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pedrosyouknowwhat · 1 month ago

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feather light touches

Summary: You mold into the routine.

Warnings: Dead dove do not eat, noncon, kidnapping, dark themes, unprotected p in v, manhandling, sexual slavery, cum, threats, rough sex, spanking, choking, humiliation, physical abuse, talks about rape (Not reader), dark dark topics

Pairings: Dark! Joel Miller x reader, Dark! Javier Peña x reader, Dark! Marcus Acacius x reader, Dark! Oberyn Martell x reader, Dark! Agent Whiskey x reader, Dark! Dieter Bravo x reader, Dark! Frankie Morales x reader

Series Masterlist

A low grumble from your stomach alerted Javier as he pulled a pair of jeans over his softening cock, and you covered yourself in shame.

When was the last time you had eaten?

The morning before, you remembered dropping your cheese croissant as the alarms started blaring.

"You hungry?" He asked, and you didn't meet his gaze, but the way your throat bobbed as you swallowed down.

"Well I know something I'd like to get down that throat." Whiskey chuckled, and you halted when a wet rag rubbed against your leg, cleaning his spend. "Spread your legs, puppy."

You bit your lip, but obeyed; the coolness soothes your sore cunt as Whiskey's eyes wandered through the puffy folds.

Along with your unknown hunger was the unnoticed cold of the air; despite the well warmed rooms, the autumn breeze slipping through the cracked window sent shivers down your spine.

You dueled on the tediousness of it all; almost two days ago your biggest worry was choosing a skirt for a party, hidden away of the dangers and threats of the world, never even acknowledging them. And now, your life was sketched into an old notebook that detailed which day of the week you'd had whose cock jammed into you.

You sniffled at the thought, your thighs closing as Whiskey finished his job. A pink fabric was jutted into your eyesight, attached to Javier's stretched out arm. His eyes lightened as you took the shirt, an intrigued smile in his face.

You fidgeted with the fabric, pale pink and striped, unknowing of what to do with it; but Javier gave you a slight nod, go on, put it on, and you slipped it over your shoulders. He tutted, and you furrowed your brows in confusion before understanding, button it up.

The shirt grazed your upper thighs, an inch of modesty trusted upon you, as you followed him quietly back into the kitchen. The smell of sizzling bacon invaded your nose, mouth watering at the sight of a plate on the counter. One of the men- Dieter- quickly seized it, crunching the crispy piece on his mouth.

His eyes caught your hungry ones, and he dramatically moaned at the taste. Uneasy, you pressed yourself against the cool marble of the counter, and adverted your eyes into the swirled design beneath you.

The bustling around the kitchen was limited to Javier, cooking you breakfast and Whiskey pouring a cup of coffee; it was already crowded when Dieter pushed himself right behind you. You shifted, looking at him over your shoulder.

"Wanna try?" He asked, still munching at the piece; you wanted to nod, but his dark eyes glinted with mischief. "I'll give you a bit if you fall to your knees and beg pretty-please for my meat."

He laughed at the way your eyes widened, messy bed-head curls bouncing. You were about to turn back when you felt a sharp, searing pain at your backside, shielded by Javier's shirt; his fingers lingered, flesh pooling from his digits as he squeezed and you squealed.

Javier drawled out a careless warning as he cracked an egg over the pan. "leave her alone." but he seemed more focused on what was in front of him than what happened behind him.

Dieter groaned at your ear, caging you with two thick, ringed hands on the counter as he pressed his hardness into your ass; you yelped, hands stilling on the marble as he pushed you forward, edges digging into your hips. You squirmed against him.

"Can't wait much more, Peña." Dieter muttered, and his hips begun curling onto you through the tattered fabric of his pajama pants.

Javier huffed at his words, picking the hot meat with his bare hands and propping them in a plate. "leave the girl alone, Bravo.".

But he didn't, his hand toying with the hem of the shirt as he slowly begun to lift it.

As if Javi was granting you any permission to fight back, you elbowed at his sight, jabbing into his ribs through the smooth and pudgy skin and slipping a feet away. He groaned, and his hand came raising into the air and down across your cheek. You body came clashing onto the parallel counter, pain blooming across your cheek and side.

Summoned, Joel rose to his feet from the couch, boots thundering across the creaky floorboards; he had changed into day clothes you couldn't really catch on as you steadied yourself. His eyes glimmered with rage as he stepped into the kitchen.

Was he really going to defend you?

The short answer was no, and it came to you as his hand shot at you, gripping your hair. He forced your gaze onto his, jaw ticking as your lashes wettened and your body trembled.

His voice was grave, dark and heavy as it eared into your brain; "Did you dare to hit him?" He asked, and you whimpered. He brought your face closer, sneer pressing against your cheek. "Did you dare to hit my men, you filthy slut?"

He dragged you back to the previous counter, and you thankfully supported on your hands as he slammed you into the counter, face unscathed but soon-to-be bruises scattering across your front.

You whined into the coldness, feet dangling off the edge as the shirt pooled by your hips. The silence was unsettling, only disturbed by Joel's enraged breathes and you desperate whimpers.

"You give a bitch a shirt and she believes she get's the right to deny her place, huh." He commented, a jab at Javier possibly. You felt the grip loosening as he stepped back slightly. "Fuck her."

His order was responses by a pleased hummed, and you felt the familiar worn fabric press against your thighs. Quickly, pants caught against your skin as they were dragged down, nestling at the back of your thighs, and with a wet tap a cock nestled between your ass.

Joel's hand left a trail of fire as he released you locks, hand clenching around the back of your throat. Before you could exhale the air that was forced out of you by the handling, you felt a hot searing pain spear into you.

You screamed, Dieter's balls pressing painfully against your clit. Your body curled against the stone as he begun humping you, careless and needy in his thrusts. He moaned, deep and guttural.

"Fuckin' tight snatch." He cursed, and along the hand at your neck you felt two clinging into your shoulders for dear life, weight crashing you into the counter. "wanna stay buried here forevah."

"Make it quick." Javier snapped, and a plate appearing in your line of sight. "She gotta eat."

Dieter whined, a hand coming to push one of yours thigh on top of the counter as he fucked you deeper. "Does she need to?"

You pressed your sweaty forehead against the cool slab beneath you, breathe hitching as you felt the pain numb your body. Dehydration, lack of food, being fucked like this, Joel's grip on your neck, blame it on whatever but your eyes fluttered close, tears pooling beneath you and your body stopped resisting.

It felt like hours drifting between consciousness and restless sleep, hearing his moans- fucking take it, perfect little whore- and the way your skin became clammy, shirt sticking into you. You finally woke up when two big hands brought you down the counter, Dieter’s cock piercing up into you as he came with a loud grunt.

You squealed, the position sending you into a frenzy as you needed to get off his cock. Your feet twisted on the hardwood floor as he pulled away, and your body fell like a rag doll at Joel’s feet.

You felt the rawness of your body, the cum oozing out of your hole as the cool wood gave some relief. Your stomach grumbled one more as you felt your mouth achingly dry.

Joel’s boots nudged you to your side as you struggled to stay awake. You jolted when the plate was placed right in front of you, the scent of food driving you crazy.

“Eat.” He commanded, and in your haze you tried to get on all fours, but the way your body shivered made it hard.

You felt a pair of hands grip at your waist, nudging you on your knees as Javier’s scent clouded your senses.

Face inches from the plate, you were about to bend down and eat it when the last thread of dignity pulled at you. You struggled.

“Have I not made myself clear?” Joel grunted, towering over you.

You felt your hair being pulled out of your face and tucked behind your ears, Javier’s way of urging you.

Slowly, your neck bent as you began lapping the food on the plate, the rich and savory taste clouding your senses as you ate.

Soon you were licking the plate clean as your hunger dissipated. Your forehead clashed into the ground beside it, and with one heavy breathe you pleaded, “Water.”

Javier gasped, discontent striking his features as you whined, feeling calloused hands at your folds once more.

“Never thought a pussy could bruise.” He commented, looking at the deteriorated state of your core; blood and cum oozed of the pretty pink folds as your hole gaped closed, swollen.

“We never stay long enough to see.” Whiskey added, matter of factly. You were sat onto your knees as a a chilled glass was placed onto your lips.

“Slow down.” Javier reprimanded, hand on the soft underside of your belly as you felt the coolness slip into your mouth.

As soon as the plate and glass was pulled away from you, you felt certain eeriness settle over you as the four men in the kitchen gawked.

You spent the rest of the day locked in Javier’s room as they had to “work”; you peeked over the window, when most of the times one gaze was set on you, to see them cutting wood, cleaning rifles, moving cattle or doing reparations. The most of the time you stayed hidden in bed, your hair dampening Javier’s pillows from the shower you had taken. At least they granted you that privilege, but the knowledge it was just because you were sleeping in their bed ate at you.

You battled along with falling asleep, waking up even more tired than before.

Yet in one moment, just when the light had peeked at the top, you fell asleep to wake up in utter darkness, the door rattling.

Javier turned on the light as he smoothed into the bedroom, freshly showered and a towel draped over his waist. He saw the fear in your eyes as he neared you, dropping the towel.

Your head began to shake on its own, but he stopped beside the drawer, taking a heap of clothes for himself.

“You wan’ another shirt?” He asked over his shoulder, and you nodded gently. He pulled a shirt, striped blue and white, and he walked over to the bed to put it on you. “You think you can walk?”

His expression softened as he looked at the blooming bruises all over your front, and you quickly buttoned the shirt. “Not really.” you croaked, perhaps saving you some more rest.

He smacked his lips and curled one arm on the underside of your knees and the other on your back, picking you up easily in his immense muscles. Your eyes scanned how they bulged under the skin, the rich bits exposed in the neckline and sleeveless shoulders.

He carried you like a doll out the room, where the other men seemed to enjoy leisurely over dinner; you eyed the thick chunk of meat on the table, crimson on the inside as Oberyn cut another slab.

Having no place at the table, Javier propped you onto the weathered couch. He retreated to grab his plate by the only empty spot on the table, and walked back to the couch.

It wasn't for you, you thought, trying to dwindle the hunger clawing at the stomach, but then Javier pressed a juicy bit into your lips and you ate, silently.

The men spoke about their day ominously, Javier twisting around to make some remarks once in a while, and you couldn't place your body not to hurt. You searched for Catfish in the sea of similar dark, chocolaty curls- you found him as you dismissed the others, back tensed at you as he fiddled with his cutlery.

You caught onto a bit of conversation when Oberyn laid his eyes upon you, "And Acacius is the lucky one tomorrow." he remarked, sipping from a amber-filled tumbler.

You casted your eyes down, trying to blur out further conversation between the taste of meat and the softness of mashed potatoes.

"Fuck," Dieter cursed, tugging at his shirt. "I wanna see that."

You shivered, and Javier pressed a glass into your hand, reassuringly.

The night drawled in and the men begun pouring around you, into the couch. The last one was Joel, having done the dishes.

His body towered in front of the TV, something else they had stolen from your community, and he set his hands on his hip. He analyzed, eyes traveling all around you.

"How's your pussy?" He asked, sternly, not an ounce of charisma in his tone.

Someone snorted, and you felt yourself turn frigidly cold. A hand on your thigh ushered you to talk.

"G-Good." You blurted, unconvincingly.

He beckoned you with his jaw, eyebrows raising. "Show me."

You pressed your lips into a thin line as Javier slowly pulled your thigh apart, and you felt the scorching heat of Joel's gaze upon you.

He hummed, taking a step closer. "Doesn't look good."

You stayed quiet, letting him shrug and drop into a nearby couch.

An action movie begun playing on the TV, and you let out a sight you didn't know you were holding.

Tags: @tateypots @koshkaj-blog @paink1llerf0rm1ller @oldloganslittleslut @purple-fig

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faerygrant · 2 months ago

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wants and needs - carmy x reader

notes: Carmy struggles to hold back on his wants and needs during a special occasion at the house.

warnings: filth, breeding kink, swearing.

Carmen was sharp and precise in his planning of Emma’s 2nd birthday, for him this wasn’t just a simple party, it was for his second baby girl and he wasn’t going to allow her to settle for less. He curated the kids menu himself, and made sure he kept an eye on the staff as they put together his ideas, he worked on sketches of what he wanted the ladybug cake that his daughter had asked for. Getting Marcus himself, to make the cake and make sure it was pristine. He had Richie and the Faks on food service duty, but insisted that they keep an eye on Richie, considering he didn’t have the best track record with children’s parties. You didn’t even have to lift a finger, with Carmy continually letting you know he had it in the bag. The moms from the girls school, couldn’t stop gushing over how lucky you were to have a husband who was willing to take the reins when it came to party planning, and you couldn’t help but agree.

They day had finally come, you had both your girls in black and red, little ladybug antennas and cutesy wings adorning their backs. Both Valentina and Emma were running around excitedly as they heard Carmen let in their cousins, Nat and Pete following behind them with gifts in hand. “Allegra and MJ are here!” Valentina squeals, grabbing onto her younger sister’s arms and dragging her towards the living room. You smile hearing the excitement from your girls, looking yourself in the mirror. You were dressed in a tight floral sun dress, in theme with the birthday, your hair freshly blown out as per usual and your ‘C’ necklace that Carmen had gotten you for your anniversary glistened against your neck. You’d cheekily thrown on your push up bra, in hopes of getting lucky after all the fuss of the birthday had come to an end.

By the time the rest of the guests arrive, the backyard is buzzing with the loud sound of children’s shrieks and giggles, the sizzling of the grill that Carmy and the men were working on and the distant chatter of gossip coming from the group of moms. You were refilling the womens’ glasses when you’d realised half way through that the pitcher was halfway finished. “I’m just going to run inside and refill the drinks, ladies” you announce, before making your way back into the home. While Carmy had done his best, well and truly, you had underestimated just how much work today was going to be, and as you quickly refilled the jar of Sangria, you finally took in the deep breath you’d been holding in since the start of the party. This felt like the first time you’d had the time to think since the guests had arrived, you loved hosting, really but your mind was also flying a mile a minute at this moment.

Carmen had been watching you the whole afternoon, he couldn’t help the tight feeling in his pants, when he noticed the skimpy little sundress you’d thrown on, cleavage pushed up so nicely and that pretty necklace of his initials that was clasped around your neck. You were so engrossed in your mommy duties, filling up glasses of sangria, giving out juice boxes to the children, passing around hors d’oeuvres, watching over the kids as they took turns in the jumping castle. He knew for a fact that he’d probably end up putting another baby in you tonight, but he just needed to get you alone for a minute. “Yo, Carm, you even listenin?” Richie snaps at Carmy and he’s finally broken from his trance. “Yeah, whats up?” He replies, still watching you as you pour the remainder of Sangria into one of the mums glass. His eyes following as you walk into the house. “We’re outta mustard, got any in the house?” Carmen nods, not bothering to even reply, before he’s following after you, under the guise of retrieving more mustard.

After putting the jars into the refrigerator, you quickly excuse yourself to the small downstairs bathroom, in dire need of some relief. However the very second you try to close the door, you feel the hand twist back, Carmy quickly pushing his way in.

“What?” Your eyes search his frantically. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Carmen’s eyes sparkle, like glass carved sapphires.

You eye him, sceptical and cautious. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing.” Carmy moves closer to you. The air in the already small bathroom starts to rise with the heat of his body.

“Then,” you say carefully, not wanting to entice him into whatever ludicrous game he’s planning on playing, “why are you in here, Carmy Bear?”

He looks you up and down, that face he gives you when you know he’s hungry. He couldn’t stop looking at your dress, one of his favourites. The flimsy material, your tits pushed up together so nicely. He can’t help but look into your eyes. “Y’know I fuckin love this one?” He puts one hand on your chest, lightly squeezing, emitting a squeak from you.

“Carmy… stop.”

“Why momma?” he hums quietly, grasping some fabric of your dress between his thumb rolling it.

You draw in a breath. A whole party is going on a mere window away with children, mums from your group, and your own two babies—and Carmy has you cornered in the toilet like a pair of teens in the locker room. “Bear…stop” you warn him, but he’s already sliding your dress up your thigh and reaching for more. “We can’t…”

“I like when you wear my name on your neck, let em know who you belong to” Carmy whispers, keeping his voice low in case one of the guys comes looking for him.

The thrill of it gets the better of you, and you lean into it, playing into his game. “We can’t do this in here, Bear,” you whine urgently, “there’s people—”

“I know momma, but you need this,” Carmy says, lifting up your dress so he can lift you up onto your tip-toes by your ass. “And I know you’re stressed.” He pulls you to his body and manoeuvres you both until he can hoist you onto the cold sink. “’know it helps when you cum.”

“’s that why you locked me in here with you? For stress relief?”

Carmen whispers into your ear as he skims between your legs, running his fingers up and down your clothed core. “I locked you in here ‘cause I wanna feel this pussy cum and I’m not leaving til I get you pregnant again.”

You steady yourself on the porcelain sink, wrapping your legs around Carmy’s hips as he strokes your cunt.

“Carm I think I heard someone,” you mutter breathlessly, not sure if you heard the creak of the back door or if you just think you heard it.

He buries his face in the curve of your neck as he slips his hand inside your underwear. He teases your bare folds from beginning to end and back again, nuzzling your skin with his soft lips and wet tongue.

“Carmy, wait,” you whisper.

He groans into your neck, running his fingertips up and down your slick, swollen lips, glancing your clit, and doing his utmost not to bite down on your skin.

“Carmen,” your voice is hoarse with a hint of panic, “we gotta stop, baby.”

Out of nowhere, comes three hard knocks on the bathroom door, and your stomach drops.

Carmen’s other hand flies up to cover your mouth before you can even gasp. “Occupied!” he yells, his head turned in the direction of the bathroom door—but somehow, his fingers don’t falter as they work you over.

You breathe hard through your nose, hot exhale fanning over Carmy’s fingers where he’s got your mouth clamped shut. You train your gaze on his face, your eyes wide with alarm, as your body responds to almost being caught with an embarrassingly eager surge of desire.

The voice of one of none other than Richie calls back, muffled by the door. “Yo, cousin where the fuck is the mustard at?” “My bad, it’s in the fridge, left side!” Carmy yells, looking at you dangerously, daring you to make a sound.

“A’ight man, hurry back!” Richie replies with a smile in his voice. Carmen faces the door until he’s sure he hears Richie exit through the back door. Then, pressing ever so slightly inside you with the tips of two fingers, he turns back to you.

He doesn’t take his hand from your mouth when he murmurs, “Didn’t want her to hear you cooing, baby girl .”

Your objections dissolve like salt in water as Carmy trails two fingers up your slit. He swirls your wet around, coating your clit with it with every firm circle his digits make on your stiff bud.

You drop your legs from his hips, spreading them over the sink and widening yourself for his thick fingers.

Carmen takes his hand from your mouth and snakes it around the nape of your neck. He nudges the tip of your nose with his as he pushes into your cunt with one big, fat finger.

Jaw dropped, you sigh into his open mouth.

Carmen loves it. “Take two, mommy,” he murmurs onto your lips, lining up his longest digit, “take ‘em both.”

He surges forward again, pressing into your pussy with two thick fingers, and this time the subtle stretch is even more satisfying. Your head tips back against the mirror as pleasure flickers through all the nerves in your body.

“M’fuckin momma was all worked up, huh?” Carmy mutters absently in a low, quiet voice. He pumps his fingers in a rhythm that hits all the right spots inside you as he holds you by the back of the neck. “Wound too fuckin’ tight.”

The drag of his digits is heavenly and your pussy walls wrap tight around his fingers, adding to the friction. You gasp his name, but he hushes you abruptly.

Footsteps from outside, once again.

“Don’t fuckin breathe,” he whispers, and the excitement in his eyes is clouded over by a dark look of warning. He changes the angle of his fingers, now driving up into your pussy so his fingertips nudge your interior bundle of nerves with every pass.

Eyes locked with his, your mouth falls further open, and you put everything into staying quiet.

Carmen looks deadly serious and mouths the word, “Quiet,” as Richie returns from outside, seemingly coming back for something. His fingers glide easily in and out of you, the slip and slide aided by so much of your cum.

Two quick, sharp knocks on the bathroom door and the Richie yells out in his familiar voice, “Don’t be too long in there, Carm, you got the shits or something?” He trolls, a loud laugh leaving him.

But there’s no footsteps signalling that he’s fucking off.

The man is waiting by the door for a response.

Carmen’s eyes don’t leave yours this time. He’s exhilarated by the dark thrill of all this, and chuckles another fake laugh. “Fuck off, cousin!” he replies, and that seems to do the trick.

You hear him finally walk off, and shock finally hits you.

“Carmy,” you gasp, “you think he knows?”

“He’s a jag off,” Carmen whispers quickly, pulling at your dress, exposing one of your breasts. “He doesn’t,” he murmurs, the pump and drag of his fingers slowing as he eyes your budded nipple peeking through the lacy cup of your push up bra.

“C’m’on,” Carmen growls, tugging the cup down to half-pull your tit out of your bra, “make it quick.”

He tweaks your nipple between his thumb and forefinger and picks up the pace again, shoving his fingers into your cunt and dragging them out along your slippery, silky walls.

You suck in a breath through your teeth as pleasure sparks in your clit and up your spine, but to Carmy you murmur, “Bear. Please. We just shouldn’t.”

“Fuck ‘em,” he grumbles, pumping your pussy so hard and fast his arm shakes. “My breeding whore. My house.” So hard and fast your cunt starts to make noise. “’f I wanna give you another baby, I will.”

Your breath catches in your throat as you hold back a groan, and your fingers curl around the edge of the sink to steady yourself. Within moments of fingering you and toying with your nipple, Carmen works your body to a quavering high.

“Any time now,” he hissed into your neck, and buries his fingers inside you to the knuckle so he can rub furiously at your swollen clit.

You choke on a sob, your orgasm rising and tightening in your core. Carmy’s thumb brushes back and forth and up and down and around and around so wildly, so perfectly, with enough force and pressure to bring you quickly to your peak.

“Cum now. Cum now,” Carmy grits through clenched teeth, feeling your pussy get hotter and wetter and tighter on his fingers. Your clit stiffens and twitches once under his thumb, and he knows you’re about to break. He growls into your ear, “Cum on my fucking fingers or I’ll take you upstairs and I don’t care who hears us.”

“Fuck!” Your orgasm shudders through your body in waves, bursting with bright white light and searing pleasure. That you can’t groan or moan or scream through it sharpens the high—the only thing you’re cognizant of is the rhythmic clenching of your pussy around Carmen’s digits and the bliss turning your every muscle and bone to jelly.

“There it is,” Carmen murmurs as your legs shake uncontrollably on the m sink, “there you go, mommy.”

#carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you #reader x carmen berzatto #carmy x reader #carmen berzatto fic

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distantdarlings · 1 year ago

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INDULGE // t. nott

RATING: R / 2.8K WORDS

Theodore Nott x Reader Insert (No gender-specific details, but reader is wearing a skirt)

+ SUMMARY - *Requested, based on this* You've been working on an insane amount of schoolwork all evening and just want to lie down with your boyfriend. Your boyfriend has been doing the same but wonders if you might be interested in something else.

+ WARNINGS - SMUT! Body worship, oral sex, (perf. on reader), no protection used - piv, brief orgasm denial, language (also not proofread, sorry), very brief overstimulation, dom!Theo

+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -

Sinner - Teflon Sega

---

The flame in the corner of your eye extinguished itself with a slight sizzle. You jumped slightly as it interrupted the constant silence that had stretched itself over the library.

You sighed and rubbed your fingers over your eyes, attempting to massage some of the aches. You seriously thought you would keel over if you looked at one more chart or paragraph. Your head tilted to the left and the right, feeling the pops that echoed in your ears.

The books and parchment laid out before you would just have to wait until tomorrow morning. You could barely keep your head up. You gathered everything together and slid it all into your bag, giving a polite nod to the librarian on the way out.

You glanced down at your watch, expecting it to be well after midnight—which it was. Did the librarian ever sleep? You wondered if she had some special draught to keep her awake for long periods. If she did, you needed some of it.

The halls were completely empty, as they generally were at this time of night. You’d gotten special permission from Professor Snape to stay in the library past curfew for the next weeks. You were balancing quite a few different projects and extracurriculars and, on top of all of that, had accepted a side assignment from Professor Snape, studying the side effects of the Venomous Tentacula’s venom and all that happened to the body before it eventually died from it.

It was fascinating and you felt content with your current workload, but you were just tired tonight. It was Friday, and it had been a long, long week. Right now, you just wanted to stop in with your boyfriend to see how he was doing. He should be asleep, but you know he likely wasn’t.

Finally, you arrived before the Slytherin common room, spoke the password, and slipped through the entrance. A few students remained in the common room, sketching or scanning a book, but none seemed particularly concerned when you came through.

You made for your dorm so you could set your things down and quickly change into your pajamas. The best thing about the dorm rooms at Hogwarts was the beds—no challenge. They were the most comfortable thing you’d ever laid on with silky, feather pillows, two thick comforters, and a large, form-fitted mattress you half wished to be buried on when you died. Thinking about them now had you picking up the pace.

You slipped down the long hallway, hearing the soft echo of your shoes hitting the floor with every increasingly rapid step. The books in your hands were becoming more of a burden than they initially were. You readjusted the way they were placed against you to bear your arms some rest.

Soon enough, the dorm entrance stood before you, bidding you a good evening and some sweet dreams. You pushed through the door and set your things down on the bed. Fortunately, yours was the one right next to the threshold, and you could just lay your things down as soon as you got in. You were considering not even taking a shower tonight.

You moved to the foot of the bed and grabbed your folded pajamas. It was awfully quiet in here, but you figured most of your friends were out for the weekend. It was no concern of yours; more reason to take an early night.

You slipped out of your day shoes and unfolded your pajamas, preparing to put them on. Plans, schedules, and your to-do list for the next day swirled through your head as you worked the buttons down your shirt. You figured if you knocked out all of your other assignments, you could spend the rest of the morning focusing on Snape’s project. That was probably the best plan of action…your hands allowed your shirt to slip down your arms. You grabbed your tank top and began to pull it over your head.

Warm hands suddenly became familiar with your sides. A yelp escaped you as you backed away against your bed. Standing before you was a quietly laughing Theo holding his stomach. The laughter slowly brought tears to his eyes. You crossed your arms and squinted your eyes at him. Dick.

“Theo! Why did you do that?” you scolded, smacking him across the arm. “I nearly jumped out of my skin.”

“I know, I know, it was hilarious,” he laughed, wiping his eyes with his fingertips. You didn’t smile.

“Do I look like I’m laughing, you jerk?” you asked, tapping your finger impatiently against your crossed arms.

“I’m sorry, baby, I just wanted to come see you,” he smiled, his laughter finally dying. His hands slowly slid back around your sides, massaging the skin through your tank top. The meaning behind his smile seemed to change slightly.

He leaned against the bed and bumped his nose gently against yours, causing chills to spread down your arms and legs. He leaned in closely and pressed a gentle kiss to the small center of your neck and shoulder. You tilted your head a bit to allow him easier access. He chuckled darkly and pulled away.

“But if you’re mad at me, I totally understand,” he said, throwing his hands up in defeat. “I’ll just have to head back to my dorm…” He began to walk towards the door, shrugging his shoulders. You rolled your eyes at him, a smile sneaking its way onto your face. You wondered how long he would lay into this role. He did this all the time.

“Are you sure you didn’t have an important reason for coming over?” you teased.

“Nope, I’m just going to head back to my dorm…where it’s lonely…and cold…,” he sighed sadly. You tilted your head back and laughed at his award-winning acting skills before pushing yourself off the bed and walking over to him. You slid your hands around his waist, and he came to a stop, reveling in the feeling of your hands on him. You pressed yourself to his back, giving a sweetened hug from behind. His heartbeat seemed to slow as if you calmed him down.

Your hands around him traced their fingers over his stomach and traveled down to his hips. When you ghosted your fingers just below his belt, his breath hitched. You smirked at his reaction, hearing his heartbeat intensify. Your hands pulled away just as they were about to make contact with his core, you turned away and began walking back to your bed, ignoring the groan that came from him. It took him only a moment to swallow his pride and walk back over to you, catching your arm just as you were about to lay down.

He spun you against him and captured your lips with his, encasing your face between his large hands. His lips worked hastily against yours, cupping your bottom lip with his and pinching it between his teeth. You sighed into his mouth at the sudden shock of pain.

He walked you just a step back before you were both falling to the bed, never breaking away from the other. Kissing Theo was like coming up for air after being trapped underwater. His lips always moved against yours like a starved man, begging for a taste of you, never acquiring enough. His hands held you in place and his lips split you down the middle, leaving no room or need for air. He was all you needed, your only necessity. You could stay here forever, pressed against his body with no escape.

He parted from you and worked his lips down your neck. Before he continued down, he pulled the tank top from over your head and gently became acquainted with your chest. His lips pressed slowly against your skin, massaging the weight of it with his hands. His tongue skirted gently across the peak of each side, watching the way your lips parted at every swirl of the muscle. He touched you everywhere, and you always let him.

His fingers traced delicately down your ribs, sliding between them like a trap. He left nothing unkissed, untouched, unloved. His tongue worked absolute miracles over your stomach, each kiss lighting a scorching fire between your legs.

“You are so, so beautiful,” he breathed against your stomach. You sighed as his tongue traced one gentle swipe up the curve of your abdomen. Your fingers were shaking as they raised to slide into his hair, begging him to lower his head between your thighs. He hid a smirk at your desperation, loving the feeling he gave you.

Whenever your eyes would roll to the back of your head or your beautiful lips would part, he felt like royalty. If there was anything he was put on this Earth to do, he was sure it was to worship every inch of you and to pray to the sweet breadth of heaven between your legs. There was never a time he wasn’t thinking of you, thinking of fucking you, thinking of watching your every move. He wanted to bottle your every orgasm and bathe in it.

He flipped your skirt up and over your legs, not caring to take it off. You wore no tights today. All that was before him were your barren legs waiting to be parted by him. He slid his hands beneath your thighs and set them over his shoulders, adoring the weight of them against him. He pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses to the insides of your thighs, slowly working to his final destination. His thumb reached out and barely guided itself over the cover of your undergarments, already dampened. You gasped sharply. He wanted to destroy you.

“Please, baby,” you whimpered quietly. “Don’t tease.” He did not intend to.

The tips of his fingers slid beneath the waistband of your underwear and pulled them down, admiring the way your core pulsated gently beneath his gaze. Every exhale that escaped his lips sent a shudder through your body. He was close enough to smell your scent wafting all around him. His eyes rolled to the back of his head as he breathed in his one desire, the anticipation of the moment nearly taking him over. Beneath his belt, the core of his body ached so sweetly, begging for anything. He could not wait any longer.

He placed a soft kiss to you, feeling the way you jolted at the small touch. He kissed you once more, feeling the way your wetness collected on his lips. His tongue darted out against you, sliding between every inch of skin and against his lips, tasting every drop. You were like a dark wine tainting his tongue, shooting straight to his brain and cock. Every time he did this, his head would luxuriate in your taste and smell. Dulcet moans would leave his lips and echo against you. His hips would begin to move against the bed, rolling against the soft material. His self-indulgence in you and against himself would become too much for him. If he could never do this again, he’d find no reason to walk this Earth.

Your fingers clenched tightly in his hair and breathy, perfect moans spilled from your lips. Desperate whimpers of his name, begging for more, only urged him on more. He would never stop as long as you wouldn’t stop him. He didn’t need to eat, need to sleep, need anything other than you.

His fingers, previously holding your thighs apart so he could have full access to you, pulled between him and you. They slowly pushed through the expanse of your wetness, drawing a new kind of moan from you. Each digit circled around the folds of your skin, allowing your essence to seep between them and spill over his hands.

“Please, Theo,” you begged, your eyes making contact with his, “I need them now.”

His eyes never left yours as he pulled his hand to his face and ran a long, begging tongue up the palm of his hand. Your lips were parted in a deep, flushed moan as he slid them into you with little to no resistance. Nothing about your current condition was going to push him away. You only wanted more of him. Your head laid back against the pillow, your fingers curling tightly against his scalp once more.

His tongue found you again, matching the rhythm of his fingers. You wouldn’t last much longer, and he knew this too. Every time you came close to your end, your thighs began to shake. He knew the sight so well. As soon as the smooth skin there began to shudder, he knew you were getting close. He pulled away from you.

You nearly screamed in frustration, severely feeling the loss of him. He smirked evilly, watching you squirm against the mattress, attempting to push the tip of your climax over the edge. His hands slammed onto your hips, pushing you into the mattress. A small yelp left you at the action.

“I don’t think so, darling,” Theo whispered, his tongue skirting one more hot swipe over your core. You moaned loudly, bucking your hips against his lips. “Don’t I get anything?”

“Just shut up and do something, anything, I’m so fucking close,” you whined. He complied quickly, undoing his belt and sliding it from his pants. Your hands slid up and down your sides, trying to hold your finish where it currently rested, just on its edge.

“Spread your legs for me, baby,” he said lowly. Your eyes found his. His pupils were nearly blown across his whole eye with only the smallest amount of blue showing through. They were hardened and focused in on your core, watching intently as your legs slowly slid apart. The way he watched you and clenched his jaw, you felt like prey.

He knelt between your thighs, running soft fingers over the tops of them, caressing meaningless shapes. His tongue darted out over his lips and his eyes fluttered shut as he slowly slid into you. His lips parted as an angelic moan pushed from his mouth. His breathless voice slid across his swollen lips as he began to roll his hips into you.

“So good, baby,” he whispered, his hands tucked tightly beneath your ass, driving you against him. Every time he pulled out and pushed back in, he hit a new spot inside of you. The sounds of earlier were lost in the air. Nothing was able to come out of you but soft whines at every thrust. His fingertips dug into your skin, bruising the supple flesh there.

“You’re so warm, so perfect,” he breathed, his pace quickening. “You were made for me, made for this dick.” Your heart fluttered at his words. Ever the gentleman.

His hips were pushing into you so hard your whole body jolted up. Your head was inches from hitting the headboard, but you couldn't care less. The only thing you could focus on right now was the feeling of him inside you, claiming every ridge and valley as his own. Every inch of your body was branded with his name, burning wildly beneath his touch. His lips, his fingers, his everything had pulled you over in on yourself more times than you could count, yet it never got old. The only thing that made you feel truly alive was his touch.

One last shove from his hips and your finish was spilling over his hips and the sheets. Stars were flashing across your ceiling and blood was rising to your head. The letters of his name were lost on your ears and carved into the flesh of his back, bleeding beneath your fingernails. He was groaning into your neck as your entire body tightened around him, pulling him toward his own climax.

He groaned suddenly and inhaled sharply, preparing to pull out of you. His hands gripped your hips, and he began to pull away when you tightened your legs around his back and pushed him back into the hilt. The moan that left him could have shattered the stained glass. You could feel his release spilling into you, so slow and warm, and every pulse of him within you pushed a deepened moan against your chest. You released his hips and allowed him to pull back a bit before you shoved him back in one more time. A pitiful whine slipped from his lips at the bit of overstimulation.

The arms on either side of your head gave out as he collapsed against your body, his head resting against your chest. He sighed contently.

“How was that?”

He scoffed, lips pressed messily against your skin. “‘How was that?’ they ask,” he chuckles sleepily, “yeah, that was pretty good.”

“Only pretty good?” you ask, faking offense.

“That was the most perfect sex I’ve ever had, but—then again—I do say that every time we have sex,” he laughed. Just before he fell into a pleasantly deep sleep, you brushed his hair from his forehead and kissed him there, though you didn’t have much time before light snores echoed in the room.

#fanfiction #creative writing #fanfic #writing #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #reader insert #oneshot #slytherin #harry potter smut #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott #theo nott #gender neutral reader #smut #hogwarts fanfiction

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fraugwinska · 1 year ago

Note

Follow up idea to the person who suggested that lovely birthday doodle request,, Reader who can draw proficiently as a hobby and often sketches folks at the hotel in their sketch book. Alastor is a bit offended that no matter what it seems as though he’s no where in this book, when they retire for the night he brings it up almost as if he’s jealous and they laugh at him. He’s upset because now he feels as though they are making fun of him until they retrieve another book and turns out they draw him in privacy (he’s so special he has his own book) It’s so cute too theres little heart doodles and them holding hands everywhere

Darling, how can I say no to 1) you *handheart* and 2) to such a cute pürompt? Make way, guys, gals and non-binary pals, here comes the fluff-queen!

❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️

Pictures of You

“ME NEXT! ME NEXT!” You tugged your sketchbook out of Niffty's small but surprisingly strong fingers. The little demon giggled and almost fell from your shoulder, making you laugh.

“Niff, any more doodles of you and I'd have to pay you royalties. Also, Angel asked first.”

You grinned, turning another page of the thick binder to an empty canvas and twirled the coal pen in your hand. Husk had just involuntarily changed his sleeping position from 'face in hands' to 'face on counter', groaning at the impact, so you wanted to start anew. Niffty resumed to braid your hair – you often let her just do what she wanted, she had a knack for it anyways – and huffed. “You only want to draw him because he can do impossible poses.” “Well, he is flexible.”

“Comes with the job, sweet cheeks.” Angel, who had entered through the door, grinned at you, taking his pink heart-shaped sunglasses off while he walked behind you, leaning over your shoulder. “Aw, toots, you really are talented, Husky looks like a snack there. Can I have that when 'ya done?”

“Have what, my effeminate fellow?” Angel jumped as Alastor materialized behind him without warning, releasing a startled 'Jesus Christ on a cracker!' while his lower set of arms clung onto your tensed shoulders. The radio demon laughed heartily, bending over slightly to look past Angel's head. He craned his neck and reached with his cane, forcing you to lean sideways so he could examine what you were drawing.

You flinched at the contact with the strangely warm metal, but didn't look up from the page. You only gripped the black coal tighter, feeling it beginning to crack. Alastor hummed in what sounded almost fond praise, giving a brief tap to Husk's shape on the paper.

"Marvelous! What a talent you have." he proclaimed. "Although I have to ask again, my dear, how come you never draw me? Surely I could..."

You lifted a finger, face scrunched up in concentration and shook your head, eyes firmly on the almost finished sketch. Alastor clicked his tongue in a displeased way, clawed fingers impatiently tapping the microphone at the end of his cane.

"Really, dearest. I have a great interest for-"

"Hold on!"

"-a unique idea of the possibilities-"

"Done!"

As you finished, you stretched your cramped hand, setting down the charcoal on the armrest of the red plush sofa and rubbing your fingers to get rid of the black stains. You ripped the paper out of the sketchbook and handed it to Angel, carefully avoiding Alastors burning eyes and ignoring the angry static pops sizzling on your skin.

"There you go, Ange. You can lock it in with a little coat of hairspray, otherwise it will smudge easily."

You hastily stood up, letting Niffty tumble down your back onto the sofa with a wild giggle while you quickly assembled your things. You saw Alastor open his mouth and interrupted whatever speech he might've wanted to deliver you, your heart racing and mouth unusually dry.

"Oh, would you look at the time, I promised Charlie to get laundry done by the evening, I better get going. Maybe another time, yeah? Okay, bye!"

You were already through the door by the time he had registered you leaving, mouth half-open and ready to protest against whatever injustice he felt you had done him. His eyebrow twitched slightly at your retreating figure, eyes flickering between the corner you disappeared around and Angel Dust, the latter laughing mockingly at the deer.

"Aw shucks, failing again, deer daddy? What is it now, the fifth time she blew 'ya off?"

"The seventh.", Niffty corrects him, scratching on the black spot where you had set the charcoal in between your work. Alastor gave her a sour expression, while Angel leaned back, eyeing the sketch of his subject of interest with lovingly.

"Maybe she took 'ya by heart, Smiles. Don't 'ya always say 'ya got a face for radio only?"

***

Alastor was fuming.

Everyone was in that damn book, everyone. And yet, he was nowhere in it to be found.

In his opinion he was far superior in beauty of aesthetics then, for example, Angel Dust, or Vaggie. Hell, Husk had even made an entry, and all he did was lay around and drink himself into oblivion. Why would you take the time to sketch these nobodies in detail instead of him? Was he that unimportant to you, did you deem him that unworthy? Or was this your subtle way of making fun of his appearance, his laughable predicament of being a predator in a prey body?

He thought he'd have been generous enough not to reprimand you, or destroy that damned book all together after all this time. It was your luck that he had developed a strange fondness of you. Alastor only ever bothered himself with a few souls since his arrival in hell, and his encounter with you was a happy coincidence indeed. You were so much less annoying, so much more quiet and respectful than most of the demons around him, with your charcoal pen behind your ear and a keen eye for beautiful things that you turned into artworks like it was your second nature.

And even though you've always seemed to take a liking to him, his patient questions for a sketch, a portrait or just anything of him was met by you with dismissiveness, awkward excuses or outright evading, only ever drawing other sinners, even the cursed piglet Angel called a pet. But never, never him.

This couldn't go on any longer. He would talk to you about it, and either you would draw him willingly or you would draw nothing at all.

Your room was located only three corridors down his own suite, right across of a broken down door. Despite the late hour you had left the door cracked open, music faintly streaming through it along the orange light of your desk lamp. Which meant you were still awake. Still working. Still drawing.

The door made no sound when he pushed it open, carefully peeking his head inside. He was right, your back was hunched over your desk, completely lost in your work while your voice hummed along with the little melody from the radio.

The radio he had gifted you. He snapped his fingers and the music screeched loudly before coming to a stop, the radio dying instantly and making you jump in your seat.

"JESUS!" You whipped your head around, clutching your heart. He gave his best charming smile, red eyes narrowing in on you.

"No dear, it's just me." he smiled maliciously and closed the door behind him, it clicking ominously shut. Locked. You laughed awkwardly, brushing a loose strand of hair out of your face and hastily closed the thick, black sketchbook on the desk shut, a different one than the one from before. A new one. Another cursed one without him in it, surely.

"Haha, thank satan, I'm not dressed to meet the son of god." you quibbed, avoiding his gaze and twirling your pencil, something you always did when you were nervous.

He didn't join into your joke, instead he walked over to your dresser, where the filled sketchbook from before laid. Open, showing a detailed drawing of Keekee stretching in front of the fireplace. The blasted cat was the last straw.

"Why," Alastor spoke sharply, barely registering his antlers sprouting in angry cracks, "are there any and every sinners and creatures depicted in that... doggone, ridiculous thing?".

His words were spat with so much anger he missed your scared and confused look when you pushed your chair back, almost tripping and scrambling to get away. "What? Alastor, I..."

He hit the book once, almost tearing the thick parchment. "And not one mention of me? You have no idea how utterly vexing and insulting it is to feel ignored, or rather unnoted! What did I do, oh do tell, dear, that makes you think of me so below you that you just outright forget my existence?!"

Again, he hit the book, feeling it starting to rip from the amount of pent up frustration tightening his grip. But it did feel good, immensely so, to take it out on the damn thing he would have shredded weeks ago, if you didn't enjoy it so much.

"N-Nothing, you really don't... you don't understand...", you laughed nervously, eyes too pleading, too soft for his liking, as if you mocked him or worse: Pitied him. The thought alone fueled his anger further.

"Then I advise you to make me understand, my darling.", he growled, shoes scratching on the wooden floors with each step as he neared you, pressing you against the desk. "Because otherwise, I have no inhibitions to incinerate every single one of these god damn..."

"I draw you all the time. In your own book."

You grabbed the sketch book from the desk and thrust it in his face, spouting more nonsense with teary eyes that went deaf through his ears, only glaring at the cover and then opening it, ready for anything.

Nothing. Nothing but him.

There was no mention of anyone else.

There was nothing but him. His face. Portraits, stills, sketches, whole sceneries, doodles even.

Pages and pages full of his own features, his eyes looking back at him, so carefully captured in coal lines that his head reeled.

There he was, walking in long strides through the lobby, hair perfect and suit straight, the drawing so detailed it could've been a photography. On the other side was a picture of him, his eyes narrowed, showing no emotion as he stared down at the hotel papers in his hand. The next page, he was captured in a fight with that buffoon Sir Pentious, his is mouth cracked in an evil smile, claws stretched and ready to snap the snakes' airship in half.

And ever in between those artworks: Little doodles, as if drawn with an absent mind, of him and you. Holding hands. Embracing each other. Laughing together. Gazing into each others eyes. Silly hearts all around them.

Alastor almost dropped the book and the shakily uttered your name, for once truly at a loss for words.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry Alastor...", he finally heard your muttering, voice trembling with tears. "I didn't know how... I was just... so... so embarrassed, and..."

Embarrassed. The absolute absurdity of it all.

Here he had been, worried you found him beneath the beauty you held in such esteem, wounded even so much as to bring out this unjustified anger. The fool he was. He was an idiot to have not considered the other possible explanations for your reticence.

Slowly, carefully, as if you'd spook and run should he move too fast, Alastor wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close, still holding the book safely in his hand, pressing it into your back. At his will, his shadow lifted a hand and turned the radio on once again, a low hum resounding from the speakers as the soothing, quiet music continued.

"Mon cœur, the unnecessary pain you caused us both. And yet, I'm the one who has to apologize.", he said with an honesty he rarely spoke with. "We're both, evidently, quite hopeless. No use in keeping these feelings and words unsaid any longer then, hm? Can you forgive this old fool?"

You stared at him bewildered, at a loss for words yourself, before a relieved smile cracked your worried frown. Shiny tear streaks were running over your reddening cheeks, he wiped them off your face with a soft swipe of his thumb.

"Of course... As long as I can continue drawing you." You chuckled and pushed your face into his chest, Alastor was more than certain to hide the flush of your cheeks. He chuckled, gripping the book in his hands tighter as he buried his nose in your hair. You smelled like paper, paint and charcoal. And underneath it all lingered the scent of something new, yet familiar. Something... very much like him.

"Draw the both of us like this to perfection, darling, and that would be a deal worth to agree on."

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #fraugwinskawrites #angel dust #hazbin hotel niffty #quick fic #oh so fluffy #i love ieatcocoa #fraugwinskas frauchen

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darkdemeter · 6 months ago

Text

MY SUMMONING

⚤ College student!Wanda Maximoff x GN/Female/Male demon Werewolf!Reader 18+ SMUT, MDNI — (gn/f/m) reader with a dick — monster fucking — female oral receiving — long demon monster tongue can do many things — unprotected p in v sex — some profanity — *cough* laundry mutt!reader — I think that's it? ✎ 4.5k Reincarnated love can be a bitch when you're stuffed into an ancient pocket dimension for thousands of years because the peasants reviled and scorned you. How you've yearned to return to her, promising that one day you shall join her side again as her faithful, shadowed acolyte. Now awoken to reunite with your master on the night where her magic is most potent to release you from your prison, you're summoned by her... but not her. No matter. A lover is a lover, and your love is eternally devoted to her. Now to consummate it at long last.

↳ MASTERLIST | ↳ TAGLISTS ────────────────────────

No. There was no way this is happening. No way! This was all meant to be some stupid little joke…

Alright, maybe dabbling in the assortments of witchcraft and old leather-bound tomes written in an ancient language wasn’t the best of pranks to pull, but it was Halloween and Wanda wanted to have her own fun tonight.

She doesn’t have to read the room hard to know she was practically fifth wheeling through her Halloween night. Steve and Peggy, the all-dream couple on campus, while Bucky and Nat were in the beginning prime of their relationship. Yes, both were pretty popular and many people thought their couplings adorable — if not envious of the partner — but Wanda couldn’t help but feel like an outcast all night long. She’s been following them around, attending a party or two, getting up to crazy shenanigans that ought to land them all a night behind bars until bail.

No. Wanda Maximoff, one of the brightest students in her major’s class, likes to dabble in… odd things. Peggy and Nat both knew of this certain attraction of hers, but it had been a rather closely guarded secret until now.

Breaking into the old burnt down chapel off the corner of Main Street, surrounded by the old, white picket fence, hadn’t seemed like a half-bad idea.

All fun and games until Wanda approached the podium where a dusty casing of leather sat, singed but untouched by the long forgotten fire. The yellowed, toughened skin of parchment paper crackled and rumpled with each turn over, her green eyes almost glowing with renewed fascination. She stopped at the book’s center when something caught her attention. Her eyes slip to widen a little at the sketching of a large, looming form of a wolf creature whose entire head bears only its skull, standing on its hind legs behind the regal figure of a loosely-clad robed woman. The image itself was intimately intoxicating to look upon. Something about it was pulling her to silently read over the daggered calligraphy. The woman’s illustrated body conveys what her drawn features lack; a postured body of contentment. Security. Lustful wanting.

And the tall creature before her stood proudly. Protectively. Equally wanting and willing.

The soft pad of her finger runs over the drawing, stroking the blackened detailing of the fur and skull face. Blooming deep in her abandoned, she feels that awakened need that begins to throb between her thighs and forces them to push together quickly, embarrassed with a warm glow in her cheeks.

While Peggy had urged that she leave the book and its ominous being there alone, she had been outranked by the other three who egged her on.

How could she say no? What harm could come from an obvious prop of the occult? As if a place so holy could harbour anything dangerous. With a cheeky grin, eyes slowly moving back and forth between her friends and the page she read from, she began to read aloud the incantation.

Before the very collective eyes of four witnesses, the surrounding candles sizzled with rekindled life, a singular flame dancing on each blackened wick before it would throb dimly in their warm arousement. A copied sensation Wanda felt herself able to relate to.

“Wanda…” Peggy whimpers, unsure. Steve only pulled her closer to him but made no intent in stopping Wanda as she continued to recite the chant.

The old chapel is awakened with a deadly, hollow breath, howling ominously in a deep and thunderous wind that travels through the marrow of bones and tenses the muscles. The air eagerly lapped and ravished at them, as if tasting them on its non-existent tongue.

The rattle of the ancient, relic urns chattered on their shelves beneath a baritone of a rumble that became suspiciously familiar to a growl, that of a predatory beast. Wanda’s hair whipped around to almost blinding her vision but she feels like she’s incapable to stop, that whatever force pulled her in the first place has full control over her, that even if she wanted to — and she doesn’t — she couldn’t stop.

Not until her words and voice enunciate the final lyric of whatever summoning spell she reads.

“Come hither, loyal acolyte, silhouette and blackened, come back to your vengeful pedestal upon the earth — I beckon you from your voided prison, answer my summoning!”

Behind the knowledge of Wanda’s awareness, the visage of an animal skull formed in a smoky apparition finally pushed her friends to flee.

“Fuck this!” Bucky shouts, pulling Natasha with him until his grip is white knuckled around her wrist. Steve mimics the action and sentiment with Peggy. Each of their screams joined the territorial growls and roars as they ran to the cellar’s exit.

“Wait—!” Wanda’s hand stretches out, gripping for her friends pleadingly only for the cellar door to boom loudly as the doors slam to a close.

The air feels cold around her yet so thickly laced, it shrouded her in darkness despite the many candles lit around her. Behind her, tendrils of grappling mist form into spiraling columns that wrap and weave together into a crafting tower, silent with a voice she hears as a mere whisper. Your fur manifests in this realm with a bristled motion and your ears immediately twitch, perking up at each minute breath she utters in her shell-shocked state.

Your master.

Oh, how long it has been since you last graced her beauty, her powerful aura and taken her into your enveloping hold. For too long she has been away from you. A tiny, coiled rasp akin to a curious, predatory purr emits from the chasm of your large chest.

Wanda’s voice feels raw, stretched thinly by the grimoire’s spell and her hand delicately moves to pet and stroke it but a figment of lithe, cold clawed fingers beat her to it.

A gasp hiccups in her throat as her head is tilted back slowly. Her eyes meet glowing balls of flame within the hollow frame of shallow eye sockets. A chiseled and grizzly face of a skull decorated with small cracks and a gaping maw revealing the serrated blades of teeth, moistened with an oily slick from a long, black limb of a tongue.

No way…

You make the sound of that grinding, off-note purr again, louder to reach her ears. “Milenec…”

Odd as it was to feel an inkling of acknowledgement to the term. It sounds so… endearing. Like she’s heard it before but not in this lifetime. The aspect of a time before her existence here and now is brought into question immediately.

“Y-you can talk…” she chokes out through a whispered breath, “What are you?”

“Milenec… it is me.” You let her slip from your grasp where she stumbles back, the rise of her heels clobbering against the cellar flooring like loud cracks of thunder. Your body moves unlike any natural thing on this earth. It contorts, twisting and bending in places that shouldn’t.

You body arcs and crosses over the podium with slinking ease, the wispy nature of your fur bellows in airy streams akin to the warp of fire and your long tail follows you as a trail of smoke; your body pushed and pulled like a magnetic charge between this realm and the next, there are forces at work that attempt to banish you and hold you grounded here.

“Don’t you remember me?”

“I don’t understand,” Wanda mutters. With a tilt of your large head that furls your ears with a flop, you speak with a guttural enunciation. “You freed me, Master. For so long I’ve waited, trapped in the void. But you kept your word. You summoned me.”

“I-I… that was… that was just a joke, I d-didn’t mean to—”

“But you did.” Low and unwavering is your tone, musing to and fro within the fabrication of vocalisation.

You stalk closer until the bony bridge of your skull bows down to meet her at eye level. “And now we can finally be together…”

“Properly… consummate our love.”

What?

Wanda stumbles back, nearly caving in on her heel in her blind stun but the shadowy appendage of your tail wraps her and draws her in closer so that her breasts meet the glistening grotesque of your tongue.

Long and expressive, it explores the exposure of her cleavage, tasting the warm dew of her skin and a thrumming growl rattles in your ribcage like bones being shaken in a hollow encasement.

With a quivering breath, Wanda sighs, caught in the midst of this awakened desire and her need to get away. “I’m not—Ah… who you think I am…”

Pulling away and bumping the skinless mouth of your face against her cheek, you huff. The tattered, darkened rings hidden deep within the sockets of the skull move like muscled skin. A cursed deformity?

An indication that you were once something more?

The visceral shade of glowing amber shines ominously bright like a flame tempered angrily.

“A reincarn…” The words speak as an echoing drawl that overlaps together. “But my Milenec all the same… my mate.”

“M-mate?” Wanda stutters and you nod with a low purr.

Had her dabbling in magic really cost her this time? For all her friend’s pleading to reconsider her less than tame rituals and practices, she truly opened the genie bottle on this one. And that genie happened to be a mystical entity hellbent on her being someone someone it knows. A reincarnate.

Wanda cannot exactly place it within herself, but there is a certain cadence of allure in your words. Your profession that you and her are meant to be together. She’s felt so lonely as of late after her messy breakup with her ex. Feeling unwanted and pathetically isolated, believing that nobody else wanted her because of her taboo hobbies.

But to think that this… creature wants her. She feels like it’s a sort of lust yearning to break free of herself. That this is right. That you’re meant to be.

Your hands move to cradle her jaw, her visage cutely small compared to your hands. Her breath comes in light pants. “May I… kiss you, Milenec?”

When Wanda had arrived back at her dorm room, she mostly expected it to be barren of her roommate after what occurred tonight. No doubt staying with Bucky. Her plump lips still reside with this vibrating tension after the kiss you shared. It was exotically powerful, submissively contained despite the ravenous hunger she could all but feel course through your materialised body.

The grimoire sat on her dresser, a foreboding piece of occult just laid out in the open. You advised her to take it with her.

“It was yours. Take it.”

From the vessel of her sleeping form, you emerge as the figment moving through the shadows, a tainted mass like water in oil. The native, lesser darkness submits beneath your imposing will, threatened by you. As a wayward spirit now marking your haunting claim to this new territory, you drift around your surroundings under an inquisitive note to investigate.

Your master is… different. She must be that of a reincarn. The loss of her memories — the loss of you — and in the matter that the world has changed so much since you were last summoned to this realm. Only the telltale sign of your presence leaves your shadow out in the open view, under the protruding light of the moon painted over the wall.

Before you, your hand muses between the phases of existence, taking care to be gentle when your claw pokes and plucks at a button eye of a stuffed toy of a bear. You recall young village girls who made their comforting friends from old straw, ragged scraps of hemp and linen thread. Witches of the craft also used similar ingredients to create dolls, giving them onto you to then find and slaughter them. Ah, those were the days you were admired as a god. A deity of the dark and the shadows, where your name was uttered on the faint whisper of fear and gasped aloud in seek of repentance.

Then your beloved summoned you, bound you in the sustained chains of her servanthood, and despite your nature to feel angered because of your entrapment; you admired the raw power she held. Together, you both would be unstoppable. In pledge of your divine protection and loyalty, she would bed you and settle your every carnal desire. She announced her soul yours to take in exchange that you would in turn serve as her faithful acolyte, the fonted source behind her increasing magic.

A woman after your own heart. No other witch of her time had made such an offering so appealing. Usually they slew a few mortals as a sacrifice or the odd bassinet that cradled a babe surrounded by small, dead birds; all to ask your favour and to surrender a portion of your power to make them powerful.

You’re not sure why these women thought you’d have such need for innocent, infant souls. But you made their treachery pay for their disgusting insinuation. Nor did you ever condone the contracts over the young. A foul entity of the void but one with a consciousness. That was what your true followers came to understand.

Brought back to the present you stand before the mirror of Wanda’s vanity. Small framed adornments hang by an invisible force that you decree is faulty magic, based on how easily it wanes upon touching it with the graze of a single clawed finger. Your mistress smiles in each one, some with the company of who you presume to be her followers, and others she is alone; in wait for your shadow to loom hazily in the next frame.

This modern age still confounds you but you will learn it. And with it, you will have all knees bend before your master. You will finally sate one another as you both promised for an eternity. Beside the vanity sits a woven basket. You come completely from the cloak of your phantomhood when the smell hits you. A strong odor exudes from it and you curiously click the lid open. The scent wafts higher, more intense and your core awakens with arousement. You can smell the intensity of her on the used clothes. The nose hole of your skulled face inhales deeply, sharply with a wheezing crackle. Your tongue laps at the soaking patch of her recent loins, groaning at the way hunger consumes you.

Your ears rattle with a perked flicker at the piercing chord of Wanda’s softened whine. Your head swerves to peer over your shoulder, a penetrative gaze of two smoldering fires set upon her. How beautiful she looks, the blanket pooled to her stomach, revealing the sculpt of her form, a less than orderly top clinging to her loosely and barely concealing the spill of her breasts.

As a misted cluster of wavering smoke, you saunter towards her until you stand over her at the side of the bed. Your head cranes on a tilted axis as you examine her closely. Her brows scrunched together, troubled and her body struggles and writhes pathetically, more so as she whines and moans breathlessly under the stir of her slumber. A low rumble vibrates in the chasm of your chest that it echoes deeply.

Her hips jerk and she lets out another pitiful sound. She’s needy…

She yearns for us…

She’s ready…

It’s now our time…

With one hand you cup her at the apex between her thighs and she shivers, hips jumping forward into your palming embrace. You growl with a low-edged timbre, desire taking hold of you. You feel the cool dampness soak her panties much like the ones in the basket and her smell… it takes every single sin of yours to remember not to ravish her outright lest you tear her open.

She continues to move against the wide spread of your hand, rubbing herself on you. Her muscles go rigged with each needy roll of her hips and her throat constricts around her mumbled phrases and wanting sounds.

She needs us…

You intrude two long fingers beneath the thin fabric of her panties, your thumb having sought out her clit. You run along her folds with tantilising motion, teasing. Your master gives a low, sulky moan in turn. Her legs spread further apart to welcome you, accommodate your invading advancements and her breath quickens that her breasts become strained against her top. How you’ll tear it off her in due time. Nothing will keep you apart an longer, nothing else shall hinder you from bearing witness to her naked body pinned beneath you or when she takes her place above you; to spear herself on the throne that is your cock. She will come to remember her manners, her power and then… nothing will remain in your path. You two shall be unstoppable.

You push the two fingering appendages past her moist folds and she gasps curtly, her spine arching beautifully from the mattress. Finally, she’s embracing that which is long overdue. Your thumb rolls her cli in slowly drawn circles, pressing with a touch of firmness to let her know your toying is an act to please.

Her name parts through her agape lips and her dark lashes beat with a sleepy flutter, unaware completely to what transpires.

“Milenec…” you purr. The darkened dart of your tongue slides over the maw of your bony teeth, wishful to savour her taste. You lower yourself at her side, your other hand moves up, caressing the temple of her body until it reaches the nape of her neck. Your jaw cracks and pops, a wiry whisper of breath lashes through the hollow of your throat and your tongue extends further from your mouth. Still fingering her velvety insides until she’s coating you with her arousal, her clit thrumming with a lively pulse, your tongue becomes integrated into the pleasurable mix.

You grunt and moan with a thousand resounding echoes bouncing back and forth between the walls. You taste the sweetened dew of her skin, its slight tang of salty residue. It slides over the slim plane of her stomach, caressing the creased threshold of her legs right near her navel and then upwards. The damned fabric offends you in your aroused exploration. Your tongue slips beneath its material hem and travels between her breasts, rippling for a moment before tearing the top down its middle. Her nipples become stiff, erected by the sudden chill that riddles her skin with goosebumps.

Her chorus of moans spurs you on. The inky tendril of your tongue glides over each breast, playful with both nipples until you leave a shiny gloss behind. It has her mewing in a way that makes your cock throb and stand between your legs. The thicker portion of your tongue slides and fondles over the curve of her breasts, its extension moving back down her body following the natural weight of her belly until your tongue prods at her clit. It’s cold to her, she lets out a shivered sigh and a softened mewl of your name.

Along with your fingers, your tongue divides the lips of her slickened pussy apart, becoming a third instrument that strokes her from within. Her walls are hot around you and it clouds your mind with a clouded lust, her snug walls that are flushed with a velvety feel that’s moistened; a precious cove where she beckons your entreating defilement. You groan with a slurping lap in indulgence to her taste finally on your tongue. Sweetened like a honeyed wine, the taste of a feverish delight. Greedily, you sink your tongue further inside of her.

She arches her back further and your hand supports her at the backend of her skull as she cries out your name, her breath panting and concealing that of a blissful scream. Her eyes open to the dimly lit world around her, the lamplight having flickered in warning that its lighting will expire soon the moment you laid your hands on her. Terrorised by a series of gasps and hiccuping moans, her hands fist and clench at the chilly spires of your misty fur, just thick enough to grab onto but the fainter portions slip through her hold.

“Y–Y/n… ah—ahh! My acolyte…”

You give a mused whine at the teetering edge of her voice, a bended inflection as she now balances horribly on the verge of her own orgasm; a heavenly relief. “Right there… please, r–right there!”

Your thumb becomes aggressive on her clit and you pull her to sit up slightly. The widened base of your head forces her legs to remain open no matter how much she clenches them against you, she pulls at the mane of fur around your neck as she begs you.

With a few more strokes of your fingers and tongue, she cums. Her body trembles violently as she’s taken by the white, hot flush that blinds her for a moment and her juices reward you; allowing you to devour it with gulping eagerness. As a last effort, your fingers work to stretch her walls out and she winces before you withdraw both appendages.

Her chest extends with each large breath and her eyes drown with a deepened pool of lust, the sparkle of scarlet dancing within them. Her power grows with digesting effort through each powerful exchange of your sexual endeavors. Your tongue retracts slightly back down into the unknown and pitless depths of your gullet and you growl deeply.

Wanda’s hands become fixed at your shoulders and pull at you, inviting you. With a serpentine movement, your tongue moves slowly over the mound of her clit, eliciting a sharpened gasp from Wanda. Further, it moves up her body again, wrapping as a band around her breasts and squeezing her; a mouse caught in your trap. The thinner flare of your tongue is a wonderful muscle all its own when it balances merely of its own accord before her lips, like a snake risen up for the strike.

Just from the burning amber of your eyes she understands you want her to taste herself. Her plump lips open weakly and you push the inky, slick covered tip into her mouth. Her tongue moves forward and flicks at the slitted divide of your forked muscle; and your body ripples with an unworldly, loud hum. She will come to understand such an area is akin to the sensitive tip to your weeping cockhead.

Your cock twitches and you move until your widened gate sits between her legs. Her soft, delicate thighs are forced to rest against the strong, muscled limbs of your own, just barely meeting at level with your hips and where her awaiting cunt lines up with your cock.

You move your tongue as a secondary thrusting muscle. Wnda moans a muffled song around it, her own tongue stroking the underbelly of the blackened length and your hips pitch forward with an eager roll. Your tip notches between the capture of her swollen pissy lips and you push forward.

Her body immediately tenses up and your hands hold tight to her wrists, ensuring her grip that claws at your remains there. You’ve never been opposed to pain mixing with pleasure.

The pronunciation of your name vibrates through your tongue and you growl. Her walls constrict around you with that hot flushness, fluttering as she eases her body to relax. Your size is one she hasn’t experienced before, not even her ex could compare. You pick up your thrust promptly, shoving your cock in and out, in and out. When you withdraw your tongue, the coiled muscle tightening around her ribcage with each thrust you force to penetrate her deeper, she lets out a sighing moan. Her lashes beat fast and her eyes roll back, lulled by the backward crane of her head that falls back against the pillow.

“Y-yeah, there, right there…”

“Mmm—mhph, so deep!”

How you’ve waited so long to hear her pleasure all to yourself. It’s intoxicating to be praised by your master and your pace quickens. Your hips snap faster and harder with a harshened force that rocks the bed back and forth with a grinding squeak, the headboard splintering a straight line into the wall from the pounding brunt.

“Shit, shit— I’m gonna—ah!”

You can hear her deep within the recess of her soul. Her reincarn a physical vessel that harbours your first and only love. Your beloved mate. She sings out to you; summoning you.

You see her within the blind of a memory, seeing the woman beneath you as you do your master.

You see two different branches of her soul.

And the thought that your master in this life has faced so much judgment, that her previous lover left her — not that he would have been around much longer if he’d been in the picture still.

A new quarry to hunt once your consummation was complete. A prize to bring back to your mate. Her first sacrificial offering you’d present to appease her.

Her legs lock around your sturdy hips to drag you further inside of her, kissing the delicate plush of her cervix that has her keening, her lips parted with deep and loud moans that would disturb the neighbouring dorms for sure.

“Milenec…,” you rattle with a purring growl, “My Milenec… release, let go.”

For a second time, Wanda bends to the bliss of her euphoria. Cumming around your cock, her walls hug you tightly and her body trembles again with a feverish tingle. It feels like her insides are boiling but her skin is plagued by the wave of coldness.

Your ears and back with a sharp howl as your knot swells before erupting with the spurting ropes of your release, listening to the rhythmic and moistened glide of where your bodies lock together now. It’s a sound you want to hear for eternity.

Your tongue loosens around her bust and slinks back down into your gullet, concealing its impressive length for another time.

“I feel…” Her words come out as a faded exhale. She’s unable to find the words as she stares up at you, a hand caressing the bony curve of your jaw that pops back into place after hanging so low.

“Whole.”

No longer will your darling master feel the shaded cloak of neglect and disregard. She will feel what it means to truly be loved. Desired. Worshipped. As your mate she falls under your protection and you will guard her fiercely. You will protect the witch who summoned you all those years ago and you shall forever pledge your service to the witch before you now.

She is one and the same. A lover is a lover even through ages past. Nothing will change the bargain you forged long ago. Not the eyes that spear her to the pyre that burned her in ages old, nor the imprisonment of the void, or even the grades she appears desperate to achieve — though you believe she should turn her studies to that of the grimoire: her true potential.

THANKS FOR READING!

✎ no note from the author

#headlinesxcomics publishing #kinktober #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda maximoff #wanda x you #wanda x reader #college au #wanda maximoff x werewolf reader #wanda x reader smut #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x reader

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sizzleissues · 1 year ago

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I like avoiding doing things - so HERE’S FEM!CATWALKER. Which of course means I have an excuse to give a character puffy sleeves. I’ve come to realise I love puffy sleeves. I swear I did like several design versions and didn’t immediately go for this. A cloak was considered.

Also loveybug is a complete visual juxtaposition to everything. Hello @asukiess - this is for you and your insane lovey themed au’s.

#miraculous ladybug #sizzle sketches #ml fanart #miraculous fanart #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #cat walker #loveybug au #transfem!adrien

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fairyysoup · 6 months ago

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the devil i know

chapter three: i smoke out your darkest side

(repost)

fic tag | fic playlist | fic masterlist

pairing(s): crossroads demon!eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: Your favorite accidental demon boy toy maims your piece of shit manager, learns a bit about your past, and visits you in a dream.

cw: explicit, witch!reader, reader is 21+, eddie is immortal, deal with a demon, inspired by american and european folklore, sacrilegious themes, wet dreams, lucid dreaming, handjobs, skin on skin grinding, teasing, horror, very intense bodily harm done to a minor character (tongues are lost), blood, gore, bullying/harassment, mention of past abusive ex, dead dove: do not eat

please check masterlist and individual parts for content warnings before reading. this fic contains dark themes. your media consumption is your own responsibility.

ALL OF MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

EASTWICK, YOUR JUNIOR YEAR

The book you found at the garage sale a town over has to be fake. Right? You’ve spent weeks flipping through it, looking at the pages and reading the words over and over, trying to somehow carve them into your memory.

It seems so improbable, but the notion bounces around in your skull for so long that it grips hold somewhere in there, wiggling down into your belief system until you just can’t seem to get rid of it.

Magic is real. Witchcraft exists. It has existed, in different forms, throughout history. You’ve just never considered that you could practice it for yourself, until now.

Part of the reason that you decide to try it is that you want to see what’ll happen. You have an insatiable curiosity, and if it works out, you may have just discovered the cure to all that ails you, so to speak. But the other part of it is a quiet desperation for something more.

Being sixteen sucks. But being sixteen in a small, puritanical town that’s stuck in the past, when you’re considered too weird to eat in the cafeteria without getting wads of gum stuck into your hair by the assholes on the football team, is worse.

You have no support system, and no way out. Your family won’t even pretend to understand. So, you’re taking to naïve leaps of faith, instead.

The moon is bright enough to illuminate the clouds moving in the sky around it. The air is thick with late spring mugginess and oncoming rain, stifling your skin. The candles arranged in a circle around you don’t help with the heat. Beneath you on the dirt, you’ve used red painter’s pigment to sketch out a pentacle, for lack of a better understanding of how to “cast a circle.”

In your hand, the little cloth doll you’d amateurly sewn together stares back at you with two black button eyes. You’d been very careful when you clipped off a piece of Matt Anderson’s backpack strap to tie around its neck. The wad of ABC gum that he’d shoved into your hair is wrapped in it, and stuffed inside the doll’s body, making it lumpy– but it doesn’t have to look perfect.

It just has to work.

You pick up a cheap plastic cigarette lighter and flick it on. The flame glows yellow in the dark, illuminating the crude red smiley face you’d drawn onto the doll’s head.

Fucking Matt.

The polyester cloth sizzles when you hold the flame to it, barely singeing the edges. All your rage, all your pent up anger and aggression toward him and the impromptu haircut he caused, floods out of you. The smiley face warps. One of the little button eyes pops off. The stuffing inside is going to catch on in a second–

“Oh, my GOD. What are you doing?”

You drop the lighter with a yelp. Over your backyard fence, your neighbor, Jessica, stares at you with wide eyes.

Jessica is your age, your longtime neighbor and one-time friend, when you were very little. You grew apart in middle school, when she discovered cheerleading and you discovered teen angst. She doesn’t talk to you much anymore, unless it’s to give you a hollow, backhanded compliment.

“Jess– I didn’t– what are you doing?” You squint at her in the darkness. Her blonde hair is up in foam rollers, a baby blue bathrobe wrapped around her willowy shoulders.

“Well I saw fire out here when I was getting ready for bed and I wanted to see what was– I wanted to make sure you weren’t, like, in trouble.” She takes in the circle of candles around the red pentacle, the lighter, the mutilated doll in your hand. “Are you, like… a Devil worshipper?”

“What?” You stand up, still clutching the doll in your hand. “No, why would you ask that?”

“Well, I mean… Reverend Tanner was talking about ‘em in church the other day, and I just thought…” She looks you up and down. Her eyes linger on your oversized Black Sabbath t-shirt, your hands covered in red pigment and soot from the spell you were attempting. “It’s okay, I’m not gonna say anything. I promise.”

“Jess, I’m not a Devil wor–”

“It’s… it’s alright. It’ll be our secret.” Jessica gives you a wobbly, forced smile that you know means she’s lying.

Your eye twitches in annoyance. You probably should say something. Plead your case, make her understand that this isn’t Devil worship. Tell her that whatever the hell she listens to the preacher at the local parish say about ‘lunatic Satan worshippers consorting with the Devil’ doesn’t apply to you, and frankly, probably doesn’t exist the way she thinks it does.

Instead, you just sigh. You can’t foresee her being as big of a problem as Matt or any of his cronies. She isn’t vindictive as all that. “Sure, Jess. Our secret.”

“I, um. Sorry, I’m just gonna…” Jessica gestures over her shoulder, and then retreats back toward her house. Her fluffy pink slippers scuff the wood of her patio as she glances back at you cautiously, like she’s afraid you’ll chase after her.

You watch her disappear inside. Then, with a roll of your eyes, you irritatedly hold the lighter’s flame to the Matt doll, and let it catch fire in your hands. You toss it into an empty Folgers coffee canister and let it burn to shit before you blow out the candles and go back inside. The pentacle on the ground will be washed away with the rain by the morning.

Fuck it all.

As soon as Colin enters his house, Eddie appears on the horizon like a stoic angel bearing a message.

Actually, that’s a fucking lie. He makes the walls cry blood. Always wanted to do that, at least once.

Colin’s a little pipsqueak of a guy in his early thirties, with prematurely thinning hair and skinny legs that make his pants look way too big on him no matter what size he wears. Eddie finds it hard to take him seriously– especially when he’s cowering in a corner brandishing a wooden crucifix like Eddie’s some kind of movie vampire.

“Colin– hey.” Eddie smacks the crucifix out of the guy’s hand, sending it clattering across the floor. Red ooze drips over Colin’s shoulder as he flinches away, whimpering and crying. Eddie rolls his eyes. “Christ, you people are so easy to scare. Okay. Here’s how this is gonna go– you’re gonna quit your job, and I’m gonna make you vomit green pea soup, and then we both go our separate ways and never have to see each other again. Sound good?”

Eddie pauses, tilting his head and squinting at Colin as he starts whispering something. It’s so quiet and wobbly with tears that he can’t quite make it out, so he has to lean close to Colin’s trembling face.

“–thy kingdom come thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven, give us this day our daily bread–”

Eddie sighs. “That’s not gonna work.”

“–forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us–”

“Colin, I’m losing my patience.”

“–lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil–”

“COLIN!” Eddie’s head explodes into a storm of snarling beasts, screeching demons and eldritch beings whirling around each other in a tempest that could rival the Tasmanian Devil. A monstrous jaw with three rows of razor sharp teeth unhinges in front of Colin’s screaming face, roaring at him, showing him the glowing pit of hellfire deep in Eddie’s chest.

Colin continues shrieking even after Eddie’s face returns to normal. Eddie rocks back on his heels, inching away from the puddle of urine Colin just released onto the floor.

“I warned you,” Eddie murmurs. “Needed you to shut up. Now,” Eddie snatches Colin’s phone from the coffee table, pushing it at him. “Call your stupid fucking boss and quit your job so I can get back to my girl.”

Blubbering, Colin juggles the phone in his trembling hands. It takes three tries for him to unlock the damn thing.

After it’s done, Eddie takes the phone from Colin and tosses it over his shoulder. “You just got off so fucking easy– they teach you those fucking manners in Sunday school, too? Stealing tips, making her clean the goddamn bathrooms on her hands and knees. I’d love to kick your teeth in–”

“W-wait–” Colin sniffles, sitting up in his corner. “That’s your girl? The witch?”

Eddie leans back, his jaw clicking into place as he readjusts it– unhinging it like that always misaligns it. He scrutinizes Colin’s expression; the blubbering, frightened little cretin is gone, replaced by a wild eyed and angry zealot.

“Oh, my god. Oh my GOD, so it’s true?” Colin laughs hysterically. “You know they say she burned down her neighbors house because they saw her worshiping the Devil?”

Eddie blinks. “What fucking year is this? 1692?”

Colin doesn’t answer, just continues, “And she never got caught. They couldn’t prove it was her. But now, I bet…”

Colin trails off. There’s something dark and menacing in Eddie’s eyes that wasn’t there before– not even when he lost his temper. Lava pools whirling and stormy, boiling and angry like the buildup before an eruption.

Fear shoots directly into Colin’s mind so hard that he gives a startled jump. After years of skillful practice, Eddie has figured out how to play with people’s emotions in quite the literal sense. Sometimes, he does it harder than necessary.

“I– I mean–” Colin backtracks, “I’m not gonna say anything. I promise. I– I fucking swear on my life–”

“I don’t care about your life,” Eddie says, his voice as flat as he can make it. “I care about hers.”

“Please– please don’t kill me!”

“No, I’m not gonna kill you.” Eddie looks momentarily as though he’s considering launching himself forward and throttling the cowering man, but he sets aside his sudden temperament. “I promised her that I wouldn’t. Which… complicates things.”

Colin squirms. “It… it does?”

“Mm.” Eddie nods, his hands pressed together under his nose as though in prayer. “Because you’re obviously not gonna keep your trap shut, so I have to do it for you.”

Eddie stands as Colin retches. His body contorts on the floor, wailing and gurgling until a projectile stream of blood bursts forth and splatters across the living room hearth. In the midst of the puddle of blood, a writhing tongue curls and twitches, severed on one end like it was cut with a sharp blade.

Colin collapses in a pool of his own fluids. He’ll live. Unfortunately.

Eddie dusts his hands off on his pants and whistles. Out of the shadows, the smoky impression of a dog appears, its glowing red eyes piercing through the darkness and mirroring Eddie’s.

“Dante,” Eddie mutters to the shadow of the rottweiler, standing at attention and waiting for instructions. The dog gives a short whuff of acknowledgement. Eddie snaps his fingers, points at Colin’s disembodied tongue. “Dinner.”

Dante barks and falls upon the tongue enthusiastically. It’s been a while since Eddie’s hellhounds had any fresh meat, only being fed by the souls of the condemned in the Otherworld.

Eddie turns around in a circle, staring around at Colin’s less than stellar apartment setup. He can’t really judge, he was never much of a housekeeper either, but this guy is on a whole other level.

It takes a minute, but he finds what he was looking for beneath Colin’s mattress– hilariously predictable– in a tin pencil box. There’s about $300 in cash, singles and fives and a few twenties in the mix. A couple receipts from a Coinstar machine, as well.

Eddie snatches up the wad of money and shoves it into his back pocket.

You’ve managed to have one or two lucid dreams in your life. In the past they’ve been something mundane– walking through a city or having a talk with an elderly gentleman on a park bench.

This one is different. You open your eyes to something entirely unexpected.

Your dream is bright and colorful, despite it being perpetually twilight. As you gain lucidity, you pick up on different things– damp grass on your bare back, skin on skin, a gentle caress up a naked thigh. You turn your head, and you find Eddie there next to you, stirring as if rousing from a dream of his own.

You– or, your subconscious– has already taken the liberty of stripping him of his clothes, and you lay in the tall grass of a meadow. Your arms are around him, your leg hooked over his waist. He pets your thigh, soft and gentle like he’s doing it mindlessly.

Your hand wraps around his cock and he startles, his eyes flying open as he gasps.

“Oh. This is, um…” Eddie turns his head towards you, snickering as a warm flush spreads across his cheeks. Ringed hands– because of course, your mind would keep the rings in there– come up to cover his face.

You giggle. “Hello, handsome.”

He grumbles something, but he doesn’t manage to say anything of real importance before he moans. You squeeze his cock and roll your wrist, stroking him torturously slow. He throbs in your grip, needy and jumping when you skim your fingers over the vein that runs along his shaft.

“Well, you, um–” Eddie huffs and cracks a smile, dragging his hands down his face as he does to clear away the grogginess that comes from stepping into the astral plane. “You sure know how to make a demon feel special.”

“Not what you had in mind?” you ask, and your voice has a sultry dip to it that makes the demon squirm.

“Mm, I figured–” Eddie’s breath catches in his throat when you lean over and spit onto his cock. The sound that kicks up from it is salacious, a lewd squelch that completely contradicts your pastoral surroundings. You watch him, as his mouth hangs open in shock for a moment. His head drops back against the ground, baring the jumping muscles of his long neck for your consideration. “Fuck– figured you dream about unicorns and lollipops or some shit.”

You hum, looking pointedly down at where your hand strokes him between his legs. “Well, you’re half right. S’what you get for hijacking my dream, you little shit,” you mutter, but it doesn’t come out as caustically as you want it to, because you litter his chest with kisses.

“I just wanted to talk.” He tilts his head, giving you a pointed look. “You seem to have other plans.”

“Well, it’s my dream, and you caught me in a mood, so.” You shrug, rolling your thumb over the head of his cock. You’re gazing down at it like it’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen, with heavy-lidded eyes and your bottom lip caught between your teeth.

Eddie groans and bucks his hips up into your fist. His hand comes up to grab your shoulder, a warm touch that sends a shudder through you. “Remind me to do that more often?”

You shake your head slowly. “Nuh-uh, this is a one time thing. You said you wanted to talk, so talk.”

You hadn’t realized just how much his presence would affect you, even just in your dreams. Everything about him screams for you to unhinge yourself, against your better judgment; his eyes, his scent, even his voice beckons you. Something not quite human or tangible pulls at your senses and clutches at your chest, and you’re not sure if it’s hunger or lust or something else entirely, some other primitive urge that you’re feeling in force.

Eddie sucks in a long breath through his teeth, his eyes falling to your hand as it works over him. His own tremble, holding back from touching you how he wants.

“There’s, um. You asked me to– uh–” You start trailing your tongue along his chest in a way that makes him lose his train of thought, your lips dragging over his skin, heavenly soft. “Uhhh– not kill that guy for you. So I didn’t.”

“Good.”

“I cut out his tongue, though.”

“Eddie.”

“Sorry.” He isn’t, really. You can feel it, and you can see it in the ghost of a smile on his face. “He was gonna say some shit about you worshipping the Devil. Called you a witch.”

“Everyone already does. And they’re right, aren’t they?” You sigh, and your breath whispers across his overheated skin. “I’m worshipping a devil right now.”

You’re bolder in your sleep. You guess because, to your subconscious mind, there isn’t as much to be afraid of in dreams. Especially in dreams that you can control. All your hang-ups are, well… hung up. And you can let yourself be as promiscuous as you want, at least until you wake up.

You bite at a spot on his neck that makes him lose his composure. Eddie chews his lip and groans, his eyes nearly rolling back into his skull. He grabs your hip and flips you, until your back hits the grass and his hips rest between your legs.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you gaze up at him. Eddie’s beautiful, so impossibly stunning that it nearly frightens you, almost as much as this aching want burning inside of you does. His dark hair hanging around his face, his flushed skin and glowing amber eyes. He’s the picture of immortal beauty and power, and he’s yours.

His lips are so close to yours, his mouth open so that his breath gets caught in your lungs. His nose bumping your own, almost like he means to kiss you.

Eddie rocks his hips, and you feel his erection grind against your cunt. Splitting the seam of your pussy, parting around him as he slides the length of it against you, getting it wet with your arousal. He isn’t… he isn’t fucking you, per se. But it would take just the slightest hitch of his hips, just a little press forward to change that.

You whimper, clutching at his shoulders, your nails digging into his back. “Eddie…”

“So you want to play games, huh?” he murmurs, his voice low and bassy in his chest.

You roll your hips up into his. You can’t help it– the slick, soft glide of his cock through your folds, the head catching against your clit feels too good. His lips on your skin, his breath in your ear. It’s been way too fucking long for you, since someone touched you like this. Your head drops back on your shoulders, your back arching as you moan–

You wake up.

You fucking. Wake. Up.

You lay, disoriented, on your bed. Your hand rests on your sweaty forehead as your pussy throbs, hot and angry between your legs. Seething with rage and neglect, begging for the job to be finished.

It was so real. It felt so real, and so good, and you had to go and ruin it.

His scent remains. His smoke fills your lungs, eating up all your oxygen and making your head spin. You struggle to find your balance somehow, trying to quell the ache between your legs, trying to snap back to a reality where you weren’t just about to fuck your dream demon.

“Did you burn down someone’s house?”

You yelp, bolting to sit up in bed. His scent wasn’t just a leftover memory from your dream. You search through the darkness until your eyes find him sitting in the antique chair in the corner of your room, facing the bed, lit only by streaks of light filtering through the blinds from the streetlamp outside. He reclines, immobile, seemingly relaxed as his eyes glow warm and nearly gold in the low light.

You simply cannot handle this right now. Not while you’re coming down from a very near orgasm you just had because of him.

“What?”

“The guy, Colin–” Eddie continues, as if he’s completely unaware of the absolute torture you’re going through. “He said you burned down someone’s house. Your neighbor’s?”

You wonder for a moment if you could hate him for this, but you already know the answer. You could never hate him. Not really.

“C’mon, you can tell me,” he coos, and then winks. “Tell me and I’ll give you a present.”

You squint at him. He can’t possibly mean what you think he means. You get a mental image of him between your legs, his eyes glowing as he peers up at you, his mouth closed over your cunt.

He smirks like he knows exactly what you’re thinking. The fucker.

“Yeah,” you admit, drawing your knees up to your chest. “Yeah, uh. My fucking neighbor– she started a rumor that I was a Satanist in high school. Got everyone in on it. So, I threw a Molotov through her kitchen window.”

Eddie nods slowly. “Amazing de-escalation tactic.”

“It’s not like I genuinely tried to burn down the place,” you huff. “How was I supposed to know they’d just had the floor waxed?”

Eddie laughs, rocking forward in his seat. His eyes sparkle and his smile is sharp when he pulls a wad of money out of his pocket, holding it up between two fingers. “Your tip money. Your wish, my command.”

You’re taken aback, gazing at the paper that seems so bright in the darkness. “Well, that was relatively painless.”

“Was it?” It’s barely a whisper, but something you were meant to hear. Holding his jaw in his hand, fingers splayed across his cheek, he watches you with growing intensity. “Come and take it, then.”

The knowing smile on his lips issues a challenge, one that you would walk away from in any other circumstance. He knows very well what he’s doing. He can read your thoughts, that much is obvious. And since it seems they’re always in the gutter now, he knows how you’re squirming beneath your skin at the sight of him.

You wonder if you were really the one who ended the dream.

Refusing to breathe– you’re afraid that if you do, the sound of it would give you away– you crawl out of your bed and stand on shaky legs. One look at him tells you he’s gloating, watching the way that you struggle.

Ohhhh you hate him. You hate him, you hate him.

You cross the room toward him, moving slower than necessary in order to steel yourself to the shortening distance between you. You stop short of his legs, extended out and crossed at the ankles.

Eddie doesn’t move, his elevated hand still holding the wad of money. “C’mon then, tough girl.”

You stare at him, trying not to give yourself away, trying for all the world not to scream or throw yourself on him. You hesitantly step forward and snatch the money out of his hand before taking a long step back.

“Thank you, Eddie,” you say mildly, trying to keep your voice steady. Even his name sends a rush of warmth through you. The word burns on your wrist. Your body shakes against your will.

Shit. Fuck. God damn it.

He chuckles, standing from the chair, looming over you. “Anything else I can help you with?”

You squint up at him, your voice shaking as much as your hands, now. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Right. It was a one time thing, wasn’t it?”

The expression on his face is somewhere between affection and condescension as he suppresses a grin. His hand comes up and he pinches your chin between his thumb and forefinger, urging you to look up into his eyes.

A note of fondness oozes into his tone. “Don’t play games with me, sweetheart. You won’t win.”

Eddie’s touch sends a shock wave through your body, a shiver so strong that your eyes flutter shut. His voice is so soft, so lovingly gentle that it nearly makes you break down, knees weakening, head spinning.

He leans forward, pressing his lips to the shell of your ear. “I’ll be here, whenever you change your mind.”

There’s an edge to his voice, a tone that hints at some sort of plea in there. You don’t know what it could be for– sex? Your trust?

You trust him to protect you. You approach him the same way you might approach a spirit in your house– unfamiliar, sure, but not immediately a threat as far as you know. Here, let me offer you half of my muffin as long as you don’t set my house on fire, okay? Maybe don’t kill that guy. Or maybe do. Depends on my mood.

You purse your lips, thankful that he doesn’t look at you when you say, “I know.”

You sound a lot more sure than you feel. You desperately want to grab him and kiss him, throw him on the bed and finish what you started in that dream.

Except, you’re afraid. A dream is one thing; sex in the waking world is another. You’re tiptoeing around some strange patron demon-human relationship that you don’t know how to navigate. It’s in the contract that you have to fuck him, eventually. But you and relationships don’t have a good history, and you’re a little frightened that if you make that leap on your own, it’s only going to end badly.

You think of Andy. You think of your abusive ex who still just hangs around, waiting to intimidate you. You think of the reason why you went out to make a deal with Eddie, and you think of the dog tag that you buried as an offering because Andy had taken the last thing you truly loved from you.

You know that Eddie isn’t just some normal guy you’re dealing with. Your attraction to him goes against everything that you understand, but it makes sense, doesn’t it? Because you try. You try and try, and you’re a good girl until you’re pushed too far, and then you do something stupid like make a deal with a demon because you’re sick of having to just be strong on your own. And suddenly you want to fuck that demon’s brains out so bad that it’s keeping you up at night.

But… you don’t know him. Not really. And as bad as you want him, with your body screaming for him, it’s still enough to make you hesitate.

There’s a subtle movement of Eddie’s head, like maybe he can sense your indecision. Maybe he’ll end that torture for you. He’ll read the brimming anxiety in your thoughts and give you what you’re too afraid to ask for. Sex. Sex with Eddie. Sex with your demon… whatever he is.

Sex with his infernal majesty of freaks and misfits.

But he doesn’t. Without another word, Eddie turns, and he disappears into your bedroom mirror. Leaving you to flop down onto your bed, punch your pillow, and scream.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #tdik!fic #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #demon!eddie #demon!eddie munson #roses*

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milkbobatyun · 6 months ago

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our final night

pairing: geto x gn!reader

genre: angstober, events

summary: no one promised tomorrow would come without a mishap, so he came to you, to love you and be next to you, even if it was just for one final night

word count: 551

C O N T E N T W A R N I N G : mentions of alcohol, jjk spoilers

a/n: geto is my fav jjk character frfr :( he needed a happy ending. gege must now pay for my therapy cus wtf was that whole thing (◞‸◟；)

ever since that incident, geto suguru had been secluding himself from everyone else. the last person to have ever seen him was gojo. he was kind enough to send you a final text message.

‘let’s break up.’

so the last thing you expected was to see him in the middle of the night, at your doorstep.

the thump of knocking against your door had aroused your attention. despite it being the ungodly hour of 2 in the morning, you found yourself unable to sleep, instead sitting with a warm mug of hot chocolate, a sappy rom com playing on the tv, while you drew sketches in your book.

cautiously, you peered through the peep-hole, hoping it wasn’t some mass murderer who had decided you were their next target. instead, there stood geto, hair dishevelled and escaping his usual hairstyle.

without hesitation, you threw open the door, ushering him inside before someone saw. seeing his condition, your heart wrenched painfully. he had dark shadows haunting the bottom of his eyes, the smell of alcohol clinging to him.

geto stumbled into your house, large form slumping over your shoulder as you nearly buckled under his weight.

“i told myself i wouldn’t come back,” he mumbled into your shoulder, words slurring with the effect of the alcohol. “but i didn’t know where else to go, i had no one else to turn to.”

you were silent, lending an ear to his inner-most thoughts, allowing him to spill all the emotions he had been building up inside. he righted himself with an effort, gently cupping your face with his larger hands.

“it was stupid of me,” geto sighed, eyes downcast with sadness. “i know i told you that i wanted to break up but…” he broke off with a sigh.

tears glistened in his eyes as his stare bore into yours. “you’re too important to me. i love you so much, but when you’re with me, i’ll only drag you down.”

the sorrow lingered in the air, like the remenents of a burning stick of incense. that was the last thing geto remembered saying before sleep invaded his senses, leaving you to settle this late night visitor into suitable accommodations.

when he awoke, the sunlight was streaming through the curtains, warming his face. he was covered in a fluffy orange blanket, a pattern of chibi black cats adorned with witch hats dancing across the fabric.

a past conversation whispered into his ear as he stared holes into the blanket.

the cats, they look like you, dangerously adorable, you had teased, a delighted smile on your face. geto’s was adorned with a put-out pout, arms crossed against his chest as he dramatically huffed his offence at your comment. that night, it had taken you many kisses and whispered apologies as you tried to win back his favour. needless to say, it didn’t take long before your teddy bear of a boyfriend relented into your pleas.

geto was shaken from his thoughts by the loud pop and sizzle of food frying in a pan. the enticing scent of pancakes wafted from the kitchen, accompanied by the soft melody of your cheerful humming.

maybe, just for one day, he could pretend that everything was just fine.

when it comes time to say goodbye, maybe he could die with a smile.

taglist (open): @yeonjunsfox

#anime #jujustu kaisen #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk angst #jjk x reader angst #jjk angst oneshot #geto x reader #geto x reader angst #geto angst #suguru geto x reader #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru angst #geto suguru x reader angst #geto onehsot #geto angst oneshot #angst #angstober

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mar1omar1a · 10 months ago

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Assortment of splat sketches while I wait for sizzle season (pride month) to start (plus an oc drawing under cut)

#art #splatoon #splatoon 3 #frye #squid sisters #callie cuttlefish #marie cuttlefish #summerfest #the summerfest designs are so good i actually became a marie liker #no oth in this sketch bc well tbh their designs...#anyways.#maybe for tomorrow i draw a pic of shiver and frye making out like in the one meme #yk the one

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heavenlyraindrops · 4 months ago

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The Devil Made Me Do It | Arcane | Silco x Reader | Chapter Twenty

available on AO3 and Quotev | visit the first tag for other chapters | warnings: profanity, smoking, threats

summary:

In the midst of an unfortunate run-in with the enforcers, you meet the young revolutionary Silco, and by extension, his friends Vander and Felicia. Growing close friends, you get through life in the undercity together, determined to make Zaun a better place. Until tragedy strikes, and betrayal and carelessness stabs hard enough to turn you bitter. Years later as time solidifies the scars, Silco proves to be a thorn in your side. You, in his. Hatred festers. And your world cracks further open.

Chapter Twenty:

You stared at the heavy chained padlock, and then the blueprints Donna handed you. Your eyes roamed over the sketch.

“We had them redraw the original lock, every little detail,” she said. “And this is what we got.” She struggled to lift the heavy lock. You waved your hand at her and she dumped it back on the table. You leaned down to inspect it.

“It’s pretty much the same,” you muttered. “They’d never notice.”

“The key system is different,” she added, and handed you a wrought metal key. “This cost us a lot, you know.”

You plucked the key from her hand, holding it up to the light. “It’s fine,” you muttered distractedly. You snapped your eyes back to her, gaze re-focusing. “We need to test the metal.”

“Right, I’ll gather-“

“No, me and you.” You grinned at her as she blanched. “It’ll be a bonding exercise.”

She scoffed at that, not bothering to protest and instead turning to leave the room. The beads tinkled in her wake.

Over the next week or so you’d tested the metal under every possible weapon under the sun. ‘[name], do we really need to run a truck over it?’ Unfortunately, the truck did break it, but you figured it would be a while until they decided to run a truck over the front door- or even figured out how to.

The chainsaw had only cracked it a little. After all was said and done, you and Donna both looked at each other and nodded. The answer was clear- this would buy you enough time to set up a small space on the bottom floor to rival theirs, if you worked quickly and tirelessly.

“This is a huge stretch,” Donna said nervously. You shrugged, dropping the giant heated knife you were holding. The metal chain of the lock had melted a little where the blade had cut it, but hadn’t been cut through completely.

“So what? Even if they find out, I don’t care.” You tossed the knife onto the ground. It clattered and sizzled. “This is just a throwaway effort to fuck with them a little. We won’t get far.”

Donna hummed, crossing her arms. “It’ll cost a lot.”

“So what? I’m richer than half of Zaun combined.”

She snorted. “Love to see a humble woman these days,” she snarked. You laughed, nudging the hot metal with your foot.

“I don’t need to lie to be humble. I’m loaded; it’s a fact.”

“Incredibly humble.”

You nudged her forcefully. “Just- piss off. Go send someone to commission more locks. Say we’ll fund the supply of the metal on top of the payment.”

Donna wrinkled her nose. “What even is that stuff?”

You shrugged. “Probably metal on Shimmer. Go on, then.” Donna rolled her eyes and stalked away. You put your hands on your hips and pushed your goggles, which you’d worn for safety purposes, over your head. You looked out over the empty, abandoned scrap yard. You might get someone to clean it out later- it would come in handy. You were surprised it hadn’t been found and the scraps taken to sell already, but you weren’t complaining.

You turned to leave.

The lock was on. It had been on for two days.

“I can’t believe we got away with this,” Donna said, awe-struck. You took a drag of your cigarette and rolled your eyes.

“We won’t get away with it for long,” you remarked, flipping the page of an old book. The paper had yellowed with age but the words were still readable. You’d nicked it from Hilda’s shop, years ago, and had never found the courage to throw it away.

“Okay, but it’s been two days, we’ve worked around the clock, and there’s already a good set-up in there.”

“Shocking how they haven’t noticed,” you muttered thoughtfully, eyes still fixated on the pages. You looked up at Donna. She was zoned out, eyes glazed over with wonder. You snapped your fingers at her. “Back to reality, please.”

She flinched, eyes flicking back to you. “S-sorry. Just. Isn’t this what you wanted?”

“What I wanted was to rile them up, but I didn’t expect it to fucking work.” Your finger ran across the edge of the page. “I haven't planned this far ahead. Do you think they’ve noticed?”

“Maybe if they take the padlock to get inspected,” Donna quipped. You frowned, leaning back on the cushions and taking another drag. Smoke curled from your mouth as you spoke.

“I don’t know if he’d do that or not, or just have it broken off.”

Donna paused. “All you wanted to do was rile them up?”

You sat up straight again. “Yeah. And-“ you held up a finger. “We can’t afford to be predictable.” Donna blinked at you, confused, so you launched into an explanation. “We need to do anything and everything under the sun. Smart things, stupid things, risky things, play it safe- so they can never know what we’ll do next.”

Donna nodded along, transfixed.

“The play with the employee trade was a safe one, a smart one. I was reasonable and fair.” You stubbed out the cigarette on your ashtray. “Now it’s time to be unreasonable.”

“You give great speeches.”

Your face lit up. “Thank you!”

“I was being sarcastic.”

Your face fell. You went back to the book.

‘Julia’s eyes followed the rooftops, wind swaying in her hair as he leaned his head on hers. That was the moment she realized: one kiss, and this moment would be sealed in time forever.’

It was ridiculously soppy. You shut the book.

“This is a bad move, but it’ll throw them off.”

Donna was silent for a while, until she finally spoke. Her voice was gravely quiet. “I can feel it all coming to a head.”

You tossed the book onto the table and took a drag of your cigarette. The title glinted in the honeyed light.

“So can I.”

Apparently Allison had been incessantly whining at Elliot to take her to the secret camp in the factory. You’d found him standing by a shipment of weapons, with her clinging to his arm. He looked greatly uncomfortable as you grabbed Allison and dragged her back.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” You snapped. The girl looked up at you before crossing her arms, wordless. You shook her a little.

“Disobeying my direct orders?” You snapped furiously. You grabbed her by the ear and she cried out in protest, feet stumbling over each other as you dragged her back into the Haven. Once you were inside, you released her, shoving her as you did. She staggered back across the carpet.

“Do you have a death wish?” You hissed. Her eyes widened as she guiltily looked at her feet. Your fingers twitched with the familiar urge to throw something across the room. “I forbid you to go anywhere near the conflict. You’re not old enough.”

“He wouldn’t have taken me anyways,” the girl replied defensively. You stiffened, feeling the eyes of workers and patrons on you, the room hushing. You flashed them a quick smile, smoothing down your hair.

“Kids, am I right,” you laughed. You looked back at Allison and the glare settled back on your face, as you leaned in, lowering your voice. “You’re gonna go upstairs, you brat, and you’re not coming down until you realise just how serious it is.”

“That’s not fair!” Alice wailed, but you didn’t have the patience for her petulance,

“Now!” You snapped, and she whirled around, charging up the stairs. You scowled, straightening up and dusting yourself off. You whirled around on your heel and disappeared into your office, slamming the door in your wake.

The brothel resumed its usual hushed bustle. Inside the office, you paced around, trembling fingers lighting up a cigarette. Someone knocked on your door.

“Not now,” you snapped, irritated as you took a deep inhale of your cigarette. The doorknob turned anyways, much to your displeasure. Sevika stepped in.

“Janna, your office reeks of smoke.” She wrinkled her nose and you scowled, resisting the urge to flick the roll-up at her and set the whole place on fire in the process.

“You smell like alcohol and a shower allergy,” you snapped back. She raised her eyebrows.

“Kitty’s got claws today, I see,” she remarked, stepping into the office and shutting the door. You groaned, stretching as she made herself comfortable on the couch.

“What do you want?” You complained. Sevika raised an eyebrow, cocking her head. It made your blood boil.

“The lock on the front door of the factory seems to have suddenly stopped working.”

“So?” You asked indignantly, taking another drag of the cigarette and willing your leg to stop shaking.

“So, what do you know about it?”

“You sure the key hasn’t broken?”

“Nope.” She popped the ‘p’, and you scowled, stepping forward.

“Well, what do you need it for?”

“Excuse me?”

“What do you need the key for? Since when are you going in and out? Since when have you started locking it?”

“Since we’ve taken it over,” she replied evenly, watching your temper rise with much enjoyment. You leaned over her, cigarette hovering close to her face. You took a slow drag, never breaking eye contact, and slowly blew the smoke in her face. She turned it away, furrowing her brow, but you grabbed her jaw and turned her back to face you forcefully. Her eyes watered from the smoke.

“You haven’t taken over anything,” you murmured. “You can’t even get into your own building.”

“It’s of your interest too,” she muttered as you hovered the cigarette over her neck, the heat warming her skin.

“Not my problem yet.”

“We’ve tried breaking the lock. It’s barely cracked.” Her eyes settled on you, her silence expectant. You scowled.

“So what? You want me to help you unlock the building?” You laughed, and her scowl grew.

“There’s been reports of activity in the building,” she began slowly. You stared at her, bemused.

“…Okay? Do I look like I give a fuck?”

Sevika suddenly grabbed your wrist and you tensed up, trying to pull away from her. Her grip only tightened, and you hissed at the bone-crushing pressure.

“[name], one day we are going to bust open that lock,” she said darkly, eyes trained on yours. You smirked. “And you and I both know what we’re gonna find in there.”

You shrugged innocently. “No idea what you’re talking about,” you replied smoothly, as her grip loosened on your wrist, her hand slipping away.

You put out the cigarette on her neck, and she exhaled sharply. You pulled away, admiring the burn mark, then chuckled, spinning around on your heel to flick the cigarette onto the table.

“Donna should be in the lobby,” you smirked. She scowled, dusting herself off as she stood up.

“That won’t be necessary,” she growled. She turned to spin on her heel, but just as she did, the beaded curtain flew aside and Donna ran in. Sevika dodged her as she hurtled towards you, throwing herself at you.

It took you a few moments to register that Donna was sobbing into your shoulders. You stiffened, confused, before wrapping your arms around her. “…You okay?”

Donna clung to you like a child to its mothers leg. Sevika turned towards you both and frowned. You could feel hot tears on your shoulder.

“I- the- and the-“ she hiccuped, the words barely registering. You hushed her, smoothing your hands over her back. You looked up at Sevika.

“I think you should go,” you said with finality. Sevika was frozen to the spot. “Let’s drop the subject of our little conversation for good, shall we? For-“ your eyes slid to Donna, “-All our sakes.”

You smirked and lifted a hand to point at Donna’s head with two fingers, mimicking a gun. You pretended to shoot it with a flick of your hand, mouthing:

‘Pew.’

You could see the conflict simmering behind Sevika’s eyes as she stared at you with ill-concealed horror, before whirling around to leave. You could hear the front door slamming in the wake of her heavy footsteps.

Once the office had grown silent you peeled Donna away from your arms. “What’s wrong?” You asked, concerned. Donna straightened up and wiped her eyes, face falling into an expression of indifference.

She shrugged. “I’m fine. Just sounded like you needed Sevika out of here.”

You grinned.

The book thumped onto the table. Silco raised his head, frowning. His hair wasn’t tied back, instead flowing freely around his face, and the dark swipes of eyeliner beneath his eyes had smudged a little.

“Julia and the Wickerlight,” he read the title aloud, and pulled a face at the cheesy cover. “What’s all this, then?”

“It’s a novel,” you said excitedly. “I nicked it from Hilda today.” At the amused look on his face, you straightened up. “I’ll give it back after I finish it. She won’t even notice it’s gone.”

He chuckled. “Right.” He picked it up, turning it over. “Is this a romance? It looks awful.”

You scoffed, slumping into the booth opposite him. “What do you know about novels? I’m sure it’s better than those ledgers you look at all day. When you close your eyes at night, do you dream about numbers?”

“Do you dream about romance?” He challenged you, and you scoffed, burying yourself into the booth and crossing your arms. He laughed at your mortified expression, and with a deft flick of his wrist the thin hardback slid across the rough wood towards you.

“I don’t read much,” you admitted, picking up the book. “So I’ll take anything I can get. Novels are hard to come by in Zaun.”

“That they are,” he agreed. You looked up at him, and he paused. “Wait. Is this your first time reading a novel?”

“No!” You spluttered, and he burst out laughing at your bad lie. You began to panic, face turning red. “W-wait! It’s not my fault.”

He wiped his eyes, then looked up at you, still grinning widely. “Calm down, darling. I won’t bully you for not ever enjoying a good story.”

“I was a broke orphan in the undercity,” you snapped defensively. “Where would I find a novel?”

He hummed indulgently, but he was still smirking. You slammed the book onto the table.

“Well, after today, I will be enjoying a good story. So hah!”

He snickered again, and the triumphant look on your face faltered. He leaned over to tap the cover with a long finger. “You’ll enjoy a good story, yes. Not sure about the ‘good’ part, or even the ‘enjoy’ part, although-“ he snapped his fingers, “-you do seem like the type to have awful taste.”

“Excuse me?” You gasped, shocked. You leaned over and swiped his drink, which was left neglected beside the open ledger he’d been inspecting, and swirled it around. You took a sip. “I have wonderful taste.”

“In what? Awful novels?”

You smiled at him, fluttering your lashes. “In friends.”

His face turned slightly red and he quickly looked away from you as you took another sip, eyes never leaving his. “Flattery won’t work on me.”

“Aww.” You pouted, then shoved the drink back to him. A little droplet rolled down the side of the cup. “What a shame.”

He cleared his throat. “Let’s just drop this, shall we?”

“Of course,” you giggled, earning yourself a swat from him.

“Go away. I’m trying to read.”

You stood up, turning as if you were about to leave. But just as you least expected it you lunged into his side of the booth, tackling him as you shoved him for a seat. He yelped, the drink sloshing about before he set it down. “Get off of me!”

“No,” you laughed, straddling his lap. “You’re a killjoy.” There was a small dusting of coal on his cheekbone. You swiped at it, and his blush turned deeper. “I’m going to fix your eyeliner now.”

“That’s not necessary-“

You were already shoving your hand into his jacket pocket, before pushing his chest. He fell back, letting out a small noise of protest as you leaned over him, uncapping the eyeliner pencil. His loose hair spread across the leather of the seat unceremoniously.

“Must you crawl on top of me?” He muttered as you rubbed at the corners of his eyes with your thumb. He hissed, jerking his head away. “Stop doing that.”

You poised the pencil over his face. “It’s more fun this way.”

“For you. I’m being crushed.” His actions betrayed his words- he looked completely fine, as if the body weight you’d tossed on him barely bothered him at all. You fell silent, chewing your lip with concentration as you touched the pencil to skin. He sighed. “So what’s your stupid novel about?”

“There’s a girl called Julia,” you said slowly, focused at the task at hand. “And she falls in love with a boy who only lives as long as a magic candle burns.”

He shifted uncomfortably beneath you as your knee dug into his side. “What’s the boy’s name?”

“Nico.”

“Right. And this candle. It burns eternal?”

“Unless someone puts it out, yes.”

“Right.” His eyes fluttered shut, relishing your warm breath skimming across his face. “Tell me more.”

“Well, she has two sisters. Ciara and Elysia. And they help her protect her love’s candle.”

“Not a classic evil stepsister situation, then?”

You laughed a little, and he scrunched up his face. You frowned and flicked his forehead. “Stop moving your face,” you snapped. And then you sighed. “No. It’s not an evil stepsister situation. In fact, they’re the best sisters she could have asked for.”

“How does he keep it safe- before she meets him, I mean?”

“He keeps it in a special case, so no wind can blow it away.”

“So what does it need protecting from?”

“Well, there’s an evil witch-“ you’d just finished his second eye when he grabbed your wrist, pushing it away.

“Alright, that’s it.”

You huffed. “It’s not that bad.”

“Well, how does it end?”

“I suspect they vanquish the evil witch and live happily ever after.” You put the cap back on the eyeliner and straightened up to admire your handiwork. He rolled his eyes.

“See? Cliché. If I was writing it, I’d make the candle burn out, and everyone would die, and it would have a tragic ending.”

“I hope you never write a book,” came the grave reply.

“I’m very creative.”

You snorted derisively, before clambering off of him. He sat up, slightly dazed. His face was dusted with a light blush. You laughed at the absolute mess that was his hair, and stepped forward to run your hand through it, smoothing it down. He didn’t break eye contact with you.

The intense gaze that you tried to avoid made your heart start beating faster, and you looked away quickly, blushing.

“Very creative.”

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