paused your sobbing to catch your breath. He shivered behind you, his lip curling up in a cocky snicker as you listened to the harmony between your bodies.

“Do you hear that, little girl? Your poor little princess pussy is crying, she feels so sorry. What about you, huh? Are you sorry for being a bad girl?” He gripped your face in one hand, turning your head towards him.

The look in his eyes almost made you cum. His gaze was demented, obviously amused by your dazed expression. Your mouth hung open as you panted. You mewled, your hole never escaped his harsh thrusting. 

“S-Sorry, Daddy! I’m sorry for being naughty! O-Oh, god!” You finished your sentence with a moan when he lifted one of your legs, holding it up to pound into you even deeper.

You trembled, your body feeling tight. The throbbing in your core accelerated to match your racing heart. You gasped, eyes rolling back in your skull.

He grabbed your throat and leaned forward to press his chest to your back. Your leg was forced higher, inevitability forcing him deeper. You squealed weakly, the sound was broken. He cooed at the noises you let out.

“You poor thing, Daddy sure has fucked you dumb. All you can do is whine and cry as I bust open that pretty cunt.” He hissed.

The filthiness of his words made your toes curl. Your walls involuntarily fluttered around his aching member. You gasped, the tingling in your core increasing.

“Please, please, I can’t. I can’t- M-Mm…” You whimpered frantically while pinching your eyes shut. It was becoming increasingly harder to hold on. You didn’t want to get into anymore trouble by cumming without his permission

“I know, sunshine. You’re so close, I can feel you clenching around me. Cum for me, little girl. Gush all over my fucking cock, you dirty whore.” He snarled, sending vibrations straight to your aching pussy.

You came with a loud sob, heat washing over you as his words pushed you over the edge. Your lips fell open, but you were oblivious to the sounds you were making. Your ears were ringing as you rode your orgasm.

Meanwhile, your husband chased his high with your convulsing pussy. Your sweet moans rang in his ears. His pace stuttered for only a moment before he bottomed out and painted your cervix white. You shuddered in sync with him, his seed hot inside your walls. Clark bucked his hips, making sure to give you all he had as his balls jerked upwards.

He eventually stopped his movements, resting inside you. You could hear him exhale as you stayed bent over the counter, still catching your breath. The sensation of his hands rubbing up and down your sides relaxed you, making you give a satisfied smile.

He chuckled, his hand coming up to stroke your cheek. All traces of anger were gone from his perfectly sculpted face.

“Thank you for that, sunshine. I really needed it.” He hummed as you cooed and nuzzled his palm.

“Glad to help, Daddy.” You preened.

“You still need a real punishment for saying such bad words…” He trailed off as dragged himself out of your tender core. Both of you moaned.

With your legs spread wide, he pulled your cheeks apart, giving him a perfect view of your creampie. He growled with a playful smirk.

“How about a bath for the messy girl and then an early bedtime with Daddy. I’m not done with you just yet.” He chuckled and spanked you lightly on the behind, causing you to jump, more of his cum slipping out of you. 

You giggled, bending back up to book it towards the bedroom half naked. He chased after you with a grin that told you were in for a long night of “punishment”.

******

Taglist: @sunshine-with-daisy @leigh70 @islacharlotte @lysarria @kebabgirl67 @pandaxnienke @identity2212 @rach2602

[misstycloud]

Yandere!Hunter x Elf!Reader

Yandere!hunter who is the village’s loner. He rarely talks to anyone else, instead he prefers to keep to himself in his cabin secluded from the town.

Yandere!hunter who has heard legends about the kinds of creatures living in the forest nearby, the one that almost no one goes into. Well, except him of course. The place was gianourmus and hard to find the way out the moment you set foot inside. It was like a maze. One you’ll be trapped in forever if you weren’t careful.

Yandere!hunter who regards himself as a logical man and therefore doesn’t believe a word of those silly tales. They were just bedtime stories for kids, something parents used to keep them out of the woods.

Yandere!hunter who goes into the woods in hunt for prey, he needed meat to sell at the market; also he was in urgency of food on the table. He had to eat and lazing around the cabin wouldn’t solve anything.

Yandere!hunter who definitely doesn’t believe in things like elves. Ethereal, intelligent and magical, how could a perfect being be real. They don’t exist. But how come he met you?

Yandere!hunter who was just as surprised as you to come across another creatures on your adventure through the high trees. You immediately raised your guard when you saw him. He was a stranger, a potential threat to your life.

Yandere!hunter who was taken aback by your beauty. No one he’d ever seen before could compare to you. There was just something about you that instantly drew him in like a moth to a flame. You were obviously not a mortal, that was for sure. The hunter started thinking back to the legends, perhaps they were in fact true. There really were magical creatures such as elves living in the woods.

Yandere!hunter who lowered his weapons to show you that he wasn’t intending on harming you. Then he slowly inched closer to you, barely daring to breathe in fear of you simply being an illusion of being there for too long.

Yandere!hunter who is overjoyed when you don’t run away and chose to stay and talk to him. It had been a while since he last held a conversation longer than two sentences.

Yandere!hunter who is desperate when you say you needed to go home and begs you to meet with him in the same spot the next night. He had to speak to you again, he must get to know you more. Luckily you agree to his request, albeit a bit reluctantly at first while looking over your shoulder deeper into the forest. As if you were worried about something in there.

Yandere!hunter who is thoroughly enjoying the conversations you two share every night. Not only were you wonderful on the outside, you were heavenly on the inside too. So kind and full of life, always curious about things and willing to learn.

Yandere!hunter who thinks your pointed ears are just adorable and let’s you feel his own rounded ones. How your face lits up when you are allowed to touch his ears is so cute, he thinks.

Yandere!hunter who absolutely loves when you ask him questions regarding his life. You showed interest in him! He answers all questions honestly, only wanting to reveal himself to you. You were the first person to ask him about his day and his likes, it warmed his heart to the point of it feeling like it’s going to explode.

Yandere!hunter who is sad when his inquiries concerning your life is responded with vague and short replies. You say that you can’t really tell him that much about your society, that it would be unfair to the others.

Yandere!hunter who realises he can’t live without you in his life. He must have you with him. What if you’re not safe? What if someone’s being mean towards you? What if another comes for your hand?

Yandere!hunter who won’t let anyone else have you when he needs you the most. The next time you meet, he supposed he’ll have to convince you that he is a much better option and you’ll be happier with him.

[saphstories]

Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic

A ShadowxAurora One Shot

Shadow never meant to keep it. With the limited space in his apartment, a piano wasn't exactly practical. But he'd seen it sitting on the street while on a run, a pathetic little spinet that apparently wasn't worth the effort for repair according to the owner, so it sat in wait for the dump truck.

Omega thought he was nuts when Shadow had used Chaos Control to transport the piano into the apartment, and perhaps he was. The instrument had definitely seen better days, and it would take more than a simple tune up to get it in pristine condition again.

That didn't stop Shadow from shoving the spinet against the wall between his mattress and the front door and then going out to purchase the necessary items for piano repairs.

The spinet became Shadow's passion project over the next several weeks. Any spare moment between his mercenary work with Omega and dates with Aurora, Shadow could be found with the spinet piano, painstakingly doting over the instrument to set it to rights again.

"You never told me you can fix instruments." Aurora had noted once, sitting on the little bench with her legs swinging while half of Shadow's body was inside the back of the spinet.

"Never came up." Shadow had grunted.

"Where'd you learn?" She'd pressed.

Shadow had shrugged. "I did a lot of things while off world, Light. Sometimes I was asked to fix things, and music is universal." Aurora had accepted that answer, and Shadow minutely relaxed.

No way he was EVER going to tell her that some aristocrat across the galaxy had taken fancy to him and tried to get his attention by breaking her piano, just so he'd come and fix it. It was the fastest he'd ever fled a planet. Omega still hadn't let him live it down.

The plan for the spinet once he'd finished repairs was simple enough: take it to the resale shop and get a decent sum of cash for it. He'd contacted the shop, gotten a good offer, and was set to deliver and receive his rings, but when he arrived and saw the buyer...a mother and son duo, the latter whom was whining about how much he HATED piano lessons and was currently and carelessly swinging a baseball bat around in his fit....Shadow took his piano and left.

No way was Shadow going to let all his hard work repairing his baby go to waste on some ungrateful brat that lacked basic appreciation. So, the little spinet piano became a permanent fixture in his apartment.

Shadow had never considered himself a musician of any sort. He was a warrior, a mercenary, the Ultimate Lifeform, a guardian. Music...required a certain softness that Shadow, with all his broken pieces and jagged edges, simply did not possess. But, somehow, that didn't matter. Sitting at his little spinet, gingerly filling his apartment with the soft tones of the classics centered him with a kind of peace he rarely ever achieved...with one exception. When he played, Shadow could pretend that was all there was. Just him and his spinet, creating something beautiful together. It was almost magical, if he believed in such a thing.

Shadow huffed a quiet chuckle, gently resting his hand atop the keys but not pressing down, his thoughts drifting towards the other almost-magical thing in his life. Honestly, if it magic was a thing, Shadow could believe it, because of her. The way she pranced through life, with such light and arms wide open, eager and excited for whatever came her way...could anything else but magical describe his precious Light?

Almost without his command, his fingers gently drifted across the spinet's keys, a delicate melody that swirled and danced through the air. Shadow sighed.

"Though I tried before to tell her

Of the feelings I have for her

In my heart.

Every time that I come near her

I just lose my nerve as I've done

From the start."

How many times has Shadow looked into those emerald eyes, seen that smile, and choked? It was three simple words, why was it so difficult? He's made peace with the past, hasn't he?

"Every little thing she does is magic

Everything she does just turns me on.

Even though my life before was tragic

Now I know my love for her goes on."

A sniffle behind him had Shadow whirling around, Chaos Spear halfway formed in his hand and a snarl on his muzzle, when those same piercing emerald eyes damp with tears stopped him dead. Shadow gulped, his ears flattening against his head. Damn. How long had she- Shadow made get up, averting his eyes as embarrassment colored his cheeks rosy red.

And then she's right there, pushing him back down on the bench with pleas of "Please don't stop, don't mind me-," and she's still looking at him with those eyes, pleading and wet, her body pressed tight against his side, lips protruding in the most pitiful pout...

Chaos, he was screwed, wasn't he?

Shadow sighed and tapped her nose with his finger. "You will say nothing to anyone about this." He commanded, and tried to ignore how distracting that beaming smile was in order to return to the piano. He gulped, frozen with his fingers in position. He knew his voice was not what anyone would call gifted, hers was so much better, and he chanced a glance down to his shoulder where she'd laid her head. She smiled at him again, eager and encouraging, and Shadow gulped and resumed playing.

"Do I have to tell the story

Of a thousand rainy days

SInce we first met?

It's a big enough umbrella

But it's always me

That ends up getting wet.

Every little thing she does is magic

Everything she does just turns me on.

Even though my life before was tragic

Now I know my love for her goes on."

Shadow rested his cheek against the top of her head, mindful of the short grouping of quills that acted as bangs, closing his eyes momentarily and just breathing.

"I resolve to call her up

A thousand times a day

And ask her if she'll marry me

In some old fashioned way.

But my silent fears have gripped me

Long before I reach the phone.

Long before my tongue has tripped me

Must I always be alone?"

Her arms squeezed him gently, reassuringly, around his middle, and he pressed a kiss to her head in response, smiling at the growing damp spot on his shoulder.

"Every little thing she does is magic,

Everything she does just turns me on.

Even though my life before was tragic

Now I know my love for her goes on,"

Shadow dropped one hand from the piano and cupped Aurora's cheek, tilting her chin up to look into her eyes, shining with light and joy, and he knew his words wouldn't fail him this time. He smiled at her and leaned his forehead on hers.

"Every little thing you do is magic

Everything you do just turns me on.

Even though my life before was tragic

Know that my love for you goes on."

Shadow ended the song with a soft kiss to her lips, sealing his declaration of devotion with all the love and passion and dedication he had in his heart in the best way he knew how. Words always failed him, but somehow, in this moment, it didn't matter. Aurora wept through his kiss, and he smiled as they parted, a quirk of his mouth so gentle and loving that only she would ever get to see it.

Aurora pounced on him a single moment later, using her own gift of speed to press kiss after kiss on his lips, face, head, everywhere she could reach, glowing so brightly and joyfully exclaiming "I love you"s between kisses. Shadow briefly wondered how she wasn't suffocating before dismissing the thought and basking in their shared love, trading her kisses and words with ones of his own. It didn't matter anyway.

Every little thing she did was magic, after all.

[piedpiperart]

Phantom in Gotham

Due to Ao3 being down, I’m posting my DP x DC fic here!

Chapter 1

Tim wasn't sure what about the new kid caught his attention. Maybe it was the black hair and blue eyes, or the fact that he seemed to be as sleep-deprived as Tim considering the deep eyebags. Tim figured it could also be the numerous red flags that somehow keep appearing the more he gets to know Danny. The unnaturally cold hands, slower than usual heartbeat (discovered by Connor), or the fact that Danny used the lunch period as more of a nap time instead of actually eating. To put it lightly, Tim was concerned. So was Connor, but less in a way of ‘hey this kid probably needs help’ like Tim was and more ‘hey this kid might be dangerous’.

But the kid was nice. Tim could see that Danny was a good person. Every morning at school since Danny started showing up- halfway through the school year, which was another red flag- he'd talk to Tim before their class started about everything and anything. Tim learned that Danny liked astronomy, wanted to meet Martian Manhunter someday to ask about space, he had an older sister Jazz and a younger sister Ellie, both of whom he hadn't seen in a while. Tim didn't press, but he was pretty sure Danny was living on his own. He just wasn’t sure why. 

Of course, many possibilities crossed his mind. Tim was a detective first and foremost, and he could never leave an unsolved mystery alone. His list included runaway, kicked out, in danger, or on the run because of meta abilities. Because of that last oneTim wasn’t sure if he should look him up on the batcomputer or not. If Danny was running or laying low for some reason, tipping Batman off about it would not work in Danny’s favor. Tim also wanted to find this out on his own first, without Batman’s help. 

Tim helped as best he could. He brought granola bars for Danny in the morning, who lit up like an excited puppy at the prospect of snacks. He felt good about being able to help his new friend, but wished he could do more than keep him company during class and lunch. Speaking of lunch, Danny never ate much of it. Tim usually tried to get him to eat something, but Danny usually waved him off and took a nap at their table instead. Tim would share a concerned glance with Steph and Connor, but for the most part they let him sleep, and made him eat a bunch of his school lunch after he woke up.

Danny never asked for anything, and he was always cheerful- a forced cheerfulness, Tim could  recognize- catching him in those rare moments when he wore a sad smile, like something he remembered was painful to think about. Tim wasn't sure what Danny had gone through, but he knew it probably wasn't good. He assumed the kid was a runaway of sorts, but Gotham Academy was a rich prep school, so Tim wondered how a runaway would be able to afford attendance at such a school. Obviously the kid wasn’t from Gotham, and that worried Tim with how much crime went on around the city. One possibility was that his parents sent him away as a ‘boarding school’ of sorts. Tim wasn’t sure how Gotham Prep was the best option for that though. 

Tim wanted nothing more than to investigate Danny's life, but had put it off. Part of him wanted Danny to tell him himself, but he had also been swamped with a new vigilante on the streets. None of the other bats ever saw who it was, but they all could feel something helping them or other people out. Like some invisible force they couldn't detect. It was hard to notice at first, with a few crooks tripping conveniently, a well placed pot falling on someone’s head. But it grew to become more, like one of them getting pushed out of the way, or sheets of ice appearing magically on the ground in the middle of summer. Tim had tried to call out, but no one ever answered. After a month, the invisible ghost still hadn’t showed itself, but they knew he- it? she?- was still around. Dick thought it was like a ghost friend, unsurprisingly nicknaming it Casper. Bruce, not so much.

But back to Danny. Tim was worried. Granted, they'd only known each other for a month at most, but he reminded Tim of Dick. Always hiding sad smiles behind false cheer, caring more about the people around them than themself. Tim shook his head, trying to disperse the thoughts around Danny's mysterious past. It would be rude to pry. 

"You sure you don't want to come over after school?" Tim asked,"Steph and I are gonna do homework, you can totally join us if you want."

"Ah," Danny froze, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly a moment later. Tim could see his pale skin and deep eyebags from standing so close. He chewed his lower lip in worry while the taller teen stammered through an excuse.  "I- I have some things to do at home, you know, chores and stuff. Maybe next time."

"Alright,"Tim answered easily, filing the answer down to analyze later. Meanwhile Steph booed at Danny from behind Tim. "Maybe next time? You could come over for movie night on Friday?" Steph added, frustration seeping into her voice,. Tim was sure Danny was either ignoring her outburst or didn’t notice. 

"I'll think about it,"Danny smiled nervously, stepping away and waving goodbye when they got to the street.

Tim waved back, shoulders slumping in disappointment. Steph shot him a knowing glance. "Looks like you're wearing him down at least. He'll be a Wayne before you know it!" Steph cheered, latching onto Tim's arm and dragging him to the car.

"I hope so," Tim sighed. The wearing down part at least, but he wouldn’t argue to having a new brother his age. 

"Hey, maybe he's just nervous about visiting the mansion?" Steph speculated. "Rich people's stuff can be a bit overwhelming. Maybe we can go to his house or somewhere else."

"I don't think so," Tim frowned. "Anytime we ask him to hang out after school he has some sort of excuse to get out of it, even if we invite him to the movies or bowling."

Steph pulled a face,"Well, maybe he just doesn't like you," She teased, then turned serious at Tim's glare.

"I am worried about him though,"Steph admitted, looking over to where Danny disappeared to,"He reminds me of Dick, but like, more sad. You said he was sick?"

Tim nodded in agreement, worrying his lip between his teeth as he thought. “Slow heartbeat, possibly malnourished, and lower body temperature, but other than that he acts fine. No low energy, he does pretty average in Gym class. I found a few diseases that it could be online, but I don’t have enough symptoms to narrow it down and it’d be weird to ask.“

"Have you looked him up on the batcomputer yet?" Steph asked, climbing into the car.

Tim shook his head. "Not yet. I don't want to pry too much, but I think he might be a runaway. It doesn't explain why he's at school, but it would partially explain his poor health. I just really don’t want Batman to find out, and he will if I use the Batcomputer. Connor also said his heartbeat was lower than he’d ever heard on someone not dying, so he might be a meta? It wouldn't be a stretch for his family to have kicked him out for being a meta. It happens."Tim thought aloud.

"Could also be a medical condition, like you said before." Steph pointed out. "I don’t know any metas that would have slower heartbeats, cuz usually enhancements means faster. He does seem kinda tired all the time. And he really doesn't eat much during school."

Tim hummed in agreement. "I'm just worried about him,"Tim sighed. 

"Alright Bruce,"Steph teased, smacking him lightly on the shoulder,"Should I get Alfred to set up another bedroom?"

Tim shoved her playfully, frown morphing into the beginnings of a smile. "I'm not gonna adopt him Steph, he's our age."

"Sure,"Steph shrugged with a smile that told Tim she didn't believe him at all. 

"Maybe Bruce would though, if we introduced them."

"Tim, no."

Chapter 2

[t1wl1ghts]

If you have any, what are some darker headcanons you have of Killer!Sans?

MY FIRST ASK WOOOOOOO!!

TW: SELF HARM, HALLUCINATIONS, SUBSTANCE ABUSE, EATING DISORDER (?)

꩜ I like the idea of his vision either being normal or extremely messed up depending on what stage he's at! (inspo: astray-anomaly)

꩜ But not just does his vision get incredibly blurry but he has a form of prosopagnosia that gets worse around stage 3 or 4. Where he even struggles to differentiate the Star Sanes from his team.

꩜ He is rarely in stage 1, it's very rare to see him like that. The only person who's been able to see him like that is Nightmare and Color, no one else would see him like that.

꩜ I do think he would have DID or at least something similar to it. Along with MAJOR PTSD, he would have some major trust issues. So getting close to him would be EXTREMELY hard, he most likely would be hypervigilant, and have flashbacks.

꩜ He has depersonalization disorder, I think for him he would have the mindset/coping mechanism of "This is all a game nothing is real", and would try to disconnect from reality and what he's doing. This would cause him to feel like he's just watching himself act out his violent behavior without controlling it.

꩜ He experiences hallucinations, not to the same degree as Dust who would have constant hallucinations, but Killer would have his moments. He'd mainly suffer from auditory hallucinations, voices constantly whispering to him. Some examples are commanding voices such as a voice saying, "Hurt him now," "Kill her," or "End your life." or some voices insulting him "You deserved everything' or "You deserve this punishment", Voices arguing with each other Example: Voices saying, "We should kill him," followed by another voice saying, "No, wait, he isn’t ready yet," making him paranoid. And last distorted sounds of violence, the sound of a knife cutting through flesh, yelling, screaming even in a silent room.

꩜ Bro abuses percs like his life depends on it, even though sometimes it can cause his paranoia and hallucinations to get worse but the highs where he just gets a rush of pure euphoria, all the negative emotions and thoughts leaving him, all the aches and pains in his body magically fading away replaced by warmth and numbness are what keeps him coming back to it.

꩜ He cuts himself for sure, there is nothing he can do to permanently escape from the quilt he feels from killing everyone he loves, his friends, his neighbors, and his brother. He definitely gets a rush whenever he cuts a little too deep, even though he doesn't actively try to kill himself he's not opposed to one day just bleeding out. He won't take care of the wounds either, he'll leave them to fester, bleed, and possibly get an infection. He'll even get injured on purpose during battles, just in case one day it'll kill him. Also because he just likes the physical pain, it's easier to focus on than what's going on inside his head.

꩜ Since he hardly takes care of his own wounds, he doesn't bother to bathe that much, he'll hardly ever change his clothes unless they're completely torn up or nightmare says something about it, though he hardly does. Even if he was to change he'll just get into less dirty clothes. He doesn't do his laundry anyway. Showers, brushing his teeth, and taking care of himself in general are basically nonexistent to him. He claims it's because he's lazy if asked why, but he just doesn't see himself worthy of such things.

꩜ He doesn't eat much either, he doesn't completely starve himself but just like every other problem he has, he just doesn't see himself good enough to eat.

꩜ He has major night terrors, he hardly gets any sleep which absolutely crushes him, if there's anything a Sans is good at it's sleeping. For him, it's just another soul-crushing reminder of what he used to be, happy, punny, a fun-loving skeleton...now he's just a shell of what he used to be.

[spoiled-fawn]

Lust by Nature {Part 3}

Masterlist, Part 1, Part 2, Part 4

Read on ao3

Pairing: Captain John Price x fem!Reader

MDNI: 18+!

Warnings for this chapter: sex dream that verges somno, blood and injury

Word Count: ~7k

Summary: His lap is your favorite spot in the world, a sneaky little energy grab while dream-walking, and oh no! some blood :(

A/N: Chapter 3! I had so much planned for this, then wrote more and more so the original ch. 3 is now into two parts, meaning another chapter gets added to this. I hope ye enjoy

Price wasn’t caring for you. That much was certain.

Correction: Price wasn’t caring for your needs.

Three months.

Three months and still no sex. You expect he’s doing his best to fill his thick head with pure thought to ward off any boners.

He allowed small touches for technical purposes which gave a small boost of energy to you, but only barely. The previous feast on a mission in a drug ring fed you well enough, having been left with bodies barely alive before giving them the sickly sweet send-off to death while letting them taste the carnal sin you could procure.

John’s belief held you as being able to feed from the other men who desired you. Everywhere you went you could make a man or woman (a rare few on base at this time) hard and wet with desire. You trained with other soldiers, killed on missions, and while it helped and kept your energy up, it wasn’t enough. Sure, you took plenty enough of lives when the boys had so graciously left a straggler or two for you as they bled out, but the whittled-away energy of a man with bullets in him made the meal a bit dull. 

Sometimes the question of Price being an angel himself would weigh in your mind, the hallucination of a golden halo crowning him in the darkness behind your eyelids as you watched him speak or bark orders while standing in the sunlight.

You remember that he certainly can’t be. He kills and kills again, the wolf himself still has a handler no matter how much he barks- never biting until directed. For the most part.

Price is cruel with the allotted sweetness he supplied. It's been driving you up a wall, a reluctantly familiar itch crawling in your chest. He’d pet your hair when deeming a job well done, sometimes even wrangling you by the horns when needing to re-direct your attention. Softer moments started to build up the more you learned and were able to help him complete his tasks, being sure to reserve time for only you and him during the day.

Yet he still wouldn’t fuck you. He wouldn’t use you, not even letting it get to that point.

And truthfully, it doesn’t matter. You could enchant anyone you wanted into getting your way, but already feeling and smelling the arousal these bone-dry soldiers felt for you. But you couldn’t do it.

Something inside your heart, filled with magic and sin, kept your sights on Price only. Long days had you passing by recruits with such ease of temptation just to take them into the locker room and let them relieve stress. Yet the moment you saw Price, you could feel your pupils turning into hearts. Theoretically.

Your military contract asserted your role into the new CO’s life, expecting easy sex and some sort of flippant attitude that would be a double positive. Meeting the man who does more than just take his commands to regurgitate them out onto his subordinates, Price showed resilience, respect, and a leading figure of someone who lived beyond each sacrifice he gave.

Sue you for having issues relating to the figures high in power and holding authority over you, but the stability he had to offer was the pillar the team used day in and day out. In terms of being the newest addition in an environment that offered more humanity than your past facility, your claws clung to him on the chance that he’d be attentive with guidance and any reprimands that are followed with assured praise.

It only made you burn for him.

The feeling of his gloved hands tight on your sides while practicing stealth drills, as if glued to your back to teach you his gait. Hearing his voice first thing in the morning before he’s spoken, his croaks send a shiver down your legs. When you waited in the locker room on purpose just to catch sight of his pink skin that highlighted the various sized and placed scars over his body. The smell of his cologne when he brought you to the bar with the boys after a job well done.

That first taste you had of him, that silly child's play of a kiss during the mission. Like a spiced honey, you wanted to drip all over your body and let it soak its way inside of you.

This man makes your demon quiver like she’s a holy saint sinning for the first time.

The days filled with paperwork, and not your Captain, made everything blur together enough to make your eyes tired, you’d whine over it being a task you never had to do before. It was frustrating for you and the team, making them feel like they were preschool teachers. 

On the rare occasions that training would end early, Price would utilize this to spend time in the dimmed yellow light of his office as you sit next to him. 

Papers strewn over your small work area while he kept his in neat piles. The sound of your keyboards clacking fills the silence before the shuffling of papers interrupts, small hums from either of you when checking details and recording operations management.

The room fills with a lingering haze as his cigar burns slowly, settled in the ashtray while typing, and back to his lips when reading over his work. Finishing a large chunk of interpreting and typing the reconnaissance intel, you lean back to watch as the cherry lights up when he inhales. His eyes are somewhat blurred by the glasses he wears, reflecting the screen while his body bathes in the warm light. 

“You need sumthin’?” He grumbles from around the cigar, looking at you once he pops it out of his mouth.

“Why do you smoke cigars instead of cigarettes sometimes?” There’s no stutter in your question as he calls you out.

“Makes me feel like ‘m not in a rush. No need to worry of the end when there's plenty to it.” He brings it back up, taking a drag while watching you watch him. After a moment, he sits up and leans towards your place; Adjacent to him on the end of his desk while he sits on your right in his office chair.

“You ever try one?” 

The bridge of your nose crinkles, a faint memory playing behind your eyes. “No. General would always be smoking one when I was brought in, didn’t like the smell.”

Price’s eyes widen for a second, quickly moving the cigar away and clearing his throat. “You could’ve said something, wouldn’t been smoking in ‘ere if I knew tha'.” He gently snubs the cherry but the grasp of your hand on his wrist halts him.

“It’s fine. It's different. I like this one.” You wave him off with no fuss.

His hand pauses, holding it still as his eyebrow quirks. “Whats it smell like?”

It takes a second to think over. He usually tends to stick to something earthy in flavoring, having only changed up the scent on special occasions. You can remember the first one being sweet when you came to this base, and on his hard days were ones that reeked of wood tones.

“Like you.” A shrug accompanies your answer, looking up to meet his gaze that now stills while his breath fans over your hand that keeps on his wrist. The sound of your voice is warmer than the buzz the first hit gives him after a long day, and you both can tell that his body likes it when you speak like that. Reserved for him.

“Would you want to try it?” He offers the half-smoked cigar to you, gently balancing it between his fingers.

Sliding your hand up his wrist to take the cigar between your fingers only to watch him as it meets your lips. The feeling is heavy and a bit confusing.

Sucking in, you quickly choke. Shaking your head as you hand the damn trap back to him, his light chuckle sounds out. “You’re not s’possed to swallow it, sweetheart.” His eyes take in steady heed of infatuation at your failed attempt, and the curl of his lips show a genuine smile.

“But I always swallow, Sir.”

You can never keep your mouth shut, can you? He pauses, mouth parting before clicking shut and narrowing his eyes. He looks away as the muscles of his mouth flex.

Trying not to laugh.

“I wonder if it's the lads getting to you, or just how you are.” Finally, he gives his attention back to you for a moment, watching as you clean up your work area. It's your turn to feel his stare at you. The sweeping of attention your body can feel prickling and preening at, loving his focus as it sweeps across your form. “And stop calling me Sir.”

“I see it as a form of respect, Captain.” You tidy your piles of paper, shifting back to your laptop and readjusting your seat. There's a slight flash of something just beneath the waistband of your fatigues.

Out of nowhere, he tosses a pen to the other side of the desk on your left.

“You mind picking that up for me, doll?” If he’d thrown a rabid dog and asked in that voice, you’d surely say yes.

The questioning glare he receives doesn’t escape him, but you comply nonetheless. Now bent over, the hem of your shirt rides up to reveal the flesh of your side. A tattoo reveals itself.

As soon as your hands grasp the pen from the floor, you startle at the touch of his hand on your stomach. “What-”

“This a tattoo?” His fingertips trace over the slightly exposed skin, taking a dive in and commanding the shirt to move from his touch as he brings his fingers under it. 

Still slightly caught off guard, yet the touch is so gratifying that you almost purr in response. “‘S a succubus sigil. Mine specifically.” Leaning back and drawing your shirt up like a puppy asking for belly rubs, showing the expanse of it as it reaches from hip to hip. The design is tribal to your being; a heart that seemingly has wings of sharp lines that curve on the bottom of your stomach- Your womb.

“Did this come with your... form?” He asks after meeting your gaze, still not moving his hand away but tracing it with firm pressure as if to see it peel off or be raised.

“Mmm.” You nod, trying to contain the moan behind a tight-lipped hum. “Would come up on my mate too.” 

The movement on your stomach stops just as you are a second away from moving your hips closer to plead for more. “Mate?” He stills, hand stopping and regrettably pulling back as he sits to look at you. “Whadya’ mean mate?”

Oh, that's right. You never told him. But there was a section in the contract! Your subconscious screams at you, and now irked at the daft man for not reading through a man-made document that was formative on a demon.

He stifles a cough when he looks back to you; The shirt still being raised to expose the soft and delicate-looking skin of your stomach meets him, legs spread, and head tilted down with a glare through your lashes. You’re pouting.

“Price…” You start, voice low with a bass in it while still having feminine notes. It sounds like the call of the wind when he’s posted in the mountains for a stakeout and brings a shiver to the inside of his ears.

“Why’re you looking at me like that.” His face is seemingly neutral, but his eyes twitch a fraction wider at your stare.

“You didn’t read my contract.” The ethereal-sounding voice teases his ears again. He’s ashamed that he can feel his dick twitch in interest at this sudden flip of your attitude, now having to resist the urge to cross his legs to hide the blood filling it. You drop your shirt down, and a coy smile floats up to your lips. “Did you, sir?” 

“I still have a few pages left.” He chuffs while looking away to distract himself and his mouth with the cigar. “You gonna explain?” He tries to shift the power of this conversation back to him as he asks in nonchalance, spreading his legs to seem comfortable.

“Being a succubi’s mate brings something shallow but deeper than what normal humans could give. Our mate is a safe heaven; Someone who loves us for what we do. For understanding, we’re more than what we’re created to be.” Like a tether, you shift forward to step between the desk and himself. “Our mate understands that we have needs that have to be satiated, while we understand that humans rely on a relationship beyond physical cravings.”

Seating yourself on the edge of his desk, standing between his legs, the blue of his eyes sharply contrasts your red ones. “We sacrifice our innate, greedy, sinning hunger to fall in love.”

The pregnant pause is enough to let the moment sink into the walls of his office, his inner monologue going off the rails right now.

Tension sits in his eyebrow line, jaw, and in the air between you. “That so?”

“Very, much so.” Cheekily smiling back at him as you’ve firmly planted the idea in his head, the hem of your shirt rises to let the tattoo peek back out.

“Now, can we get back to you petting me?”

“Petting?” He chortles as if to ease whatever tense emotion settled over his mind, a kind that had alarm bells ringing in his head. “You’re not a dog. I was jus’ looking at your mark.” He breaks eye contact to look at his monitors, waking them up with a wave of the mouse. “You’re more like a cat, anyways.” He adds with a mumble.

“Oh, I’ve got a pretty kitty for you to pet.” The giggle that leaves your lips brings a sweet ringing in his ear. His dick twitches again, and this time with more blood flowing down at the image of your whats between your legs.

His hand comes up to take his glasses off as he discards the cigar in the ashtray, and then a stifled groan leaves his lips. “Cut the shit, Saint.” His elbows placed on the table make his back arch, and you can see his muscles traverse in waves over his shoulder blades. “You need to finish your report.”

“Just for a little bit?” While he’s distracted, you move closer to stand between his legs while trailing fingers over the sigil. “I’ll scratch your back.”

Price’s head lolls to the side, finding you much closer than expected. The motion of your tail swaying playfully behind you gains an advantage; You’re playful in all of this, all the while a beautiful woman creature that has a face worthy of melting hearts and a body that could melt dicks and cunts alike, there is a sort of black cat-like quality to you. Hunting for prey either in the shadows or wanting to toy with it.

An even steeper spike of arousal catches your nose, wanting nothing more for him to be as easy as Soap is on a bad day. You’ve never taken up the opportunity, but you still think about it.

Pursing his lips, a sigh escapes him while rubbing his hands over his face. “If this gets you to shut up and finish your work, fine.” He leans back in his chair, re-situating himself before you move to straddle his lap. “Only for a little bit.”

To your surprise, a sound of content leaves him as you settle, and feel his large arms come to wrap around your waist. “You’re a furnace- are you sick?” The inside of his wrist comes up to check your forehead for a fever, finding it warm.

“I just run that way. Something with my magic.” Humming, and nuzzling into his neck, the huff of you breathing him in makes his skin prickle. His hand returns to your waist.

A moment of silence passes, breathing with each other with only the steady hum of his computer filtering into the background noise. “You gonna scratch my back or not, sweetheart?” You can feel the rumble of his words end with a chuckle against your chest and in the muscles of your throat.

At the queue, your hands slide down beneath his shirt to start sliding the tips of your nails across his skin. A small sound of surprise leaves him as you pull up his shirt but quickly cuts off by a groan as he slumps against you.

“Fuck- Haven’t felt that in a long time.” The pull of a smile on his lips against your neck as he leans into the crook of it. His body shakes in a full tremor and his hands squeeze tighter; A hiss is pulled out of him as you reach the top of his shoulders and bring your nails down in long, cruelly slow, strokes. “Feels so wonderful, angel.”

While the petname is ironic, it still means you're getting to him. Being so close to him, the smell of his steadying arousal almost gets you high. Repeating the motion, you relaxed a bit more onto his lap to settle your weight to settle yourself over his hardening cock.

“Glad you like it.”

Leading him into your warm embrace, the chills shivering up his spine misplace his senses as your added weight and plush ass on his lap doesn’t register until the first slow roll manifests a throaty growl from him.

One hand holds you still with an unrelenting squeeze of your hip as the other shoots up to grab at your tail. A sharp gasp sounds before your back arches, nails digging into his back while you can’t help but look to the ceiling with bowed eyes.

“Behave, Saint.” He husks from above you, the height difference still even allowing him to see your face as you sit in his lap. “I’m gonna kick you out of this damn office if you’re going to act like this.”

“Please, Price.” The tips of your fangs drop a bit lower at the ache to kiss him and drag them along his skin, your pussy already beginning to soak your underwear.  

While you’d normally be in control of the entire situation when having sex, Price was different. When a succubus was able to crave someone and hold a significant want and lust, they became the pleasure sought after. You craved Price like no other because there was no other. You behaved just enough to know that if he didn’t actively want it, you’d be broken. Body, mind, and soul.

A click of your teeth has him watching as you attempt to bite at his face before fighting against his hold to grind down again. He pulls your tail tighter. 

“I’m hungry.” A smile taints your lips this time, unable to hide the humor in how hard he fights against giving in while his dick is now rock-hard underneath you. “We both know how much you’d enjoy it.”

His eyes narrow, jaw clenched in anger, at himself or you- probably both. Grinning like the devil you are, you take his lapse in concentration to bounce softly on his lap. 

“Fuckin’ hell.” He groans, and you whimper. Just dry humping and imagining him pumping inside of you, the pull of the seam against your clit, both make your folds plump with sensitivity. 

Another bounce, ending with a roll that strokes his cock.

“It’s my lap or nothing. I’m not helping you get off.” His resolve cracks, releasing your tail down to knead your ass, fingertips digging in harshly.

Needing no further instruction, you set the pace in slow rolls that drag across his lap. Bringing out soft grunts, it revels inside of you as your walls flutter around emptiness.

When the grinding isn't enough, you settle for bouncing again; Relying on the rough material of your pants to pull at your panties and clit. His eyes dart up from your hips, caught watching how erotic you move, yet he’s not afraid to smirk as you cup his jaw, bringing his lips close.

“Kiss me.” 

“No.” 

Groaning from the denial, you keep moving. There’s still a chance for you to win him over, how trained can a man be when he’s got a beautiful creature spurring him on?

“It’s not like we haven’t kissed before.”

“I already said no. You ain’t gonna shake me.”

Your lips draw up in a sneer at being told no. That's not supposed to happen.

“Did you not get what you wanted, sweet girl?” His hand moves from your neck to stroke hair away from your face, but still leaves the other on your ass.

“You’re a prick” 

The growl that leaves you is quiet. It would startle any human, but Price knows you. He only hums in response, moving to grab the cigar before inhaling and leaning back into the chair.

What a cocky bastard.

“Don’t be a brat. You knew I let you sit here not for that reason.” The hand on your ass leaves a sharp sting once it spanks you, the sound echoing in the quiet room. It sends a shiver to your wet cunt, feeling a mini-tremor in it. 

“This is my favorite spot, don’t you know?” 

“Spots’ not on tha map, Saint.”

When you left his office, you at least felt good about the wet spot on his lap.

~~~

On nights before a mission, you’d consider slithering your consciousness to Price, debating on dream walking to bring him dreams filled with you, filled of him. The promiscuity of diving into his dreams and allowing him to ruin you in a haze cradled your consciousness in a steady fire.

Tomorrow, you’ll be out for a long excursion with the team in the woodlands of Australia. You’ve been there before, remembering being fresh into your transformation and visiting a plethora of military bases. At the time, you were being shown off at Pine Gap like a traveling circus, bored from the land being too obnoxious for any fun- because of course, you had tried to fight a kangaroo when your handlers weren’t looking. 

Dreamwalking was something you’d engaged with rarely, as the humans in the compound didn’t sleep there. You’d practice putting them in a trance and had gained enough experience in succeeding when they left your cell block rotation as a heavy flush coated their face.

Price was designated to keep you in the barracks room by his, at the end of the hallway where his only neighboring room was yours. The team that created a military position for a succubus knew what needed to happen, and they were not afraid to set parameters and expectations that Price had to follow before your arrival. 

Tonight, as your body finds its tether to his mind, you're ready to cloud and confuse his logic with pleasure. A cloudy and warm rush to his senses makes Price’s body stir when the sudden feeling of you lying atop him settles on his muscles and mind. With a slow grinding roll of your hips, your fangs sneak out just a bit more to leave a light mark under his jaw as your hands knead at his firm chest. He can see you, feel you naked with him under the covers of his bed. Your soft but firm legs straddle his waist as a hand rakes through his hair to give a tug causing a soft hiss to leave him. 

“How th’ fuck you get in ‘ere, love?” He manages to push out past his lips in a soft grumble, the rough calluses of his hands skimming down to the curve of your hips before squeezing the flesh of your ass.

And fuck, when the pet name slips out no doubt due to his drowsiness, it makes you clench on nothing while being in your own room a few yards away from his. 

“You let me in, sir.” The answer comes back to him in a matched tone, working to slide your wetness over his growing arousal. “Hope that’s alright with you.”

Feeling the tip of him push against your clit and noting he’s already hard, your hand trails behind you to line him up with your fluttering hole. The grip on your ass tightens, his blunt fingernails dig in as he bucks in hazy anticipation. It's enough to catch the rim of your hole but slipping in the wrong direction.

Price, far too gone as your sense of lust clouds his mind, pushes your ear against his lips as he takes himself in hand and lines up with your entrance again. “Impatient thing, aren’t you?”

Not giving you enough time to answer, he pushes the tip in letting it settle before grabbing your hip while the other hand pulls your hair in a tight fist. “I’ll let you bloody ‘ave it.” He groans in your ear. You leave yourself amazed at how real it feels, seemingly forgotten of the unused power at the ready for your next meal.

A small hiccup leaves your lips as he slides in; Not too long but his girth made up for everything. It’s been so long, your inner demon laughing at you as if you were a virgin again but crying out in time with your pulses as you feel fed for the first time in months.

“Gods, so fucking hot-” Price drones on, sounding half asleep and drunk on lust by the way his speech slurs in soft whispers. “Hottest pussy I’ve ever had.” If you were in his bed you’d truly laugh at him speaking on your internal temperature. 

“You’ve never had anything like me.” Moving to help the tired man, your hips go down to meet his ever-languid thrust up. His hand on your ass holds your lower back as his knees pick up once planting his ankles on the mattress. 

“Ain't that right.” He retorts, a light scoff coming from him as he buries his head to find your neck to leave long, sloppy kisses against the soft skin. “Use my cock, baby, know you’ve been wantin’ it. Be a good girl an’ use it.” 

With his permission and the subtle need to show him what he’s been missing out on, you take the lead. Planting your hands on his chest and sitting up, you bounce on his cock with steady vigor. Each clap of your skin hitting his sounds real. Enough to be more than just a dream. His grunts, shaky curses, and heavy breaths ring out in the space of his mind as he drives up to meet your soaked walls. 

“Jus’ like tha- gonna make me come already. God, I’m gonna-” Snake down to lay your chest against his, bouncing your hips in quick movements. 

“Inside. Keep it in.” His mind still fails to register that protection was nowhere near a consideration as his body runs hot. His hands grab control to pump himself up into you in rough and steady slams of one, two, three, before stilling and twitching inside of you.

The shiver that coils your spine in a curve is erotic; The way your mouth parts in a beautiful ‘o’ shape, tits pushed out for him to take in his mouth while your body shakes from the orgasm of being fed his spend. His breath pants over your pert nipples, biting them gently with a low groan before settling you over him. You wish you could stay more to hear his pillow talk but the more talking to happen and keep yourself there is a waste of time and energy.

“Goodnight, Price.” 

~~~

Sunlight greeted Price when he awoke to his blaring alarm, grumbling while shooting a hand out to silence the forsaken thing. Usually an early riser and far too used to the normalcy of the early mornings, he felt like a cinderblock sinking to the bottom of the Boston River. 

A right fucking tea party in his pants, that's for sure.

With every second his eyes are closed, he can feel the phantom movement of your hips on his which has him already twitching his morning wood at the memory. Price has had wet dreams before, plenty of times while a teenager or when he had a girl back home while serving as a Lieutenant. None of them had felt like this- like he was on a drug trip and feeling absolutely every movement and sense you rode out of him.

Letting a groan akin to a bear's roar echo in his room, his eyelids keep blinking to make the bleariness leave to welcome the light of day into his mind. And Price just… sits there for a moment. 

Yes, he was asleep and didn’t have the control he would much rather prefer over you being in his bed, but by Satan himself that was just the last thing he needed.

There wasn’t much time for him to seek out physical attention or affection from others, constantly married to his job and watching his back for those looking at him. There had been a handful of women who were graced with hot nights, but he’d always be gone by the time they’d woken up. These women stemmed from the pubs far off town and closer to his home. Even a young recruit on a different unit had tried her luck but was instantly shot down without a thought to him. 

He has a name and team to uphold, he wouldn’t earn himself a court martial just for an easy piece of ass. But now presented with your beautiful self while officials are giving him the green light, he has no idea what to do. You’re growing close to him already, something he tried to resist with all the boys on the team until they had bludgeoned their way to his heart by force. 

He couldn’t let you do that.

To be used, having someone two steps ahead of him through reading his feelings and laying them out on a silver platter. It would be devastating to the way he functions, the way he holds himself, and how he carries out his mission. Manipulation is his greatest peeve. Protecting his heart is his greatest operation.

Price doesn’t see you until later; Making sure supplies and operations were starting smoothly, his mind was in a flurry of motions he subconsciously grew used to over the years. He knows what boxes need to be checked, being sure to be prepared for everything. He wasn’t prepared to find you in the briefing room before anyone else, looking right as rain and ready to go.

You’re a wicked piece of work, being able to act as if nothing was askew. Totally innocent. You could feel his glare before even looking at the man, and gods above so below, he was pissed off. Horny, and pissed off.

“Good morning, Captain.” The sound of his footsteps halting leaves the room quiet, making you look up to him. “Everything alright? Seems like you’ve seen the devil himself.” 

Even with knowing this team for a short time, they could be impressed by how well you could read their emotions. Even Ghost, with just a look of his eyes and gauging what lays under his mask. Right now was not one of these moments.

Approaching slowly, eyes watching where he steps, the indent of his cheek shows where he bites at it. “Tell me, sweetheart. How’d you sleep last night?” 

Once reaching where you sit, he leans on the table with a heavy hand as the other holds the back of your chair. “Because you seem mighty chipper this morning, eh?”

A wave of vexation washes over you from his tone and gaze alone. You’re beyond thankful you’ve taken a moment to not show your tail today or else it would have frozen in place.

“I slept fine, ready for the day.” Reverting to innocence was starting to piss Price off. 

“Right, right.” Grunting in response, he moves in closer to your face. “Because I woke up tired, cum in my pants, and quite the feeling of a very warm weight over me. Would you happen to know anything about that, little devil?”

“Would there be an issue if I did? That's quite the allegation, Price.”

The wood underneath his hand squeaks with the strain his fingers pull at it.

“If you ever do that again, I will be contacting your owners and having your ass back on a plane faster than you can go to sleep.”

With the Captain’s anger solely focused on you, resentment stemming all from a dream and granting him pleasure, something inside of you breaks off into cooling embers. A cold shiver washes down your back. The mention of going back to your previous commanders makes your stomach roll with pinpricks at the mere thought of what they would do to you.

“Do. You. Understand. Saint?” He whispers once his lips press against your ear, and the bastard can see the fear running through you when your red eyes look past him at the wall.

“Yes, Captain.” It waivers on your tongue, thinking you’d have enough strength by the tightness in your throat yet it fails you.

[natsuyuki-w]

Fiery

Fandom delicious in dangeon Kabru of Utaya x gn!reader

Synopsis Kabru's gut feeling screams for him to run from the mysterious fire caster, but he can't pinpoint the exact reason.

899 words

In that horrific moment, where traumas of his childhood resurfaced, another truth shook Kabru to the core.

The enormous harpy that Falin had transformed into was decimating his companions, and now it was his turn.

As its sharp claws closed in, the air suddenly turned scorching hot, and a wall of searing flames erupted between him and the creature.

Tears welled from the heat’s sting, and the smell of burnt flesh reached his nose, making him recoil in disgust.

- Wow! You have eyes scarier than mine. -

Slit pupils gazed far too closely into his. Kabru fought to maintain his composure, but the intensity of this stare almost made him falter.

The owner of the sharp gaze shifted their attention to the samurai leading the group. - Sir, I understand you're infatuated with this girl, but please don't get "blinded by love".-

Perched casually on the samurai's shoulder was a figure Kabru had only noticed earlier for their fire spells. Now, he truly saw them. Tall, elegant, their posture and attire somehow still refined despite the chaos of battle.

Something unsettling felt about their presence but he couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t just their height—though they stood taller than the "tall men" at present—it was something more primal that crawled beneath his skin.

- I’ll take any help I can get. - the samurai grumbled, clearly agitated. - They claim to know something about Falin. -

- I don't doubt your judgment, Master, but we should be wary. - stepped forward the woman in white and threw a sharp glance at the stranger who just intimidated the souldier.

Kabru’s lips curved into a practiced smile, a charming mask that rarely failed him. - My apologies if I came across as intense, - he said, chuckling lightly to ease the tension - I only wish to repay your kindness. Please, allow me to be of use in finding the Touden sister. - and pressing a fist to his chest, he bowed slightly, the curls on his head bouncing as he lowered his head.

Other then the red cheeks of the rest of the party, when he raised his eyes, he found himself facing that unnerving gaze once more. Their expression calm, almost bored, yet his instincts screamed danger. Every muscle in his body tensed, fight or flight hammering in his veins.

- Terrific...- They whispered, their voice dark and unsettling enough to make even the samurai beside them shiver. - Unlucky day for you, handsome. Takes a liar to know one.- A lazy grin stretched across their lips, and the air around them grew stifling with heat, like the flames they commanded.

- Master Shuro, we only need to keep moving deeper into the dungeon. No guide is necessary. - their gaze narrowed with barely contained irritation. - What was your name captain? -

The boy swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. - K-Kabru. -

- Well, Kabru - they leaned closer, their breath hot against his skin. - If you care about your companions at all, you'll leave this place. Mermen and sea serpents are nothing compared to what lies below—dragons don’t care how many times your cleric resurrects you. Either your body or their magic will run dry first.- Their eyes bored into him with a fierceness that twisted his stomach into knots.

Before he could respond, the woman with dark hair tugged the stranger back by the ear, like a mother scolding a mischievous child. - Could’ve gotten your point across with kinder words, don’t you think?-

Kabru stood frozen, still gripped by a sense of dread he couldn’t shake. His mind raced, trying to reconcile the cold fear he felt with the strange attraction pulling at him, like two opposing forces battling within. He clenched his fists, desperate to keep his thoughts in check, but his body betrayed him unable to choke out more words.

A string of cries from the firm tag broke the tension and once freed the stranger gave a disinterested shrug. - Do whatever. Just stay out of my way, or I might roast you with the enemy. - The shift was disarming. Their voice was suddenly calm again, as if they hadn’t just threatened his life.

But at least he had secured what he wanted.

The memory of the encounter burned in his mind as flames flickered across his skin, bringing him back to the present. The dust from the current battle was settling, and shapes began to form in the clearing smoke.

He had been saved, yet the scene before him was anything but reassuring.

Instinctively, he threw himself backward, his gaze darting between the figures ahead. The puzzle he had tried to solve for days now seemed painfully clear. His eyes, sharp and observant, had missed none of their moves. He had suspected something, but now the truth was unmistakable.

They had fooled him with their disguise.

A melodic whistle of a flute broke through the chaos, and new features sprouted from their body. Fox-like ears, a tail, a monster. Kabru's chest filled with dread and hatred, a deep urge to destroy them rising with his every heartbeat. But before he could act, the giant harpy lunged toward him, claws slicing through the air, forcing him to the ground.

What a joke, dying like this. Blood filled his vision as the Inari, their face twisted in sorrow, sent another burst of fire at the creature crushing him. He watched helplessly and the pain in his body finally overtook him.

Agonizingly, everything went black once again.

To be continued...

file cabinet | bookshelf originals

[ddanosaur]

devo la main has BPD: an analysis brought to you by a guy who also has BPD

listen okay it’s my personality disorder and i get to choose the fictional characters i project it onto

after relistening to ethersea i’ve come to the conclusion that devo is a BPD king (or at least exhibits a lot of BPD traits imo)

let’s first start by going over some of the diagnostic criteria that i feel devo meets:

1. fear of abandonment

it’s been explicitly stated that devo hates being left alone and with what we know about his past it tracks that a fear of abandonment would develop after a) being isolated, neglected, and abused for most of his life, and b) his mom “mysteriously disappearing” when he was 6

he probably spent a lot of his time at the cloister trying so hard to be “good” so that he would be able to get the acknowledgment and attention from his caregivers that he needed, but as we know from the interactions we see with him and guidance and orlene and the flashback, it’s likely he rarely ever got that

i’d also say that he does show signs of taking efforts to avoid abandonment, mainly in the form of pushing ppl away before they can abandon him first. the moment in benefactors folly where he’s trying to piss the others off enough to let him go alone is a big example of this imo

2. unstable relationships

i think it’s pretty obvious that devo’s interpersonal relationships are a mess. like with those in the church, with the others on the coriolis (ESPECIALLY amber), and with most of the ppl he interacts with

devo has a very special talent of pissing ppl off by simply opening his mouth for long enough. and imo i think that after guidance’s death he def split on amber after realizing she wasn’t going to be the mother figure he wanted her to be and id say also that he split on guidance too around the time he left the church

3. unstable self-image

being isolated and manipulated and raised to be a certain kind of person from a young age can do some serious damage to a developing sense of identity. devo has also said himself that he bases a lot of who he is on the anger and resentment he feels towards the church and the ppl in it

i can also see there being a lot of disconnect between his identity as devo, as devotion, and as damien cern. he doesn’t know who he is but he knows that he’s angry

4. impulsive or self-damaging behaviors

look, a mentally sane person would not use their body as a conduit to channel powerful compression magic through and into a bomb (something that is again explicitly described as an irrational action), nor would they dive into magically dark water while barely knowing how to swim

i could also see arguments for reckless spending with immediately getting into debt with felix, and i get the vibe that he has used alcohol as a maladaptive coping mechanism on more than one occasion

5. mood swings

his emotions seem to really flip on a dime esp with his anger. it does not take much for this guy to fly off the handle and imo he also exhibits intense emotions as well

6. problems with anger

this goes along with point 5 i think. devo shows a lot of trouble with controlling his anger and lashing out at ppl with little to no provocation

devo has a very explosive temper and travis even described him as being like an exposed nerve. he lashes out easily and is quick to threaten others when he feels he’s not being taken seriously

we don’t really see much that would point towards suicidal/self-harm tendencies, and i think there’s a bit of stuff for the chronic feelings of worthlessness and emptiness as well as stress-related paranoia, but in my head those do exist in him if you look deep enough. and from my list he already meets at least 5 needed for a diagnosis

another big thing about BPD that i see in devo is the very black and white thinking. he sees things very much as either black or white, right or wrong, and this gets him into a lot of conflict and confrontations with others. he has a very strong sense of justice and while it causes a lot of problems for him and the ppl he interacts with i also think it’s what drives him to do what he does and fight for others as strongly as he does

and he’s wrong a lot of the time, things aren’t that black and white and there are a lot of grey areas he has trouble seeing and it leads to so much conflict and tension which i eat up like a yummy treat

a lot of ppl with BPD (myself included) are very self aware of the problems they have and devo does definitely start to develop that awareness of him being a piece of shit and how he’s not great at his interactions with others

this is a very self-indulgent headcanon but it means a lot to me and devo has such a grip on my brain rn i just had to share this

[elisaphoenix13]

Multi-Colored Mischief

It was a rare, peaceful morning. Something that usually only happened when pigs flew, so Stephen took advantage of it. He brewed himself a cup of tea, grabbed a couple of his grimoires, and took a meditative position in Tony's office. Or rather, Stephen's hideaway for all magical needs since his husband hardly used the room. If he did, it was to write an angry email to an idiot teacher and he absolutely needed to hear the clacking of his keyboard so he knew his anger was coming across.

The kids found it hilarious. Tony always has an intense look on his face as he slammed away at the poor keyboard…and ranted. The man ranted as he typed so it wasn't hard to piece together what the engineer was putting into his email. After an incident where Tony called one of Diana's teachers a few foul names, Stephen had to take it upon himself to look over future emails and edit them. Which was a surprise because the mother in him wanted to be just as illogical as his husband and let the man call whatever teacher any name he could think of, but…

Well someone had to keep a little peace and try to find a compromise for whatever the issue was. Even if the teacher really was a simpering moron ninety percent of the time.

Stephen pushed the thought from his mind though. Meditating was meant to help him empty his mind and relax from the daily chaos he lived through. If he eyeballed a certain book before closing his eyes, no one knew but him.

It was nice. He could feel the long neglected magical energies swirling around him, and even feel the living energy of everyone in the tower. He mostly ignored those below the Avenger floors, and a few moments of focus helped him pick out who was who. People like Quill, Thor, and Carol were easy to identify because of their powers. Others were a bit harder but it only took a bit longer since their energies were mostly in time with their personalities. His children were always easy though. Maybe even more so than the literal god. He was used to them. It was his job to pay attention to them.

He could feel Thomas’s energy practically vibrating at times, usually when he was restless and needed to run. Diana’s was as bubbly as her and William’s…it was strong but calm. Much like Stephen's could be. But something made him cock his head curiously. Their energies were rather close together which only meant they were doing something together. In a small room from what he could–

Then what sounded like bowling pins being knocked over made Stephen open his eyes. With a sigh, he lowered his legs from his floating position and prepared for…well, chaos. Normally he would let things be until someone's eye got poked, but he heard Lucy giggle. Half the time that meant she was doing something she wasn't supposed to and since she wasn't even two yet, he was obligated to check on her.

So he left his tea and books behind, opened the door and walked down the hallway until he ended up in front of Harley's door. Where most of the noise was coming from. The falling bowling pin sounds were more apparent but the rumbling that was supposed to precede it never happened so he had to wonder what they were getting into. At least Diana hasn't found a way to magically extend Harley's room to make him his own personal bowling alley, but that was one thing off a massive list Stephen had in his head.

His kids were capable of anything.

“Harley? What's going on in there?” Stephen calls out as he reaches for the doorknob.

“Crap! Wait! Mom, don't open the–” Harley starts.

But Stephen was already in the process of opening the door and he very quickly discovered what his children had decided to get up to this time. In the form of multicolored balls that broke free from the room and crashed over the top of his head. He barely saw and managed to grab Lucy as she seemed to ride the wave of balls with another hysterical giggle and practically had to swim out of the torrent. He watched as the flood of balls traveled down the hallway and over the railing of the stairs into the living room below, and when they finally trickled down to the occasional bounce, Stephen finally looked into Harley's bedroom to find all of the kids huddled nearby and looking a mix between pleased and morose.

Valerie and William had the mind to at least look more apologetic than their siblings.

“ ‘gain!” Lucy screeches happily.

“I don't think so,” Stephen says immediately and huffs as he looks at the two oldest. “How did you even manage to get all of these into your room without your father and I know–”

Peter, Harley, and Thomas immediately pointed at Diana and Stephen pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Why the bedroom? Why didn't you just empty the pool downstairs and use that?”

Peter blinks. “Uhhhh…because we didn't think of it?”

Stephen raises an eyebrow at Harley. “Aren't you twenty?”

“Being an adult sucks and is a social construct!” Harley snorts. “Besides, you're never too old to play in a ball pit.”

“Fair enough,” Stephen says as he looks around at the balls. “If you move this downstairs after emptying the pool, you can continue with this. Just make sure one of you keeps an eye on Lucy.”

The kids cheer and Thomas takes Lucy from him before dashing away with her, and the rest follow with excited chatter. Stephen was sure Harley and Peter would properly drain the pool so he felt nice enough to use his magic to gather up all of the balls and send them downstairs to the gym. Once the pool was empty, Diana simply had to use her magic to put the balls in it.

Who was he to keep them from having fun? Harley and Peter might be adults but with all they had been through, sometimes it was good to embrace their inner child. Especially since they had many younger siblings. He was also glad to see the twins and America adjusting enough to the point that they felt comfortable enough to include themselves in shenanigans. Stephen and Tony just learned to pick and choose their battles. This one was relatively harmless…as long as Lucy didn't surf the balls out of the room again.

Stephen pinched the bridge of his nose again at the thought before returning to Tony's office to get back to his meditation. Levi was in the room hovering near the bookshelf, and seemed to be flipping through the pages of a book with its lapels. The sorcerer hardly blinked. When he first got the relic he might have found it strange, but he learned that the relic liked to do things that seemed normal. It has tea parties for Vishanti’s sake.

“What are you pretending to read?” Stephen asks as he folds his legs and starts to levitate again. He was a little surprised when his cloak flew over with the book with as much excitement as some fabric can have and nearly shoved the lore in his face. Fortunately he didn't fall to the ground and was easily able to recover before taking the offending object.

It was the book.

“Why are you looking at this?” Stephen watches as Levi eagerly flips through the pages until it stops at– “No. Why would you…no. We have enough.” The sorcerer reprimands, closing the book with his magic and sending it back to the shelf.

“Didn't you tell me it acts out on what you want?” Tony says as he strides in.

“Sometimes,” Stephen admits as his husband walks over to the printer. “For once, I'm not hyper focused on another baby.”

“But it's on your mind,” Tony points out as he presses some buttons. “We should consider it. The kids already said they're fine with it, and you wanted to even things out.”

“America evened things out,” Stephen says as he drinks his tea. “Besides, I think it would be unfair at this point to add another one to this chaotic bunch. I just caught them using Harley's room as a ball pit. Lucy also managed to use the balls as a roller coaster when I was unfortunate enough to open the door.

Tony laughs from behind Stephen, and without looking, the sorcerer sends a lighter time at his head. He heard it fall to the floor with a thunk which only meant his husband dodged the projectile.

“Easy, Duchess. Maybe another one won't even out the numbers, but it might even out the personalities. Maybe it will be another Valerie.”

Stephen sighs and drops his hands. “Or it could be another Lucy. That child is a liability.”

“She's just being a kid. Everyone's different,” Tony shrugs as he walks around to Stephen's line of sight with a folder of whatever he printed out. “I feel like we got one more in us. To make, anyway. We'll keep adopting poor super orphans.”

“Are you sure you're not the one with baby fever?” Stephen raises an eyebrow.

“Maybe. Maybe I'm just hoping this last one will like you and you'll get another baby to raise properly. So I got Dia and Lulu. You'll have Val and the new one.”

Tony's argument wasn't a great one but Stephen understood what he was trying to say. Instead of reasons they shouldn't, Tony was giving reasons they should. Sort of? Stephen was starting to think Tony just wanted one more to even the odds for him. It was thoughtful of Tony to consider Stephen's feelings like that. When he wanted another one, they got Lucy and she immediately attached herself to Tony.

All Stephen knew was that he was still unsure and that was enough reason not to do anything yet.

“I'll think about it,” he tells Tony. “I…need a good reason to bring another one into our family.”

“Okay, honey,” Tony gives him a quick peck. “You go back to your rare Me Time while the hellions play in the ball pit downstairs.”

“Wait, you knew?”

“Friday told me they were down in the gym making a ball pit out of the pool. I didn't know how you found out,” Tony smirks and Stephen glares at him.

“Next time I'll leave their nonsense for you to find and be caught in the crossfire of.”

“I did. Remember the stink bomb?” Tony says and they both shudder.

“It took weeks to get the smell out,” Stephen gags, easily able to recall how bad the smell was.

“Underoos describing the smell as ‘only getting hotter’ because of the candles still makes me laugh though.” Tony smiles. “Never a dull day with these kids. Anyway, gotta get this down to the front desk for Pepper to pick up.”

“Why can't she come up and get it here?” Stephen asks.

“She's still traumatized by the watermelon incident.”

Stephen snorts. “After everything she's witnessed, the watermelon is what bothers her?”

“To be fair, she did walk in the moment it exploded.”

“Point taken.”

[oh-so-romantically-hopeless]

The slight weight in his hands is familiar. It's always been familiar, since the first time he'd managed to bring a suitable weapon into existence. The first time he could remember anyways.

The fizzling of magic against his gloved hands is almost like warmth. The sensation of his magic being drawn from his person into his only does to make it feel like another part of himself, another limb. Maybe it was, in an odd sort of way. It was his after all.

He'd tried other things, trying to gauge which would be the best for him. The best to complete his work.

-

First a bow. It'd be elegant, long ranged, and quick. His namesake used one, how hard could it possibly be?

Much harder than it'd looked initially. He'd ended up with bruised fingers from recoil, an arrow to the foot, and wounded pride. Maybe... The bow was more suited to others anyways.

Next had been a sword, summoned of his own magic (he'd learned since the first attempt that his own was far better suited). That had been too unwieldy, clumsy, and looked horrifying when he used it. He didn't want to stab anyone, even if it was harmless usually it looked... Weird.

Next, a javelin. Long range, but much too big for what he needed. He really needed to find something that didn't look like he was committing murder.

He couldn't quite understand how this came so easily to the others! Not everyone had access to standard skeleton magic, he knew that, he'd seen it with his own eyelights! Eyelight.

They usually made do with other things, and knew what to do with them instinctively. Almost beautifully, like a dance instead of weaponry.

Maybe a few of them were older than him... Much older... With centuries of practice. But even baby bones seemed to handle their magic better than he had in months of attempts!

The whispers of quitting had begun to linger in the back of his mind. It'd be far easier to give up than be thwarted at nearly every turn. Leave this behind, leave his purpose behind in favor of a comfier, less taxing existence.

An eternal failure.

Now... Cupid could let a lot of things pass. Being hunted for sport by other outcodes? He was faster, and had a decent enough hold on his other forms of magic to escape.

Strung up by the multiverse's most volatile destroyer? He'd managed to talk his way out! Sort of!

Stuck in an uncomfortable situation? He could always find the positive in it! The silver lining of any stormy cloud! A constant optimist of his own will and power!

But, he could not- No. He would not be a failure. After all. If at first you don't succeed, try, try again, right?

In the end it'd taken less effort than he thought to get him there. That instinct he'd watched come to the others. What'd he'd been so envious of.

The end of an exhausting day, curled up in the soft pile of blankets he called a bed, watching whisps of his magic flow around his fingers in some manner of sleepy entertainment.

He'd only closed his socket for a moment, letting the warm, familiar fizzle continue to rest in his palm. Only to open it when instead of flowing, it decided to settle into his palm. Heavier, with the same quality, familiar.

He never questioned why it'd formed that way, a firearm that looked like it came out of one of the various alternates of "Mew Mew Kissy Cutie". But he had it, and he loved it. The right weight, long range, and far subtler than anything else he'd tried.

He'd put it to good use.

-

It hasn't been too long since then, but he's already become creative with it. A singular pistol to doubles, to a shotgun, to more. Channeling his more useful, and common, magic through it.

He keeps his hands steady, target right in view. The perfect shot! Pride settles in his chest, he'd gotten so far with it! Once he knew what he was doing of course!

It was only a pairing of friends, instilling platonic interest. Nothing that'd harm anyone, though his magic was rarely used for that. He'd done far too much study, enough to be sure that the two of them would be good for each other.

He lets the fizzling magic grow against his palms, warming up against him as it charged. Finger curling around the trigger in anticipation. Pulled back with the utmost caution.

The culmination of all his effort, his will.

A perfect shot.

[headachecat]

The Hours Found - Chapter II

———

An anthology of hours in Lucanis and Rook’s relationship unseen in the game, but very much needed.

—

Timing: After 'A Murder of Crows' quest.

———

There were moments when Treviso seemed frozen in time.

On evenings like these, the streets swelled with vendors and passersby alike, their voices intertwining into a constant background hum that hovered beneath the warm glow of lanterns. The canals whispered in their gentle flow, weaving through the stone bridges and wrapping around the city like a comforting shield from the outside world. It was a place that could lull even the most restless souls into stillness.

Lucanis could feel his heart growing full again after so much time away. He had dreamt of this—the simple act of returning, of retracing his steps through Treviso's narrow, cobbled streets. He remembered the scent of incense drawing him past the gondolas near the casino, over rooftops, and down to the heart of the city, where life buzzed unceasingly. In his dreams, he never quite reached his destination, but the memory was enough. It kept him alive for longer than he should have been.

With the blood mage dead and his cousin having paid a deserved price, Spite had grown unexpectedly quiet. Their contract had been fulfilled, and yet they were still bound together, unable to part ways as Lucanis had with his other contractors. The demon’s lingering presence was a lasting tether he couldn’t simply sever. But then again, maybe this was something he had to get used to from now on. Forever.

He spent his time in Treviso wisely, putting affairs in order for the Crows. To tell the truth, Caterina’s grip on the faction was still strong, a fact Lucanis accepted with a quiet gratitude; her strength would steady them for what lay ahead. There were things coming their way that none of them has faced before. The time for change would come later. And he had plenty in mind.

The Lighthouse seemed so far away now, as though it were a distant memory, waiting to be looked back on fondly. But his contract wasn’t finished. Each day, he found himself glancing back toward the Casino rooftop, where they placed the Eluvian. It was as if he expected it to pull him back, or perhaps he was simply longing for the feeling it brought. The slight tingle of magic running through his veins when he passed through it, the ethereal Fade opening before him and consuming him.

Spite’s voice echoed in his mind, grating with impatience the longer they stayed in Antiva, craving something more than the lacklustre tasks that had come to fill his days. The demon wanted action, thrill, some spark beyond the monotony of wandering the town and completing what could, for lack of a better word, only be called chores. The simplicity of it all left him restless, his hands itching for something with a bit more consequence.

‘Are we really here to play errand boy?’

There were no great battles to fight here for now, no powerful figures to contend with as of yet. But in a strange way, he found it refreshing. It was a time to breathe, to consider where he’d been, and perhaps where he was meant to go. The future outside Treviso seemed like impending doom. But for now, here, within the market walls, it was the same old familiar tune.

The Lighthouse companions visited him once, their arrival unannounced but deeply welcome. Harding, reliable as ever, brought in crates of supplies packed with dried meats, bread, and preserved herbs. She had also taken the time to collect the armour prepared by the Crows and the townsfolk of Treviso, a careful balance of the necessities the Shadow Dragons relied upon to endure their hardships. Her companion, Taash, shadowed her movements with a quiet vigilance, as inseparable from the Scout as ever. They had, it seemed, become a ‘packaged deal’ – one rarely seen without the other nowadays. They both knew the journey through the Crossroads held dangers, and Taash made sure Harding was well-protected against them. The closeness between them was palpable, and Lucanis couldn’t help but smile as he observed their exchanges, like a bickering of an old couple.

They carried news of their work in the Arlathan Forest, where every day had been a battle against the Venatori’s advance. Harding’s expression grew grim as she recounted the latest encounters.

‘They brought in these massive machines,’ she said, gesturing with her fork. ‘They remind me of golems I’ve seen in the Deep Roads, but… different. Burning, metal, run by blood magic. Nasty.’ She shook her head, her face twisting with disgust before she returned to her plate, finishing off the last bites of her meat pie with a sense of completion, as if the taste could somehow wash away the unpleasant memory.

Taash let out a low groan, more resigned than frustrated, partially focused on sharpening their axe; the blade balanced on one knee.

‘And fucking difficult to kill, too,’ they muttered, the rhythm of the whetstone pausing as they considered the recent fight. ‘Rook took a nasty hit yesterday.’ They froze, recalling the brutal impact. ‘If it hadn’t been for Neve…’ A glint of admiration flickered across their face. ‘She froze that pile of junk solid. If she hadn’t? Who knows what it would’ve turned into.’

Lucanis shifted at that mention, leaning closer to the table with a sudden intensity. Spite awoke in his mind, an annoying presence, slipping into place on the left side of the table. The demon’s gaze sharpened as he watched his host. His brows knit together, and his head tilted in a way that hinted at curiosity, inquiry, and something else Lucanis couldn’t quite put together.

'Mierda,' the Crow cursed. 'Is Rook safe?'

Taash shrugged nonchalantly, still focused on the edge of their axe.

‘Dunno. Haven’t seen her since Emmrich took over the healing. Let’s hope he won’t turn her into a zombie,’ they added with a slight smirk, their eyes never leaving the blade.

Lucanis’ gaze drifted to Harding, whose lips were twitching as she tried to suppress a chuckle. She rolled her eyes at Taash’s remark, but the soft laugh didn’t escape her entirely. Without missing a beat, she placed a hand on Taash’s arm, her tone turning firm but affectionate.

‘Taash!' she blurted out, her voice breaking the tension like a sudden breeze through still air. She then glanced at Lucanis, offering him a reassuring smile. ‘Rook’s just fine. A broken rib and a few bruises, but it’s nothing we can’t fix. She’ll be back on her feet in no time.’

Lucanis nodded in gratitude, though his thoughts were distant. He looked down at his cup and began to spin it in his hands, fingers tracing the rim in a way that suggested the motion was more anxious than idle. Harding watched him for a moment, noting the slight tension in his posture, the subtle tightness in his jaw. She let out a quiet breath and gave a gentle nudge toward Taash.

‘I believe we must go. Walk us back?’ Harding got to her feet. Lucanis nodded in agreement, standing up as well. He gave a quick glance toward the demon still seated at the table, his presence like an dead weight in the room. He was careful not to address Spite unless it was absolutely necessary, but there was no ignoring the way the demon seemed to be waiting for something—its gaze fixed on him with a certain knowing glint.

‘You care about the elf,’ Spite hissed, his voice low and dripping with malice. It gestured toward Taash’s axe with a lazy motion of its head, as though the weapon itself could speak for the bond between them. ‘Enough to come back to the Fade now?’

He cast a hook, waiting for Lucanis to bite.

They made their way down the busy streets, through the Treviso market. Taash looked around with a careful amusement, stalling by the weapon merchant’s tables to catch a glimpse of the more expensive gear. Harding kept her usual soft smile, encouraging her partner to explore the goods they came across. The steel gleamed under the lanterns, as they traced fingers over the hilt of a finely crafted sword, eyes narrowed in appreciation. Lucanis kept behind the pair, observing them in peaceful wonder, his footsteps light, as though he was trying not to disturb them.

Harding’s voice was gentle, filled with quiet encouragement, and it drew Taash further into the merchant’s quarter. Every now and then, Scout’s hand drifted toward the Qunari without a thought, the mere proximity of their touch enough to convey something unspoken. Even when she didn’t make contact, the closeness between them felt constant, natural, as though they were tethered by an invisible thread. The Crow couldn’t help but watch, feeling like he was intruding, like he wasn’t meant to notice the fine details of their connection—the way Harding’s hand lingered near Taash’s, the subtle affection that passed between them unspoken, yet certainly recognised. It felt oddly inviting. There was something easy about the way they moved together, like the world outside them had faded, leaving just the two of them in their own unspoken rhythm. To witness their emotions, how there was no question about what would come next between them. Like a welcomed anticipation of a kiss.

‘Can’t believe they still have it!’ Harding exclaimed with excitement, her voice cutting through the noise of the market as she disappeared behind a stall toward a blacksmith Lucanis was far too familiar with. The sound of her voice snapped him back to reality, and he followed her, nodding in a greeting to the craftsman, who was wiping his hands on a rag.

‘Dellamorte,’ the blacksmith said with a grunt, his weathered face lighting up slightly at the sight of the pair. Harding, already scanning the wares with gleeful intent, pointed behind the seller to a glass display case.

‘The one to the right,’ she said, turning to look at Taash, her eyes bright with excitement. ‘Slim one with the greenstone handle? Rook showed it to me weeks ago.’

Lucanis stepped forward, his curiosity piqued. The blade was displayed under the scarce light, its dark green handle gleaming faintly with shimmering stone dust. Nevarran, he thought as he observed it. The blade itself was narrow, razor-sharp, and veins of shimmering blue light crawled up the steel like tendrils of magic. His fingers itched to hold it, but he remained still, observing the craftsmanship.

Spite, who had quietly moved to stand next to them, pressed his face through the glass to get a better look. His eyes widened as he took in the intricate design.

‘Lyrium,’ he said with a knowing nod, his voice low and almost reverent.

Lucanis raised an eyebrow, turning toward the blacksmith, intrigued but skeptical.

‘You carry a Nevarran lyrium-infused blade?’ he asked, his tone careful as he watched the merchant open the box and lay the blade out in front of them, the blue veins of light still faintly glowing.

‘You ever heard of a spell blade?’ the blacksmith’s voice was low, almost conspiratorial, as he tapped the steel gently with his finger, sending a soft ring through the air.

Lucanis tilted his head, his interest growing. It was a concept he’d heard rumours of, but it had never been quite so clearly explained. Before he could respond, Harding, always eager to share her knowledge, jumped in.

‘It’s like a staff, for mages,’ she said, her voice enthusiastic. ‘But with a blade, for close, magic channeling combat! Much more useful than standing vulnerable on the sidelines, if you ask me!’

She gave Lucanis a quick, but knowing Look, and he couldn’t help but chuckle under his breath. He studied the shimmering lyrium veins, wondering how it would feel to wield such a weapon in battle.

‘Your little elf friend seemed particularly interested last time I’ve seen her,’ the merchant picked up the dagger, showing it off from both sides, before placing it back in the display case. Taash murmured under their breath in approval.

‘Good eye, Rook.’

The pair turned back, thanking the blacksmith quietly for his time, and made their way towards the casino. Harding’s voice, light with satisfaction, drifted back to him as she and Taash continued ahead, but Lucanis was still preoccupied with the blade. He took a few steps behind them, lost in thought, before Spite suddenly blocked his path.

Lucanis sighed. He wasn’t in the mood for this, but Spite was persistent. He pushed through the demon’s ethereal form as though it were nothing more than mist, but to his frustration, the wraith simply reappeared in front of him again.

‘That blade,’ Spite hissed, his voice close enough to make Lucanis flinch. It was so sharp, so venomous, that for a moment, he almost expected the demon to physically spit in his face. ‘Maybe if Rook had it, she wouldn’t have gotten hurt.’

Lucanis stopped dead in his tracks. The words hit harder than he expected, and he furrowed his brow as his gaze turned dark. The reminder stung.

‘Why do you care?’ he asked, his tone cool, though beneath it, a hint of hesitation peaked through. Spite hovered, his form flickering like a mirage in the heat. His eyes gleamed, an amusement dancing behind them.

‘These are your thoughts. Your mind. I am just reading it,’ Spite replied, the words dripping with mockery.

Lucanis clenched his jaw, his patience wearing thin.

‘What do you get out of it?’

The demon smirked, and circled around him, enjoying the way the tension built.

‘I’m out of this boring, chore-ridden city and get some action again,’ he replied, his voice full of twisted glee.

Lucanis couldn’t suppress a bitter laugh.

‘Just here for the chaos, as usual.’

His eyes narrowed, but the demon's words lingered in his mind like an itch he couldn’t scratch. He couldn’t shake the image of Rook, her figure standing strong on the battlefield, her movements swift and calculated, each motion lit by the sparks of green energy beaming from her hands. The power of her magic, wrapping around her staff with such precision and force. She had always amazed him. It was as if every strike, every wave of her fingers, was an extension of her will, a force of nature unleashed in an elegant, unstoppable flow. She moved with such purpose, a beautiful, violent rhythm that seemed to draw the battlefield itself into its tempo. It resembled a dance—graceful yet fierce, controlled yet wild.

An intoxicating thought flickered through his mind then.

I want to dance with her.

The idea settled into him before he could fully grasp it, the impulse almost as vivid as the image of her there, spinning through the chaos of battle. A dance of their own making—a partnership forged in battle, where every step and every turn was made together, in perfect understanding and expectation. A connection that was more than just combat, more than strategy. As simple as what he’s seen today at the market between his friends. As natural as breathing.

But then, that image twisted. Rook's focus wavered, and the protective barrier around her faltered—just for a moment. He saw the pain in her face, the bruise forming around her bloodied eye, the blue of her iris disappearing behind the damaged nerves. The blight spreading across her skin like a disease, eating away at her strength.

Lucanis closed his eyes for a moment, forcing himself to shake off the haunting image. He should have been there. He should have been the one by her side, fighting with her, watching her back as she always had for him. There’s nothing more important now than defeating the Elven gods, than fighting alongside Rook. Than fighting for her.

He reminded himself of that, the weight of the connection grounding him as he stood under the familiar, old stars. He started to miss the Fade spirits' strikes above his head. The fog of doubt was clearing, and the path ahead was becoming clearer.

He allowed himself to be embraced by the familiarity of Treviso for too long, its routine and distractions pulling him away from what mattered. The usual Crow business, the endless schemes and whispers, had clouded his judgment. The responsibility he'd taken on – whether it was the weight of being the First Talon or a punisher to his oppressors – had blurred his focus. But not anymore.

He returned to the merchant, throwing a sack of gold onto the table with a soft thud. The coins inside clinked together.

‘I trust this will cover it?’ he said.

The blacksmith, eyes the sack with interest, his hands already reaching for the Nevarran blade.

‘It’s always a pleasure, Dellamorte,’

Lucanis nodded in agreement, accepting the weapon with a silent gratitude. The blade felt strangely familiar in his grip as he hid it in the lining of his jacket. As the lyrium on the blade brushed his fingertips, a tingling sensation ran up his arm. It was a powerful weapon indeed.

Turning towards the Casino, Lucanis spotted Harding peeking around the corner, her face lighting up when their eyes met. She observed him with that same curiosity she always had, her lips curling into a soft, kind smile that made him feel like everything was just a little bit lighter.

She reached out, urging him forward with a quick wave of her hand. Lucanis waved back in acknowledgment and half-jogged towards her.

‘Harding! I just had a thought!’ he called out, his voice laced with a certain eagerness he couldn’t quite suppress.

She waved him off with a soft laugh.

‘I already asked the Crows to pack your bag when we arrived,’ she teased, ’Now, supplies won’t carry themselves!’

Lucanis grinned, the weight in his chest easing just a little bit as he reached her side. In fact, the smile stayed with him through the entire walk back to the Fade. A strange feeling appearing within him, as if he was coming home.

To this strange place in-between the planes, full of spirits and things he will never truly understand.

To Rook.

[rattlyglitch]

Flowers Withered Away

Silver was scared as he looked around. He wasn’t exactly sure what was happening but he knew he wasn’t asleep. Silver could hear Rollo talking to himself and pacing around the room. He felt worse when Rollo called him Russia.

He didn’t know what the name meant or who it belonged to when Rollo called him by it while they were in the bell tower. Silver only knew that he didn’t like the name. He had known that Rollo had been calling him it but thought it must have been an accident. To hear that it was purposeful though was weird.

Silver quite liked his name even if he hadn’t tended to have been called it when he was younger by another fae. At least they hadn’t completely renamed him even if their remarks sounded mean when they called him something.

When he heard Malleus come up the tower he was glad. It was odd when Malleus said he was simply sleeping. Silver wondered if Rollo possibly thought that as well. Silver knew that he definitely wasn’t sleeping. He was able to hear everything and feel the ground he was lying on.

Silver wanted to get up and help Malleus against Rollo somehow but all he could feel was the stillness and continued to wish he could do anything. Silver only truly felt himself falling asleep when he felt something growing around him. He could tell they were the flowers from before the glow from them took away the darkness that Silver could see behind his eyelids and replaced it with a bright orange reminding Silver what it looked like when you closed your eyes when trying to avoid the sun's glow or there was a fireplace in front of you as you fell asleep.

It reminded Silver of how he wished he was with Malleus, Sebek, and Grandpa Baul in front of a fireplace where would read a book by his father on the rare night that they were at the castle or Lilia’s home if Sebek was being trained for a weekend. Silver didn’t quite feel himself nodding off as he thought about those memories but the welcoming sleep helped him ignore the painful draining feeling that was coming from the flowers where their thorns poked at his skin.

///////////////

Malleus was more than glad when Azul revealed he wasn’t injured. The fight that followed when Rollo used his unique magic darkfire wasn’t pleasant though. Malleus wasn’t sure whether or not he cared to know how long the battle lasted. All that he cared about was that Rollo was defeated and the flowers were in need of being destroyed.

Rollo did seem intent on fighting still though having called Malleus a monster when Rollo himself was instead the one in the wrong. “Monster, you say? I believe the same label applies to you. Never did I expect someone's sheer obsession to cause me such difficulty. You have spirit, Flamme. I'll grant you that. If you still wish to fight, I'll indulge you.”

Rollo rejected the suggestion of him and Malleus fighting again as soon as it was offered. He was panicked for a moment by what Malleus had said. “Wait! All right, all right! I accept…my defeat… Go on and ring the bell. That's what you came here for.” Malleus highly doubted that he needed Rollo’s permission to ring the bell. He didn’t care much for what to do with Rollo muttering to him that he would be dealt with later. It brought a chuckle out of Malleus though when Rollo tried to attack him with a fire spell.

He was the Malleus Draconia though heir to the throne of Briar Valley. It would be weak of him to be easily injured by mere fire. With a hard swing, the bell rang throughout the whole city, the bell's clapper banging against its walls filling Fleur City with a beautiful magical noise that it had made hours before. Yet now the sound it made sounded even more precious and the sight of the firelotuses withering away was even more pleasing.

Malleus let out a sigh of relief realizing that he and the others had made it just in time for the flowers to not have escaped the city. Only a few seconds after he was calmed though Malleus walked over to where Silver was lying and lifted him into his arms. Rollo listened to the final scolding that Idia gave him before looking at Malleus. “…No more of this. I've heard quite enough. Punish me yourselves or turn me over to the authorities. Do what you will.”

Malleus looked at Rollo. “Be reassured that we will. First, though I wish to go and check downstairs. Idia. Azul. Help me get Rollo down these stairs please.” Neither objected to what Malleus had asked of them and glady helped Rollo stand to his feet before following Malleus down the stairs.

///////////////

Silver curled against the person that was holding him when he awoke. At first, Silver had no intent on moving, feeling far too comfortable and safe. Much more than he had felt when lying on the round prior. When Silver heard Malleus being thanked by Tasnim he couldn’t help but open his eyes and smile when he saw Malleus. He wasn’t sure when Malleus noticed he was awake but when that happened Malleus shifted him to where Silver was leaning against his side.

“I’m glad to see you are awake, beastie. It would have been bad if you hadn’t” he spoke. Silver gave a tired yawn and waved to Tasnim not noticing the glare Malleus shot at Rollo.

“Thanks for coming for me Mallie. It was weird. I met Tasnim and then we went up to the tower and I guess I was put to sleep? It was weird I told Rollo what he was doing wasn’t good and then he was like ‘Sleep then you won’t need to fight anymore’ n used some kinda magic on me but I wasn’ even asleep. It was like I was really really still and could hear everything but couldn’t move. I fell asleep when those weird flower things touched me though. Those things are scary an mean.”

Malleus gently rubbed Silver’s back as he spoke trying to relay everything that had happened and keep him calm. “Also Rollo kept calling me Russia? I heard him do it when we were in town but I thought my mind was being silly. He called me it again though when we were in the bell tower.” Silver had finished his speaking and looked back at Tasnim and waved again.

“Those you’re friends Mr.Tasnim?” Tasnim seemed to be in shock for a moment but nodded. “Yes, these are my friends.” Silver waved to the other gargoyles and smiled. “Hi, Mr.Tasnim's friends.” The gargoyles waved back to Silver. “It would be best if we get going,” Malleus said, preparing to go back down the stairs. Tasnim caught Malleus' sleeve before he could move.

“Wait before you go I just wanted to apologize to Silver.” What Tasnim said made SIlver give him a confused look. “Kid I know you might not understand but I’m sorry that I let you go with Rollo and ignored how scared ya looked. I never would have thought Rollo would do something like this but I was wrong. I’m sorry.” Silver was able to reach Tasnim’s hand just slightly and patted it gently. “It’s ok Mr.Tasnim. I forgive you.”

Silver would have almost thought the gargoyle was about to cry but instead, he gave a bright smile and waved bye to Silver and the others as they left the tower.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4 , Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14

[arcaneacolyte]

In honor of me having a migraine, I would like to push my "Aether has chronic headaches and migraines" agenda.

Aether who finds out the hard way that his vessel has chronic headaches and migraines and it was overlooked before he was bound to it.

Too much Quintessence magic is the biggest trigger, but then he goes on tour with Terzo the first time and finds out that there are many things topside that can trigger the worse ones, and it gets harder and harder to pinpoint what exactly triggered it from the long list of the things that *could* have.

He can't have caffeine as much as the rest of the Ghouls, because the withdrawal headaches put him down in the dark for almost a whole day.

If he forgets to eat or drink enough? Headache. He doesn't sleep well? Headache. He smells too strong of a perfume? He's in too bright of light for too long? The list goes on.

For the first year or so he's topside, it's rough but he gets a lot of sympathy and support from Terzo and his pack. He goes to Omega finally and it turns out that Quintessence Healing is just a temporary fix, and human medications can't even put a dent in it. So he just has to cope and avoid his triggers as much as possible.

After that first year, he can manage them, but obviously they don't just go away. But they're not getting *worse* persay as time goes on, but he still finds himself at least once a week curled up in bed, almost about to throw up from the pain. But they're not any worse than they have been, so Omega and the other Ghouls at the infirmary don't have any answers for him.

Then eventually the support starts to get less outwardly obvious. Sure, the others understand that if he says, "I have a headache," that means it's *bad* because he's outwardly acknowledging it, but the sympathy starts to get less and less.

He doesn't blame them, they're all stressed, and he can imagine how exhausting it gets to hear how Aether can't do something because of a headache, or they have to be quiet or he needs to go to bed early because it'll trigger a headache if he doesn't.

It becomes routine, something to manage, an annoyance rather than debilitating, even though he still gets migraines.

But he can't help a twinge of jealousy when another of the pack gets a rare headache, and the world stops turning to help them, and sympathy and cuddles and love come out in full force, and the rest do everything they can to help, when just last week he had to come out to the Ghoul common room *three* separate times to ask if the pack could keep it down just a little bit because he has a splitting headache so bad he can hardly stand.

And whenever another gets a headache he gets more sympathy for a little while. A lot of, "is this what it's like for you all the time?" And he has to shrug and say, "yeah" and offer some advice or potential solutions from his list of coping mechanisms. But eventually, when the memory of the headache fades, so does the heightened sympathy. Aether is used to it, is expected to still carry on like nothing is wrong.

Eventually, it starts to take away the things that mean most to him. More often than not after rituals he's holed up in his bunk in the tour bus, trying not to cry and throw up with how much pain he's in. The decision to retire from touring nearly kills him, as do the looks of betrayal from his pack members, especially Dew. But they don't understand, they've never truly understood, and he can't help but feel bitter. Sure, he's not the only one with aches and pains and problems with his vessel, but those things haven't taken away touring from them, one of the things that gave him the most joy in his earthly life.

Zephyr gets it, thankfully, and he spends more time with them after his retirement, and sometimes they just spend painful moments in silence together. They might be in pain, but at least they're in pain with someone who *truly* gets it.

The separation from his pack, his mates, his *purpose* almost hurts as much as the migraines do. But he does what he's always done, and just carries on.

[alexanderlightweight]

I'm in love with your Lilith is Alecs mother AU!

Do you mind sharing anymore of this fic?

What are your thoughts/head cannon for this universe?

Thank you for all or your hard work and for sharing your work with us!

here is some more from desecration of souls which is mama!lilith obsessively raising her kid

i hope you enjoy and i'm glad you like it <3

lumine

-

“Alec,” Maryse calls like she has for the last fifteen minutes and for a moment, she thinks she sees him but then the shadows move and he’s not there, just another empty corner. It’s with annoyance that Maryse walks away, her heels clicking and tapping, and she tries not to let her anger get the best of her, or her worry.

It would be one thing if this rarely happened, but Alec is a strange and silent child, who listens obediently but who watches more closely and quietly that Maryse thought a child could. It was useful, at first, when Maryse needed to spend as much time on Valentine’s orders as possible.  But here, in New York, now that she’s from under Valentine’s thumb and struggling to regain honor for the name she wears, she has time to be a mother and she hates how hard it is.

Alec is more difficult to find than a shape-shifting demon, sticking close to the shadows and rarely smiles. Oh, he’ll smile to himself and sometimes he’ll play with Izzy and Maryse will see hints of the child he is, but more and more those moments are lost to her. The smile gone before she looks and Alec’s eyes are cold as they watch her, as if she’s unfamiliar and a threat.

It’s unnerving, to be looked at by her own heir and Maryse ignores the whispers of her own instincts telling her that something is wrong and pushes him harder, speaks to him more firmly when she does see him.

And Alec never complains, he never starts fight or argues with her, but he never stops watching her and for some reason, it scares Maryse more.

—

Alec struggles to bring the flowers together in a crown and he pouts when it falls apart.

“Mama, your crown broke.” He complains to the darkness of his room, secure in the knowledge that his mother is always listening to him, always watching him.

In an instant, a body made of willowy shadows forms and shifting shadows cup his face. Alec tilts his head up and smiles at the faceless shadows that make up his real mother and he sighs as her possessive magic covers him in a soul-deep hug.

“My sweet little prince, always so good for me.” Mama croons and her hands pet through his hair and Alec sighs in delight, leaning into the touch with an eagerness that he only shows around his mother. 

“Mama, I miss you.” He admits it and instead of scolding him, his mother makes a sound as if she’s been lanced and the darkness of her form pulls him even closer to the darkness.

“Precious child, I miss you. So very much, my little prince. It won’t be forever though, I’m still here. When you are older, we’ll find a way.” Mama reminds him and Alec nods and clutches the shifting sands of her dress and wishes that he could just be swept away by his mama.

“Love you mama.” He promises, because he does and there is no one in the entire world that he loves as much as his mother.

—

“Mama, I don’t want to marry a girl when I grow up.” Alec tells her, his nose wrinkled as he’s going over a book of runes. Lilith has been helpfully reminding him of some that have been lost to time and Lilith pauses at this change in subject.

“You don’t ever need to get married.” Lilith says, because she hardly needs Alec thinking he needs to go out and get engaged at a young age like others of his kind.

“I don’t want to marry a girl.” Alec repeats and he’s watching her with something suspicious in his eyes.

“Good.” Lilith says, when she finally realizes what he means. She’ll be the only woman of actual importance in her son’s life and considering Lilith has had to share him with Maryse and Isabelle. “I’ll find you a decent warlock or seelie, when you’re old enough.” She adds, because that should give her a few centuries to properly coddle Alec once she has him away from his mortal ties.

Alec doesn’t seem concerned that she’s making decisions for him and Lilith settles, content in the knowledge that she is an amazing mother and doing a much better job than that bitch, Maryse.