#reblog by shaking off satan

[little-diable]

"Angel" He calls me – Priest!Tom Riddle (smut)

Listen, this is fucked up – even I was unsure where this came from. But I ain't sorry for it, I know y'all will love this, you filthy heathen (i love you). Shamelessly inspired by the song "The Fruits" by Paris Paloma. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Her mother accuses the reader of preparing a satanic ritual, so she hopes that Priest Riddle can free the young girl from the devil's grasp. What a shame that the young priest is even more cunning than the Devil himself.

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, smut in a church, heavy dub!con, choking, wax play, blood play, Tom being Tom, religious connotations

Pairing: Priest!Tom Riddle x fem!reader (about 2k words)

My love, are you the devil? I would worship you instead of him, I have no time for confession, for I'm too busy committing sins

“Priest Riddle!” Her mother’s shrill voice echoed through the empty church, repeated with every further step she took. (Y/n) struggled against her mother’s grasp, feet dragged along the cold ground as if she prayed that the floor would open up, that something or someone would crawl from the eternal darkness to hold onto her, rescue her from the hell she would experience any moment now. “Priest Riddle!”

The tall man appeared after another loud call of his name, concern tugged on his features, a facade her mother instantly seemed to buy into; a facade (y/n) instantly saw through. Priest Riddle was a devilish handsome man, a man so handsome he easily fooled those who clung to him, distracting them from his sinful character. 

“Mathilda, (y/n), what is going on?” His bright eyes carried concern as he looked at (y/n)’s mother, concern that changed into something dark the second his gaze found (y/n)’s. Her mother’s torture was nothing against what he’d do to her, that much she was certain of after all those confessions she had been forced through – confessions that had ended with her knees having a carpet burn, with her ass bruised, and her jaw pulsing in pain from being stretched open. 

“She’s gone insane, I’ve found her worshipping the devil! He has his dark grasp on her, oh you have to free my girl, you’re my only chance of finding help for her sinning soul, Father!” Tears dripped from her mother’s eyes, tears (y/n) silently cursed. She had done no such thing, all she had done was read a book Priest Riddle had borrowed her, one of the few interests both shared – Latin prayers her mother had mistaken for satanic rituals as (y/n) had tried to pronounce the words. 

For a second, he studied (y/n), the annoyance she couldn’t shake, the wide pupils he had grown all too used to, feeling his cock twitch in his trousers at the excitement now thumping through his veins. “Leave her with me, Mathilda. She’s in good hands. I’ll take care of our girl.”

"Angel“ he calls me, does he know that I'm falling from a precipice that I tripped off long ago?

“Rituals, huh?” Her mother had left the church seconds ago, leaving the two of them behind. (Y/n)’s skin prickled, she was fighting against the need to scream, to throw a tantrum against her mother’s foolish behaviour. All because of him. 

“This is your fault! She heard me read that prayer book of yours.” Within seconds he stood in front of her, ringed hand wrapped around her throat. Her heart was pounding, blood rushing through her veins, he could feel (y/n)’s fast pulse against his fingertips, a sensation that left the man smirking. 

“My fault?” The way he spoke the words, with a voice so raspy and deep, (y/n) didn’t manage to stop her body from reacting, her thighs from trembling and her walls from clenching around nothing. For a few moments, neither of them spoke, all they did was stare at one another. “My fault, really, (y/n)?”

“I,” her words got stuck in her throat as he squeezed, cutting off her strength to pronounce any words. Priest Riddle always enjoyed silencing her, showing her how much power he held over her. (Y/n) was shoved backwards as he let go of her, watching her fall onto the stone stairs leading up to the altar. 

“You see, (y/n), your mother may think I’m the saving grace, the voice of reason, but I think you know better, don’t you? There is no saving left for you, no grace I can give you. The Devil would have tried to save you, what a shame that I’m not him.” Angry tears welled up in her eyes, tears that began to drip as a laugh clawed through him. There was no escaping him, no matter how much her mind begged her to run, to never return to these unholy walls, her body craved his touch, desperate for everything he could offer. 

“Undress, lay down on the altar, for me.” It took (y/n) a second to snap into motion, to undo the buttons of her dress with shaky fingers. Not once did her glassy eyes leave his frame, not as she stood naked, not as she slowly heaved herself onto the altar, not as she watched him alight the red candle placed next to the Holy Bible.

“Do you remember what John teaches us, (y/n)? He tells us: Whoever makes a practice of sinning is of the devil, for the devil has been sinning from the beginning. But tonight you will sin, tonight you will offer yourself to the devil, even though he will never have you. He fears me, and he will fear my precious toy once I’m done with you.”

“In nomine Patris et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen.” He was standing behind the altar, with his ringed fingers holding onto the burned candle. (Y/n) was forced to watch him tilt the candle, letting the wax drip down onto the valley between her naked breasts. She hissed at the sensation, torn between excitement and fear, and yet she craved more. 

“Princeps gloriosissime caelestis militiae, sancte Michael Archangele, defende nos in proelio adversus principes et potestates, adversus mundi rectores tenebrarum harum, contra spiritalia nequitiae, in caelestibus.” Priest Riddle’s voice didn’t carry any emotion as he spoke the lines of the prayer to Saint Michael, a prayer used in exorcisms, a prayer he used to mock her now. The candle kept dripping, one by one the drops of wax marked her body, leaving (y/n) moaning as his cold hand joined the wax, touching her hardening nipples with a smirk growing on his lips. 

“Veni in auxilium hominum, quos Deus ad imaginem similitudinis suae fecit, et a tyrannide diaboli emit pretio magno. Te custodem et patronum sancta veneratur Ecclesia; tibi tradidit Dominus animas redemptorum in superna felicitate locandas.” No longer did (y/n) try to keep her moans bottled in, she arched her back off the altar as he added more strength to his touch, tweaking her nipples as the wax dripped onto her stomach. It felt as if he was making an offering, sacrificing (y/n) for the sins they had committed together, giving her up for his eternal salvation. 

“Deprecare Deum pacis, ut conterat Satanam sub pedibus nostris, ne ultra valeat captivos tenere homines, et Ecclesiae nocere. Offer nostras preces in conspectu Altissimi, ut cito anticipent nos misericordiae Domini, et apprehendas draconem, serpentem antiquum, qui est diabolus et Satanas, et ligatum mittas in abyssum, ut non seducat amplius gentes. Amen.” The last drop of wax fell as Priest Riddle ended the prayer, tossing the blown-out candle aside to press his lips against (y/n)’s. Both moaned in unison as her fingers began to work on his belt, needing to free his cock with the silent hope that he’d fuck her on the altar spurring her on. 

He twitched in her grasp, a sensation so familiar, she found herself relaxing, giving her mind a few seconds to relax. Seconds he used to study her with danger laced in his gaze, danger that deepened as her eyes were drawn to his throat, watching him rip his silvery necklace from his neck. The necklace twinkled in the dim light, momentarily entrancing (y/n) as if she was studying a rare gem, an offering only God would make. 

“We have been bound together for months, you are my possession, and you will do as I say, you will let me lead you till I no longer think you’re worthy of my time.” He tightened his grasp on his necklace, and without another warning, he ran the sharp edge of the cross along his skin, instantly drawing blood. Blood so red, it looked like sacred wine, richer than Jesus’ blood, more powerful than any other offering.

He wiped his bleeding thumb along her lips, letting her taste the copper staining her skin like a tattoo made for eternity. They held eye contact as she parted her lips, letting her tongue lick his skin clean, unable to stop her moan from clawing out of her. She was nothing but a toy, someone he used to pass time with, someone to fuck whenever his body called for excitement – and she loved it, every fucked up second of their time together. 

Priest Riddle let go of her to position himself between her thighs, his fingertips dug into her skin as he wrapped her legs around his waist. Soon he’d fuck her, soon he’d remind her that she was his – his only. 

You're faithless, for you pitched me, against your holy father and it seems that I am winning

Without giving (y/n) any chance to prepare herself, he pushed into her, forcing his cock into her tightness. Her arousal allowed him to move without any struggles, moving as if their bodies had been made for one another. In some fucked up way she could have found something romantic in this, claimed in a church for all holy and unholy eyes to see, but the darkness he emanated was enough to keep her from thinking these thoughts. 

Months ago when this had happened for the first time, (y/n) had been frightened, not knowing what the man would do to her. But after the first of many orgasms had wrecked through her, she had felt like Judas, the backstabber, the liar she had been turned into. No longer held back by the fear of sinning, rather giving in – all for the promise of being punished by Priest Riddle. 

“Even the devil wouldn’t take you in, a soul filled with sins that even He would turn his back on. I’m your only rescue.” He panted his words as he buried himself deep inside of her, eyes staring down at her. Without stopping his movements, his hips from snapping against hers, he pushed the cross past her lips, forcing her to hold it between her teeth. (Y/n) could still taste his blood – heightening her senses as her walls fluttered around him. 

She hated herself for enjoying this, for being at his mercy with her legs spread and her back arched. He only spoke the truth, he was her only chance of guidance, the only one to cling to as the others had left her behind, engulfed in darkness. Her saving grace, the poison she was addicted to, the bruising grasp she couldn’t shake. 

“Cum for me, show them that there is no chance of rescuing you from me.” With the cross held between her teeth, she moaned for him. (Y/n)’s orgasm wrecked through her, leaving her shaking and panting beneath him. But the priest kept moving, searching his own high with his fingertips digging into her skin. 

A heavy moan rumbled through Priest Riddle as he came, imprinting himself on her walls without giving her a warning. Once again marked by the man who called her his own property, once again marked by the devil’s most brutal brother. 

“I need you on your knees, it’s time to beg for His forgiveness, (y/n).” 

……

Translation of the Latin prayer: 

St. Michael the Archangel, illustrious leader of the heavenly army, defend us in the battle against principalities and powers, against the rulers of the world of darkness and the spirit of wickedness in high places.

Come to the rescue of mankind, whom God has made in His own image and likeness, and purchased from Satan's tyranny at so great a price.

Holy Church venerates you as her patron and guardian. The Lord has entrusted to you the task of leading the souls of the redeemed to heavenly blessedness.

Entreat the Lord of peace to cast Satan down under our feet, so as to keep him from further holding man captive and doing harm to the Church.

Carry our prayers up to God's throne, that the mercy of the Lord may quickly come and lay hold of the beast, the serpent of old, Satan and his demons, casting him in chains into the abyss, so that he can no longer seduce the nations. Amen.

[fanficsat12am]

when the brothers realize how much MC loves them I Leviathan, Satan, Asmodeus

📜 𝙼𝙰𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙻𝙸𝚂𝚃!! 📜

Lucifer & Mammon

Happy New Year everyone!! Hope ya guys had a great flippin holiday time :> As always, notes, comments, and reblogs are highly appreciated <33 Have fun reading!!

Leviathan

Putting himself down was second nature to him at this point—sometimes he didn’t even realize he was doing it. It especially got even worse after getting into a relationship with you. His mind refused to believe that anyone could ever love someone like him. 

Levi dreaded the day you’d finally see what he sees and ultimately decide to leave, but he wouldn't hold it against you. Why would you settle for someone like him when there were countless others in the three realms who could give you so much more…

“Hey, you okay?” you asked worriedly, noticing his glazed look and how his eyes had dimmed. “O-of course I’m fine! Pft, why would I be lol,” he stumbles out, trying to keep up his facade—but of course, you saw through it. 

As he tries to get back to his game he can feel your eyes piercing him. 

“I’m going to ask you how you are one more time and I would like you to answer me honestly,” gently taking the controller in his hands from him and placing it aside. “Now tell me, what’s up?”

“I-I’m sorry,” he said, the words not too foreign to his tongue. 

“If this is about last week I've already told yo-” “Ugh, that’s not what I meant…” he cuts you off, trying to find the right words. 

“I-it’s just…you could have had ANYBODY else, but instead you’re stuck with me. I can’t 1v1 Beel's body, Diavolo’s money, Asmo’s looks- heck even stupid Mammon’s got charm! I'm just Levi, the plain old third-born…” he bites his lip, trying to keep his tears at bay. His efforts proved futile as he felt its warm trickle slowly dripping down his face, one after the other.

A part of him wanted to take back everything he just said—to restart and pick a different approach. But this wasn’t another one of his games. This was real life, and in here you've only got one shot. It was game over, he knew he had lost. 

He shut his eyes tight, listening closely for the sound of you finally walking out those doors. He couldn't bear to watch you leave him. 

You shake your head at the absurdity of his words, cupping his face into your hand. “I’m not stuck with you, silly. I choose to be here.”

Opening his eyes back again he's met with you smiling at him, the sight making his heart skip a beat. 

“I’m here because I can’t get enough of you. I love how your cheeks would go red when I catch you staring at me,” you say, leaning closer and leaving a kiss on his cheek. 

“How your brows would furrow and your eyes would squint whenever you’re focused on your game,” sending a kiss by the bridge of his nose. 

You gently grab his wrist and fumble on the soft skin of his palms with the pads of your thumb. “How you’d start gesturing with your hands a lot when you talk about the latest anime you’re into,” you reminisce, another kiss now to the back of his hand. 

“How right before you fall asleep, you hold me closer and whisper to the dead of the night how much you love me,” you say as you end it with a tender kiss to his lips. 

“And each day I find myself falling for you even more. They could try to give me the whole world, but they’ll never be you. So please, stop thinking you need to earn my affection because you don't. Not now and not ever.” 

You lift his face up to meet your gaze, looking at him as if you see right through him. “There is nothing I would change about you. You are perfect in my eyes.”

He felt like his heart was about to beat out of his chest. He was left speechless, his mind going haywire with everything you had just said. 

Seeing how his brain had completely stopped working, he let his body do all the talking instead. He wordlessly wrapped you in a tight embrace, cherishing the warmth of your body against his. 

The bitter taste of the sin he was meant to represent felt absent. Levi sensed no need to be envious of others when he had someone like you to call his.

Satan

Not once had he let himself think that he could indulge himself in something such as love—for wrath did not deserve the peace of love. While love held everything together in its warm embrace, wrath tirelessly tore with its cold unforgiving hands. 

Despite their differences, there was no denying that both were blind. Just like a moth, you were entranced by the beautiful embers of his flame, blissfully indifferent to the heat. 

He stared at his reflection with disdain. The obsidian black horns adorning his head felt heavier the longer he looked, not to mention the tail that whipped mindlessly on its own. He gritted his teeth in disgust, delivering a blow to the mirror that sent it hurdling to the ground. Through his ragged breaths and the rapid beating of his heart, he hears a voice not of his own. 

"Satan?" you called, breaking him from his trance-like state. You softly closed his door behind you, hands outstretched and unsteady. 

With each step you took, he took two back—his mind screaming at him to stay away from you but his heart yearning to leap into your hold. 

"Hey, it's okay," you reassured, taking a step towards him. 

"No it's not!" he screams, backing away from your approaching form. 

Hearing the crunch of glass under the weight of his shoes, he takes notice of the mirror he broke just moments ago. Reflected on its cracked surface was a distorted image of him; a monster.

"Please, let me help," you pleaded, trying to close the gap between you. He hastily steps back, tripping on his own feet and leaving him a heap on the floor. 

"Don't come any closer!" he screams, the room shaking with the sheer volume of his voice. You kneel to his level, quickly engulfing him in your arms. 

‘Run. He doesn't deserve you. Just stay away.’ He repeated in his head like a silent prayer, hoping that by some miracle it would come true. 

But as he felt you hold him tighter, he knew you would do nothing of the sort. As he trembled in your arms, he wills himself to ask the question that had been plaguing his mind since the day you'd started dating. 

"Why?" he whispered softly, almost inaudible if not for the heavy silence of the night. "I could lose control. Why do you insist on staying? To even consider feeling anything for a monster such as myself is just…foolish."

You think about your answer carefully, knowing that what you say next will mend or break the man in your hold. "Loving someone takes courage. To trust someone with your heart and believe they would keep it safe. Keep you safe. Let the three realms call me foolish but there's no doubt in my mind that I love you, Satan. Not the Avatar of Wrath, you Satan,'' you answer truthfully, pouring every ounce of your heart into each word.  

Gently taking hold of his chin, you tilt his head up to meet your eyes. "Tell me now Satan, will you hurt me?" you ask, the demon shaking his head immediately. He wouldn't dream of ever wishing to cause harm to you. He would die first before anybody, let alone himself, hurt you. 

"Then it is not foolish of me to love you" you say, your words unfaltering. 

Tears welled in his eyes, accepting defeat at the hands of your love and melting deeper into your embrace. As he lays on your chest, he turns to face where your heart would be and whispers an oath. "I love you, MC. I shall protect you with my life" he vows, sealing his promise with a kiss.

Asmodeus

As the Avatar of Lust and the Jewel of the Heavens, he was always the talk of the town. You, on the other hand, weren’t too familiar with the gossip world. Although you knew that was going to change once you officially became a couple. 

You took no mind to it, brushing them off with a small wave knowing that the wrong move could only add more oil to their flame. But Asmo wasn’t like you. He could feel all the looks they gave him, the incessant whispers and murmurs whenever he’d turn his back. 

He typically had no care for whatever lies people have heard about him. The same could not be said though when they had the audacity to include you into the mix. It was slowly chewing away at him and he couldn’t deny the pit of doubt slowly churning inside him.

“I saw MC out with one of the brothers last week. They’ve been getting closer recently. I wonder what happened between them"

"I saw them leaving school with Simeon yesterday, I’m surprised that’d cheat on Asmo with someone like him” 

”They’ve got the most powerful people of the Devildom wrapped around their finger and they’re still with Asmo? Damn”

The final blow was realizing that everything was better without him in the picture. Your smile wasn't just bright, it was brighter, you weren't just happy, you were happier. 

He slams his door shut, sliding down the wooden surface as he feels his legs give underneath him.

‘Can’t you see? They were never the problem. No matter what you do, you could never satisfy them. Once again you've proved to be useless.’

‘You think they’d just be swayed by your face? By the number of followers you have? Underneath it all you're nothing. It's just pathetic.’

He shook his head, gripping and pulling on his delicate sand blonde hair. No matter how hard he cupped his hands over his ears, their words never ceased. His eyes pricked with tears, months of silent torture finally finding his moment of weakness.  

You on the other hand were beyond worried. You were no stranger to Asmo’s flamboyant walk outs but this was different. As you neared the door to his room, you could hear silent sobs and cries on the other side. Knocking softly, you worriedly call out to him.

“Asmo?” The sobbing stops, rendering the halls eerily silent. “Darling, what’s wrong? Can I come in?” Still no response. 

Asmo freezes at the sound of your voice, the loud thumping of his heart drowning out the constant knocking on his door. An internal conflict rages within him. Not only is the person causing all this mess of emotions on the other side of the door, but the only one who can make it all go away as well. 

“Please talk to me. I need to know that you’re alright.” Just as you’re deciding if you should get some help from the others, the door opens. From it, a hand grabs your wrist, swiftly pulling you inside and closing the door. 

Looking around, the usually bright and pinkish room was cold and dark. You could barely see anything with the only light coming from his window. 

The crisp silence of the night was cut by the uneven breathing of Asmo who was still by the door. You reach out to gently place a hand on his shoulder. 

“Sweetie?” you call, fingertips only a few milliliters away, when his voice stops you in your tracks. 

“Do you love me?” he whispers. 

“Of course I do,” you answer immediately, not missing a beat. 

You gently grab him by the shoulder and turn him to face you, your heart breaking at the sight of your lover being in so much turmoil. 

“Oh, Asmo…” your hand tenderly holds his cheek, the other wiping away the tears that have yet to cease from falling. 

“Each day, I hear another rumor about you finding somebody else…” he pauses, taking a deep shuddering breath. “If you’re going to do it, please just do it already and save me the mascara.”

He knows that watching you leave will hurt more than any hangover can ever do to him. It would be like he was falling from the pristine white gates of Celestia again, powerless as he saw all he held dear fade into a memory of what he had once had.

He could try to convince himself that the rumors were true. That you were only ever with him for his fame and looks and that he never cared about you. But of all the lies that have circulated, that would have been the biggest one.

“Honey, I’m not leaving you. Not now, not ever,” you say as you tuck a lock behind his ear. “If you think I’d ever love someone after you then I have failed in showing you how much you mean to me.”

Through blurred vision, Asmo tries to find an ounce of deceit within the windows to your soul; a malicious grin, a break in eye contact, a drop of sweat. Nothing. 

He lets out a shuddering breath he didn’t know he was holding, pressing his soft hands upon your own and interlacing it with his. It was stupid of him to ever doubt your feelings for him. To hell with what they thought of the both of you. All he cared about now was now, being here in your hold, forever.

“You’re so cute sometimes, darling…" he whispers in amusement, a small smile finally making its way onto his lips. 

“Please tell me I still look fabulous even after all that tears. Ugh, my eyes are gonna be so puffed up tomorrow!” 

You chuckle at his comment, happy to see him start coming back to you. “Still ever so stunning, My Prince.”

“Let’s stay like this for just a bit more, hm? All this crying made me tired. Then after, we can run a nice warm bath for the two of us. Doesn't that sound wonderful?” He murmured, melting more into your touch.  

“Whatever you’d like, darling,” you replied, pressing your forehead to his. 

And there you stayed, forehead to forehead, hands intertwined, just you and him in the comfort of each other's touch.

AN: Thanks a bunch for reading!! Would love to hear your thoughts in the comments <33

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU pt 44

part 1 | part 43 | ao3

cw: recreational drinking

“You’re just…” Robin looks at him sideways, her face doing something quivery and weird that he’s pretty sure is supposed to be sympathetic concern but mostly looks like she stubbed her toe right after smelling microwaved fish. “You’re sure it’s not too soon?” 

It is. 

It definitely is too soon.

Steve’s pleasantly buzzed at a New Year’s Eve party — some random rich kid’s house, loitering in the space between the living room and kitchen so he and Robin can properly people watch (see also: be hugely judgmental bitches about the fashion sense of the girls on the dance floor and the sloppy form of the guys doing keg stands on the back deck) — and Steve just opened his fat, drunk mouth and casually admitted to being in love with Eddie. 

Eddie, the guy who hated him for years. The guy who tried to knife him the first time they interacted as neighbors. 

The guy whose silhouette has started to fill the passenger seat in Steve's Winnebago dreams. 

Eddie’s here, but he’s not here; probably posted up somewhere in the basement so he can deal to the stoners and the horny kids playing Spin the Bottle, and Steve— 

Steve knows he falls too fast. Always has, but especially now. Steve fell for Eddie like a gunshot going off: a deafening bang, gurgling fish sounds, blood all over the floor. He kinda thinks he couldn’t help it. Kinda thinks he’d do it again. 

And how could he not, when Eddie smiles at him like that? When he takes him apart so sweetly with his words, his lips, his tongue? When he dragged Steve by the hand into the back pew of a midnight mass on Christmas Eve, giggling about how he was shocked his satanic worship hadn’t set the bench aflame? 

Yeah. 

Steve totally understood why Jesus got up on that cross. 

“Oh, my god,” Robin rolls her eyes with a strangled huff. “Are you seriously just—? You’re fucking hopeless.” 

Yeah, he is, and yes, he is. “No,” he insists, crossing his arms over his chest and trying not to feel like a defiant kid who got caught lying to his mother, because yeah, he totally is spacing out into lovesick La La Land while being actively accused of spending too much time there lately. “I’m not fucking hopeless, and it’s not too soon.”

Robin gapes at him like 'are you kidding me right now?' “Steve!”

“Robin!” he answers, mimicking her tone. Wow. Vodka makes him petulant. 

It makes Robin stubborn as hell. She juts her chin out and hollers over the music, gesturing so aggressively she almost spills her drink, “Admit that it’s too soon!”

“It isn’t!” Steve shouts back; digs his heels in and refuses to budge, never mind the fact that it’s only been, like, three weeks since Eddie fingered him for the first time oh, god, don’t think about Eddie’s fingers right now.

They stare at each other for a second, Robin’s nostrils flaring with the words she so clearly wants to yell at him, her breaths coming hot and harsh, and then, with a long sigh, her shoulders deflate. Her chin comes down. She bites her lip again, teeth turning the skin white as her eyes go big and sad. Worried. She's worried for him because she loved him first. 

Steve smiles at her, a quick, closed-lip thing that feels more like shrugging with his mouth, and he leans into her space; pats her cheek and thumbs her chin until she stomps chomping on her lip.

“You’re gonna get it all chapped,” he says in a hush, hoping her Steve translator is still intact after a couple drinks. Hopes she knows that he’s really saying ‘I hear you’ and ‘I love you, too; I love that you care’ because they're at a party and god does he not feel like saying sappy friendship shit out loud. 

Robin’s eyes get misty. Just for a second — message received; copy that — and she clears her throat and shakes it off. Points at something over Steve’s shoulder and drags him to the other side of the room.

—

part 45

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

[megamindsecretlair]

Let Me Hold You

Pairing: Tyrone x Virgin!Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. PWP, virginity loss, shy reader, cursing, PIV, oral (fem receiving), dirty talk, praise kink, possession kink if you squint, Soft Tyrone, all consensual. Mentions of religion, God, and Christian-leaning faith. Sorry if I miss any!

Summary: Ask: ...the reader is a virgin church girl, who, finds herself entangled in a predicament when her parents forbid her to be with the charismatic Tyrone. Despite this, the reader has a genuine friendship with him. They have crushes on each other but do not know how to tell each other.

Word Count: 5,803

A/N: Welp. This healed and broke some things in me! LOL. This was a wonderful ask from @notapradagurl7. I'm SO sorry this took forever to get out, I felt so bad. I hope this was worth the wait. Please, please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers! And please put ages in bios! Or get blockt!

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“And we don’t want you hanging out with that - that boy!” Your father paced the living room floor, his loafers kicking up the delicate fibers. 

“What?” You shrieked. Already, fear spiked into your heart. The thought of not seeing Tyrone? It was inconceivable. You looked toward your mother who perched on the end of the plump chair, proper as you please. She kept her eyes on your father. You wouldn’t get any help from her.

“I’m an adult, you can’t ban me from seeing my friends,” you protested. Did he really think he was serious? 

“It’s not appropriate for you to spend time with someone like him. If you’re to entertain anyone, there are plenty of nice young men at the church.” 

“Malcolm just returned from college to be an engineer. I always knew that boy was smart,” your mother chirped in. 

Your eyes darted between your parents. You half expected aliens to burst from their necks. These people were foreign to you. Unique in their united anger for Tyrone, a boy you’ve known your entire life. 

“Judge not lest ye be judged,” you quoted. Your mother scoffed and glared at you as if you said you wanted to shake your ass for Satan’s minions. Your father stopped his pacing and gawked at you. Like you were the foreign one. A daughter he didn’t recognize. 

“No daughter of mine will hang around someone like that boy. Peddling that poison to people in this community,” your father said. 

“That boy has been nothing but nice to us. A boy you watched grow up. A boy you assume is doing dirt,” you countered. What episode of the Twilight Zone was this? 

“I have eyes,” your father said. “And I see what’s going on. All the people running in and out of his house, his mother’s house I might add, and bumping that music…”

“I still live at home. Are you going to judge me for that too?” You asked. Your father pressed his lips together. 

“It’s different for women,” your mother said as if it were a fact. 

You tuned your parents out as they tried to tell you the difference between young men and young women. You didn’t have the heart to listen anymore. Your blood roared in your ears and you stared off into space, trying to calm down. 

You stood up suddenly. You needed to be anywhere but here. Looking into their judgemental faces. You made one mistake. Funny how they didn’t take into consideration all of the times you were a “good girl”. How you minded your Ps and Qs your entire life. Never did anything bad. Never wanted to do anything bad.

And now, they wanted to effectively place you under house arrest. Only leaving for school or church. This was not the stone ages. You couldn’t sit here under this oppressive weight. Constantly holding yourself to a higher standard. 

What higher standard? Did God really think that oppressing women was the ticket into Heaven? Placing all of these restrictions was the ultimate symbol of propriety? What happened to love thy neighbor? 

Your parents called after you, but you kept moving. You’d never defied them. You always deferred to them. They had experiences you didn’t and just wanted you to have a good life. Bullshit. They wanted a little doll to dress up and tote around town. 

At the door, you slipped into your flats and left the house. No purse, no phone, no keys. It felt…invigorating. That type of freedom was intoxicating. Your parents’ indignant shouts followed you out of the house but they didn’t come to the door. 

You took that opportunity to head down the block towards Tyrone’s house. You hoped he was home. You hadn’t had a chance to check your phone before your parents ambushed you.

His house looked dark for once. There were no cars bunched up in front of the house or thumping music coming from the front door. You ran up the steps and knocked on the metal door.

The cold air caught up to you, edging past the heat of your anger. It could only warm you up so far. There were no sounds coming from the house so you knocked again. It was still earlyish but you didn’t want to be loud and disrespect his mom. 

“Yeah,” Tyrone called out sleepily. You suppressed a smile. Just hearing his voice instantly calmed you down.

You heard a series of locks and bolts being undone. Tyrone swung the door open. He called out your name and looked behind you. 

“What’s up? We were s’posed to meet?” He asked.

“Can I come in?” You asked.

“Always,” he said. He moved out of the way and let you enter his darkened house. You took in the space and got a chilling sense of loneliness here. You didn’t know why. Tyrone closed the door and locked it.

“I was sleep. Come on,” he said. He took your hand and led you to his room. Inside, the sudden light gave you a tiny ache in your eyes and you rubbed them. Tyrone sat on his bed, leaning one leg up onto the mattress. 

You remained standing, suddenly shy. You hated feeling unsettled wherever you went. Even in the company of your friends, you paid attention to everything you said. Were you being weird? Were you not talking enough? It was all incredibly awkward whenever you tried to join the conversation and people had already moved on to the next topic. 

“What’s up?” Tyrone asked.

You sighed and recounted everything that happened with your parents. You paced his small but comfy room, poking at random objects on his desk or hanging on his wall. He had wrinkled Lakers posters torn in one corner. You picked at it as you spoke, not wanting to look him in the face while you spoke and ranted and raved about your judgy, overbearing parents. 

Tyrone was a great listener. He never interrupted you, he kept his comments to a minimum, and when you were brave enough to look at him, he’d nod for you to continue. So you did. You told him everything, even the part about your parents judging him for his side hustle. 

“They don’t want you to see me anymore because of that?” He asked. 

You nodded and sat on the bed next to him. “I told them they’re nuts. They can’t ban me from seeing you, I’m not sixteen,” you said.

“You were pretty cute when you were sixteen,” he said.

“Shut up! I’m trying to be serious here!” You pushed his shoulder. He moved as if you were strong, but you knew that he let you. Tyrone had always been an immovable force. He moved through life like it owed him money and he was coming to collect. He had a surety about himself that kept you up all night thinking of him. 

Your hand lingered on his bare arms, taking in his large biceps. His navy tank top hung just so, highlighting his broad smooth chest. He wore his signature black basketball shorts and you quickly removed your hand. You should not be having these thoughts about your best friend. 

“I’m serious too!” He said and chuckled. He quickly sobered up and glanced at you. “I’d miss you if I couldn’t see you.” 

You smiled slowly. “You’d only miss the chips I bring you,” you said. 

“Naw, I’d miss you. I’d have to stage a breakout or something,” he said. 

You laughed, picturing hopping into Tyrone’s getaway car just to drive a few houses down. Bonnie and Clyde ya’ll were not. 

You bumped his shoulder with yours. “There’s nothing that can keep us apart,” you said. You stuck out your pinkie finger. Tyrone looked at it and laughed, shaking his head and licking his lips. 

“Really?” He asked.

“Yeah, so you know I’m serious,” you said. You pushed your hand into his chest to urge him to do it with you. He shook his head again and wrapped his pinkie around yours. 

“So what you gonna do since they dropped the hammer?” Tyrone asked. 

“I don’t know,” you said. You tucked your legs under you, holding down your dress so no one got a free show. You played with the hem. “I wish they’d see me as an individual instead of an extension of their dead hopes and dreams.” 

“I feel that. You’re just gonna have to prove that you grown now,” he said with a shrug. 

“There’s nothing I can do. They’ll only see me as a goody two shoes who’s always ready with a smile. Like, I don’t have feelings or something? I’d have to rob a bank or have…” You trailed off as the intrusive thought came to you. 

You became very interested in your dress as you played with the rolled hem. “Have what?” Tyrone prompted.

You hummed and shrugged. “Lost my train of thought. Point is, I’m tired of living and dying by their own expectations,” you said. 

The thought didn’t leave you though. In fact, the more you turned it around in your head, the hotter it got in the room. Your imagination ran away from you, providing images of a naked Tyrone standing over you. Bending you over. Calling you dirty names. You shifted on the bed as the images became a little too vibrant.

You usually indulged in your fantasies late at night, safe and comfortable in your head where no one would know except you. It was harmless to be as nasty as you wanted, getting yourself worked up and needy but ultimately not doing anything about it. Could you imagine trying to order a sex toy and have it sent to the house? Trying to hide the buzz buzz as you got yourself off? It was either the towel on the pillow or your own fingers but once you felt awkward, it was hard to get back into the mood. 

“So don’t live by their expectations. What do you wanna do?” He asked. 

You glanced at him. He treated it as seriously as possible and that only made your heart melt. He was the bestest friend you could have hoped for, growing up together. But would you always be someone he grew up with? Forced to talk about his conquests over and over and wishing it were you? 

You licked your lips and faced him. You sat up straight and looked him in the eyes. Your heart thundered in your chest. You felt the steady beat all over, thumping in your arms and in your head. Now or never. 

“What would you say to a crazy idea?” You asked. 

Tyrone shifted to allow you more room on the bed. “What kind of crazy idea?” He asked slowly. 

You smiled at the mistrust in his voice. You were kind of known for some out of pocket schemes. It was not your fault that Mrs. Edwards came home early that one time. How were you supposed to know? 

You lost a bit of your nerve, looking down at your fingers. You gripped your dress hard, your fingers pressing the thin fabric. “What would you say if I asked you to take my virginity?” 

You risked a glance at him. He was frozen solid, gaping at you. After a moment, he blew out a breath. “Wait, what?” 

“I am tired of doing what people expect of me. Nothing is ever good enough and I never get anything out of the deal. I want something for myself. I want to have sex. I want to have sex with you,” you said. 

He tilted his head so you forged on, explaining why you wanted to have sex. “And I know it might be a little weird considering we’re friends but I’m pretty sure you’re not seeing someone right now? Right? Because I’d rather it be with someone I trust, at least the first time…” You rambled. You were rambling and you couldn’t make yourself stop. You heard the words. You said the words. But you couldn’t find a way to disconnect your brain from your mouth. “And you’re totally free to say no. Like, we can totally forget I asked.” 

After you crawled into a cave or yeeted yourself off of a cliff, surely you could be around Tyrone and not think of this stupid situation. 

You opened your mouth to ramble more because he was just sitting there, but he captured your lips with his. His hands cupped your jaw and pulled you into it, moving your lips against his. Your hands gripped his, but not to push him away. You held him there and kissed him back. Tyrone ran the tip of his tongue to trace around your lips. You gasped and he pulled away, pressing his forehead against yours.

“You have no fuckin’ clue how long I been wanting to do that,” he said, his voice hoarse. 

“Wait, what?” You asked. Your head was pleasantly fuzzy. Like you were full of fluffy clouds. “You’ve been wanting to kiss me?”

“Every time I see you. You got kissable lips,” he said. He made his point by kissing you again, humming low in his throat. He pulled away and ran his thumb across your lips. Each pass of his lips on yours or his calloused fingers on you only made your head fuzzier. You squeezed your thighs together, feeling yourself get more and more worked up.

“Why didn’t you ever say? Especially after ninth grade!” There was once upon a time where you two had danced at the high school you attended. You had found a dark-ish corner away from the chaperones and told Tyrone that you’d never been kissed. He had laid one on you, probably not well now that you thought about it, but it had been so precious to you. He ended it by saying, “Now you have”, and walked away. 

The memory was always bittersweet. But hell, it was still your first kiss. 

“I was a dumb ass kid. I didn’t know how to tell you I liked you more than a friend,” he said. 

Warmth spread from the tips of your toes to the top of your head. This lonely torch you’d been holding for Tyrone wasn’t one sided. You looked into his molten brown eyes and smiled, not knowing how to properly process this new information.

In fact, it blew you away that you were here at this moment. Who knew your holier-than-thou parents were good for something? 

“And now?” You asked.

Tyrone removed his hands from your face and you missed them instantly. He grabbed one of your hands, pulling it across his lap so that you could cup him. You gasped at the sheer size of him. Despite common myths, you have seen a dick before. But you’d never touched one. Held one. Sucked on one. 

Your mouth went dry at the thought. You wanted to suck him, but what if you were bad at it? Your lip rolled in between your teeth and you bit down, wondering the mechanics of it all. 

“Well, you did ask me for something huge. Are you sure?” He asked. His voice held a strange, raspy quality to it. You flicked your eyes back to him and he was breathing a little faster. Oh shit, he really did like you. How the hell did you miss it? 

“I’m very sure,” you said. You pressed your hand in more, stroking him over his basketball shorts. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Then, he opened them and grinned at you. 

“I’ll do it. But I want you to promise me that you’ll tell me if you don’t like something or if you want to stop, okay?” 

You nodded. “I promise. I’m a big girl, I can use my words,” you said. Your hands still moved over him and you must’ve been doing something right because his breaths left him in quick bursts. He rubbed his face and gripped his jaw, eyes tightly shut. 

“Okay, okay,” he said. He stilled your hand on him and moved it off. “Okay, okay. Virgin. Have you done anything? Gotten eaten out?” He asked.

You sighed and shook your head. “Yeah, I just snuck them up to my room while my dad was busy in the kitchen,” you said.

Tyrone chuckled. “Okay, smart ass. Give me a minute. I’m like…I don’t wanna just jump on you even though I want to,” he said. He stood up and rubbed his hands together, jumping in place. 

You giggled. “I thought I was supposed to be the nervous one,” you said. And you were! Your nerves were shot. Your hands trembled thinking of what the hell you were about to get into. You had fantasized it so many times, wondering who it would be. Sometimes wishing it were Tyrone. And while you didn’t think it would be all glitzy like they do in the movies, you did think you’d be married. Or at least in a steady relationship.

As you looked at Tyrone though, you were glad it was with someone you were comfortable with. Someone who took your usual anxiety from 100% to about 65%. 

Tyrone smirked. “If you knew the thoughts I be having about you…you might run out that door,” he said. “I’m trying to do this right.” 

You reached out and grabbed his hand. “Don’t treat me like some glass doll,” you said. You titled your head and stared him down. “You forgetting I know all your nasty little secrets?” 

Tyrone chuckled and squeezed your hand. “Shut up. That’s different. I ain’t care about them, but I do care about you. Don’t ever treat this shit as casual,” he said. 

You sucked your teeth. “Not you too. I promise, I’m not going around opening my legs for any man that wants it,” you said. You were about to go on a tirade about how it was your body and your rules. Tyrone shut you up with another kiss, tugging on your bottom lip. 

“The thought of anyone else in between your legs makes me angry,” he whispered against your lips.

“Angry?” 

He nodded and continued to kiss you, sliding his hands up and down your arms. His warm, big hands chased away any lingering chill from outside. He slowly knelt so that he wasn’t bending at an awkward angle. 

His knees sank to the floor and he nestled himself in between your thighs. His hands continued to travel down, squeezing your hips, your outer thighs. Your hands held on to his shoulders, kneading and massaging his back. He moaned into your mouth and a delicious tingle went up your spine. 

“Mhm, so don’t say that shit no more,” he said. 

“You can’t expect…”

His hands crept closer to your pussy and you ended your sentence on a squeak. Heat rose up your neck and cheek. “Relax,” he said. You took a few deep breaths, nodding, but you were as stiff as a board. Tyrone stopped moving his hand and kept it on your thigh.

“You gotta relax. And let me do this for you,” he said. His thumb pressed into your thigh and your body caved in. He somehow zeroed in on a knot and his thumb worked it out. “Oh fuck,” you said. 

“Mhm, you’ll feel better in a minute. But you gotta relax for me,” he said.

Sure, as if you could snap your fingers and relax. Wouldn’t you know it, anxiety was a light switch you could flick on and off at your leisure. Tyrone must’ve seen your thoughts play across your face, because he chuckled. 

“Do you have any fuckin’ idea how sexy you are?” He asked.

“What?” You asked. The question caught you off guard. You knew you were gorgeous, you knew you were working with some thick thighs and a pretty tummy. But sexy? Somehow, you missed the memo about sex appeal. You swore that guys could see “virgin” stamped across your forehead.

“Mhm. Whenever you walk out the house in one of these dresses, I just keep picturing how you look underneath. If that pussy nice and pink and wet.” His voice went deeper, harsher, bringing with it dark, carnal promises.

Your thighs tingled. Your hands shook. You bit your bottom lip to keep from moaning like a ho. Tyrone kissed your jaw, then moved up to your ear. “You nice and wet for me? You want me to play with it right?” He asked.

“Yes, yes, play with it,” you said.

Tyrone moved his hand up. Your thighs were burning hot from where they rested against each other. Tyrone nudged you to open your legs. He hummed while he kissed along your ear. “I wonder if you taste as good you feel.”

You dropped your head against him. “You can’t be saying shit like that,” you said.

“Look at you, with your little potty mouth,” he said.

“Shut up, Tyrone!” 

He only laughed and finally, blessedly, reached your core. He played with the edges of your panties, seeing the way you squirmed and moaned. He slipped his finger past the material and cursed under his breath.

“Damn, all of that for me? How you gon’ run home to Daddy with panties this soaked?” Tyrone asked.

You stuttered out a response. How were you supposed to form a coherent sentence when his fingers were on you? His fingers glided in between your slick folds, pushing past your pussy lips, and tracing the outside of your clit.

Your eyes bugged out of your head. Your mouth dropped in a tiny little ‘o’ and Tyrone’s eyes narrowed as he took in your expression. He kissed you once, too quickly for your taste, and smirked at you.

“You gotta stop being so damn cute,” he said. “Makes me want to do all kinds of nasty shit to you.” 

You moaned, picturing those disgusting things. His thumb rubbed over your clit and you scrunched up your face in pleasure. 

How was it that this felt infinitely different and better than when you did it to yourself? He knew exactly what to do, taking cues from your moans and grunts and pretty gasps. You sent up a prayer, thankful that this was with someone experienced. Then again, God probably wasn’t listening right about now.

Tyrone traced slow circles on your clit. You looked through your lashes at his smug face. He knew he was driving you wild. You hissed and jerked when he got to a particularly sensitive spot. “Shh, shh, breathe,” he said. 

He held your gaze as you took in deep breaths. Your belly flipped and tightened, the beginning stirrings of something naughty making its way to the surface. Your gaze traveled down. Tyrone’s hand was completely under your dress. It was somehow hotter that you couldn’t see what he was doing to you.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god,” You moaned.

“Mhm, pray to him for mercy. Because you ain’t gettin’ that shit from me,” Tyrone’s raspy voice was like its own arrow of desire. Your thighs shook. Your feet dangled over the side of the bed. Your toes curled. 

“Tyrone, please,” you said. You gripped his shoulders. His smooth brown skin shone with its own light. 

“Let me take these panties off,” Tyrone said.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you said. 

Tyrone stopped rubbing your clit. “No,” you growled. What the hell was he doing? You were so close! Your belly still felt tight, overripe like at any moment you would burst. 

Tyrone chuckled and lifted your dress. The fabric drew across your thighs like scorching fire. You hissed. You were on a precipice and any movement would hurt or hinder. You didn’t want to find out which. 

Tyrone pushed your dress up to your hips. Then, he grabbed the top of your panties and moved it down. He held you as you lifted up and slipped them off your ass. He smiled. “Never thought I’d get to see you like this,” he said.  

“I’m glad it’s you,” you said and smiled.

“I’m glad it’s you,” he said. “Remember to breathe for me.”

He kept your gaze as he pushed your legs over his shoulders. He grabbed your hips and pulled you forward until your ass was half hanging off of the bed. You cried out and he kissed your thighs until you calmed down.

Your heart beat in your pussy. The throb throb throb drove you mad. You were needy. You needed something more, anything more. 

Tyrone blew a breath across your wet pussy and you cried out, jerking your hips. Tyrone only locked his arms around you, curling his biceps around your thigh. “Oh fuck,” you moaned. 

Tyrone flattened his tongue and licked you from your pussy to your clit and back down again. A choppy moan left you. Your back bowed off of the bed. Your hands gripped the front of your dress. It wasn’t enough to hold so you moved your hands down to grip the bunched up hem. 

He ran his nose through your folds. He inhaled. “Smell so fuckin’ good, got damn,” he said. “Pretty ass pussy.”

He then drew his tongue in a slow circle around your clit. Locked as you were, he didn’t leave room for movement. You barely wiggled. Squirmed underneath his sinful tongue. With each new circle, he moved in closer. He tongued you closer to your clit and you whined and moaned and cried.

Your belly tightened once more. A cresting inferno built and built, radiating waves of heat throughout your body. 

Somehow, this too was more potent coming from him. Your body jerked out of your control, twitching every which way, as he created magic around your clit. He slurped up your juices. Slurped it loudly and greedily. He tongued it all down, getting his juicy lips wet with your essence.

You spoke in tongues, muttering and chirping. Tyrone’s tongue moved downwards, rimming your entrance and pushing his tongue inside.

“Oh god. Oh fuck. Tyrone, Tyrone,” you moaned. Your hands flexed. You searched for Tyrone’s head, his neat cornrows were going to get messed up tonight. You palmed him anyway, pushing his head into your pussy and started to gyrate on his mouth. 

“Mhm, mhm,” he encouraged. “That’s my good girl.”

You came with a loud yell. You could barely breathe. The sounds and words were dragged out of you. A hidden instinct buried in your DNA to say something, to help ride this awe-inducing wave. A flood of pleasure moved through you. 

Tyrone held you down through it all. His biceps flexed with your movements back and forth. He still ate you out, flicking his tongue around your nub. 

“F-f-f-.” Fuck it, you couldn’t say it. 

You flopped onto the bed, spent. You moaned as you twitched and calmed down. Tyrone leaned up. You looked at him. His face was slick across his jaw. A spit chain drooped. He licked his big lips and moaned.

“Ready for this dick?” He asked.

You sniffled and nodded. “Please. Please, I'm so ready,” said.

“You don't’ need a break?” He asked.

“Hell naw. Please,” you said. 

He nodded and placed a wet kiss on your thigh. He cleaned off his face on his tank top. He stood up. He grabbed your hands and pulled you into a sitting position. You put your chin on his stomach and looked up at him. 

He sighed and rolled his neck. “What I tell you about lookin’ so cute?” He asked. 

“I can’t help being cute,” you said. 

“Lyin’ ass. Yes, you can,” he said.

You sucked your teeth. “How am I supposed to do that?” 

“Ion know. Burp or something,” he said.

You giggled and hugged him around his middle. You grabbed a handful of his ass and squeezed. 

“You really have no idea,” he whispered. You grinned. 

He stepped back and pulled off his shorts. His dick bobbed twice, standing at attention. He was definitely thick and long and perfect. Your shyness tried to budge back in. Your heartbeat sped up thinking of that getting inside of you. 

He twisted and leaned over. You admired his body as his muscles bunched. He was solid, stocky. A thick man with amazing thighs and ass. Cool air blew across your pussy and you bit your lip. Fuck. 

He grabbed a condom. Watching him was its own brand of sensual torture. His fingers moved deftly to open the package. He rolled on the condom, pulling the latex over the length of him. He pinched the top. 

He stalked closer, running his eyes over you. “Let me take this dress off,” he said.

You smiled and nodded. He helped you pull it off. Your bra went next. “You’re so damn sexy,” he said. 

He palmed your breasts, rubbing and pushing them together. He leaned down and brought your nipples into his mouth. He moved between your boobs, suckling and placing that warm mouth around the peaks. 

Your legs jerked up. You wrapped them around his waist. His shirt got trapped beneath your legs. He pulled it out and the shirt draped across his chest. His dick brushed against you and you cried out. He was so close to giving you what you needed. Your nails dug into his sides. He ignored you. He played with your nipples until you were a bumbling, squirming mess. 

“T-T-Tyrone,” your teeth chattered.

“Mhm, I know. Ready for me?” He asked.

“Yessss,” you moaned. 

“Sure?” He asked. He rubbed his dick through your arousal. You soaked him instantly. There was so much on you. The cool air hit across it on your skin. You knew exactly how much of a mess you made. It made you hornier. How did you go through life without this? Without this feeling?

Without this obsession running in your veins. This deep-seated need. This lustful shot of adrenaline threatening to burn your skin off. 

Tyrone’s hand wrapped around your hip. His other hand guided his dick towards your entrance. He pushed in and you gasped. He slipped in thanks to how wet you were. But fuck! He filled you completely. 

“Breathe,” he commanded. He stopped and moved his shirt out of the way. “You gotta breathe.”

You nodded. He helped you take deep breaths. “That’s right. Be a good girl for me. Good girls get dick,” he cooed. 

That should piss you off. But you wanted to be a good girl for him. You wanted to listen and get praised some more. 

Your breathing evened out. Tyrone leaned down and kissed you. As he kissed you, he pushed in. Your hand flew to his chest, pushing at him. Fuck. It kind of hurt, but it was a good hurt? You could tolerate him pushing in. You clenched around him and he hissed. 

He sank inch by inch into you. He cursed the whole time. “Fuck, feel too good. Feel too good,” he muttered. “Gripping the shit out of me.”

The praise made you moan and you clenched around him. A drop of his sweat fell onto your chest. Your own sweat slick skin pebbled in the cool air. 

Tyrone moved out and then pushed back in. The slide in would hurt briefly but then morph into pleasure as you felt him move inside of you. He was deep, stretching you out. Molding your pussy to the curve of his dick. 

He began to speed up. He flipped his shirt up and held it in his mouth. He moaned. “Can still smell you,” he said, though his voice was muffled. 

Both hands held onto your waist. He moaned as he sank deeper, you welcoming him better. “You okay?” He asked.

“Yuh,” you nodded. 

“Sure?” 

“Yu-uh,” you moaned. He was doing nothing more vigorous than moving back and forth, but he felt amazing. He filled you up. He hit that deep seat of emptiness inside of you. A place you hadn’t been able to get to on your own.

The feeling brought tears to your eyes. He twisted and brought you down on his dick a little faster. “Ohmygod,” you cried. He reached a spot that made you explode all over him. 

You cursed the heavens, you cursed hell. You cursed the world in between. You felt large. Humongous. You felt like you could grab the world with both hands. Power and pleasure suffused you. You moaned out loud, heedless of anyone who could hear. 

“Oh fuck, so tight,” Tyrone hips jerked. His fingers dug into your hips. The pressure made you moan. He jerked and thrusted one more time, going as far as he was able, and you felt him pulse inside of you.

You imagined him filling you up with his cum. You moaned as the thought made your pussy throb. Tyrone twitched and panted on top of you. He left you slowly, sliding out in a way that wouldn’t hurt you.

You missed him immediately. He wiped his sweat on his shirt and took off the condom. He tied it and threw it in a nearby trashcan. 

“Are you okay?” He asked.

You flopped onto the bed. Looked up at the popcorn ceiling. Were there words to describe how okay you were? How fantastic you felt? “So good,” you murmured. 

And you did feel really good. You expected to feel shame after having sex. You’d avoided it for so long, you started to feel like a freak for still being a virgin at your big age. But you didn’t. You were mostly sore. You were going to feel this in the morning and right now, you couldn’t care less. 

Tyrone left for a moment and you just focused on your breathing. On trying to recapture that euphoric feeling of that orgasm. Chasing after it like the wayward string of a balloon. 

He returned and placed a warm cloth against your pussy. You hissed at the unexpected sensation. He cooed at you while he cleaned you up. You smiled at him. “You didn’t have to,” you said.

“Yeah, I did. I was raised to clean up after myself,” he said.

You rolled your eyes. He left once more, getting rid of the washcloth. He took off his shirt and hopped into bed with you, pulling you chest to chest. He rubbed your back and looked into your eyes.

“You’re so cute,” he said.

“You are,” you said. You bumped his nose. 

“How you really feelin’?” He asked.

“Honestly? I feel really good. Sore, but tired.” 

“Would you want to do it again?” He asked.

“Hell yes! Are you kidding? There’s so much I want to try,” you said.

Tyrone laughed, shaking his head. He pecked you on the lips. He moaned and then pressed in for longer, licking your bottom lip and rolling it between his teeth. 

“Mm, does that mean I can get back in that pretty pussy?” He asked.

You caressed his cheek. Running your thumb across his supple skin. “That’s exactly what that means.”

&&&

Psst, there's more! The Secret Tyrone Files

[leviathans-watching]

hello🥰

can you make a headcanons with satan + solomon and maybe any character you want to add with mc who likes doodling cats/stars or anything during the day or maybe even in class on the (character) hands and they find it cute ??

love you❤️ .

drawing cats on lucifer, satan, solomon, and diavolo

includes: lucifer, satan, solomon, diavolo x/& gn!reader (no pronouns mentioned)

wc: .5k | rated g | m.list

a/n: ugh this was adorable, i hope you enjoy! thanks for requesting and ly2!! my inbox is open to chat, req, or leave feedback so come talk w me

please like, reply, and reblog!!

grabbing a pen from your bag, you take your seatmate’s hand in yours, double-checking to make sure the lecturer isn’t looking.

“what are you doing?” he hisses, but you only flash him a grin, putting the pen to his hand. gently, you draw out a design, taking care to make it neat and cute.

patiently, he waits for you to finish, taking notes with his other hand. you should be taking notes. it’s fine, you’ll get them from him later.

once you’re finally done, you pull back, letting him admire your work.

➳ lucifer looks down at his hand, eyebrows raised. “a cat? really?”

you let out a quiet giggle, leaning your head on his shoulder. “i made it grumpy, just like you!” you take his hand again, admiring your beautiful art, and can’t help but laugh again.

“i should go wash my hands,” he whispers idly, a half-threat. hopefully, he doesn't–you put effort into that cat! you even tried to make the eyebrows match!

unbeknownst to you, however, lucifer secretly quite enjoys the drawing and doesn’t plan to wash it off any time soon.

➳ satan look down at his hand, breaking into a rare smile. “a cat? oh, mc, you know me so well.”

“of course i do,” you return, and he chuckles quietly.

“here, give me the pen.” you do as he says, and he takes your hand. “i’m going to draw a cat to match.”

he’s so serious and focused, which is honest perfect, because it gives you a moment to stare at his face, unabashed. after a few moments, he pulls back, revealing his masterpiece. it’s honestly not that well done, but you’ll cherish it all the same.

➳ solomon squints down at his hand. “what in the world is that supposed to be?”

“a cat!” you hiss, scowling. “isn’t it obvious?”

“a cat?” he turns his hand this way and that, trying to see a cat in the squiggle of lines you’d drawn. “no, not at all.”

“you suck,” you inform him, and he laughs.

“here, give me the pen. i’ll show you how a real cat is drawn!” the mess he leaves on your hand isn’t any better than your attempts, something you continue to rib him over for the next few days.

➳ diavolo preens as he examines the drawing. “i like the hearts around its head,” he whispers. “what’s its name?”

“harold,” you whisper, and his shoulders shake with suppressed laughter. it wouldn’t do for the lord of the devildom to be caught slacking off in class.

“the name suits him,” diavolo praises, and you smile, satisfied. “perhaps i should get this tattooed here. i’ll even draw you one to match”

“i wouldn’t go that far,” you say quickly, not wanting him to do something stupid, “but i don’t hate the idea of matching tattoos.”

leviathans-watching's works - please do not copy, repost, or claim as your own

[lost-in-lamentation]

marred.

a/n: and for my birthday, i would like to give lucifer a hug.

content: lucifer is overworked (shocker). takes place in original timeline.

warnings: nothing? i think?

comfort. lucifer × gen!reader (you/your).

it's late by the time you return home, the clock ticking far past midnight as you walk by it in the hallway. your steps are muffled by the carpet beneath you. the only sound that can be considered loud from you is the way the plastic bag in your hand crinkles with each step. you head towards the dining room, placing the bag on the table just as you hear a loud thud coming from above. you wonder if it's leviathan doing another game marathon, belphegor falling out of his bed, or satan having a late night tantrum. with a sigh, you turn heel and head back to your room, putting the rest of your belongings down before venturing out to see if you need to scold a certain brother. 

you poke your head into levi's room first, but write him off the list when you see him in his bathtub tapping away at his handheld console. you're about to check the twins next when something else catches your eye. it's not uncommon for lucifer to be working this late into the night, but his usual habits always have the lights dimmed. 

quietly, you rap on his door a few times, rocking back and forth on your heels until it clicks open. 

clearing your throat, you step inside and shut the door behind you. "i'm home," you say softly, crossing the room to where lucifer sits on the couch. "you're not working?" 

uncharacteristically, lucifer shakes his head no, briefly meeting your gaze before gesturing for you to sit next to him. "it… felt like a nice night to sit and watch the fire." 

"yeah?" you slot yourself next to him, shoulders brushing as you settle in. lucifer doesn't say anything more, but you're quick to notice his ungloved hands and the way his knuckles are white from clenching them so hard. without a word, you flip your own hand to have your palm facing up, keeping your eyes trained on the fire. you stay that way for a while, the crackling of the embers taking up the rest of your attention. it's only when you feel lucifer tentatively place his hand in yours that you look back at him. a gentle smile tugs at the corners of your lips before you turn to the fire again. 

lucifer opens his mouth to say something, but decides against it. instead, he pulls your entwined hands up, pressing them to his forehead for a few seconds. in your grasp, you feel his hands trembling, and his breath is shaky against your skin. you face him again, this time with concern carved into your expression.

"tell me what's going on," you whisper, pulling your hands down so you can see lucifer's face. your heart sinks at the sight; the defeat marring his face is so blatant when it's just the two of you. 

his eyes barely meets yours. "i…" he pauses, and you worry that he is looking for a way out. but lucifer sighs after a second, his head hanging low. "i am tired." 

your chest constricts at the sight of lucifer being so vulnerable. slowly, you untangle your hand from his, wrapping your arm around his shoulder and tugging him down so his head lands in your lap. his eyes are red, and it's not the usual ruby coloured gaze you've grown accustomed to seeing. lucifer's eyes glow red with turbulent emotions, sadness and defeat overtaking all. "you've done well."

lucifer can feel the tenderness as you cup his cheeks, your care and compassion so stark that he feels like the dam will break. but you smile at him, and lucifer can't stop the warmth that spreads from your hands all the way into his own heart. pride be dammed when he is with you; nothing feels better to lucifer than when he finally feels understood. 

a/n: idk i had a pretty bad week actually but now i'm 22 and what better way to celebrate than putting lucifer through emotional hell, am i right?

reblogs are really appreciated (´ω｀) ♡

[inknopewetrust]

𝐔𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐮𝐞𝐝 [𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮]

summary: grief puts those in its grasp in precarious positions: those of loyalty, and those of spite and those with love, well, they flounder amongst the hurt. [WC: 1.8k]

pairing: stewy hosseini x fem!roy!reader

warnings: angst, exes to lovers (potentially!), language, vignette on grief and love lost.

quick links: masterlist [a/n: possibly part I of a small vignette series of stewy and fem!roy reader. thoughts, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated!)

Entombed in marble, the note reverberated throughout the church in poetry. 

The scaffolding of grief had been built. Sitting in rows for as far as the eye could see, a family rested scorched amidst the sorrow. 

You felt like a stranger in the room. 

The suddenness of pain revels in the commonality it inflicts. A sweeping, precipitous moment of immense breadth swallowing the weak for what they are: people. 

And the people inside that room—ornately defined by cultures and individuals who gave so much to a city where one human can overtake and limit their worth— were flooded by an insurmountable loss that could only be explained by the static of a draining phone and the choppy voice of your sister’s estranged husband. 

Those two words, simple, rolling off his tongue with difficulty and a wish that the call would drop and everything would go back to the way it was before he walked away. 

“He’s gone.” 

The tone in his voice had remained buried in the darkest parts of your mind. You felt as though you could hear it clearly as the small conversations of visitation began to settle and you couldn’t bear to look at the center of the alter. 

The sudden ringing in your ears suffused every sense you were able to muster in that moment. 

But your ears rung. Manicured hands began to shake and tempted you to stand and run away because grief worked in silly circles. The disbelief that something could occur so quickly, the naivety of realizing that the world was suddenly different than the one that existed before, and the pain of faltering to the idea that even if he was Satan, he was still your father and grief felt indebted to it. 

It was lonely, grief. 

Even while hundreds of people spoke of their condolences, loneliness of death weaved itself into your bones and pulled you underneath the surface where bubbles of hope had long ceased. Everyone from Gerri to Colin to Frank to Karl, each face with the same look staring into your eyes with a pity you asked not for but knew belonged in your heart all the same meant little when the world felt tipped on its axis. 

And for the cruelty of the man, it was difficult to understand.

Kendall was holding his life together by a thin and shallow thread and remained so as the priest wallowed on about the supposed amazing man Logan Roy was. 

But even with an estranged family, Kendall was never as lonely as he appeared to be. He wasn’t like you. You, left alone to fiddle with your hands as Shiv sat without Tom and Roman sat beside Conner and Willa. The paper between your fingers became crinkled—the only partner you had in a moment like this. 

And how you wished it wasn’t the case. You wished you weren’t some lonely pretender who sat sorrowful at a wretched man’s funeral but there you were... strangely obliterated by the idea that life can turn in an instant and the Aeneas of an institution can vanish without so much as a goodbye.

It felt comical and tragic at the same time—the poets of civilizations past would be aching to tell a story such as that. 

And Kendall had reiterated such on that fateful day on the yacht because those who would write biographies were watching. Those who would ultimately shake their heads and scoff at the compounding confusion of losing a belligerent soul and making it appear as though a Saint had passed. 

Whatever was to be done in the moments following the death of the patriarch, history would be watching. As much as you hated the idea of history looming over the raincloud high above you, he was right. The institution built by Logan Roy did not need to be littered with the historical fact of the middle, forgotten child losing their sanity at his funeral due to loneliness that had, in truth, nothing to do with Logan dying but the unity death brought with it. 

However, you could argue, Logan was the crux of that loneliness. He had fostered it, just as well as your mother had when she left the four of you to fend for yourself against the vultures. Now Conner, Kendall, Roman, and Shiv all bask in that same attitude as if was normal to be a carbon copy of the most antithetical person to ever exist. 

You hated that being in the room; sharing the same last name, and sitting beside them meant you were likely no different. 

And that is why you could never have what the world granted everyone else: happiness. 

Loneliness was the path of salvation for those with the last name of Roy. Happiness, or love, whichever one truly came from the actions that preceded it had become foreign for decades of the power hungry struggle of men and women before you. 

It radiated throughout the room like Godzilla’s goddamn rays when the priest had ushered his final prayers and you couldn’t even put your hands together and bow. Beside Kendall, Shiv had extended her palm to rest on top of his as they prayed like the good servants of God they were, and you wished someone had sat beside you and done the same even for split second. Conner had Willa, Shiv still had Tom in the small capacity that she did, and Roman was so beside himself with romance that even he couldn’t admit that he needed someone too. 

How you ached for a hand to grace yours; how you yearned for someone to place an enduring kiss on your temple and say that they loved you even if you couldn’t believe the truth behind it. 

So the loneliness of that vacancy simmers. 

The cynical heart hears the organs begin to play and your siblings rose from their seats as it was time to pretend that you enjoyed the service and you wanted the sympathy of others as they shook your hand and gave you hugs outside of the church. But you didn’t want those hugs. You didn’t want those hands. 

You wanted one hug. You wanted one pair of hands. You wanted one sympathetic moment and one sympathetic kiss and pretend, for one simple moment, that nothing had changed. 

Dad wasn’t dead. Waystar wasn’t floundering in a shallow grave and the maggots of sheep herding to its demise wasn’t going to come next. Sorrow didn’t exist. You weren’t alone—hadn’t been alone. 

Across the aisle, donning a black overcoat and three-piece-suit, the simple moment waited. There was little that could have been done feeling maimed by actions unseen but it had been five months of radio silence between you both. One car ride home and the whole thing imploded like a fucking rocket ship.  

The congregation stood in solemn stature as the row of family filed out first. Kendall, followed by his small brood, then you. 

You took one last look at the coffin that held the once formidable Logan Roy. 

Flowers resting on the top, the flag of Scotland draped over it. 

For a man so powerful, the weakness of death was hard to ignore. Wilting away in a box for the rest of eternity while the world continued to spin without him. And yet, there in that room and within your own heart and mind, Logan Roy was twisting a footprint of pain deeper than it had before. 

Dad died without anyone truly loving him.

You did not want to die like your dad. 

Stewy Hosseini was a lifeline. He was a chameleon of couture culture and finessed fashion but within the idealized image of an investor, there was a man who cared for the people who couldn’t say the word ‘love’ or ask for help when they needed it. 

Stewy Hosseini was a good man wrapped up in a world that had people one step from going over the ledge but always looked for a solution to solve it. He was a good friend of Kendall even if the stubborn prick never noticed it when it mattered. He was a charming bastard who did lines in public restrooms and put his feet on conference tables during important meetings. 

He was the only one to say what he meant without ever getting burned by it but left you shriveling to ash in the corner. 

Stewy Hosseini was that solitary hope. 

As you looked away from your father's casket, you were frightened by the realization that what was once an outlet for relief had become something to depend on. That five months of absent feelings created a void of indescribable pain that found an outlet in your father’s demise. 

You weren’t lonely, no. You were filled with a love that shouldn’t exist with someone who shouldn’t have looked at you the way he did and the yearning for comfort only exacerbated the want. 

Maybe he should have taken the deal on Paxos. Maybe he should have said yes, that the package that was tied with a perfect little string matched the black little box that sat in the drawer beside the bed but he didn't.

As you turned toward the aisle to follow the precession, you couldn’t even get your eyes to cast forward because he was right there. Across the way and a row down beside Sandy in his wheelchair and Sandi in her Hillary Clinton pantsuit. 

You clutched the program tightly in your hand. Lip trembling, you watched your feet take you away and there was a second in time where you were alone before another hand inched its way into your palm and around your hand. 

Some people would never know the absence of love. 

They would be grown into it with a kind mother and good family that loved her because they were an innocent child who was not afraid of being the hand that met a lonesome one in the middle of a grand church.

Shiv’s hand crept into yours as the memories of Ewan’s harshness, Kendall’s stoniness, and her fierceness waddled to the background.

Her eyes met yours and for a minute of the day, you felt seen. 

And down the aisle, Stewy wished it was his hand comforting your own. 

One where he could trace a finger over yours and feel the ring that was supposed to sit there. He could hear the Phantom in that cathedral now:

'You've been asking me for three fuckin' years son so yeah, I'll even throw in my goddamn blessing if that makes you so fucking happy.'

Maybe he should have said yes and everything would be different.

But a Roy would always swallow their pride in moments of need and Stewy Hosseini would always chase the money. There were moments before: a bliss, a fight, a phone call. And then there were moments after: a funeral, a short escape, and a board meeting. But the seconds that lingered in between those events were always shroud in the belief in the former:

A Roy was a Roy, and a Roy never floundered until it was too late.

comments, thoughts, and reblogs are always appreciated. thank you for taking the time to read my lil 'ol fic.

Tagged: @mini-ranger @prettybirdi

[mlmxreader]

Centipedes | platonic!Keegan P Russ x m!reader

@satan-incarnate-666 asked: "I'll fix you something" keegan russ & brother!reader pls!!!

summary: Keegan doesn't get much family time, but when he does, he's glad of it.

tws: horror film references, swearing

support your fanfic writers by reblogging what you read & enjoy

Keegan never told anyone about you, the baby brother he didn't share an ounce of blood with but who he loved and wanted to protect more than anyone in the world; he did his best to keep you a secret from everyone, fearing for the safety of what little family he had, fearing that you would end up dead, or worse, tortured and brainwashed.

But, when he could spare the time, Keegan always made it a point to come and see you when he was sure that it was safe; he was always shocked to see that you were getting older, getting on with your life. Sometimes he wished that time didn't have to slip by so quickly, he wished you would always be the baby brother he remembered being so small; your head used to fit right in the palm of his hands, and now he could hardly even look you in the eye.

Why did you have to be so tall? Why did you have to grow up?

Sure, there was no doubt that Keegan was proud of the man you had become, but that didn't stop him from, admittedly, getting rather emotional every time he saw you; you were so big and so strong now, he could hardly believe that you used to beg him to play with you and your little action figures.

He still remembered when you used to cry at night when the lights were all off, and he had to sleep next to you so you would eventually sleep; he still remembered your first day of school and how you cried and begged him not to go, not to leave you.

Keegan was proud, as any older brother would be, but just like any other older brother in the world, he still worried about you and wanted to protect you; he still wanted to be there for you whenever he could. You would always be his baby brother, after all.

So, when he let himself into your home in the dead of night, using the spare key he knew you kept under the slab of the second step, he knew exactly what to do from the second that he silently left his boots by the door; he was careful, as quiet as he could bring himself to be, and he didn't even dare to turn the lights on

Keegan might have been a responsible military man these days, but that didn't mean he couldn't have a little fun.

When he heard the screams from the television, there wasn't a doubt in his mind that his little plan would work as he neared the bedroom, hoping that you wouldn't see him in his all black outfit and that you wouldn't hear his quiet footsteps either.

He was right next to the bed, crouched down as he watched you watch the television, when he slowly extended his hand, and grabbed your leg, pulling it harshly as you let out a yelp and tried to kick him; laughing, Keegan stood up as he grinned, tilting his head to the side.

"Surprise, Sidney!"

You kicked him. "Dick!"

Unable to stop giggling, Keegan grinned as he jumped on the bed next to you, making himself as home amongst your blankets and pillows as he huffed and folded his arms across his chest, taking a look at the television and nodding in approval. "The Human Centipede."

You shoved him, forcing him to the edge of the bed and stealing your blankets back as you glared at him. "Blanket stealing cunt."

He just smiled, which only infuriated you more, especially when he poked his tongue out at you; you wanted to hit him, but you knew that you couldn't, even if only because you were too comfortable to move. So you huffed, shaking your head and keeping your eye on the television; you didn't trust Keegan not to steal all of your food, you knew that you would need to keep an eye on him if you went downstairs to get supper.

But... you were glad to see him. Even if you did hate him, Keegan was still your brother, and his infrequent and surprise visits always did make your day; even if he was a dick, and you didn't trust him anywhere near your food, you still loved him, and you were glad to know that he was safe. It was a shame, really, that his work with the Ghosts meant that you could hardly ever contact him; you missed the times when you could call him and talk for hours.

The more time he spent with them, though, the quieter he got, and you didn't want to count your blessings when it came to that; the quieter he was, the less annoying he could be.

Eventually, he moved over and closer to you, kicking off his socks and letting them rot at the edge of the bed as he pressed his feet against your legs, making you howl in disgust as you pushed him away and glared at him.

"Stop it!"

"I'm not doing anything."

"You're putting your fucking manky cold feet on me," you huffed in protest, pushing him again in hopes that he would fall off of the bed. "Vile little man."

"I'm cold."

"Then go jump into a burning building," you told him harshly. "You'll soon warm up."

"I'm hungry."

"I'll fix you something on one condition."

"What?"

"You get the fuck out of my bed," you hissed. "And take your fucking cold feet with you."

"Dad says, when I wear this uniform, you treat me like a man of the law," Keegan grumbled.

"You're not even wearing uniform, dumbass," you bit back, rolling your eyes before you dared to cuddle up to him. "Why are you so fucking cold?"

"Why are you so mean?"

"Shut up and watch the film," you huffed as you pulled on the blanket again, trying to keep as much of it as you could. "There's only an hour left anyway."

"What about the second and third installments?"

"Shut up and I'll think about letting you stay and watch 'em."

Keegan smiled to himself, reminded of a much simpler time; when he was in charge of babysitting you and he would put those films on and watch them with you until it was time for bed. He was reminded of all the times he told his own baby brother that, of course he would protect him from the big bad boogeymen or the masked killer running around.

He missed having his family.

[youwouldntlietopapa]

OooOoooooOOoo I saw your reblog the kiss prompts thing?? I feel like Copia would 100% say the "I think this is the part where you kiss me" prompt lmaooo

I love his (s)ass

Okay, I hope you'll forgive me for changing it up just a little. I had an idea I couldn't shake and it fit so well. Includes: Mutual pining, separated, sexting, masturbation +18 only, MDNI

______________________________________________________________

It was late and Copia knew it when he sent the first text. Still, you were almost always awake as late as he was. Even when you were apart. Either way, tonight he needed to talk enough to try.

He'd spent several hours trying to find something to distract him from thinking of you, in his bed, waiting for him. Wearing one of his shirts, with that coy smile. Even that thought was enough to get him going again. Hellfire, he needed this tour to be over.

At least the Dark Lord was feeling merciful. His text was answered almost immediately.

All it will take is one word, he thinks. One word and he will be on his way back. Damn the consequences. Any punishment they could offer would be worth it just to have you in his arms.

What he wants when he gets home is nearly identical to what he wants right now. To strip off any clothing that comes between the two of you and then to drag you to bed. To fuck you until both of you are too exhausted to move. And then to sleep the peaceful, perfect sleep he only finds with you in his arms.

He can feel the silk of the red dress in his hands, pressed against his skin. He can smell your perfume lingering in the air. Copia strains against his sweatpants and he palms himself through the fabric.

He groans shamelessly in the quiet hotel room. A dark spot of precum already showing on the front of his trousers. It's not as good as having you, of having you touch him, but desperate times...

Copia leaves his phone on the bed and gets up with a growl. Whoever is interrupting your conversation had better have a good reason. Like the building being on fire. Or Satan himself asking for you personally at the front desk. He curses under his breath the entire way from the bed to the door, swearing a solemn oath that if it's one of the Ghouls having a laugh, he'll send them back to the pit personally.

Another round of rather frantic sounding knocks only deepens his scowl. "I'm coming!" He barks. At least, he would be, if this stronzo hadn't interrupted.

The door opens just enough for him to look out, glaring, ready to demand an explanation. Instead, he freezes. His mouth hanging open in stunned silence. And the door slowly swings open further.

In the hallway, in the red dress you know he loves, you wait with your phone. Stepping closer with a cheeky smile. Even as your heart thunders in your ears and the urge to throw yourself at him is nearly overwhelming.

"I heard some stronzo was trying to knock your door down. I came to tell them to fuck off."

Copia's mouth opens and closes a few times, staring at you like he's seen a ghost. "H-how???"

"I caught the earliest flight I could. If I had to spend one more day without you, I was going to lose my mind." You take another step closer, pressing up against him. Licking your lips and running your hands over his chest. "Now... I think this is the part where you kiss me."

[shortfictionweeklychallenge]

Short Fiction Weekly Challenge

Time for a new prompt from the Short Fiction Weekly Challenge, tumblr edition.  Let it spark your imagination.  Any character, any fandom, any original world.   Reblogs welcome!

Post your story to your blog and send the link to Short Fiction Weekly Challenge!  We’ll send the link out to all our followers to enjoy.

This week’s SFWC prompt:

Week of June 7, 2024

Live to Tell: Those close calls make for great stories, assuming your character lives to tell about it. That’s not always obvious in the moment. And might not be intentional. What harrowing experience has your character lived to tell about? Were they supposed to survive to spread the word? Is their survival as much of a surprise to their enemies? Is “live to tell” more metaphorical, meaning a difficult time in their lives but not not literally life or death? They lived, so tell about it.

Feel free to continue submitting stories for any prompt.  A masterpiece missed the deadline?  Don’t let it gather electronic dust.  Submit it anyway and Short Fiction Weekly Challenge will publish it.  

This week’s featured previous prompts are: 

Trusty Steed: The Lone Ranger had Silver, Han Solo had the Millennium Falcon, does your character have a Trusty Steed? A means of transport that's a character in itself? One with which your character shares a special bond? Loyal to a fault, remarkably clever, capable of incredible feats of bravery? Requires unending maintenance, refuses to perform on command, would sell your character to satan for a corn chip given half a chance?  A trusting relationship based on mutual respect, or something more passive-aggressive and hostile? Write about your character's trusty steed--or someone else's. 

It's All Downhill From Here! The situation is handled, crisis solved or averted, nothing left but the cleanup and a smooth glide to the end. On the other hand, maybe it's more like a downhill slide into a swamp or off a cliff. It's fun to shake up reader--and character--expectations. Throw up some roadblocks or dig some potholes in their easy ride. Make that smooth landing less so. Complete disaster optional.

Got an idea for a prompt?  Submit it here.

[rainiishowers]

I posted 1,087 times in 2022

That's 1,085 more posts than 2021!

564 posts created (52%)

523 posts reblogged (48%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@eternallydaydreaming2015

@crazyyanderefangirlfan

@reshi-galaxy

@mammoneythegreat

@asmo-ds

I tagged 992 of my posts in 2022

Only 9% of my posts had no tags

#omswd - 518 posts

#reblogs - 384 posts

#rainiianswers - 272 posts

#om! mc - 190 posts

#obey me shall we date - 181 posts

#om! mammon - 144 posts

#om! lucifer - 108 posts

#om! brothers - 107 posts

#anon asks - 96 posts

#om! asmodeus - 91 posts

Longest Tag: 114 characters

#lucifer is only slightly mad mc would declare such a thing since he thinks only he should have a month for him lol

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

How would the brothers react to someone else saving MC from another demon? Maybe it would be their friend from RAD or just a passer by who saw MC nearly get attacked and decided to step it.

Then after they finish fighting, they turn to MC and ask if they need to go to the hospital or want aku-donalds on the way since "Well, some humans crave hamburgers after an injury... I think..."

Lucifer

When he felt your fear through the pact, he immediately set off to save you

He felt the fear dissipate, which worried him more

That worry turned into confusion as he saw you casually talking to a demon, with another demon passed out on the floor, but clearly still alive.

You see Lucifer approaching and you wave at him.

"Hey Luci!"

The demon tensed up and turns to see Lucifer, having a risen eyebrow as he stares holes into them

"L-Lord Lucifer! I swear I wasn't hurting MC!"

The eldest looks at you, to which you nod.

"Relax. I'm not going harm you."

"W-Wha-"

"You saved my.. reckless partner, you can go."

The person nods and quickly scurries off.

Lucifer proceeds to pick you up and set the demon who almost attacked you ablaze, carrying you home while blocking your view so you don’t see the demon being burned alive

Mammon

It didn’t take him long to get where you were

It took a minute to process the situation but immediately interjects between you and the demon, getting right up to their face

“Shoo, leave us alone”

You huff and pull him away.

“Mammon, don’t be like that! They saved me from being attacked”

He looks at the demon passed out and looks back at the demon who saved you

He tsks before looking away.

He was suppose to be your guardian..

What if this nice demon wasn’t there? What if you got hurt or worse..?

You noticed Mammon shaking lightly and you thank the kind demon before walking off with Mams in tow.

“Hey.. Mams, you alright?”

He simply pulls you into a hug and held you tightly

He didn’t want to lose you again.. He didn’t want to see you in pain again..

See the full post

208 notes - Posted June 30, 2022

#4

I have woke up today and choose angst. May I please ask for headcanons for the demon brothers reacting to MC saying this

Mc: You guys are the worst brothers I've ever seen. I don't know how Mammon puts up with all of you but I feel sorry, he should have never fallen with you guys and just stayed an angel. He would have a better life in Celestia without any of you, your all hypocrites and at least he never tried to kill me. He should have left you all to perish in the war

*Rubs hands together like an evil villain* Hehehe Oh I'm so glad you came to me

---

Short Story:

All week.

All week, MC has been hearing is constant insults directed at Mammon, and they were pissed. The fact that Mammon had come to them for comfort multiple times in a day this week just goes to show how much they have been treating Mammon like he was nothing but trash.

It was at dinner time that MC finally had enough. MC were hearing nothing but cruel jokes and insults, seeing Mammon try to defend himself every time, but quickly be shut up by Levi, Satan or Lucifer.

“You’re such a scum! I must’ve done something horrible to deserve a brother like you!”

“Silence!”

The pact command was enough to shut everyone up, as they all looked surprised and bewildered. Lucifer gave MC a glare, one they simply ignore. They go to take Mammon to his room. Before they left, a look of anger and pity wash over their face, showing just how disappointed they were in the brothers.

“You guys are the worst brothers I've ever seen. I don't know how Mammon puts up with all of you but I feel sorry,” They spat. “He should have never fallen with you guys and just stayed an angel.” Ouch.. That got some reactions, even from Mammon himself.

“He would have a better life in the Celestial Realm without any of you, you are all hypocrites and at least he never tried to kill me. He should have left you all to perish in the war.”

With that last icy line, MC dissolves the pact command and leads Mammon to his room, leaving everyone in shock of what just happened.

Reactions:

Lucifer

He was beyond shocked

Wasn’t sure whether to punish MC or just apologize

Maybe apologizing was best

But he certainly wasn’t able to do it right now

..Would Mammon really ended up better in the Celestial Realm?

Perhaps he would, but it was his decision to follow Lucifer..

Mammon had himself to blame for all the things he’s done.. right?

He was just trying to process everything they said as he gets up and walks to his office, dismissing everyone from dinner.

The prideful part of himself blamed Mammon, not claiming the responsibility of fucking him up.

But a small part of him did feel bad..

The fact they reminded him of the multiple murder attempts..

He knew that choosing Mammon as their protector was the best choice.

“Ugh.. What to do..?”

Mammon

See the full post

226 notes - Posted July 30, 2022

#3

Diavolo watching the news: Someone tried to fight a squid at the aquarium today! Mammon: *walks in covered with ink* Well, maybe the squid was being a dick.

237 notes - Posted May 25, 2022

#2

May I please ask headcanons for the demon bros reacting to Mammon giving them a a paper and saying this:

"I'll be moving out soon I got permission form Lord Diavolo and also some papers for you all to not come near or talk to me unless it's an important event. In short, we're no longer family, this good for you you guys since this is what you all wanted for so long."

A/N: Sorry if it’s not on par with some of my other Mammon angst, I hope you enjoy it regardless 😅Warnings: Anxiety/panic attack(?), ooc in some aspects ---

Short Story

It was dinner time, and everyone except Mammon was at the table. Everyone was wondering where he could be, his credit card was taken and the brothers thought he had no money as of now. Beel frowns and stares at Mammon's empty seat. Before he could say anything, the door opens and in came Mammon, with a stack of paper. "Mammon where were you?" Lucifer stood up. "At the castle." Mammon says dryly, giving him the papers. "I'll be moving out soon. I got permission form Lord Diavolo and also some papers for you all to not come near or talk to me unless it's an important event. In short, we're no longer family, this is good for you guys since this is what you all wanted for so long."

Reactions

Lucifer

Lucifer was impatiently tapping his foot as he waited for the second eldest to come home

Usually, he wouldn’t care as much, but Mammon has been going out lot lately and he couldn’t help but worry

When Mams does return, he tells Lucifer he was at the castle while handing him the documents

What Mammon said and what the papers read..

It was restraining orders and a few other important papers

He.. He was going to lose another sibling.. Just like that..

Lucifer should've expected this, he pushed Mammon too hard, he abused Mammon so much, he wasn't being a brother..

He could only watch as Mammon goes to his room, supposedly to pack his stuff up

As much as he wanted to convince Mammon to stay, he knew any attempt would end up being useless

He tensed and shook, spitefully gripping the papers he has been given

Lucifer failed as a brother..

Leviathan

Mammon being gone was normal for him

Maybe he has been dealing with witches for the past few days

The nervous looks his brothers were giving made him worry though

Everything is fine, Mammon is fine.. Right?

Levi perks up the minute Mammon came back

But what he said made him freeze with shock

Moving out..? Mammon was moving out?

And they are no longer family?!

After Mammon left, he shrunk in on himself

His vision blurred and his breathing became heavy

Levi was quick to excuse himself and go back to his room, grab a weighted blanket and just hope all of this is a bad nightmare..

See the full post

249 notes - Posted October 12, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Crows Habits | MC x Mammon?? |

A/N: I haven't been able to write a lot and overall I've just been really tired so have this because I was actually motivated today It's not so much "MC x Mammon" as I would of liked but oh well -------

You were in the human world, walking through the park with a bag of breadcrumbs as usual, hoping to find the crows that you usually fed when up here, surely enough they were on trees near the private bench area you chose to sit at. When you began dropping the breadcrumbs for the near crows, you're reminded of Mammon, crows were his animal after all, so it's hard not to be reminded of him. You hear a chirp beside you on the left side and looked down, noticing it was a crow with some shiny things, coins, rings and keys.  Picking the items up to investigate them, you remembered reading a book on crows habits and facts and realizing they were very much like the things Mammon did. "Crows understand the concept of gifts" A small smile snuck itself onto your lips, must be gifts for feeding them, even if you don't get the chance everyday since you're usually up in the Devildom. Like this crow, Mammon often gives you gifts even if you don't give something first, he's sometimes proud of the gift and other times he would just completely deny it while looking away. After admiring the things the crows gave you and giving a small thank you, you noticed there were a bunch of crows flocking near you to be fed, which you happily did as you remembered another crow fact that you read. "Crows remember who has been kind to them and tells other crows about the nice humans." Similar to Mammon, he often gets a chance to brag about what a nice human you are, even to the other brothers or exchange students. Of course that lead to other demons wanting to get to know you, either to take advantage of you or just genuinely get to know you, it became obvious after a while. You noticed after a while that different crows had different accents and dialect as you heard them cawing and making other sounds to communicate with other crows, once again reminding you of that accent Mammon has. "Feedin' crows, are ya?" You turn to look behind you and saw the shaggy white haired guy himself.  "What are you doing here?" "Somethin' through the pact told me ya were thinkin' about me" "Yes, I was, Mams" You kiss his cheek as you continue feeding the murder of crows, finding it a bit cute how much he flushed up from that unexpected kiss on the cheek. "Well uhm-" He clears his throat. "...I was thinkin' about you too.." He quietly admits. "Aww, really?" "Y-Yea.." "Well, do you want to help me feed the crows before you go back" "Sure, got nothin' better to do."

286 notes - Posted April 21, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[rose-of-the-valley]

I posted 2,459 times in 2022

That's 957 more posts than 2021!

235 posts created (10%)

2,224 posts reblogged (90%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@demonfamilytherapist

@eternallydaydreaming2015

@levi4thans

@radarchives

@iwannawritelots

I tagged 1,258 of my posts in 2022

Only 49% of my posts had no tags

#rose speaks - 228 posts

#twst - 84 posts

#barbatos - 68 posts

#rose vibes - 47 posts

#satan - 37 posts

#lucifer - 32 posts

#belphie - 32 posts

#levi - 28 posts

#mammon - 27 posts

#asmo - 26 posts

Longest Tag: 140 characters

#me deciding that rose and satan are actually platonic soulmates instead of whatever weird will they wont they situation i'd put them in befo

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

i sit in a meeting with the obey me writers and slide something across the table to them

it's $5 paper-clipped to a post-it note that reads "make them say 'thank the lord' instead of 'thank diavolo'"

28 notes - Posted August 25, 2022

#4

this should get me through the next 5 days until the full song comes out

56 notes - Posted February 19, 2022

#3

saw this on twitter today

65 notes - Posted September 6, 2022

#2

Pairing: barbatos x gn!reader/mc (pre-relationship, implied romantic) Genre: fluff, sfw Warnings: n/a Word Count: ~650 Notes: i wrote this in the one hour it took my bread to rise so it is very themed around watching too many baking vids at 3am

When Barbatos came knocking at Purgatory Hall’s door at midnight, he wasn’t expecting you to answer. Likewise, you didn’t expect to see him outside the castle at such a late hour. You blinked at him a few times, both in surprise and to try and shake off some of the grogginess that came with being startled awake.

“Oh uh, hi Barbatos. What brings you here?”

“I might ask the same of you - why are you not at the House of Lamentation?”

Before you could reply, a gentle whirring noise came from inside. Barbatos glanced past the door and saw Luke fast asleep on the couch, the source of the sound a Deviltube video playing in front of him.

Your eyes followed Barbatos’s gaze as you answered. “Luke was having some nightmares, so Simeon asked if I could come over and help comfort him. We ended up watching some cooking ASMR videos.” You smiled sheepishly. “I guess we both fell asleep to them.”

“Well then, it appears we are here for the same reason. I apologize for not being here sooner - I had to finish my duties to Lord Diavolo first. May I offer my assistance at this point in time?”

 The two of you carried Luke back to his room and tucked him in, saying your goodbyes to Simeon and turning off the TV on your way out. Before you could say farewell to Barbatos, he requested to walk you home, citing the time of day as a safety concern. After some protesting that he should rest sooner rather than later, you gave in and accepted his escort.

There was a comfortable silence as you walked. A warm breeze blew past every so often, and despite the Devildom’s strange weather, it felt like a perfect summer night. Perhaps it was the lateness of the hour, or maybe the summer vibes, but something emboldened you to reach for Barbatos’s hand. Your pinky brushed against his, the direct contact making you hesitate until you felt his finger curl around yours. The only evidence that he knew what he was doing was the faint blush dusting his cheeks. The two of you walked like that for a while, neither commenting on your now linked pinkies. 

Barbatos was the first to break the silence. “Do you often watch those kinds of videos?”

“You mean the cooking ASMR ones?”

He nodded.

“Sometimes, I guess. They’re really calming, and the recipes are pretty good when I feel like trying them myself.”

A small smile graced Barbatos’s lips. “If you would like, we could try one of the recipes together sometime. Or, if you would prefer to stand by, I would be happy to have you in the kitchen just watching and listening. Your own personal ASMR, if you will.”

You felt your cheeks flush, and not from the summer heat. “Yeah, I... I’d like that. Oh! We could start with the video I was just watching! They were making these really pretty tea macarons and I know how much you like macarons and - ” 

You stopped short as Barbatos’s laughter bubbled up. “I’m sure we will find the time to try as many recipes as you’d like. However, for the moment you should probably head inside.” He gestured at the open door in front of you.

“Oh. Right.” In your excitement you’d failed to notice that you’d unlocked the door the moment you arrived, the motion routine enough to be stamped into your subconscious. If it were possible for your cheeks to get hotter, they probably would’ve. “Thanks for walking me back. I’ll text you later to see when you’re free?”

“I shall look forward to it. Macarons sound delightful.” Barbatos bowed slightly. “Goodnight, MC.”

“Goodnight, Barbatos.”

As you closed the door you heard Beel rooting around in the kitchen. His head poked over the fridge door as you walked past. “Was that Barbatos? Did I hear you talking about macarons?”

You simply smiled as you headed to bed, anticipating dreams as sweet as the desserts you would bake with Barbatos.

136 notes - Posted July 17, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Pairing: trey clover x gn!reader/mc (named Yuu)

Genre: fluff, crack

Warnings: n/a

Word Count: ~900

Notes: for the twst writing collab with @dulcesiabits! Thanks for the prompt! Balancing five people talking at once was difficult but also I love crackfics so it was worth

Summary: You've been acting oddly, and your first year friends are determined to find out why. After much deliberation, they've figured out that you've found a boyfriend, but despite repeated attempts they've yet to find out who it is. Still, they won't give up until they've discovered once and for all: who does the prefect like?

“Why are we keeping our relationship a secret again?” Trey asked during lunch.

“Look at how funny this is though,” you replied, gesturing at the table of your first-year peers. “They have no clue. Last I heard from Cater, they think I’m dating Riddle.”

Trey sighed. The sight of your friends huddled around a table whispering furiously about their suspicions was admittedly somewhat funny, but still... “Doesn’t it bother you?”

“What, that they think I’m dating someone else? Only if other people actually believed them.” Trey gave you a look. “Ok fine,” you relented. “I’ll tell them. But only if they ask.”

Trey sighed again and planted a small kiss on your forehead. “Fine. At least tell them it’s not Riddle before he has their heads for it.”

Meanwhile, at your usual table, the group was hatching up a plan. They’d narrowed it down to someone from Heartslabyul, so it was up to Ace and Deuce to lead. Despite the failure of their previous tries, this time they were certain they’d find out for sure.

See the full post

220 notes - Posted August 9, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[wanderingnork]

I posted 7,703 times in 2022

That's 1,283 more posts than 2021!

256 posts created (3%)

7,447 posts reblogged (97%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@tehriz

@the-lonely-desolation

@laughinglynx

@headspace-hotel

@toffyandsalt

I tagged 2,008 of my posts in 2022

#the horror tag - 548 posts

#nork rants - 120 posts

#it’s not hail satan it’s whale satan - 120 posts

#patron saints of blissful imperfection - 94 posts

#wanderingqueue - 56 posts

#fenders - 55 posts

#nork rants about writing - 41 posts

#it's not hail satan it's whale satan - 31 posts

#bagginshield - 29 posts

#nork writes - 27 posts

Longest Tag: 119 characters

#‘this isn’t my favorite activity and i do it for my partner’s benefit because i love them and it brings them enjoyment’

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

I humbly request Zavala x Caiatl, where he wants to court her very politely and researches what flowers to gift her, but maybe flower gifting isn't a thing in the Cabal culture, so she's surprised and amused and he scrambles to explain and she's like, yes, I'm taking these flowers Right Now. Also welcome to this nice ship (and fandom!) deck :D

(here you go :3)

-

The airlock hisses. Zavala’s ears pop as the pressure rises, just enough that one of the Cabal can be fully comfortable with their pressure suits and armor off. Torobatl was a high-gravity world; though they can go out into lower-pressure places without suits, it takes time to adjust and always carries some discomfort. In their private spaces, the pressure is always high enough to make anyone else uncomfortable.

Zavala doesn’t mind. It’s worth any discomfort to have the honor of being here. He’s not even in his armor: he’s in civilian clothes. Most of the Vanguard have never seen him dressed down like this. And yet he has no issue presenting himself in this manner to someone who was, not that long ago, an enemy.

He glances down at the gift in his hands. A small potted plant, a delicate orchid with five teardrop petals around a ruffle of red and yellow marking the center of the flower. It’s small, but beautiful. It seems right.

The doors open and Zavala steps out into a hot, humid receiving room. He’s glad he chose a loosely knitted sweater for this visit. It’s the perfect environment for an orchid, or so the botanist told him.

It’s not a lavish room by any means. None of the decadence one might expect judging by the stories of the previous ruler of the Cabal. Very nearly Spartan, with bare metal walls and floor and a table and chairs designed for meetings not comfort. Zavala does wonder about what might be beyond the other door—even more private quarters, presumably—but that’s not something he’s ready to ask.

But there are plants. What look like ferns and mushrooms and flowers, a riot of colors foreign to Zavala’s eyes, all carefully attended in pots. These are relics of Torobatl’s swamps and rainforests, survivors of terrible tragedies. It was their presence that inspired the gift Zavala carries now.

Standing at the window looking out at the stars, Empress Caiatl turns to look at him. Her tusks lift slightly, her version of a smile. “Welcome, Commander,” she says warmly.

Zavala inclines his head a little. He smiles back. It feels…natural. “Empress.”

She crosses the room to recline in a Cabal-sized chair, and gestures at one better sized for Zavala. Sensible: since Saladin joined her council, they must have made some accommodations for his height. “Please, sit.”

He does, holding the orchid carefully in his lap. Now the nerves are setting in—but Zavala perseveres. He’s faced far worse than this.

“You look well,” he says, glancing her over. It’s still rare to see Caiatl without her armor. The wounds she sustained in their fight against Calus’ forces have healed perfectly. “Have you…do you feel you’ve recovered?”

“I have not been sleeping well,” she says, matter-of-fact. “Have you?”

“No.” Zavala shakes his head. “Overcoming nightmares seemed easy when we confronted them face to face, but…”

“It’s less easy when alone and unarmored.”

“Yes,” Zavala says.

It’s…nice, to be able to be honest like this. The Young Wolf and Crow endured the same trials, and they are all three bound by Light, but the two of them are young. They haven’t lived with their fears and regrets as long as Zavala has. Besides, even with the deeper ties of Light, even though they’ve both seen him at his worst, Zavala can’t speak to them of this. He’s still their commander.

Caiatl has a long life of fear and regret behind her. She’s his equal in stature. They’re allies. And…

“What is that?” Caiatl asks, breaking the silence.

“An orchid,” Zavala says. “A flower from Earth.”

She leans forward to peer at it. Her golden eyes catch the light even in the pleasantly dim room. “Very beautiful.” She looks at Zavala. “It would fit well in Torobatl’s forests.”

“That’s why I brought it,” Zavala says. He lifts the pot slightly. “Flowers like it grew in Earth’s rainforests. I thought…you might like it.”

Caiatl smiles again. “Is this a human custom?”

“Yes,” Zavala says. “Gifts of flowers are traditional.”

“As a celebration?”

“That and as…as gifts of friendship.”

Friendship.

He can practically hear Safi laughing at his ineptitude.

See the full post

36 notes - Posted August 21, 2022

#4

Right. Found footage is, as we all know, a pretty polarizing style of horror movie. And, even though I adore it, I see why. Pervasive issues of shakycam, bad quality being used to hide sfx issues, audio problems, bad acting due to the affordability of making a found footage movie, and more can really wreck a movie. I’ve seen plenty of found footage that I just plain hated.

When found footage is done well, though, it’s very good. I’d like to offer five of my favorite found footage movies. These don’t just rely on a single, badly-used handheld camera: they get creative with the technology at hand to draw you in and help you to believe you’re watching something real. 

Top Five

The Bay (2012): Mutant isopods from a polluted bay come to exact environmental revenge on a small American town.

The sheer VARIETY of kinds of footage (home video, news tapes, security cameras from a huge number of angles, police dashcam footage) makes this stand out. It’s not just one single tape telling a story of a few people--it’s a compilation of tapes that provide a wide view of a disaster befalling a whole town. YMMV on whether or not that was a good idea (I think it was), but the segment of police dashcam footage is one of the single most unsettling things I’ve ever seen.

The Tunnel: A news crew investigates a possible conspiracy involving disappearances in the sewers under Sydney, Australia, and get more than they bargained for.

The guy playing the news cameraman (Steve Davis) is actually a professional camera operator for documentaries as his day job, so the camera work is actually very exceptional and deliberate instead of handheld shakycam. It avoids a lot of the common pitfalls like disorientation or focusing on the wrong thing, and I didn’t feel like I was going to get motion sick watching it.

Host (2020): During the early days of the COVID-19 pandemic, a group of friends tries to hold a seance over Zoom. It doesn’t go well.

Maximizes the fear factor of all of Zoom’s constraints, from face recognition to custom backgrounds to the number of participants in the call. It also has to pack a lot into a limited time, since the length of the movie is the length of a free Zoom call, and it does so very, very well.

Gonjiam: Haunted Asylum: A group of amateur Korean ghost hunters decide to livestream a lock-in at the titular asylum. This also doesn’t go well.

There’s a really novel use of techniques like GoPro cameras to bring you up close and personal with the ghosts. I almost had to take off my headphones during one scene. It also adds the unique conceit that everything is being livestreamed, which creates a layer of complication for the characters as they try to navigate the terrifying night.

V/H/S 94, “The Subject”: An Indonesian scientist building cyborgs out of unwilling participants discovers what happens when his own creations finally turn on him.

The reveal of exactly how the movie is being filmed is extraordinary. It does a great job at presenting a point of view that I don’t think I’ve ever seen before, and it’s so beautifully well-handled in terms of sound design to foreshadow what’s coming. The horror is also absolutely gut-wrenching and I’m not sure I’ve ever cheered a final girl as loudly as I cheered Subject 99.

A few other movies under the cut!

Honorable Mentions

Cloverfield: A giant monster attacks New York City and a group of friends tries to survive the night.

Although it suffers badly from shakycam and poor audio, and makes the head of the Statue of Liberty bizarrely large, the movie uses the constraints of a home video camera to give us a terrifying look at what it’s like on the ground for civilians during a kaiju attack. That’s something most modern giant monster movies neglect to give, since we see it from the perspective of scientists, soldiers, and heroes--not the innocent, hapless citizens caught in the crossfire.

Alien Abduction: Incident in Lake County (1998): A family Thanksgiving in rural Montana is interrupted by the arrival of Little Grey Men.

The movie effectively manipulates the constraints of a handheld camera’s limited view (keeping the viewer wondering what’s happening behind the character with a camera), which is quite nice. More importantly, though, it pulled a full “War of the Worlds” by presenting itself as a factual documentary (with no disclaimers), resulting in a fair amount of public concern, speculation, and paranoia. This was a year before Blair Witch Project came out with its early-Internet ARG stylings, so that’s even cooler to me.

For other takes on found footage I love, even though they didn’t feel terribly groundbreaking, see:

Grave Encounters: A ghost hunt goes terribly wrong during an overnight lock-in. Anything else would spoil the story.

Troll Hunter (2010): A small group of students follows around a professional troll hunter in Norway to learn about his work and the mythical trolls he hunts.

V/H/S, “Amateur Night”: Three friends attempt to pick up girls at a bar. Filmed with a camera hidden in a pair of glasses, we get a front-row seat to what happens when one of the girls turns out to be more than meets the eye.

V/H/S, “Tuesday the 17th”: Out in the woods, a bizarre entity that appears only as camera glitches hunts and kills a group of friends one by one.

[REC]: Zombies attack inside a Spanish apartment building--and when the doors are locked, the residents are left to fend for themselves to survive.

Noroi: The Curse: This “documentary” tells the story of a paranormal researcher who attempts to uncover the secrets of the supernatural in Japan, only to find himself caught up in the very curse he investigates.

38 notes - Posted August 25, 2022

#3

Just for fun: I’ve watched a lot of horror movies. If you’re interested in getting a personalized recommendation for something to watch, toss an ask my way. I’ll come back with 1 to 3 movies that I think would fit your bill. (Anon is on!)

Be as vague (”zombie movies”) or as specific (”not in English, no bugs, plenty of gore”) as you want. Fair warning: the more specific you are, the fewer movies I’ll be able to recommend. Also, please make sure you note the things you absolutely Do Not Want To See! (”no face trauma,” “no sex,” “no fire,” “no shaky camera,” “no mirrors,” whatever. You don’t have to explain why.)

And...go! :D

84 notes - Posted January 14, 2022

#2

In light of current events, I’m going to (again) pitch using places that are not social media to get your news. Here’s a quick cheat sheet.

If you’re concerned about the skew of coverage, Media Bias Fact Check (at this link) will help you quickly check a given source and learn something about them (history, who funds and owns them, credibility, etc). To just look at truth in political claims, Politifact.com (at this link) examines statements and explains why they are or are not true.

In general, I like the AP (left leaning) to check out new stories, since they tend toward less biased coverage than other outlets if you’re just looking for a flat overview of a situation. They’re also good for staying up to date since they frequently have ongoing coverage. If you want to look beyond America, this is also a good spot. And they have an app. AND they’re free—no paywall.

Even if you’re not subscribed, the New York Times will still send you daily updates of news (headlines and short stories) if you sign up (at this link here). The Daily Skimm is a free morning newsletter (sign up at this link here) that leans left and is thoroughly sourced and fact-checked. Major stories are summarized briefly and it’s full of links to further information if you want it.

Basically…it’s so tempting to let social media be your primary source of information. But it can’t be your only source, because it’s not a trustworthy source. News media has major issues and I won’t ever argue that, but when it comes to these huge issues, look beyond the soundbites and into deeper information.

140 notes - Posted June 24, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

For the thousandth time I will repeat: read the fucking news. I promise you, every time a post says “no one is talking about this,” at least one major outlet is. The place that “no one is talking about this” is on social media, where no one reads news because it’s all “too biased” or “not up to date” or “has an agenda.”

Just a thought: maybe if people read the news, they could talk about it on social media, critically consume multiple sources to identify skew and decide their own position, and put pressure on major outlets to cut the bias. But no. It’s easier to guilt trip people on tumblr than it is to do those things.

564 notes - Posted January 10, 2022

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[necromancy-enthusiast]

Guys I'm not saying that the way the world is becoming doesn't make it easier for cults to take advantage of people but like...

It's really funny that the satanic panic is mentioned but this *kiiinda* feels like that, but it's Millenials pointing the finger, so clearly we're in the right. Like where are the sources about Gen Zers getting into cults or spreading that kind of info over tiktok? All of this is hearsay. I'm not on tiktok admittedly but I've been looking online for anything suggesting this and have found nothing.. Unless you count links to this post. And a couple of articles about how Gen Zers are 'still susceptible to misinformation', but that's meant to debunk the idea that they're supposedly immune from it compared to previous generations.

You mention ohhhh the BOOMERS were especially susceptible to cults and those dumb naive kids are susceptible to cults, but you conveniently leave millennial and gen Xers out. Like guys you're literally doing that thing where you shake your fist and go 'kids these days!!!' to them, just like our parents did to us. I'm really just kind of tired of this thinly veiled superiority complex people my age are developing towards kids? I mean that's absolutely nothing new for humans, but it's still deeply tiresome.

My pals one of the most unhelpful things you can do for yourself are thinking you're above everyone else and *you* would never fall for a cult, or at least *you're less likely to* than your mom or your nephew because uh... *Checks notes* uhhhhhh *flips page* uuhhhhh... Because you grew up in a certain generation?... *flips another page* uuhhhhhh...

*drops notebook* Hey like, maybe if you're actually concerned about this and the well-being of The Youths, you could try and talk to some gen Zers yourself, or reach out to them in some way, instead of reblogging sourceless posts on tumblr.com? But not in this way because actually, I remember people talking like this to me as a kid and it pissed me off a lot (and I know it was the same for a lot of us, but I guess some people have forgotten and thought *they* didn't deserve it but nowadays kids do). Everyone loves when older people talk down to them, it's a great way of establishing meaningful communication.

One story I particularly remember are when these bracelets called silly bands were really popular when I was in high school. I never really got into them but I got a few as gifts, and a lot of my classmates did, especially girls. They either traded them, bought them online, or got them at irl stores when those stores realized they were getting popular. They were very, very, very cheap.

But then some weirdos made up the rumor that teenager girls (always teenage girls, never boys of course) were doing sexual favors for adults (grown men, in this case) to get more silly bands like. No. They weren't. They were going to Clair's and getting twenty for one dollar in usd, or trading them with classmates. It's much easier to go to Clair's than to find some creep looking for favors from teenagers anyway. Something similar that I only learned about after the fact was the myth of 'rainbow parties' where teens would supposedly have orgies where girls would wear lipstick of different colors and perform oral sex on different boys so they'd have multiple colors of lipstick on their genitals. That was also total and utter bullshit.

So yeah, I'm *a bit* skeptical when I see this sort of thing come into my sphere.

My hypothesis is that in like 10 years gen z is gonna have a big cult boom the way the boomers did in the 70s

[shakingoffsatan]

You know you're talking with

the devil's advocate when :

their first query to you is

" what are going to do for the 'world'? "

The godly would have asked you another set of questions! 🤣😂

@dontletthemfoolya

Enjoy! 😁

Ras Tafari

@shakingoffsatan

Jah Wonderful * Crazy Bengie FB

God Jah is Greatest

[leviathans-watching]

oh um HI there! I was wondering if you can do a scenario where the MC/Reader wants the Obey me! brothers (separate) to pass their quiz? So in order to motivate, they were studying in the library but then Mc/Reader kiss the corner of their lips and said "If you pass this quiz, I'll kiss you properly ;)" How would they react and what would they do? I also really like how you write the characters and I hope you're doing well :DDD

using kisses as leverage

includes: the brothers x gn!reader (no pronouns mentioned)

wc: .8k | rated t | m.list

a/n: hihi this was so cute i hope you enjoy!! my inbox is open to chat, req, or leave feedback so come talk w me!

please reblog U,,U

➳ lucifer sighs irritably, looking up at you. “i don’t know why you’re forcing me to study,” he says. “i already know i’ll pass this quiz with ease.” “don’t be so sure of yourself,” you chide. “i know you’re confident, but pride goeth before the fall and all that.” lucifer rolls his eyes, even as he flips his book open to the necessary pages. a sudden idea strikes you and you lean over, kissing him, near the mouth but not on it. “look,” you begin, “i’ll kiss you for real if you get a hundred, how’s that?” “you’re playing a dangerous game,” lucifer warns, a glint in his eyes. “get ready to hold up your end of that bargain.”

➳ mammon groans, unable to focus. “this is so dumb,” he whines. “we both already know i’m gonna fail, so what’s the point of me tryin’ to do this?” you watch him for a moment, trying to decide on the best motivator. when in doubt, keep it simple, right? pressing a kiss to his cheek you make sure to linger, making sure he’s left wanting more. “how about this: no real kisses until you pass,” you suggest, and he slants his eyes at you. “you’re evil,” he mutters, even as he picks up his pencil and begins scribbling notes, “absolutely evil!”

➳ levi taps his pencil on the desk. “i’m so unmotivated,” he complains. “usually in games, there’s a reward for doing something you don’t want to do! in real life, however, there's not.” rolling your eyes at his theatrics, you come up with a reward for him. “how about this?” you ask, “no more kissing until you’ve shown me a hundred.” “what?” levi squawks, and you pull him closer, kissing him lightly on the cheek. “yes, i quite like that idea,” you muse. “that’s all you’ll get until then.” levi looks at you for a moment, gauging your seriousness. “fine,” he decides with vigor, “i’ll just give it all i’ve got so i can get the ultimate reward!”

➳ satan knows you have something planned so when you unveil your ultimatum coyly, breath warm on his cheek, he does his best to come off as unimpressed. “now that’s just unneeded,” he says mildly. “we both know i’m going to score perfectly on this, as i do all of my other assignments.” “you never know,” you say with an airy shrug, and he shakes his head exasperatedly, returning to his studies. though his attitude is largely uncaring, it doesn’t escape your notice that he’s just a little more focused, highlighting and annotating with increased intent.

➳ asmo has been whining about studying since you sat down and it’s really starting to get on your nerves. however, he reacts much better to a challenge than outright scolding so you know you need to come up with an effective motivator. “you’ve got this,” you say, giving him a kiss on the corner of his lips, purposefully missing. “i believe in you.” “you missed,” asmo says, intending to pull you back, but you draw away, gutting. “nuh-uh,” you say sweetly, “no more until you’ve successfully passed the test.” he pouts then, trying to appeal to you, but you’re unmoving. “fine!” he says, pointing a finger at you, “i’ll pass this so hard and then you’ll have to pay me back for all of the ones i’ll be missing in the meantime!”

➳ beel listens to the challenge seriously, genuinely, and you have to resist the urge to kiss him right then and there for being so cute. but you’ve got to be strong! one more failed quiz and he’s suspended from the basketball team for a game! “i’ll do my best,” he promises gravely, throwing himself into his studying with renewed vigor. “you better,” you tease, “after all, a lot is on the line.” “it is,” he agrees, and ugh, you really want to kiss him! this was supposed to be a punishment for beel, but why do you feel like you’re losing out?

➳ belphie can’t help but push back at you like the brat he is. “what happens if i don’t pass?” you cross your arms then, unprepared for such a question, and try to make it less obvious you don’t have an answer ready. “i guess you’ll just have to suffer forever,” you finally decide, forcing as much sincerity into your tone as possible. “i mean, i can live without kissing you but can you really say the same?” belphie growls, all too aware he’s being goaded, but you tug at his strings masterfully. “fine, i’ll study!” he announces. “but not because of you, got that? i just really want to do well on this for totally unrelated reasons!”

leviathans-watching's work - please do not copy, repost, or claim as your own