#the silk cat family

[shilohsylvanian]

New Japan Release (2/4)

July 13, 2024. Likely a year later for US/UK.

Nursery Presentation Set - Princess & the glass slippers (Cinderella maybe?)

Baby deer Lucia, baby silk cat Gilly, and newborn sweetpea rabbit Owen. With glass slippers, pedestal, tiara, crown, hat, wand, & baby chair for dress up.

Enjoying that both sets so far have included a stand to help hold up a figure.

[sixeyesonathiel]

you are a girl of a small, irrelevant clan. a mere decorative piece offered to the untouchable, veiled head of the gojo clan in exchange for “peace,” “blessings,” or something equally vague and humiliating. your family won’t tell you anything. only that you must “make him an heir.”

no one has seen his face. you are told not even the servants had looked at him in the eye. they say his eyes are too divine to meet. that his cursed energy would shred the mind of anyone unworthy.

you’re escorted to the gardens of the inner estate to “acclimate” before the marriage. a few hours a day. no contact. no one speaks unless you ask—and even then, the answers are like riddles. frustrating.

so you start ranting. loudly. to a man you think is a mute guard or a gardener, someone forgettable.

“what if he’s a cursed beast with seven arms and no dick?” you hiss one afternoon, yanking petals off a camellia like it insulted your honor. “what if he’s a puppet? a wet, moldy puppet with dead man hands? i bet he smells like mildew and raw fish. and his eyes probably glow like a cat in heat. you think they’re hiding him because he’s too handsome? no. they’re hiding him because he’s hideous. like a spirit trapped in a porcelain doll. but worse. like—like if a haunted house and a rice cooker had a baby.”

the man you're speaking to doesn’t say anything. just listens. sometimes sweeps a few stones. sometimes waters a bush that doesn’t need watering.

“what if he doesn’t even have skin?” you go on, pacing in a huff. “what if he’s all bone. or goo. or cursed energy in a meat sack. no face, just a vague blur. oh my god. what if he talks backwards?!”

one time, he chuckles. it’s soft. amused.

you freeze. “you laughed.”

he shrugs. eyes unreadable.

you don’t realize yet—that was him.

the night arrives. everything’s ceremonial. you're bathed, perfumed, and draped in layers of embroidered silk so heavy they drag behind you like chains. your wrists are tied with a red cord. a blindfold covers your eyes. you feel like an offering. you are an offering.

the room is quiet when you’re laid down. there’s a hush to everything, like the air is waiting to breathe. the futon is soft beneath your back. the scent of incense wraps around you like fog.

he doesn’t speak. doesn’t rush. you hear cloth rustle. then stillness. the shift of the air tells you he’s moved closer. your skin prickles with nerves.

a fingertip grazes your hip. you flinch.

he shushes you gently. a whisper against your ear. soothing. too tender for someone who’s supposed to use you.

his hands explore you slowly, reverently. they trace the dip of your waist, the swell of your hips, the slope of your thighs. fingertips glide up your ribs, linger beneath your breasts. then his mouth replaces them.

his lips are warm and soft as they land on your collarbone, then lower. the blindfold amplifies everything. your skin tingles with every breath he takes near it. he tongues over your nipple, languid and maddening, until you arch into him.

you whisper, dazed, “what are you?”

he chuckles against your skin. “your husband.”

you expect it to be harsh. clinical. but he touches you like you’re fragile. sacred. his fingers find the slick heat between your legs and slide through it, slow and unhurried. he spreads you open with a reverence that borders on obscene. it feels like a ritual. like devotion.

he sinks one finger inside. then two. the stretch burns, but his thumb strokes something sweet and aching. his other hand cups your breast. you feel owned. undone.

when he lines himself up, he doesn’t say a word. doesn’t warn you. just presses forward until you’re full—too full—split open and gasping.

he groans. you feel it vibrate against your chest as he leans over you.

“so warm,” he breathes. “so tight. you were made for this.”

he thrusts. slow. deep. dragging himself out just to slide back in, each stroke heavier than the last. his hands pin your tied wrists above your head. his mouth traces your jaw, then your ear.

“don’t hold back,” he whispers. “i want to hear everything.”

you moan. cry out. sob. he drinks it in like a dying man. like it sustains him. he fucks you like it’s worship. like it’s art. like he’s sculpting you around him.

his pace never falters. every thrust is exact. every roll of his hips hits something inside you that makes your toes curl. you feel yourself unraveling. more than once. again. again. he whispers praise between kisses.

“so pretty when you come.” “that’s it, cry for me.” “take it. take all of me.”

he holds you down when your thighs start to shake. kisses your temple as you convulse around him. you don’t know how long it lasts. only that when he finally spills inside you, it’s with a low groan and your name tangled in it like a secret.

he unties your wrists gently. rubs your skin where the cord left marks. then removes the blindfold.

silver hair. eyes like starfire drowned in ice.

your breath catches. “you—”

“i’m not a cursed doll,” he murmurs, lips brushing yours. “but i liked hearing your theories.”

your stomach flips. “you—when—how long—?”

he smiles. “especially the one where i was a beast locked in a tower. very romantic.”

you gape at him. this divine, impossible man.

“…why didn’t you say anything?”

he leans close. brushes a thumb across your bottom lip.

“because you never asked for my name, wife.”

[kenyummy]

꒰ ⍣'ˎ˗ PLATONIC YANDERE! BATFAM / GN. SPIDER! READER .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

SYNOPSIS : Being the one and only Spidey in your universe—with your endless list of rouges—is hard enough. To be transported across universes doesn't make it any easier—your life only gets that much more complicated. You seem to have taken the place of a different you that previously existed here—this you just so happened to be the forgotten, normal child of Bruce Wayne... joy. As you manage your way through both your hectic love life, hiding your secret identity, and your growing concerns for how strangely out of character your family was beginning to act—it seems like going home, wherever that may be, now, is out of the question.

note: EXCITED YAYAYYAA A ,, love interests will be: harry osborne , johnny storm/human torch (hell yeah brother) ,

possibly kon el and possibly a genderbent felicia hardy/black cat!!! (or genderbent silk/cindy moon) !!! u guys can decide :P (ill even take obscure characters like lin lie if you all like them enough tbh I'm so happy he was in rivals YES)

༊ .⭒ THE BALLAD OF A BYGONE BLIGHT ✰ CHAPTER LIST

꒰ ⍣'ˎ˗ 00. ꒱ ♯ THE LONELY SPIDER.

꒰ ⍣'ˎ˗ 01. ꒱ ♯ SPARKLESS LIFE.

꒰ ⍣'ˎ˗ 02. ꒱ ♯ A GREEN FIRE—LOVE IS WEIRD!

꒰ ⍣'ˎ˗ 03. ꒱ ♯ EACH COIN CAN BE FLIPPED TWICE.

꒰ ⍣'ˎ˗ 04. ꒱ ♯ FANTASTIC FOUR.

꒰ ⍣'ˎ˗ 05. ꒱ ♯ YOUR CLOSED-OFF HEART.

꒰ ⍣'ˎ˗ 06. ꒱ ♯ TAKE A BITE.

꒰ ⍣'ˎ˗ 07. ꒱ ♯ FOOLS OWN PARADE.

꒰ ⍣'ˎ˗ 08. ꒱ ♯ ...

༊ .⭒ THE BALLAD OF A BYGONE BLIGHT ✰ ASKS/Q&A !

꒰ ⍣'ˎ˗ ♯ where is the original reader + does the batfam feel guilt for "replacing" the dc!reader. ꒱

꒰ ⍣'ˎ˗ ♯ why did i genderbend black cat. ꒱

꒰ ⍣'ˎ˗ ♯ spidey's feelings on dc!reader living spidey's original life. ꒱

꒰ ⍣'ˎ˗ ♯ reader liking hobie more than the batfam. + how he'd hypothetically fit into the fic. ꒱

꒰ ⍣'ˎ˗ ♯ gwen stacy romantic subplot ideas. ꒱

꒰ ⍣'ˎ˗ ♯ would spidey move between universes + dc!reader becoming a spiderperson. ꒱

꒰ ⍣'ˎ˗ ♯ when(if) will genderbent!black cat appear? ꒱

꒰ ⍣'ˎ˗ ♯ spidey's backstory + who knows their identity in their universe. ꒱

꒰ ⍣'ˎ˗ ♯ what if spidey's gwen died, but she was alive in the dc!universe. ꒱

꒰ ⍣'ˎ˗ ♯ dc!reader in marvel universe world building + who knows why spidey's gone. ꒱

꒰ ⍣'ˎ˗ ♯ "nonchalant" johnny + who is spidey most likely to "forgive" in the fam. ꒱

꒰ ⍣'ˎ˗ ♯ kon's place in the fic. ꒱

[flwrkid14]

The Curious Case of Phantom

It starts during patrol.

At first, Tim barely notices the small, white blur with eerily green eyes trailing behind him as he scales rooftops and darts through alleys. Gotham’s stray population is no joke, so he figures it’s just another cat—until it keeps happening. Night after night, the same cat follows him like a shadow, no matter how far or fast he goes.

He tries to lose it, but somehow, it always finds him. And soon, he realizes the cat isn’t just following him—it’s helping.

One night, the cat leaps from a rooftop and claws a mugger who’s sneaking up behind Tim. Another night, it leads him to a drug deal in progress, meowing insistently until Tim follows.

It’s eerie how good the cat is at finding trouble, but it’s also undeniably useful. Tim names it Phantom, mostly because of its hauntingly white fur and the way it moves like a ghost in the shadows.

He’s not ready to admit that he’s started looking for the cat on patrol, waiting for it to show up like some unofficial partner.

———

Then Phantom starts showing up at Tim’s apartment.

The first time, Tim finds the cat sitting on his fire escape, staring at him through the window. He brushes it off as coincidence. But then it happens again. And again. Every night, Phantom is there, waiting.

Tim tries ignoring it, but Phantom doesn’t scratch or meow—it just stares, patient and expectant.

Eventually, Tim gives in and lets the cat inside. Phantom struts in like he owns the place, jumps onto Tim’s desk, and curls up right on top of his notes.

“Guess I have a cat now,” Tim mutters, scratching behind Phantom’s ears.

Phantom quickly becomes a fixture in Tim’s life.

He lounges on Tim’s lap during stakeouts, naps on his keyboard, and somehow always knows when Tim needs a break. Phantom is weird, though. His movements are too precise, too deliberate, and sometimes Tim swears he’s glowing faintly green.

But Tim doesn’t question it too much. Phantom’s good company, and Gotham’s seen stranger things.

———

The family eventually notices Phantom soon enough.

“You adopted a stray?” Dick asks when he visits Tim’s apartment. He crouches to pet the cat, who immediately swats at him. Dick recoils, laughing. “Okay, wow. Even the cat thinks I’m beneath him.”

“He doesn't seem to like new people,” Tim mutters, watching Phantom hop onto his desk like nothing happened.

Steph is obsessed. “He’s adorable! Can I post him?” she asks, taking a hundred photos of Phantom lounging on Tim’s keyboard. “He’s like your spooky little sidekick.”

Jason, on the other hand, has a reaction.

“WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?” Jason yells the first time he sees Phantom.

Tim frowns. “It’s a cat, Jason. Calm down.”

“No, it’s not! That thing is glowing green, Tim! It’s haunted or radioactive or something!”

Tim rolls his eyes. “He’s just a cat.”

Jason isn’t convinced, but Phantom doesn’t care. He just glares at Jason like he’s the dumbest person in the room and stretches out on the couch.

Damian, though, reacts... differently.

The second Damian sees Phantom, he freezes.

“This cat,” Damian says, voice trembling with reverence, “is extraordinary.”

Tim barely has time to blink before Damian has his hands full of silk-lined cat beds, imported food, and custom collars engraved with “Phantom, the Great.”

“He’s my cat, Damian,” Tim says when Damian tries to scold him for not brushing Phantom’s fur properly.

“You are unworthy of him, Drake,” Damian snaps. “This is a creature of unmatched perfection, and you’re treating him like a common house pet.”

Tim sighs, but Phantom climbs into his lap and starts purring loudly. Damian looks betrayed.

“Traitor,” Damian mutters at Phantom, who clearly doesn’t care.

———

But Phantom isn’t just a cat.

Danny Fenton—currently stuck in his ghost form as a cat and unable to shift back—has been following Tim for weeks, hoping the smartest Bat could help him figure out how to fix his situation.

At first, it was desperation. Danny didn’t know how to communicate with Tim or explain what had happened to him. But then Tim let him in, fed him, and started treating him with such quiet care that Danny couldn’t bring himself to reveal the truth.

Phantom became his escape. For the first time in ages, Danny didn’t have to fight or run or worry about anyone discovering his secrets. He could just... exist.

And, okay, messing with the family was a bonus.

Danny knew he couldn’t stay a cat forever, but with the way Tim scratched behind his ears and muttered soft compliments, he thought, Maybe I can stay like this for a little longer.

Or maybe a lot longer. Phantom had a good thing going, after all.

[xinganhao]

cherry on top 🍒 mafia boss!seungcheol x reader. (3)

being in a situationship is already pretty hard. being in a situationship with a petty mafia boss who has never dated before? much, much harder. previous chapter + masterlist.

💰 Expense report filed by mafia financial officer, Lee Seokmin

SUBJECT: Personal Expenditures – S.Coups re: Civilian Target

CATEGORY: GIFTS / SURPRISES

Custom Silk Scarf (Monogrammed with "S.C.") – $1,350.00 └ Ordered from Paris boutique. Civilian target wore it once, commented: "It's soft, but why is his name on it?"

Limited Edition Vinyl Record (Frank Ocean – Blonde) – $880.00 └ Gifted after argument #7. Civilian target was seen smiling while playing track 14.

Midnight Ice Cream Delivery – From Rome, Italy – $4,700.00 (incl. private courier) └ Civilian target said: "You could've just gotten Häagen-Dazs." Boss replied: "This has basil. It’s romantic."

CATEGORY: DAMAGE CONTROL / APOLOGIES

Floral Arrangements (x12) from 12 Different Florists – $2,160.00 └ Delivered over 48 hours post-miscommunication re: "flirting waiter" incident. One bouquet was left untouched in the hallway. The rest were used as Instagram story props.

Therapist Retainer (Anonymous Booking, Civilian Target) – $3,000.00 └ Civilian target has not claimed these sessions. Boss insists it's "just in case she realizes she needs help processing me."

Reimbursement for Civilian Target’s Broken Mug (accidentally knocked over during jealous argument) – $25.00 └ Mug was shaped like a cat. Boss replaced it with an expensive glass tumbler. Civilian target was not amused.

CATEGORY: SMALL & QUESTIONABLE EXPENSES

Custom Engraved Bullet Pendant ("So You Think I’m Scary, Huh?") – $300.00 └ Intended as ironic gift. Civilian target laughed, wore it once to annoy him. Boss framed photo.

Spotify Premium (Family Plan – Only One Member) – $15.99/mo └ Boss created 17hr playlist titled "if i die it’s her fault but i’d still thank her." Civilian target unknowingly listens to it often.

Gluten-Free Baking Class (Online, Gifted to Civilian Target’s Aunt) – $220.00 └ She mentioned her aunt wanted it. He took notes. Civilian target unaware of mafia-funded culinary education in progress.

Donation to Shelter Where Civilian Target Volunteers – $5,000.00 └ Made anonymously. Boss requested they name a puppy after her. They did. Civilian target unsure why a rottweiler named "Beloved" exists.

CATEGORY: UNAUTHORIZED PERSONAL SPENDING

Rental of Entire Rooftop Restaurant for "Casual Talk" – $12,000.00 └ Civilian target refused to show up. Ate ramen alone at home. Boss sat through three-course meal with two phones: one for business, one specifically for her texts and calls.

Suit Tailoring (New Lapels for Better Hug Experience) – $900.00 └ Boss: "She said my suits were stiff. I made them hug-friendly."

Jet Fuel Surcharge – Roundtrip to Seoul, 3 hours total visit – $15,700.00 └ Purpose: "To see her smile."

TOTAL EXPENSES TO DATE: $49,250.99

RECOMMENDATION/S: Immediate financial intervention or a mandatory sit-down with Boss regarding boundaries, budgets, and basic human dating behavior.

👂 Surveillance transcript filed by mafia soldier, Chwe Hansol

DATE RANGE: ███████████-███████████ LOCATION: Civilian Target's Apartment, Unit 13S BUG #7: Living Room Lamp (Active)

TRANSCRIPT 001 – 23:43 HRS

S.COUPS: Why is there a toothbrush that’s not mine in your bathroom? YOU: Because I live here. And sometimes people visit me. It’s called having a life. S.COUPS: Who visits you? Give me names. Socials. Blood types. YOU: You are so exhausting. [SOUND: Footsteps. Fridge opens.] S.COUPS: Don’t change the subject. That toothbrush has a blue handle. Blue is a masculine color. YOU: Oh my god, are you jealous of a toothbrush now? [SOUND: Prolonged silence. Soft muttering.] S.COUPS: ...It’s suspiciously ergonomic.

TRANSCRIPT 004 – 07:12 HRS

YOU: Why are you folding my laundry? S.COUPS: Because you do it wrong. YOU: What does that even mean? S.COUPS: You mix textures. Cotton with wool. It’s chaos. This is what chaos feels like. YOU: You literally blow up cars for a living. S.COUPS: Yeah, but strategically.

TRANSCRIPT 008 – 14:09 HRS

YOU: Why is there a bag of gummy bears on my pillow? S.COUPS: You said you liked them. YOU: Once. In passing. S.COUPS: I take notes. On everything. You also like your coffee with oat milk and you talk in your sleep about octopus documentaries. YOU: That’s creepy. S.COUPS: It’s called “caring.” YOU: It’s called surveillance. [SOUND: Muffled laughing, presumably from YOU.]

TRANSCRIPT 015 – 00:03 HRS

YOU: Did you pick a fight with your own underboss because he liked one of my photos? S.COUPS: He put a heart and a fire emoji. That’s a double reaction. It’s aggressive. YOU: You are so—so emotionally constipated. S.COUPS: You say that like it’s a bad thing. YOU: It is a bad thing! [SOUND: Struggle noises, unclear. Presumed YOU threw a pillow at S.COUPS and he retaliated by tackling YOU on to the couch.] NOTE: Possible physical altercation turns to intimacy. Redacted for discretion.

TRANSCRIPT 017 – 01:26 HRS

YOU: Stop staring at me. S.COUPS: I’m memorizing your face. Don’t make this harder than it is. [SILENCE FOR 13 SECONDS.] YOU: ...Why is there a tiny blinking light in my lamp? S.COUPS: Oh no. YOU: Did you seriously bug my apartment?! S.COUPS: Okay, first of all, you’re being very judgmental right now. YOU: Because you’re a lunatic. S.COUPS: I'll give you one guess as to whose fault is that. YOU: Take the damn bug out of my lamp, you psycho! NOTE: S.COUPS neglected to turn bug off. Argument ensued; redacted for discretion. Intimacy ensued. Also redacted.

END OF AVAILABLE TRANSCRIPT. ADDT'L NOTE: REQUESTING TO BE MOVED OUT OF SURVEILLANCE DIVISON ASAP.

📓 Therapy session notes filed by Dr. Boo Seungkwan, licensed psychiatrist affiliated with ████████ Syndicate

SESSION: 3rd of prescribed 10-week cycle

INITIAL OBSERVATIONS: Patient arrived precisely on time, wearing a tailored black suit, slightly wrinkled as though he'd been pacing before arrival. Hair unkempt, hands clenched for most of the session. Eyes noticeably tired. Declined water. Brought a half-eaten bag of gummy bears, claiming "They calm me down. She likes them too."

Presented with guarded posture, alternating between overconfidence and sudden emotional vulnerability. Exhibits hallmark signs of high-functioning control dependence, paired with emotional suppression and limited interpersonal processing tools.

SESSION THEMES

1. Obsession with Control: Patient admits to bugging the civilian target’s apartment ("It was for her safety") and maintaining a detailed log of her daily habits. Claims these measures are a form of care. When asked what he fears would happen without this control, he replied, "She might stop needing me."

Expressed frustration when civilian target expressed autonomy: "She does things without telling me. Like she has a life or something." Tone was sarcastic but undercut with genuine confusion.

2. Difficulty Processing Emotions

Patient struggles to name his emotions beyond anger and protectiveness. When prompted to describe how he feels when civilian target smiles at him, he paused for 47 seconds before muttering: "Like I'm about to combust, but in a good way?"

Displays discomfort with perceived emotional weakness. Used humor and territorial possessiveness to deflect.

Quote: "She called me emotionally constipated. That's unfair. I feel things. I just don't show them. I'm not a chihuahua in a sweater." (Analogy unclear.)

3. Devotion to Civilian Target

His attachment is intense and deeply internalized. He referenced at least eight specific events he organized to make her life easier, ranging from "tailoring suit lapels for better hugs" to "funding her aunt’s gluten-free hobby."

Refers to her as "the only thing that makes me think twice before pulling a trigger."

Appears to be undergoing identity shift: from feared mafia boss to a man attempting—often poorly—to be emotionally available. Indicates willingness to grow, albeit via unconventional and often unhinged methods.

Notable Quote: "I don't know what being a boyfriend means. But if it means checking all her windows are locked and ordering her ice cream from Italy when she's sad, then I'm already trying."

TREATMENT PLAN

Begin cognitive restructuring around concepts of emotional intimacy vs. surveillance.

Introduce grounding techniques for obsessive behaviors.

Assign weekly "emotional vocabulary" journaling.

Strongly recommend cessation of all illegal tracking devices.

PROGNOSIS: Patient displays exceptional loyalty, obsessive commitment, and a deep desire to improve for the sake of the civilian target. Progress will be slow, as foundational emotional processing tools are underdeveloped. However, signs of potential are present.

Patient left session saying, "Don't tell her I cried. But also, maybe do. I don't know. What would make her like me more?" Then insisted that I forward these notes to her, threatening to cease sessions otherwise. Will have to consult with mafia leadership.

DIAGNOSIS: High-functioning attachment disorder with control dependency and romantic maladjustment. Currently treating with compassion, sarcasm, and an iron will.

NEXT SESSION SCHEDULED: ████████

› scroll through all my work ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ my masterlist | @xinganhao

[venusbyline]

Hear me out! Just hear me out!

Alicent sending Teen! Innocent! Sister to Oldtown to receive proper training in being a Lady of the Realm and Wife. ( so they have to be apart for a year ) And Teen! Aegon being so desperate for his Teen! Innocent! Sister when she returns, with still a month before they can marry, that the little pervert leaves her ‘gifts’.

Cumming in her panties, humping her pillow, leaving books about consummation on her bed, cum soaked small clothes, lacy chemises that he wants her to ‘wear’ for their wedding night, etc.

Like a sick twisted cat leaving a dead animal as a gift.

But, when she brushes it off / ignores it as she’s been taught it’s ‘improper’ to retaliate or acknowledge it as a Lady / his future wife. He takes it further, dangling over the ledge of improper and proper etiquette while in public.

Accidentally brushing against her when walking past - even though there is plenty of room, hugging her from behind - only to subtly grind against her when she kneels down to pray in the Sept, whispering all the sick and twisted things he’s gonna do to her when they marry in her ear.

 What do you think?

Oh Gods that was sooo hot, I love it. Honestly, I'm so obsessed with teen!Aegon being a disgusting pervert or a pathetic whiny boy.

Pls guys keeping sending me your horny thoughts about HOTD characters!!! 🔥🔥

⚠️: Targcest (older brother/younger sister), underage dry humping, exhibitionism, dubcon, virginity kink, corruption kink, young!Aemond mentioned.

I admit I do not think teen!Aegon's patience would last long. He is been without his little sister for a whole year, having to settle with just fucking whores and forcing himself on random servants. Now that she is finally back, he NEEDS her so much. Poor boy just wants to fuck her virgin cunt until she cries and squirts all over, but the sweet girl is being even more stubborn and prudish than before, and Aegon gets so mad at Alicent because of that.

When his sister simply ignores all of his perverted gifts, Aegon stops trying to convince her and starts acting dirtier. He will caress his sister's inner thigh under the table during family dinners, even when she looks at him so confused and innocent. He will rub his hardness against her body when they are near each other, ignoring the embarrassed looks from the servants and the way she tries to push him away, or even the disgusted and frightened look on Aemond's face when he walks into his older brother's chambers and sees him cumming in one of his dear sister's underwear to give back to her later — Aegon had to convince Aemond not to tell their mother or Ser Criston. Actually, Aegon convinced the stubborn younger boy with an agreement that he could even let Aemond eat their sister out after Aegon was already married to her. Now, little Aemond is a mix of shyness and arousal, so excited for this day too.

Anyway, Aegon soon loses the brief of control he had left when he goes looking for his younger sister and finds her kneeling and praying in the Sept. Fuck, he wants to rip that green dress of hers and take her right there, so the Seven can see that plump little cunt blooding and dripping onto the sacred ground. Aegon does not care about the good manners she learned in Oldtown; he does not want a religious puritanical wife like their mother. He takes advantage of her distraction during the prayers to kneel right behind the innocent frame, his slender fingers covering her pretty mouth before she can scream at the sudden touches. The smell of lit candles increases Aegon's arousal even more. The boy looks like a hound, rubbing himself against the young princess, nibbling on her earlobe.

"I should fuck you right here, sweet sister. For all the Gods to see me take your innocence..." Aegon growls the whispered dirties, feeling his long silver hair getting sweaty, hips humping her from behind. He uses his free hand to lift the silk green dress, enjoying the pleasure of her warm skin against his. She whines muffled protests, however, the older one just ignores her pleas for a while. "I have tried to be patient with you. But I cannot wait any longer, I want to fuck you until your tight cunt is all raw, reddish and dripping with my seed. I am going to get you pregnant even before our wedding ceremony."

Maybe he could have really done all of those things? Of course. But I bet his heart softened a little when she started begging, crying his name like a innocent child. Then, despite the frustration, Aegon limited himself to continuing to rub his thick cock against his sister's ass, squeezing her breasts over her clothes. The boy takes the opportunity to cum on her soft skin, slapping her buttocks and kneading the flesh there afterwards, a silence but sick promise that even if he will control himself to wait one more week, he will fuck the girl all the time after they are officially married.

[rafeacs]

Rafe x Girly Reader mood board

Rafe and Girly reader, who had a long game of cat and mouse. Rafe knew the moment he saw her in one of the boutiques in town while he was in a business that he wanted her and would do anything to have her. Even if it meant he had to go out of his way to get her attention. Snooping around the girly boutiques that she liked to frequent to catch a glimpse of you. Going to the salon where you would get your nails done every week, and he was even roped in to get a foot massage but it was proven to be a blessing in disguise because that is where you two were formally introduced. 

Girly reader who tried hard to resist Rafe, for she was too aware of his notorious background, and he was far off from her usual type— Rafe was no prince charming, but at least he had the looks for it. 

Girly reader who was spoiled rotten by her family, calling her their ‘pretty princess’ and it was completly fair that Rafe bestows her with the same treatment as well.

Girly reader who traipses around the Outer Banks wearing her short, skimpy, and dainty clothes— catching everyone’s attention and making Rafe weary about the guys who shamelessly ogle her, but Rafe never truly worries; he knows how to fight. 

Girly reader who loves ribbons— using them to tie the wads of cash Rafe had lying around in Tannyhill, even going as far as tying a lacy ribbon around the handle of Rafe’s pistol as a reminder of her. And in time, she even urged Rafe to use her collection of pink silk ribbons to bound her up and have his way with her. 

Girly reader who likes dressing up and lounging around the house wearing her see-through and lacy lingerie and slips, and Rafe loves coming home to see her wearing new sets, excitedly waiting for him by the door with a scotch in hand, a kiss from her lips. 

Girly reader who did ballet growing up and had surprised Rafe with her flexibility.  

Girly reader who Rafe paraded around the island as his most treasured possession. Always bringing her to the country club, squiring her around town during his free time, and even letting her tag along his business meetings to show off to his colleagues how lucky he was to have her. 

[kinkyniragi]

The Cat’s Paw

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Reader

Genre: Smut 18+

Word count: 3,7k

Summary: The tension between the Shelbys and a rival family was on the verge of exploding into bloodshed. To prevent a war, the reader—daughter of Tommy’s opponent— was forced into an arranged marriage with Tommy himself. They despise the idea in different ways, but the families expect affection, smiles, and unity. In public, they kiss. In private, they clash. And somewhere between duty and desire, the hate begins to blur.

CN: Power play, forced marriage, grooming, toxic relationship, degradation, humiliation, spanking, choking, hair pulling, rough sex. Please note that this is all just fantasy. Things that happen in my stories should always be consensual. Take care.

Author’s note: Feel free to leave comments and share my story if you enjoy it—I truly appreciate every bit of motivation to keep writing. Even though I'm not a native speaker, I'll do my best 😉

***

Marriage had always looked different in your dreams.

As a little girl, you imagined falling in love first. A romantic proposal. A white dress. A family built on affection and safety, held by a man who loved and protected you.

Instead, you got this.

Life in Birmingham had never been easy. Poverty and hopelessness shadowed every street. Your father wanted more for his family and worked relentlessly to climb. Not legally—that much had been clear for a long time. But his efforts gave you a life that honest work could never have afforded.

And yet, everything came at a price.

He ruled large parts of the city from the shadows, with ties to the police and certain men in politics. The more influence he gained, the more his path clashed with that of the Shelbys, who were also expanding their reach. Tensions flared. Shaky truces were made and broken. The fights grew more violent, the stakes higher.

Both men knew that a full-scale war would cost too much—blood, men, power. So a different kind of arrangement was made. A compromise sealed in silk and ink.

You got the white dress.

You just didn’t get to choose the groom.

There had been forced marriages before, but they were usually between lower-ranking members of the families—never from the very top. This time, it was different.

This time, it was you.

And not for one of the Shelby cousins or brothers. No.

Thomas Shelby wanted you for himself.

You didn’t know everything about him—but you knew enough. Enough to try everything to stop it. You begged, argued, pleaded. It didn’t matter. Your father agreed faster than you thought possible, leaving you betrayed and powerless.

He made it clear: this was the price you’d pay for peace.

No one asked how you felt.

***

On your wedding day, you were showered in gifts—useless, gaudy things you wanted to burn. Jewelry you’d never wear. Baby clothes. Toys. Some from your own family, others from Shelbys you hadn’t even met before they appeared at the reception.

But you smiled. You played your part.

You had to.

For your mother. Your sisters. Yourself.

***

Tommy’s family had already made their expectations clear with all their hints about children. And Tommy… he made his own expectations even clearer.

You lived in comfort. Servants ran the house. You didn’t have to lift a finger.

But comfort ended at night.

Behind closed doors, there was no escaping him. Or there shouldn’t have been.

He tried, time and time again, to break you in. To make you his wife in every way. But somehow, you held the line.

For now.

He was always a little too close. Physically, at least.

Sometimes he pulled you into embraces that might’ve looked tender from the outside—if not for the weight behind them. At night, his warm, heavy body curled around you, pinning you like a lock. There were times when you weren’t sure you’d be able to leave the bed at all.

And in front of others, he performed.

The doting husband.

Because he knew you wouldn’t reject him under their gaze.

He kissed you in front of them—never just once. His lips stayed too long. His tongue tasted like a promise of what he thought was owed.

His frustration was tangible.

He was used to getting what he wanted—and the fact that he couldn’t have you, not fully, gnawed at him night after night.

It would have been naïve to believe he’d simply give up—repress a need like that.

It had to come out somewhere.

And the poisonous glances Lizzie sometimes threw your way told you more than any rumor ever could. Tommy seemed to be relaxed on these days, too relaxed. And he sometimes left you alone the night after.

It wasn’t relief you felt.

Not really.

It felt more like rejection though you knew that you were the one rejecting him.

A cold, deliberate silence where there should have been fury. Or heat. Or something.

A creeping sense of dread began to take root in you.

***

Still, most of the evenings brought the same ritual. So it was that night. His hands, searching beneath the layers of nightclothes you wore like armor. You had wrapped yourself in fabric to keep him out, but silk and cotton were no match for persistence.

Your excuses, your resistance—he began to ignore them.

He pressed his body against you, his breath heavy, his desire undeniable.

Full of greed, his hands moved closer. Closer. Until there was nowhere left to go.

You froze. A breath caught in your throat.

The hem of your nightgown was bunched around your waist, his hand between your thighs.

And then—nothing.

He stopped.

Just like that.

No violence, no words. Just a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes as he pulled away and turned his back to you, muscles tense with anger.

Later that night, the sound of his breathing stirred you awake. The rustling under the blanket told you exactly what he was doing.

The scent lingered in the room long after he was done—hot, intimate, invasive.

And against your will, it stirred something in you.

Desire.

It sickened you.

Your fury was louder.

Fury at your father for selling you off. At this prison disguised as a home. At Thomas Shelby, who thought he could claim your body just because the law said you were his.

That night burned into your memory.

Not because of what happened.

But because of what didn’t.

Why had he stopped?

A man like Tommy, who never asked, never waited. A man who took what he wanted.

Why had he let you go?

It would take time before you'd understand the reason.

***

After that night, something shifted.

A part of you had stopped fighting—had resigned itself to the role.

To being the wife Tommy so forcefully demanded.

The shield you’d built so carefully—layer by layer, over weeks of fear and defiance—it began to crack.

By day and by night.

You hadn’t exactly told him he had free rein.

You hadn’t whispered yes.

But maybe… maybe you were ready.

To surrender.

Maybe even to like it.

But he didn’t see it.

Or maybe he refused to.

And that hurt more than you liked to admit.

***

His behavior had become increasingly unbearable. But knowing Tommy—emotionally distant, unreadable to the point of opacity—the idea of confronting him openly felt absurd. That simply wasn’t how things worked between you. There were no conversations between equals. Only theater for the outside world, and quiet power plays when the curtains closed.

And yet, something simmered between you—an undercurrent thicker than resentment, heavier than silence. It was tension of a new kind. Darker. More difficult to name.

At family dinners, he mastered the art of veiled attacks. Subtle jabs, laced with just enough ambiguity to go unnoticed by others—except you. Once, he called you “Lizzie” in passing. His voice didn’t falter. When you glanced up, he met your eyes and said lightly, “Old habits, I suppose. You know how much I liked things the way they were.”

Another evening, he stood in the kitchen with his brother Arthur while you set the table in the adjoining room, clearly within earshot.

“She’s improving,” he said with a slow, amused drawl. “Slowly. Like a stubborn dog with expensive taste.” Arthur laughed out loudly.

You froze mid-step, gripping a wineglass just a little too tightly.

He didn’t speak to you—he spoke about you. And when he did speak directly, it was usually to correct you. “Darling,” he said once, resting a hand lightly on your shoulder as if to soften the blow, “you’d be twice as graceful if you spoke half as often.”

You smiled thinly and bit your tongue, feeling yourself shrink behind your own eyes.

Later, he adopted a new role: the thoughtful husband. He started bringing home gifts. At first glance, the gestures seemed benign, almost casual—until you realized each item was carefully chosen to irritate, insult, or bewilder.

Once, he handed you a small box wrapped in cheerful ribbon. Inside was a novelty apron that read, “Good Girls Bake, Bad Girls Get Spanked.”

“I thought it was funny,” he said, watching your face. “You used to have a sense of humor, didn’t you?”

Another time, he didn’t give the gift directly. You found it tucked inside your nightstand: a dated etiquette book titled The Perfect Wife – Lessons in Obedience, Grace, and Domestic Discipline. The margins were filled with his handwriting. One note read:

Chapter 5 is essential reading.

You didn’t doubt for a second that he’d quiz you later.

In public, he insisted you be the picture of charm at his side—always in outfits he selected. They were never vulgar, but always walked the edge. Dresses that clung just tightly enough, necklines that dipped just low enough, heels that made your balance feel like performance art. And then he'd say in front of others, “You know, I wouldn’t have chosen that dress myself,” in a tone that suggested you had.

His comment would earn him knowing nods and the occasional chuckle from others. The implication was clear: the poor man was doing his best to keep his wife in line. You, the one on display, the woman shaped by his narrative, had no voice in the matter.

And inside, you burned—because the woman they saw, the one he painted with smirks and insinuations, didn’t exist.

***

One evening—he’d come home late again, and you were dressed only in underwear, already on your way to bed—he tossed a flat box onto the mattress with casual indifference. Black, with delicate gold ornamentation, it landed like a punctuation mark.

“Here. For you,” he said. “If you have to be my wife, one of us might as well get something out of it.”

Then he shrugged off his jacket, threw it over a chair, and left the room without another word, as though something urgent awaited him elsewhere.

Curiosity got the better of you. You opened the box.

Inside: a slip of a negligee. Black. Sheer. Laughably short. Technically, it could be called a nightgown—but it felt more like something selected from a shop that specialized in humiliation. You could almost picture the errand that Tommy placed: some underling dispatched to kind of a brothel supplies store. The thing didn’t need to be worn to do its job—it reeked of control. Of mockery. Of contempt disguised as indulgence.

What was the message? And what exactly did he mean by that line?

“One of us might as well get something out of it.”

Who, in his mind, was the someone benefitting here?

The old, buried fury at this arranged marriage flared again—but it had company now. A second fire, long smoldering, fed by every slight, every carefully administered humiliation. The two raged together inside you, mixing into something volatile.

A slow-burning, venomous cocktail. And it was nearly full.

He came back into the room with that mocking lilt in his voice.

“Well? What does my obedient little wife think of her present?”

Obedient wife?

That phrase sliced something open inside you. This game. This constant humiliation.

What gave him the right?

Enough.

You stepped forward—slow, but with a resolve that made his brow twitch.

“You want to know what I think of your gift?”

Before he could answer, you tore the negligee apart with both hands. The delicate fabric ripped, fragile as it was. The shreds fell at his feet.

"Here. Wear it, if you’re ever short on someone willing to play the butt of your little games."

He raised an eyebrow, amused.

“That temper suits you. Almost makes me forget how boring you’ve been.”

Your hand flew before you even knew you meant to slap him. The crack echoed between you.

He didn’t flinch. Instead, he grinned.

“You look sexy when you’re about to hit me. I mean that. Though of course, it’s not quite fitting for an obedient wife.”

You went to strike him again—but this time, he caught your wrist. Effortlessly. His grip was too tight. You twisted, furious, kicking out blindly, your breath ragged with rage.

The motion sent you crashing into him. He caught you, and suddenly the world flipped—his arms locked around you, pulling you down. You hit the floor together. He landed hard on top of you, pinning you with his weight. Your arms were trapped above your head, his fingers enclosing your wrists.

Your faces were inches apart. You could feel the heat of his breath, his body. You writhed, shouted, kicked against him, but he didn’t budge.

“It’s almost cute,” he murmured, voice low and vibrating against your skin, “how hard you try. But you really ought to learn how to handle your anger, sweetheart.”

You stared up at him, breathless, trembling—not from fear, but fury. You pulled against his hold again, and this time, he let go. Just like that.

“Go on,” he said. “Slap me again. But this time, mean it.”

And you did. With everything in you.

His head turned slightly from the force, and for a second, there was silence.

Then he laughed—soft, dark, delighted. His hands found your waist.

“Well then,” he said, voice dripping with mock gravity. “Seems you’re determined to make your husband teach you what consequences feel like.”

Before you could answer, he had lifted you off the ground and dragged you toward the bed with the same mix of casual strength and infuriating entitlement that had sparked your rage in the first place. He sat down on the edge and pulled you face down across his lap, your stomach pressing against his thighs. Without giving you a moment to catch your breath, he yanked down your panties—seams straining, then giving way with a sharp, tearing sound under his grip.

You twisted in his grip, still furious, still trembling. “Let me go.”

He didn’t.

“You said you wanted me to wear it,” he said with a stern voice. “But I think we both know who it was meant for.”

His tone wasn’t mocking now—it was lower, serious in a way that made your pulse quicken against your will. You hated that. You hated the heat rising in your face, hated how your body betrayed you even now.

He rested one hand on your lower back, steady, grounding. The other ghosted over the curve of your exposed skin, not quite touching, but making you hyper-aware of every inch of you on display.

"Seems like my little wife needs reminding," he said with maddeningly calm, "what it means to test me."

You bit your lip, but said nothing. He waited.

Then came the first smack.

Not cruel. Not painful. Just sharp enough to sting, to make you inhale through your teeth—and to make the heat rush even lower.

He paused, letting the sensation bloom. Then another. And another.

By the fourth, your fists clenched. Not from pain. From the ache building inside you, far more unbearable than the teasing punishment.

You bit down on your lip so hard you feared it might bleed.

Not a single sound slipped from your throat—you wouldn't give him that satisfaction.

Not yet. Not as long as you still had a shred of control left.

“You’re quiet all of a sudden,” he teased you. “Where did that fire go?”

You turned your head slightly, just enough for him to see your glare. “Still burning,” you growled.

He chuckled. “Good. We’re just getting started.”

More slaps followed—firm, demanding. And with every strike, your skin burned hotter, seared beneath his touch.

"Well? How do you like that?" he growled, caught in the momentum of his own fury. "I could go on for hours..."

"Please, Tommy..." you finally gave in, breath ragged—your tender flesh burned like fire, and that wasn’t even the worst of it. The real blaze was coiling deep inside you.

"Are you going to be my obedient little wife from now on?" he panted, not slowing the rhythm of his hand.

"This is ridiculous," you spat, struggling again, your voice trembling with rage. "You're not my warden."

"No," he murmured. "Just your husband. And someone..."—his voice dropped, a shade darker—"...who’s getting tired of pretending you don’t want the game you’re playing."

You froze.

He had you.

"Then do what you have to do," you managed at last, evading the weight of his accusation with careful defiance.

Before the words had even left your mouth, he moved—twisting your body, flipping you onto your back, pinning you to the mattress without effort.

His legs forced your thighs apart, unrelenting. There was no mistaking the effect your fight had on him—and this time, both of you knew he wasn’t going to leave anything simmering under the surface. Not tonight.

His hand slipped between your legs—this time it was you who couldn’t hide it anymore— with a simple touch, he exposed your desire that had disguised itself in fury.

Your eyes met his—and it was useless to look away. He saw you. All of you. As if he could read the chaos in your head, he whispered, almost gentle:

“Tell yourself it’s hate. If that helps.”

Then his mouth was on yours—your lips clashing, your tongues locked in something raw and hungry, with soft bites in between. Just wild enough to preserve the pretense of anger. Just careful enough to push the unbearable attraction between you both to its very edge—into bittersweet torture. And when he finally sank into you, inch by inch, it was like a dam breaking— your involuntary, half-sobbed moan tearing free after far too long held back.

Tommy smirked, dark and satisfied, almost wicked, as he moved his hips with practiced precision—hitting every spot that made your breath catch and your body quake.

Your hands found his shoulders, nails raking down his back in protest or desperation—you weren’t sure anymore. His low, guttural groan told you he welcomed the pain—that the sharp bite of it only fueled his own pleasure to something near unbearable. He pushed harder, forced you to feel the contradiction of resistance and release.

Every time he felt one of you nearing the edge, he slowed down—agonizingly, deliciously—stretching the tension to something addictive, utterly out of your control. You desperately arched your back, but when your hips shifted to meet him, he pulled back slightly, just to watch your frustration mount. The needier you were, the harder he got.

Now you knew for certain—though, deep down, you’d always felt it: you had married a maddeningly good lover with a body hotter than hell and the devil’s appetite for slow destruction. He didn’t just crave your pleasure; he savored the torment that led to it, feeding off the tension like it was his favorite sin. He would take you for hours, not just to possess you, but to ruin every inch of you, until you beg him to let you finally come around his cock. A man who needed you to become putty in his hands, exhausted, trembling, crying, until he had fucked you senseless, nothing more than a sobbing mess in his arms. Intimacy as a means of power, you always hated it but—

His hand slid into your hair, tightening until your breath caught, forcing your head back so you had no choice but to look at him.

“You’re not used to giving in without a fight,” he panted, eyes locked on yours. “You crave the passion, the friction—the illusion that you might just slip away untouched. But we both know how the game of cat and mouse ends. And you wear surrender so damn well.”

You bared your teeth at him, breath hitching as his hips pressed forward again. “Maybe I just like seeing how far you’ll chase me before I stop running,” you gasp.

He chuckled low in his throat and leaned in, teeth grazing your neck, nipping just enough to sting. Then his hand slid to your throat, not squeezing, just resting there with perfect tension while his eyes scanned you closely, attuned to the faintest twitch, the smallest betrayal of control, as his hand tightened ever so slightly around your throat.

"Nice try, little mouse. But it’s still the cat who decides when the chase ends."

And something between you shifted—subtle but unmistakable. The fire of fury dulled into heat of a different kind. What had started as a clash of wills, razor-edged and reckless, softened into a twisted kind of play. Lust overtook rage, and the tension turned electric—still sharp, still dangerous, but no longer at war. A faint smile ghosted across his lips.

“You can tell me to stop,” he whispered.

You didn’t.

And when the heat inside finally surged past the point of no return, it tore through you like a storm—loud, unrepentant, nothing left to hide. He followed, a growl escaping against your skin, burying his face in the curve of your neck like he needed to anchor himself.

For a moment, you were both still, hearts hammering, breath tangled.

Then he leaned back just enough to look at you, a crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I should piss you off more often,” he said, voice hoarse but amused.

It hit you then—the provocation, the smirk, the carefully chosen words to hurt you. None of it had been thoughtless. He wanted the fire. Needed the fight. Not a quiet, distant wife—but you. Angry, wild, unwilling to yield unless it meant something.

And maybe—just maybe—that was exactly what you needed too.

***

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[angelicgirlmj]

100+ angelic christmas gift ideas

𓂋

˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

i adore christmas - its one of my favourite holidays! so beautiful and wintery, the lights and decorations, mugs of hot chocolate, childhood memories and so many traditions make it such a special time of year for me. i however, often struggle with knowing what to ask for or what i want for christmas, so i created a little inspo list to help me and anyone else! whether this is for a family member, friend, partner or even yourself im sure this will help you know exactly what you want (or at least give you some pointers in the right direction). these are all obviously just suggestions and vary in price so please put down in the comments what you are asking for this year! enjoy angel!!

uggs

victoria secret pjs

cozy fluffy socks

laneige lip balm

lush body lotions

rose quartz gua sha

glossier makeup

dior lip oil

sonny angels

yoga mat

silk pillowcases

litre water bottle

candles

jelly cats

cute claw clips

ear warmers

books

cute planner

posters or tapestries

camera

philosophy body washes

makeup bag

sylvanian baby blind bags

slippers

matcha

records or cds

five minute journal

desk or wall calendar

eye mask and bonnet

fluffy blankets

large candles

benetint lip tint

rare beauty products

cuticle oil and glass nail file

gold jewellery

silver jewellery

knee high boots

colourful/printed tights

pocket mirror

mugs

house plants

hair band or cute hair clips

gisou hair products

highlighters

charlotte tilbury makeup

pretty nail polishes

salt lamp or other lamp

tea bags (chai, green etc)

wallet or purse

bag charms

dyson hair wrap

your fave chocolates

makeup bag

quilt

vintage room decor

fluffy/patterned rug

new phonecase

slippers

headphones

rings

belt

portable speaker

crystals

fuzzy scarf and gloves

patterned tote bag

dried flowers

fairy lights

jewellery box or trinket dish

photo album

bath oils

incense

locket

bows or pretty scrunchies

sunglasses

mini crates or storage boxes

lululemon clothes

new bedsheets

laptop case

cute pillows

hair curlers

alarm clock

vintage/thrifted clothes

picture frames

snowglobes

miniature trinkets

personalised charm bracelet

makeup brushes

diffuser

face masks

lego

coffee table books

skims

tea infuser

reusable straw

warm jacket

sports bag

keyrings

jumpers

heels

charity donation

thank you so much for reading angels! this season is such a wonderful time of year because of the ideas and ethos surrounding it; one of giving. this winter should be about our loved ones and those in need. whether you do something as simple as donating old clothes to charity or making christmas cards for the homeless, i would encourage everyone (myself included) to make it their mission to give back in at least one way. remember - angels are kind and generous inside and out! as we plan our gifts or think about shopping and the fun things to come let’s all take a moment to reflect on how we can give back.

love, m.

p.s it’s never too early for christmas!

𓂋

˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

[shilohsylvanian]

Time for camping 🏕 💕

[unconventional-lawnchair]

Cat and Mouse

Dark!Dad!Barty Crouch Jr. x Mom!Reader

Wc: ~4k

Summary: The reader can never truly get away Barty, no matter how hard she tries. He'll always find his family.

CW: Dark!Possessive!Barty, AFAB!Reader, reader has a young daughter, themes of control and manipulation, being stalked, break in, a brief moment where the reader thinks her daughter is in danger, Invasion of personal space and autonomy

AN: Heavily inspired by this fic, 1000% recommend

Your daughter's giggles were always your favorite sound, especially so early in the morning. You could swear by it, it was better than any alarm clock.

Today was no exception. As you crawled out of your bed and got to your feet. You couldn't help but smile, wrapping yourself up in your silk robe and slipping on your slippers, following after the lovely sound to your daughters room. You put your hand on the doorknob and leaned down to bring your ear closer, smiling brighter as you heard her giggles persist.

“Is that funny?” You heard a deep voice coo. Your heart dropped into your stomach.

Suddenly, the bright sun of the morning chasing away all the dangers of the night felt like a fool’s tale. The shining walls and work you'd done to get here meant nothing. The summer heat that chased away the night chill did nothing to warm you as the feelings of dread overtook you.

You opened the door, trying to school your expression. Your eyes locked on your daughter who turned and smiled wide at you. “Momma! Momma, Daddy's home!”

She always looked so happy. Whenever he would come back, whenever he would find you, your daughter would look at you with those big delighted eyes. The same ones she shared with the man in front of her. You couldn't help but notice a bit of a breeze crawl up your back, not from the stare of the monster before you, but as you turned to discover, your hall window was open..

You don't know what was more terrifying, the fact he was able to get past your wards or the fact he was able to do it without waking you.

“Yeah, princess. Daddy's home.” Barty gushed to his little girl, finally getting you to turn and face him. His eyes were already locked on yours. His eyes said it all, he was challenging you, to say anything, to deny him, to push him over the edge. You had grown familiar with Barty’s looks.

In Hogwarts, he would use them to keep your quiet, remind you not to let people see you get too close to him, to keep you obedient and complacent in the web he meticulously crafted just for you. The web he still had you trapped in all these years later- you struggled, that's all you could do.

Because what could a muggleborn witch like you do to protect yourself from falling in love with a Crouch? To fall victim to his endless worship of you, just to turn around and scorn your blood in front of the people he craved to impress. It was for your protection, he guaranteed, that Voldemort would make an exception of you. That he knew your soul was destined for him and he would make it clear to everyone else that it was true.

“Darling, I'm just going to speak to mommy for a moment, alright?”

Your daughter pouted, holding up her tea cup and he laughed, waving his wand to show her the same thing you assumed he must have been showing her to make her giggle. His bloody magic. The magic you begged him not to expose her to. It wasn't safe, not for you. Certainly not for your daughter, a stain on his family tree.

When he finished he gave her a kiss to her temple, and ruffled her hair. Standing up and walking across the room to you. Quickly, you turned and grabbed your wand from your pocket. Muttering a quick spell on the window as you passed, on your way to the kitchen.

It was the same routine, everytime he found you. Fix whatever damages had been caused, close the blinds, he would dismiss your daughter so you two could talk. You knew Barty could never bring himself to hurt you, in no world would he let any harm come to you or his little girl, but that didn't mean you didn't fear his anger.

You learned what testing his limits could mean. When the war began and you found out you were pregnant, Barty was ecstatic. He bought a home in the Hogwarts highlands, he used you as his get away. He would fight in a war against who you were and come home to dote on you like you were some god. It worked, at first, you were so blinded by love you didn't stop to think about what he was doing.

It was the friends you had closed out that brought you back to reality. Sirius showed up when he knew Barty would be gone, begging you to see reason. He promised you he and Remus would be there when you came to your senses. It took a few days but eventually you packed a bag. When Barty came home you begged him to leave with you, to either join your friend's side of the war or leave it completely with you.

But Barty, he had a way about him. A way that made you foggy minded and willing to forget yourself for hours. When you woke up in his bed, alone again the next morning, you knew it was time.

You'd spent months on end trying to keep away from him. But no matter where you went, he always found you.

Your daughter's giggles echoed in your mind as you moved through the motions, trying to calm down. The warmth of the morning now felt suffocating, as if the very air had turned against you. Barty’s presence had that effect- stealing the light, replacing it with a cold dread that settled deep in your bones.

In the kitchen, you set your wand down on the counter, your hand shaking slightly. You didn’t bother with tea or the pretense of normalcy. There was no use in trying to act like this was just another visit. He always saw through that.

The sound of his footsteps was deliberate, slow and measured as he entered the kitchen behind you. You didn’t need to turn to know he was watching you, that smug sense of control radiating from him like a dark cloud.

“You’re getting better at hiding,” Barty said casually, leaning against the doorframe as if he belonged there, as if he hadn’t just broken into your home and stolen another morning of peace. “I almost didn’t find you this time.”

You tightened your grip on the counter but didn’t respond. Any words you said now would only fan the flames.

“Still,” He continued, his voice calm but with an edge that made your skin crawl, “you should know better by now. There’s no point in running. Not from me.”

“What do you want, Crouch?” You snapped, your voice sharp but low, desperate to keep your daughter blissfully unaware in her room. Your jaw tightened as your heart raced, every muscle in your body screaming at you to act, to escape, but you knew better.

“Ouch,” Barty murmured, the word drawn out like a mockery of your tone. He gave a low, familiar chuckle that made your skin crawl. “No ‘hello’? No ‘it’s good to see you’? Have I fallen so far in your affections, my love?”

Before you could respond, he closed the distance between you in a smooth stride. Your body stiffened as his hand slid over your arm, slow and deliberate, the other curling around your waist. Even as you resisted, he pulled you firmly back into his chest.

You felt his breath against your neck, warm and slow, the press of his nose grazing your skin as he inhaled deeply. “Still wearing that perfume I like,” he murmured, his voice low and intimate, as though you were lovers reunited instead of prey cornered by a predator.

“Let go of me,” You hissed, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to keep it steady.

He didn’t. Instead, he hummed softly, almost contentedly, as if he had all the time in the world. “You know,” He began, his voice silkier now, “I always miss this when you’re gone. The way you fit so perfectly here-” his hand pressed against your waist, possessive, “-like you were made for me.”

You turned your head slightly, just enough to catch his cold, calculating eyes. “Is that what you tell yourself to sleep at night?” You shot back, forcing as much venom into your words as you could muster. “That this is love? That what you’ve done to me- to us- is anything but a twisted game now?”

Barty’s grip tightened, his fingers digging into your waist just enough to remind you of his strength. The smile on his lips faded, replaced by something darker, something far more dangerous.

“Careful,” He warned, his voice dropping to a whisper, a quiet menace laced in his tone. “You’re upset. I’ll forgive it this time, but don’t mistake my patience for weakness. I’ve come too far, sacrificed too much, to lose you now.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, forcing yourself to stay still. Reacting would only make things worse. He thrived on control, on watching you squirm under the weight of his presence. You couldn’t give him that satisfaction- not now.

“What do you want?” You asked again, your voice calmer this time, though the ice in your tone was unmistakable.

He tilted his head, a flash of amusement returning to his features. “You. Her. Us. Isn’t that obvious by now?”

“There is no us, Barty,” You said through clenched teeth, daring to step out of his grasp. This time, he let you, though his gaze never left you, sharp and predatory.

“You keep saying that,” He mused, leaning casually against the counter as if he belonged there. Watching as you stayed a foot or so away. As if he was unsatisfied with the distance, he reached forward and pulled you back to him.. “And yet, here we are. You, me, and our perfect little girl.” His smile returned, sinister and self-assured. “I hate fighting with you. You know what?” He mumbled, pressing lazy kisses up from your neck to your cheek. With all your fight you couldn't bring yourself to attempt to push him away again.

Because despite everything, he was still the man you loved more then life sometimes. The only person you'd ever care more for now- was the very person tying you to him.

It was the same game every time. Barty would find you, tearing through the fragile walls of peace you’d built, leaving only fragments of the life you’d tried to carve out without him. He’d remind you of who he was- not just with his suffocating eyes or possessive touches, but with the way he’d command your space, your air, your very existence. He loved you the way a bonfire devours kindling, bright and all-consuming, but he swore you were the creatures he warmed by his flames.

In truth, Barty was a forest fire. Unrelenting, destructive, impossible to escape. He touched every tree but left none standing. He created a cage of danger, an inescapable labyrinth of fear and passion that kept you tethered to him. And you- trapped between wanting to run and wanting to stay- played right into his hands every time.

The moment you found a new place to call home, he would be there, clawing his way back into your life as if he had every right to. He’d paw at you like a man starved, eyes ravenous, hands desperate to feel every inch of you again. He’d spoil your daughter rotten, making her laugh and smile in ways that made you both grateful and bitter all at once. And then, when he’d gotten what he wanted, he’d leave.

Every time. He’d leave.

To fight a war against the very thing he swore to love.

And yet, it wasn’t the war that broke you. It was the time in between- the stolen mornings, the whispered promises, the moments where you allowed yourself to believe he could change.

Because between the fights, between the harsh hands and the soft touches, you would melt. You would dissolve into the girl you once were, blinded by the love you still harbored for the boy he used to be. The boy who worshipped you with a ferocity that made you feel invincible. The boy who told you he would destroy anyone who dared to harm you, even as he slowly became the very thing you feared.

And somehow, in the fleeting moments of quiet, you still loved him.

The realization burned like a curse, hotter and sharper than any spell. Because even now, as you stood in the kitchen with his shadow still lingering in on the counter you clung to- as he continued to trial his lazy kisses across your skin, your heart betrayed you. It clung to the memory of his laugh, his touch, the way he’d hold you like you were his whole world.

Your heart ached with a contradiction you couldn’t reconcile, the tangled knot of love and fear twisting tighter with every lazy kiss Barty trailed along your neck. His lips were soft, familiar, stirring a warmth you hated yourself for feeling. Even as your mind screamed at you to pull away, to fight, to remind him that he had no place here, your body betrayed you, frozen under the weight of his presence.

He whispered something, too low for you to hear, his breath brushing against your ear. It didn’t matter what he said; the words were always the same. Sweet nothings designed to make you forget the darkness he carried, the danger he brought into your life.

Your hands gripped the counter tighter, your knuckles white as you tried to ground yourself. But his voice, his touch, the intoxicating familiarity of him- it was suffocating.

“I miss this,” Barty murmured, his tone deceptively gentle as his hand slid from your waist to rest against your hip. “I miss you.”

You closed your eyes, willing the tears threatening to spill to stay where they were. He didn’t deserve them. Not anymore.

“You don’t get to say that,” You whispered, your voice trembling despite your efforts to keep it steady. “You don’t get to miss me, Barty. Not after everything you’ve done.”

He paused for a moment, his lips hovering just above your skin. “Everything I’ve done,” he repeated slowly, as if the words themselves amused him. “Everything I’ve done has been for you. For us. For that perfect little girl you gave me- thank you.” He breathed, low and condescending, even as you felt his lips curl into that familiar sweet smile. “Thank you for her.”

“Fuck you.” You hissed, tears finally slipping past your eyes. “You don't get to thank me. How dare you-”

"Momma? Daddy?"

The small voice cut through the tension like a spell, making both of you freeze. Your daughter stood in the doorway, clutching her stuffed owl, her eyes wide with curiosity and a touch of worry.

Barty turned first, his entire demeanor softening in an instant. The dangerous glint in his eyes disappeared, replaced by warmth and affection so convincing it made your stomach churn.

"Hey, princess," he cooed, crouching to her level. "What are you doing out here? Didn't I tell you to keep practicing your tea party skills?"

Ophelia tilted her head, looking between the two of you. "You were shouting," she said simply, her tiny voice laced with innocence. "Are you and Mommy mad?"

Your throat tightened, and you struggled to find the words, but Barty was faster.

"Of course not, darling," he said, his tone dripping with sweetness as he reached out to her. She took his hand without hesitation, allowing him to pull her closer. "Mommy and I were just talking about grown-up things. Boring, silly stuff, nothing to worry about."

You wanted to scream. To contradict him.

You hated it. How well he treated her, how much of a father he could be. You knew it had to be some form of healing for him, wanting to give his daughter the father he never had. But it didn’t make it any easier for you to watch. It didn’t make it easier to stomach how easily he could shift from the storm that haunted your nights to the warm, doting father who seemed so perfect in her eyes.

"Mommy?" Ophelia’s voice pulled you back to the present, her wide, curious eyes locked on yours. She had Barty’s eyes, that same piercing gaze that could see straight through you. It was both beautiful and heart breaking, knowing what those eyes had seen before they became hers.

You forced yourself to smile, though it felt as fragile as glass- quickly brushing away your tears in hopes she didn't see them. "No, sweetheart," You cooed, your voice soft but tight. "Mommy and Daddy aren’t mad. Daddy’s just being… silly, as usual."

She giggled, the sound like bells in the tense air. Barty gave her a conspiratorial wink, as if the two of them shared some secret that didn’t include you. It made your skin crawl but your heart throb all the same. This wasn't fair.

"See, angel? Everythings alright.” Barty scooped her up effortlessly, holding her as if she were the most precious thing in the world. His expression softened further, the love in his eyes so genuine it made your heart ache. “Mommy just worries too much sometimes,” He teased with a gentle laugh, brushing a stray curl out of Ophelia’s face. “But you don’t need to worry, do you? Daddy’s here to take care of everything.”

Ophelia rested her head against his shoulder, her small fingers clutching his collar. “Promise?” She asked softly, her innocent trust making your chest tighten.

“I promise,” He replied, his voice warm and soothing. His eyes flicked back to you, the unspoken challenge still lingering beneath his tenderness. “Daddy always keeps his promises, doesn’t he?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Instead, you swallowed the lump in your throat and turned away, busying yourself with the kettle on the counter. Anything to avoid the sight of them together, to ignore the knot of guilt and helplessness that twisted tighter in your chest with every word.

“Daddy,” Ophelia murmured, her voice muffled as she nuzzled into his neck. “Will you stay this time?”

Your breath hitched, your fingers trembling as you gripped the edge of the counter. You dared to glance over your shoulder, catching the way Barty’s expression softened further. For a fleeting moment, there was no malice in his eyes- only love, raw and unfiltered.

“For as long as I can, my little star,” He said softly, pressing a kiss to her hair.

She beamed at him, her giggles filling the room again as he twirled her around, the tension momentarily forgotten. But as you watched, the weight of reality settled heavily on your shoulders. This was the game he always played- pulling you in, wrapping you in the warmth of a family you desperately wanted to protect, only to remind you of how fragile it all was.

“Ophelia,” You called, your voice gentle and thick. “Are you hungry, baby?”

Ophelia perked up at the sound of your voice, turning her head just enough to look at you over Barty’s shoulder. “Yes, Mommy!” She chirped, her stuffed owl clutched tightly in one hand. “Can we have pancakes? The ones with the happy faces?”

You forced a smile, nodding as you stepped toward the pantry. “Of course, sweetheart. Go wash your hands first, okay? And don’t forget to set up your tea party things for later.”

She wriggled out of Barty’s arms with the unbridled energy only a child could have, her little feet padding across the floor as she darted out of the kitchen. Her laughter echoed down the hall, leaving a momentary warmth in its wake that quickly dissipated as you felt Barty’s gaze settle on you again.

You didn’t look at him. Instead, you busied yourself with gathering the ingredients for pancakes, focusing on the mundane task like it was the only thing tethering you to reality.

“She’s growing up so fast,” Barty murmured, his tone soft but pointed. “Every time I see her, she’s more like you. Stubborn, sharp, and so full of life.”

You bristled at his words but didn’t respond, your hands steady as you set a mixing bowl on the counter.

“But she has my eyes,” He continued, stepping closer, his voice lowering to that dangerous, familiar drawl. “Doesn’t she?”

You slammed the whisk down a little harder than intended, finally turning to face him. “What do you want, Barty?” you demanded a final time, your voice low and sharp. “You’ve played the loving father card. You’ve made your presence known. What’s next? What do you think this is going to accomplish?”

He tilted his head, studying you with that infuriating smirk that never quite reached his eyes. “Accomplish?” he echoed, as though the very word amused him. “Oh, love, this isn’t about accomplishing anything. This is about being where I belong. With my family.”

“This isn’t your family,” You shot back, the venom in your voice unmistakable. “You don’t get to waltz in and pretend you belong here, not after everything you’ve done.”

His expression darkened, the playful edge to his smirk hardening into something colder. Then, slowly, he smiled. That same boyish charming smile you always thought to be true. He stepped behind you, running his palms down your arms with a low sigh. “I really do hate fighting you, star.”

His hands slid down your arms, his touch deceptively gentle, but his grip firm enough to remind you of the power he held. You froze as Barty leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear.

"I hate it," he murmured, his voice soft, yet laced with something darker. "I hate how stubborn you are, how you make me work so hard to remind you of what we have."

You gritted your teeth, refusing to look at him, to meet those piercing eyes that could always see straight through you. “What we had,” you corrected coldly, though your voice trembled.

He chuckled, a low sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “You can say that as much as you want,” he said, his fingers trailing down your sides to your waist, holding you in place. “But we both know it’s not true. We still have it. You feel it every time I’m near, don’t you? Just like I do.”

“Let go of me,” you whispered, your voice breaking under the weight of his presence. You hated how weak you sounded, how easily he unraveled you.

But Barty didn’t let go. Instead, he turned you to face him, his hands settling on your hips as his stormy eyes bore into yours. "You’ve given me the best gift, love,” he said, his tone softening as his gaze flicked toward the hallway where Ophelia had disappeared. “Her. You. You’re my everything. Both of you. And you know that.”

Your throat tightened, tears threatening to spill as his words pierced through your defenses. “You don’t get to say that,” you choked out. “You don’t get to act like you’re some devoted father when you’re-” Your voice cracked, and you bit down hard on your lip, desperate to hold yourself together. “You’re the reason I had to run. The reason she’s in danger.”

“In danger?” Barty repeated, his voice sharp now, his hands tightening on your hips. “You think I’d ever let anything happen to either of you? Do you really believe I’d let anyone touch my family?”

“You’ve already put us in danger,” you shot back, your anger flaring despite the tears threatening to fall. “Your choices, your loyalty to him- you’ve made us targets, Barty. Don’t pretend you haven’t.”

His jaw clenched, his eyes darkening as he leaned in closer. “Everything I’ve done has been for you,” he said, his voice low and fierce. “For us. I took that mark to protect you. I fought for a place in his world so he wouldn’t touch you or her. Do you know what I’ve sacrificed to keep you safe?”

“You don’t get to use that as an excuse,” you hissed, tears streaming freely now. “You don’t get to justify everything you’ve done by pretending it was for me. You made your choices, Barty. You chose him over me. Over us.”

His hands moved to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing away your tears even as his grip felt possessive, inescapable. “I chose you,” he insisted, his voice trembling with a rare vulnerability. “Every single time, I chose you. And I’d do it again, star. I’d do anything for you.”

“Then let me go,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “Let me live my life. Let me protect her.”

“I can’t do that,” He said, shaking his head as his forehead pressed against yours. “You’re mine. Both of you. And I won’t let you take her- or yourself- away from me again.”

The weight of his words settled heavily in the space between you, suffocating and undeniable. You hated how your heart ached at the raw desperation in his voice, how a part of you wanted to believe him, to give in like you always did.

“You always do this,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “You make me forget how much I hate you.”

He smiled faintly, his lips brushing against your temple in a touch so tender it made your chest ache. “That’s because you don’t hate me, love. You never have. And you never will.”

You wanted to scream, to push him away, but your body betrayed you, leaning into his touch as your tears soaked into his shirt. “This isn’t fair,” you choked out, your voice muffled against him.

“No,” he agreed, his arms wrapping around you as if to shield you from the very chaos he’d brought into your life. “But I’ll make it right, star. I’ll prove to you that this is where you’re meant to be. Where we’re meant to be.”

And as much as you wanted to fight, as much as you wanted to push him away and reclaim the life you’d fought so hard to build, a part of you- the part that had always belonged to him- knew he was right.

Because no matter how far you ran, no matter how hard you fought, Barty Crouch Jr. would always find his way back to you.

And you would always let him in.

[aphroditelovesu]

⸻ The Lost Queen - XXI ⸻

— summary: You woke up near a military camp without remembering how and why you got there, you didn’t understand why they were dressed like ancient Greeks, all you knew was that you weren’t safe and you needed to get out of that place as soon as possible. Too bad for you that you found yourself attracting unwanted attention from the Macedonian King and he won’t let you go so easily. — genre: yandere, dark!au. — warnings: time travel, obsessive and possessive behavior, murder, mention of torture, kidnapping, angst, fluffy (very rarely), dub-con, eventual smut, pregnancy. — word count: 4,495. — tag list: @devils-blackrose, @faerykingdom, @hadesnewpersephone, @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 , @kadu-5607, @zoleea-exultant, @borntoexplore11-blog, @elvinapandra, @jennifer0305 , @his0kaswife, @animetye-23, @leathesimp, @dostoevsskij, @meheheasasa, @jsprien213, @lammys-thinking. —the lost queen series masterlist. — ko-fi

Chapter 21

When you opened your eyes, you were no longer in your room in the Persian Palace, amid the gilded excesses and fine fabrics of the city of Babylon.

You were in your old room. In the room of a life that seemed to have belonged to someone else.

The dull white ceiling was the first thing you saw, and for a moment, your heart stopped — as if everything you had lived had been just a feverish delirium. But when you sat up in bed, everything became even more confusing. The sheets were exactly as you remembered them: with that faint scent of aged lavender, the rough touch of cheap cotton under your hands. It was as if you had been ripped from Babylon and forced back into the past — but not just any past, but right where it all began. Your old life.

The room was the same. Every corner held a memory. The walls were painted in a pale, characterless tone, the pictures of your family, friends and your cat, the simple furniture, devoid of any luxury, just the essentials — the old, worn wooden dresser, the mirror with a small crack in the corner. Everything was there, as if time had frozen. But the strangest thing was that, although everything was exactly the same... It no longer felt like yours. It felt empty, soulless, almost suffocating. You realized, with a heaviness in your chest, that you had grown accustomed to the opulence of Babylon — the silk, the gold, the smells of incense, the distant sound of exotic music as night fell.

Now, surrounded by this cold simplicity, your old room seemed faded. Dull. Strange. But questioning the decor was the least of your problems. Not when your mind was spinning, confused and dizzy, trying to understand what had actually happened. You had been sent back — that much was clear — but why? Why now? Why like this?

Why would Aslan have brought you back? Right now, after everything you had lived, felt, lost and achieved?

For a moment, you wondered if it had all been just a long and incredibly vivid dream. But when you looked at yourself, you realized how impossible that was. Your slightly rounded belly — the weight of it, the subtle, almost timid movements you felt under your skin — were living proof that it couldn’t be an invention. You were still pregnant. Your body didn't lie. Your mind did.

And if it wasn't a dream... what was it? A trap? A mistake? Had you been just a toy in the hands of that creature: Aslan.

A heavy sigh escaped your lips as you got up from the bed. Your legs, once firm, wobbled. You leaned against the nearest piece of furniture, feeling your body exhausted, as if you had fought invisible battles for centuries. Everything hurt, inside and out. But there was no room for mourning. You were back.

This was what you always wanted... Wasn't it?

You tried to convince yourself of this, but the words sounded hollow even to you.

There was so much that needed to be understood, so much that needed to be done. But first of all... You needed a shower. You needed hot water, to wash away the sweat, the fatigue and who knows, with luck, some of the confusion that weighed on your shoulders.

As you looked in the mirror, a wave of nostalgia hit you. There you were, in your old kitten pajamas — the ones you remembered hiding at the bottom of a trunk in your old tent in the Macedonian camp. You remembered how you tried not to think about them, how you avoided them, because just seeing them made your eyes fill with tears.

And now they were there. As if they had never been touched by time, just a little tighter. Your body had changed — rounder, heavier, with the curves of someone who carries life inside them. But it wasn’t just your body. You had changed too.

You were no longer the person who once wore those pajamas and slept in that bed. And now, all that was left was to figure out what to do with them.

And with everything that was yet to come because, somehow, you knew it wasn't over.

The bathroom was exactly as you remembered it — a perfect reflection of the past you thought you had left behind forever. The white tiled walls, the simple details, the mirror with faint fingerprints, and that white light that had never been bright enough but now felt welcoming. Comforting. Familiar. And strange.

Everything was in its place. As if you had gone to sleep there the night before, as if none of this — Babylon, the Macedonian camp, Alexander, the linen robes, the gold, and the fear of the unknown — had ever happened. Your hair products, your skincare products neatly arranged on the shelf, your towels folded in the cabinet, and your toothbrush.

It was when you saw the toothbrush that you felt the tears rise to your eyes, burning unexpectedly.

It wasn’t that your teeth were dirty — no, you'd always managed — but it was the contrast that hit you like a punch in the gut. For a while, your "brush" had been a tree branch, carefully frayed at the end, like a relic from ancient times. And instead of toothpaste, you used what you had on hand: ash powder mixed with crushed crystals, and, on more "luxurious" occasions, activated charcoal. None of it was exactly pleasant, but you got used to it. You had to. It was either that or live with the bitter taste of poor hygiene, and that was a battle you refused to lose.

But now... Here were your real products. Your mint-flavored toothpaste, the deodorant that made you feel clean and fresh, the lavender-scented soap, and, oh — the shampoo that made your hair shine the way you liked it. The relief was almost absurd, and you didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. How could you miss such little things so much? Things you never really thought about.

Carefully, you removed the kitten pajamas, folding them slowly before placing them in the laundry basket.

Turning the shower knob, the hot water began to fall, filling the bathroom with the soft, steady sound you hadn't even realized you'd missed. As soon as you stepped in, you felt a shiver of pleasure as you felt the water run down your body. It was so different from the baths in wooden tubs, the clay bowls and damp cloths you used so often. The shower felt like an unparalleled luxury. The simple sensation of the hot water falling directly onto your shoulders, your back, your belly... it was like coming back to life.

You washed yourself calmly, almost in reverence. You washed your hair with your favorite products, massaging your scalp like you used to do before everything changed. You shaved your armpits carefully and, feeling bold, other parts too — like you used to do in the past, for pleasure, for comfort, for feeling in control of your own body.

It had been so long since your last bath like this and you decided to make the most of it.

Now, there was only the present. The water. And you. The rest would come later.

When you felt like you had spent enough time under the hot water, when your fingers were wrinkled and your skin was starting to become sensitive to the touch, you finally turned off the shower. The silence that followed seemed almost deafening, in contrast to the constant sound that had filled the room until seconds ago.

You grabbed a soft towel — the same one you always had, a little faded from time and use, but familiar — and wrapped yourself in it, calmly drying your face and then your body. Your movements were automatic, a reflection of the routine of a life that now seemed so distant. You walked out of the bathroom, the steam still dissipating around you, and started heading to your room, ready to change.

But you had not taken more than two steps down the hallway when you heard a sound — a loud, frightened sigh.

Your body reacted instantly, your muscles tensing, your heart racing. For a second, you thought it was a burglar or something else. You turned around quickly, already preparing to scream, but the air left your lungs in another kind of shock.

May.

Your best friend was there, standing in the middle of the hallway. Her light blue eyes wide, fixed on you as if she were seeing a ghost — and, in a way, she was. Her face, always so expressive and full of life, now showed absolute astonishment. Her mouth was half open, her hands slightly raised, as if she didn't know whether to run to you or run away.

You didn't even have time to blink when May crossed the short distance between you and wrapped you in a desperate, almost painful hug. A sob choked in your throat, and the tears came as if they were just waiting for that touch to free themselves. You hugged her back tightly, clinging to her like a safe haven, as if only then could you believe that you were truly home.

No words were spoken. For long seconds, you just pressed against each other, sharing the silence full of longing and pain. You felt her face pressed against your damp hair, felt her fingers digging lightly into your back, as if she feared you would disappear at any moment. Instinctively, you patted her back lightly, trying to calm her down, trying to calm yourself down.

May pulled away, but only enough to look you in the eyes. Hers were red, full of tears and a pain that made your chest hurt even more.

"Where have you been?! I... We've been worried sick for months, (Y/N)! Fuck, I was starting to believe you were dead!" Her voice broke at the end, and then the questions came, all at once. An emotional bombardment, an outburst. She needed answers, she needed to understand.

And you didn't blame her. How could you? If you were in her shoes, you would feel the same — the same desperation, the same anger, the same need to know.

"I... I don't know how to explain it to you." Your voice came out low, hoarse, as if it hadn't been used in a long time. And in a way, it hadn't. How could you explain the inexplicable? What words could describe that you had been sent two thousand years into the past, that you had met Alexander the Great, that you had become a queen, a wife... and now, a mother-to-be?

How could you tell someone this without sounding insane? Even for May, who had always been by your side, who knew you like no one else, it was too much. She would think you had gone crazy. And you wouldn't blame her for it. Before, you would have thought it was crazy yourself.

But it was May. Your best friend since forever. And you needed to tell her. You needed to get it all out. Share everything — the fear, the pain, the fleeting moments of happiness. Keeping it all to yourself would be too much of a burden.

May was still holding you, as if she was afraid you would disappear if she let go. Her eyes were trembling, but they were steady on yours, searching for something. Understanding, maybe. Or just the certainty that you were real.

"Start from the beginning." She asked, trying to smile but failing. Her face was a mirror of your confusion.

You nodded slowly and tightened the towel around your body, only then realizing how exposed you were. Vulnerable, not only physically, but in everything.

"Can I... Change first?" You murmured, trying to smile too. "I feel very exposed right now."

May hesitated, but let you go. Her arms crossed, her gaze still on you, as if she were prepared to follow you to the ends of the earth.

"I won’t let go of you," She said firmly, her eyes narrowed in defiance, as if daring you to try to run away.

You smiled. A small smile, but sincere.

"I don't expect anything different." You replied and walked into the bedroom, with her close behind you. She closed the door carefully, and you hurried to grab your clothes. May, to her credit, turned her face away when you let go of the towel.

You pulled on a pair of comfortable black sweatpants and a matching sweatshirt. Simple, comfortable clothes... But at the same time strange. You felt strange in them. After months of chitons, tunics, veils, jewelry, and embellished sandals, those clothes seemed so... Dull. Weightless. Meaningless.

And why did you miss the hands that dressed you so much, the necklaces that adorned you, the fine, hand-embroidered fabrics?

Because you are a Queen.

Or had been.

Your fingers instinctively touched your bare neck, and you felt strangely... Naked. Empty.

There you were, back in your old room, with your best friend. But you had never felt so out of place in your entire life.

May cleared her throat, bringing your attention back to the present.

"Are you going to tell me what the fuck happened? Why did you disappear?" Her voice was shaking, but there was determination there. And you knew it — the time had come.

It was time to tell her everything.

You told her everything.

From the moment you bought that old book, to the moment that man — Aslan — appeared in your life, like an impossible mirage, with his confusing words.

You told her about Babylon, about the hanging gardens you saw in the distance, the dry heat in the air and the clothes you never imagined wearing. You told her about Alexander — not the one from the books, or from movies and series, but the man behind the victories and the wars. The Alexander who looked at you as if you were his own world. You told her about the wedding, how he almost killed his friend because of you, about the few pleasant nights in his royal tent, about the fear and admiration that grew throughout the short but significant time you spent together.

You told her about Perdiccas, about the kiss, the kidnapping, the loneliness. About the pregnancy discovered in the midst of chaos. You told her about the sleepless nights, about the constant fear of losing the babies, about how each day was a struggle between the past and the desire to return home. You told her, with tears in your eyes, how you woke up suddenly, in your old room, in the pajamas you thought you had left behind, with the babies still moving in your belly.

You didn't spare anything. Not even the details that seemed too absurd to say out loud. But then again, everything was absurd.

And in the end, your voice came out in a tired whisper, as if each word had left you more exhausted:

"And I'm here now."

Silence.

May stared at you as if she was trying to see through you, as if she was searching in your eyes for the lie, the rational explanation, anything that made sense.

"You..." She began, but stopped, processing everything. "You're married to a conqueror who died over two thousand years ago and you're expecting not just one, but two babies from that man?"

Her voice sounded almost neutral, but her eyes said it all. They were wide, confused, almost desperate.

"(Y/N)..." Your name came out of her like a whine. "Were you drugged? Were you... Abused? None of this makes sense!"

You pressed your lips together, feeling the salty taste of tears that threatened to come back. Her words hurt, even if they were the result of concern. You didn't blame her. No rational human being would accept that story.

"I wasn't drugged..." You said softly, staring at your own hands. "And as for abuse..." You bit your lip, hesitating. "Not in the true sense of the word."

May frowned, taking a step forward, as if she wanted to reach you and at the same time feared touching whatever it was you had become. You took a deep breath and ran your hand through your still damp hair, trying to anchor yourself to something.

"I'm telling the truth, May."

The silence settled once more, heavy, thick. May seemed to fight with all her might not to panic, not to yell at you. She crossed her arms, pacing back and forth, the words stuck in her throat. Her eyes filled with tears, and when she finally looked back at you, her expression was one of pain.

"So..." She whispered, trying to understand, trying to accept. "What are you going to do now? If this is real... What are you going to do, (Y/N)"

The question hung in the air like a sentence. You had no answer.

Maybe you never would.

May sat back down, the weight of the moment on her shoulders, and took your hands in hers, squeezing them tightly, as if to make sure you wouldn’t disappear again. Her soft, lightly tanned skin was warm, familiar — a comfort.

You felt the pang of longing. Longing for something you hadn’t known you needed until that moment.

"Do you have any idea what these past five months have been like?" Her voice was shaky, filled with pain. "I was worried like crazy... Your family was too. The police..." She shook her head, her eyes watering "dropped your case. They said that since so much time had passed... The chances of you being alive were slim."

Her lips trembled as she said it, and for a second she looked like a child trying to hold back tears. You could see how much she had suffered. How much she blamed herself, perhaps, for not having done more, for not having been able to find you.

And then the guilt came — devastating, suffocating. You knew it was irrational to blame yourself. You hadn't asked for this, you hadn't chosen to be taken from your life, from your reality. But you couldn’t help it. The guilt settled deep in your chest like a heavy stone.

The guilt of having disappeared.

The guilt of having left May, your family, everyone who loved you... In the dark, without answers, drowning in pain and uncertainty.

You swallowed hard, feeling your throat burn.

''May...'' Your voice was broken, small. "I'm so sorry. I didn't want anyone to go through this... I swear I tried... I tried to go back, I tried to find a way..."

But there was no way. Not until now.

May pulled you into a hug, her hands shaking as they held you tightly, as if they could hold time back, prevent something like that from happening again.

"I'm just glad you're alive..." She whispered against your shoulder. "That's all that matters now."

But was it really? You didn't know what mattered anymore. Because even though you were back... Part of you was still there. And maybe it would never stop being there.

Suddenly, you remembered something.

Curiosity had become a fire inside you, burning everything in its path. Had history changed? Had your presence in the past, with Alexander, with the entire empire, left any mark? Was there any record of you in the books now, in the articles? Was there any mention of Alexander's Queen?

You needed to know.

"May, do you have your phone with you?" You asked, a little anxious.

May pulled away a little, her hands still holding yours, her brow furrowed in confusion at the sudden change in your tone.

"Huh? I am, why?" She asked, quickly wiping her tears with the back of her hand. "Are you okay?"

You nodded, even though you weren't. Not really.

"I just… I need to see something. Please."

It was irrational — or maybe not. You knew you shouldn't think about it now, with so much going on, with May finally having you back, with so many unanswered questions... But you needed to know.

"Okay... Okay." May mumbled, still not understanding, and pulled her phone out of the pocket of the baggy sweatshirt she was wearing. She handed it to you with a worried look.

You picked up the device, feeling your heart race in your chest, and opened the browser with trembling fingers. The screen shone like it was a window to a reality that shouldn’t exist.

You typed "Alexander the Great"”" into the search field, your stomach tightening, your breath held.

And then, holding the phone as if it were fragile, you started scrolling through the pages.

And you hoped to find... Something. Anything.

Your eyes scanned the headlines, passing by well-known biographies, mosaic portraits, battles, campaigns... Until something caught your eye. An article with a strange, almost absurd title jumped out of the screen like a punch in the gut:

"Alexander’s Lost Wife: New Document Reveals Unsolved Mystery"

Your heart nearly stopped. You clicked, your hands sweating, your breathing ragged. May was looking over your shoulder now, confused, not understanding why you were shaking. But you couldn’t explain it — not yet.

The article was from a reliable historical website, the kind that wouldn't publish something without a basis. The text was detailed, serious, with quotes from renowned archaeologists and historians. And there you were. Not just mentioned... But as part of the story, of the history.

"For centuries, the existence of an unknown wife of Alexander the Great was treated as legend — briefly mentioned in rare manuscripts and regarded as folklore. But recently, translated fragments of Greek and Persians records reveal the figure of a woman named (Y/N), described as a foreigner of unusual appearance, who is said to have won the heart of the Macedonian king and become his consort."

You felt pressure in your ears, as if the world around you were sinking in.

"The records tell of her mysterious disappearance during the height of the Persian campaign, and of Alexander's devastating response — he is said to have launched his fury, his revenge against his own generals, agaisnt the Persians, made impulsive decisions, and, according to recent theories, began his final march in poor health and broken spirit. Alexander died a few months later after his wife disappearance."

There was even a crude illustration, reimagined from ancient descriptions, of a woman with modern features, standing next to Alexander. Your name was in parentheses, as if it were a footnote, but you were there.

May put her hand over her mouth.

"What the fuck..." She whispered, her eyes wide. "This isn't a montage. This is from a real website. They... They're talking about you."

You looked at her, your mind a whirlwind of shock and confirmation, and whispered, almost soundlessly, "I... Changed everything."

And in that instant, there was no denying it anymore. History had been changed, the proof was there, even if it couldn't be felt.

The article continued to scroll. The words on the screen seemed to blur together as your eyes took in more than you expected — more than you wanted.

"Historians suggest that after the unexplained disappearance of (Y/N), Alexander the Great plunged into a state of intense rage and grief. There are records of chaotic orders and military campaigns that were not in the king’s original plans, including the siege and subsequent destruction of Babylon, one of the most prosperous and wealthy cities in the ancient world. It is estimated that thousands died or were enslaved."

You felt the phone slip a little from your hands, but forced yourself to hold on tight. Your chest tightened, as if a chain was wrapping around your heart.

"Furthermore, Persian and Greek sources suggest that the king, weakened by pain and battles, fell seriously ill, refusing care, fasting, and giving in to despair. His early death, at the age of 26, is now attributed, by some currents, to the direct consequence of the loss of his wife, whose identity was considered a mystery for more than two thousand years."

The pain cut deep, sharper than any blade.

You caused this.

Your departure — your return to your own time — wasn't just an escape from an impossible life. It was the spark that set everything on fire. You stared at May, who was still reading, in shock. The words wouldn’t come out of her mouth.

You were back.

But at the cost of thousands of lives. Of an entire city. Of an empire. Of Alexander.

You fell to your knees on the edge of the bed, the world spinning.

May knelt before you, hands on her knees, and asked in a low voice, as if afraid of the answer, "This all... This happened because of you?"

You didn't answer right away. How could you? How could you put into words that your return home, which seemed like a miracle, had cost you more than you could ever imagine?

You stared at your shaking hands and finally whispered:

"Yes."

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to fall. Guilt enveloped you like a thick, suffocating fog, holding your breath, crushing your chest. But deep down… Deep down, you knew the truth.

It wasn't your fault.

You chose none of this. You didn't ask to be ripped from your time, thrown into the past, forced to adapt, to survive, to go through everything you went through. Aslan used you. He played with you as if you were a piece in a cruel game, a pawn sacrificed for a purpose you didn't even understand.

He was the one who took you from your life. He was the one who made you part of a world that wasn't yours. And he was the one who took you from there, ripping you away not only from the environment, the people, that you had grown accustomed to... But from everything you had built. He destroyed that. He caused all of this.

But the guilt... Still burned.

"I know it's not my fault..." Your voice came out hoarse, weak, as if it were someone else speaking, "But I feel this way. As if I had killed thousands... Destroyed everything I've touched."

May stared at you, still kneeling, tears streaming down her face, but without saying anything for a moment. And then, she squeezed your hands tightly, firmly. Her eyes, red, fixed on yours.

"No. You didn't destroy anything, (Y/N)." Her voice was firm, full of pain and fury. "The one who did this was this... This Aslan. That thing. You were used. You survived. And you're still here. You're not a goddess or whatever, you're not omnipotent. It wasn't you."

You closed your eyes, letting a tear fall silently. May sat next to you on the bed and hugged you tightly, holding you as if she could stop you from falling apart — as if her presence could glue the broken pieces inside you together.

But you knew you needed to fix this. You just didn't know how to do it yet.

— lady l: I know this chapter was more focused on Reader but it was necessary, but the next one will focus on Alexander and someone else :)) and yesss, I know that no one remembers May (not even I remembered to be honest) but since Reader is back, I thought it was right to bring her friend back too! lol

I hope you liked it and forgive me for any mistakes. I've been exhausted lately without my medication and a lot of things may have gone unnoticed but I ask that you please ignore it.

If you want to support me or ask for something, my Ko-Fi/commissions are always open! :)

As always, feedback is always welcome. See you in the next chapter! ❤️❤️

[holybibly]

For bunnies who, like me, can't stop thinking about stalker Yunho.

Yunho is a good boy, the most diligent of them all. He's always been this way, apart from a few innocent lies as a child or a few biscuits stolen from the jar when no one was watching. But he has never done anything bad enough to make him feel really guilty. Yunho is a good boy, the nicest of all. He loves his family, his job at the little bookshop on the corner, cosy romantic films, and the thick taste of hot chocolate that melts on his tongue. But there is something he loves more than all of that. 

What Yunho loves most is your used panties, no matter how much he embarrassedly admits it. 

"Oh, God..." The sound of his voice is low and husky, his mouth ajar as he presses it against your expensive silk panties, the rich, creamy fabric sliding down his nose and tickling the flushed skin of his cheeks with the exquisite French lace. 

These are his favourites, although he is equally fond of the lovely peach ones with the little bow at the front that you wear most often. He can tell by the smell, not that he has looked up your skirt... yet. Yunho is too shy for that, and he's not sure he wouldn't get arrested if he tried to put his head up your skirt to see what kind of panties you're wearing on a given day, or if he put his face between your legs as how he always fantasises about and touching the wet, soft fabric with his tongue. Yunho is pretty sure he could easily identify them by the feel of them in his mouth; after all, he's sucked or licked them too many times not to know that. 

But for now, he's quite content to enjoy the taste and the smell of your used panties, and to see you three times a week when you go to his bookshop to buy a new book or some stationery that you keep losing. And you don't need to know that Yunho keeps your pens and pencils in the top drawer of his bedside table. You like to suck on the tip of a pencil when you're concentrating; Yunho likes to suck on it when he's fucking his pillow, imagining it's your tiny, squelching with mucus pussy stretching so beautifully around his cock.

Right now, he's sitting comfortably on your bed, stroking his hard, leaking cock in lazy motions. He's pressing the sticky, slightly damp fabric of your panties, which you'd taken off this morning before going to work, to his face. Yunho rubs the soiled silk between his fingers, feeling the trace of your juices on his fingertips as he takes them into his mouth, sucking sweetly, savouring every hint of your taste. He'd give anything to get a real taste of you.

One of his favourite fantasies is one in which he worships your pussy with his tongue. He knows you'll love it too, judging by how often you highlight such scenes in those kinky novels you read at night. He's read them all; he knows exactly how to make you go crazy for it. Yunho is a diligent student; he's learnt his lesson to perfection. 

Yunho imagines spreading your legs wide, burying his face in your pussy. He will treat you like a true princess and show you how much you deserve to be pleasured and worshipped. He will spread your labia with his fingers and stick his tongue as deep into your hole as he can until his nose rests on your clit and he can no longer breathe properly.

He would let you use yourself as a toy if you wanted him to; he would let you grab his hair and rub your cunt all over his face until you came in his mouth. He would also want you to ride his face while he fucks you with his tongue; he would love to do this as long as you give him permission to learn how to make you cum so that he can do it when you ask him to. It doesn't matter if he cum or not, but he knows he will; he just needs to get close enough to you to do it, not to mention that he has thought about being your boyfriend. He'll go out with you, he'll buy you cake and hot chocolate, he'll love your cat, he'll look after the flowers on your window, he'll give you kisses and spend time with you when you're depressed, and he'll screw you at any time of the day, whether he's busy or not. And he's tough; you can bite or bruise or dig your nails into his back or beat him; he can take anything and much, much worse if it's for you. 

His tongue sticks out to lather your panties with his saliva, barely thinking, his grip on his cock tightening as he jerks himself faster and harder, as if you were the one jerking him off, wrapping your tiny palm around his heavy, hot length so you can sit on it afterwards. Wouldn't that be the ultimate prize? He'd have no problem getting his tongue inside you and sucking your clit for hours on end, but actually fucking you would be a whole other realm of pleasure that he has no idea even exists. You would look so beautiful with your tiny, plump pussy stretched around his cock, and he could be so gentle with you, fucking you like it was your first time—and he really hopes it is because virgins are all dirty; they are the most kinky little desperate bitches who dream of a hard big cock, and Yunho will give you that; he will give you everything. But he can also be rough with you; he can fuck your brain; he can make you squirt over and over and over again. He can even play with you and take you without your consent, the way you have dreamed of it while you were finger-fucking yourself and reading about it in your book. He knows your desire to have him tear you apart, and who is he to deny you that?

He can dream many things. He can dream long enough so that he doesn't realise what he's doing until it's too late, until he feels himself coming and he has nothing to hold on to to hide his presence from your gaze. Nothing but the panties in his hand, which he has no choice but to press against his cock and watch as his cum shakes out in strands so thick they begin to seep through the fabric. 

Yunho looks down at your ruined panties wrapped around his cock, all wet and sticky, and thinks about how one day he's going to cum on your pussy just like that, make it dirty, make it his.

[cinellieroll]

☆ more random obey me headcanons !

characters: the demon brothers! <3

small note: i am back. and i will disappear once more after this..also i apologize for the VERYYY LATE upload. i am not dead and i wont die until om fandom comes back to life i tell ya 😤😤

cw: none! :p

☆ lucifer:

- occasionaly has thoughts of getting a german shepherd but cerberus would get EXTREMELY PISSED if he did. also another reason why he refuses to let satan keep cats in the house. cerberus will gobble them up in less than a millisecond.

- has a pretty high libido (as if it isn't already obvious in the game..) he really enjoys taking out his stress on you everytime he gets the chance. buckle up buttercup ༎ຶ⁠‿⁠༎ຶ

- one if his biggest secrets is keeping like a few albums of him and his brothers back when they still lived in the celestial realm. he keeps em hidden realll good

- sometimes asks levi or mammon to help him with his D.D.D

- "mammon, help me with this." "levi, why is my screen stuck like this?" "lucifer you paused the video-"

- he likes silk pajamas :3 he also can't STAND sweatpants for some reason.

- once a week, he dedicates atleast an hour or two grooming his own wings and his horns. there's a lot of occasions where he transforms in his demon form for parties and such.

- reads newspaper while taking a shit. guys dont argue with me on this its real.

- he has cold lips but his kisses are always very passionate with you!

- very well mannered everytime he's on the dining table and eating. y'all will never catch him spill a single food on the table or his clothes.

☆ mammon:

- eats with his hands sometimes when he's alone. and if someone ever finds out his excuse is always "so what? sometimes eating food with your hands is a better way to savor the taste." and i completely agree with him

- cleans his jewelry a lot. he wants them dazzling that people will do a double take when they see his mega awesome drip. like "haha yeah yall cant beat me on this baby" type shit

- cooks the BEST beef curry. the level of spice is perfect-o and beel always pesters him to make it.

- during family photos, he's always the one doing silly poses. he does hand stands, he has his ass out on display, he's ON THE FLOOR

- always man spreading in class. like you can literally see him chewing on his pen from across the room with his legs sprawled out

- you know that empty feeling you get after watching a movie? double that and give it to mammon. man takes it HARD especially if it was a sad movie that he watched. he'll feel empty for a gooooddd while

- always breaks his earphones, so when d.d.d airpods came out he got really happy and bought like 6 pairs (he ended up breaking all of them too)

- blasts music like crazy when he works out and lucifer absolutely HATES his music style and thinks it's unsanitary and inappropriate. like ok whatever you old fucking hag

- doesn't close the bathroom door after he uses it LIKE BITCH CLOSE THAT SHIT RN

- follows all of his fan accounts on devilgram ugh my boy <33

☆ leviathan:

- there's just like random times where he'll suddenly remember all of his past cringe phases. and it like appears on the most random times it's actually pissing him off

- always fantasized about creating character designs for simeon ever since he found out he was the creator of TSL

- he has a bad habit of HOLDING IN HIS PISS. yes he holds them in. he developed this habit ever since he got addicted to gaming. luckily for him he's a demon but boy if he was human he would've gotten kidney problems by now.

- levi would never ever admit it but he enjoyed getting spun around by mammon when they were still kids. like mammon grabs his arms then just spins him around and stuff

- sleeps with his headphones on and now he can't sleep without it. he's just like me jujujuju

- he really likes alex g :3

- sometimes he wishes he was a magical pop star girl performing for people on stage because they always look so happy when he watches them

- loves being the little spoon so much. sometimes it's awkward with him when he's the big spoon because he's either trembling or really stiff like a log

- he enjoys kissing your cheeks the most because he's convinced he'll melt if he tries kissing you on the lips

- has a hidden album on his phone of stolen shots of you doing the most random shit ever. eating, sleeping, showering..💀

☆ satan:

- even when it's freezing cold, his feet are always peeking out of his blanket. can't sleep without his bare feet hanging out.

- doesn't need reading glasses but insists on buying them because he thinks it fits the detective aesthetic. unfortunately he loses them a lot and no one knows why

- besides lucifer, satan is very sleek and neat when putting on neck ties

- had a phase where he absolutely despised coffee and tea because he found out lucifer enjoyed it. deep down he knew he enjoyed them too and it'd be one of the reasons for his constant rampages..

- started enjoying lofi music ever since levi introduced him to it.

- out of all the brothers, satan feels the most comfortable crying in front of mammon the most. (can i get some big brother mammon appreciation out here? 😔)

- he's the type to practice his lines in front of the mirror before asking you out on the date! he just wants everything to be perfect for you and yes sometimes he messes up but it's your fault for being too pretty

- worked as a librarian once as a part time job and lemme tell you..sales went high as fuck after that and the manager even BEGGED him to stay for longer. (which he did, as long as he got to have free books :p)

- tried the "which of the seven brothers are you?" quiz and got lucifer.

- is very skilled with the piano and even made a few pieces that reminded him of you <3

☆ asmodeus:

- really enjoys ear piercings and even got one himself!

- owns a clothing brand in the human world and even tried making you the co-owner. it's a really big success and he uses the money to buy you gifts

- can't go a day without kissing you atleast once! he feels like his lips would dry if doesn't get to even leave a peck on you

- does that back arch thing in his room when he's bored 👀

- bought so many makeup products once to the point lucifer banned makeup in HOL for like a month 💀 asmo held a grudge for a while because he was lowkey kinda conscious of his appearance when he'd go outside. especially when he's in front of you! ;((

- second most followed user on devilgram! (top one is diavolo lol)

- if he had to choose a favorite makeup brand from the human world it's either the ones with the cute packaging (ex: flower knows, too faced) or the high end brands like dior

- changes bed sheets like twice a week because it's either he can't stand the feeling anymore or found a new inspo on devilgram

- says he's not easily influenced on buying new things like mammon or levi but the moment he sees something go viral he's already purchasing 10 of them. (and posts it on his feed to gain those likes)

- crop dusts every now and then

☆ beelzebub:

- finds those gross ass thirst trappers who sexualizes food nasty asf and is a big donutdaddy hater

- wins awards from eating competitions a lot and always ALWAYS spoils you and belphie first

- always the viewer in situations where one of the brothers fight w eachother. mans always there for some reason so lucifer always approaches him first when smth happens lol

- sometimes he goes overboard with body sprays

- he likes hand made accessories/jewelry. belphie was the one who made his choker on his everyday outfit and cherishes it everyday

- he thinks tongue piercings are cool but never went out of his way to get one

- buys burger merch or any food merch in general lol

- he was never really the type to care about his own appearance and only did the bare minimum to make himself look presentable. but sometimes he does feel insecure when people get too intimidated by him, especially when it's you.

- "mc, you're not afraid of me right? i won't hurt you. i promise"

- majority of the time he's the one who fixes belphie's bed and cleans his side of the room so lucifer won't get mad at him

☆ belphegor:

- has no shame in stealing pillows from furniture shops and always gets away with it

- unintentionally says the most sassy remarks ever and stares at you when you call him out for it

- being the youngest, he doesn't really need to go shopping for his own necessities because one of the brothers already buys it for him before he can even step out of the house

- when you'd go back to the human world, he'd always gaze up at the stars and wonder how you're doing and if you're getting enough sleep

- always constipated like idk he just seems like the type to only shit once a week lmfao

- one time (or two..or three) he accidentally used a different toothbrush that belonged to one of the brothers because he was half asleep

- hates the feeling of jewelry on him because he thinks it's just in the way. especially hates earrings because it's a nuisance when he sleeps.

- HORRIBLE driver and can't drive for shit. crashed mammon's car once because he fell asleep. and his in defense was because traffic was so long smh

- he can't live without his cardigans. always wears long sleeved shirts unless it's summer season in the devildom and settles for loose shirts. he also has a habit of pulling his sleeves that it nearly covers his whole hand

- very calming singing voice. back when he was still in the celestial realm, a bunch of angel kids would approach him at night, telling him to sing lullabies for them to help them sleep <3

note: had to repost :P ALSO TY FOR 73 FOLLOWERS! hiphiphorey

[alllgator-blood]

Did the bishops have any hobbies before the Schism? (Trying to distract from their constant misery and torment)

They did! Most of em still do their hobbies no matter what time period it is, but I had the sketch for this drawing laying around and thought it'd be a nice break to work on something that wasn't everyone burning in their own personal hell.

Leshy draws comics, which I think is maybe the hobby that's showed up the most on this blog so far. There's a REALLY good ask in my inbox asking how he coped with losing his sight for good in the lamb's cult, seeing how his main way of expressing emotions was through his art....I have a WIP about that very topic but it's nowhere near done. In my lore it was the catalyst for why the lamb bothered getting the other siblings even though they wanted to let the family rot in purgatory lmao

Heket doesn't really have leisure hobbies, she thinks it's "lazy" and "pointless" when she tries to do anything just for fun, so I'd say her only hobbies would have to have specific uses for her to find them worthwhile. I feel like cooking would be the obvious choice, cause everyone needs to eat, and I REALLY wanted to draw her making toad bread, so...TOAD BREAD. She also does woodworking and blacksmithing but that's way harder to draw

Narinder animates with flipbooks, and his crown turns into a lightboard he can draw new frames on top of. He makes edgy anime cat AMVs and sings nu metal over top them while flipping the pages himself. I've said before that him, leshy and kallamar have collaborated on "movies" with their various artistic talents, but it was all very makeshift and shitty cause they had to do everything themselves

Kallamar does landscape paintings usually, and specializes in wet mediums like watercolors and ink! YES THEY USE THEIR OWN INK. I think they just spit it into a jar which is gross, but better than the alternatives. Kall's paintings have shown up on this blog aaaalmost as much as Leshy's art, but they're more of a makeup artist after the schism because there's no more time to paint for fun. I also feel like they'd do glass blowing, but again, too hard to draw

Shamura is a jack of all trades, but greatly enjoys fiber arts. Weaving, crocheting, knitting, tatting, they can do it all. They also spit out their own silk in like the animated trailer for the game's launch! I have a hc where they made narinder's outfit he's currently wearing in purgatory, minus the giant bloodstain ofc. And also aym + baal's clothes, but that's for another day

I feel like the siblings made art for each other frequently- Heket smithed Kallamar's custom earrings, Kallamar made her stained glass windows, Leshy made fan comics of Narinder's OCs and Shamura...well here's the sweater they were crocheting in the drawing:

(I promise he likes the sweater but knows he, as the emo kid, is gonna get clowned on for wearing an adorable sweater made with 90% love and 10% pom-poms)

[mayullla]

Title: Creature's Infatuation

Character(s): Doppelganger (Unnamed character/original work) Summary: The servants didn't know that their abusive noble was switched for a monster that looked like him. You forced to marry him knew tho, that he created everything to have you in his arms. Tags/Warnings: Yandere!monster, fem!reader, yandere!monster x noble!reader, general yandere themes, manipulation, brainwashing, blackmail, forced feminization, noncon pet play, forced intimacy, imprisonment, tentacles, 1.2k words

Author's Note: This is an old one-shot of mine that I didn't post for a long time inspired the yandere viscount so it is similar to it.

You didn't know how dangerous monsters could be… that some could turn into humans and blend into the crowd and you would be none the wiser.

If you were wiser… if you knew what would happen to you… you would hesitate even just a little, even just a second to help anyone who you saw in need. Maybe then you would not be locked up in this horrible mansion after selling yourself to pay off your noble aristocratic family debt.

You were nothing but a slave to him, with his affection and sick love, he kept you by his side. Nobody could know what happened here when everything was covered by thick curtains and dimmed lights. The servants here were nothing more than puppets. Their minds, which this monster had eaten just a little bit, placed itself, done just to get ever so closer to you and keep you locked here. He manipulated their thoughts while letting them think that they were still human.

You glared at the mansion, you glared at him who had caused you this suffering. Yet for the sake of something precious, you would give up that aristocratic pride, swallowing it down as you begged him to spare your family from their downfall. You said that you would give him anything he wants. 

And all he wanted was you.

He told you that he would give you everything when he only did the opposite. What he said was nothing more than food that was taken away from you the moment you rebelled over the fantasies he had in his head.

He made you wear many costumes, dresses, and outfits, each and every one an arrow to your pride as he held your waist from the back dreamily looking at the mirror of you and him, telling you his disgusting and vile thoughts he was imagining when he first saw those clothes, how he imagined them on you.

The dresses that you usually wore were taken away the first day you signed the contract that you would be forever his. "Boring and lackluster," he told you. He would dress you with finer fabrics and silks that would make him excited to see, unlike the “dull and humble” dresses that you wore. It was unbefitting for you, he told you the first day, but you did see them later locked in a chest. Why he kept them, you didn't even want to know, not after you realized how perverted he was.

Gems and pearls of all kinds of accessories were also sewn into your new clothes. You were sure they would make a duchess or even a princess green with envy. He had gotten you almost all the latest trends that he fancied, which was almost all except the ones where much was covered.

Maid clothes that were more flamboyant, more revealing with a shorter shirt too short to even be appropriate. He had a particular fondness for lacy details, the more delicate the better.

Sometimes he would make you wear dog ears or cat ears, making you wear a collar as he cooed condescendingly, stroking your hair as he ordered you to get down and put your chin on his knee or forced you to sit on his lap.

Sometimes having you wear costumed shoes with heels too high to walk on. Barely able to walk on them, he would carry you, dreaming of how this was how a prince would carry his pretty princess. You wanted nothing more than to rip them off your feet, but with thick buckles and locks, it was practically impossible to take them off unless you chopped your feet.

To him, you became his pet, maid, princess, and whatever else perverted thing he managed to think up. Everything that happened in the mansion would never go out. The maids and servants didn't seem to care much about you, nor did they ever realize that the noble they served and some adored was a monster.

That the person they once thought to be him was long gone, rotting in some ditch as the monster took on his role just to make a situation that fits.

All they cared about was that their master had changed for the better, so in love with his wife that he shopped for all the violent acts he had done in the past. Not understanding that this was all wrong. Not knowing that he had control over their minds, that in reality, they were nothing more than lifeless husks made to believe that they were alive and that whatever he was doing to you was nothing more than normal.

From how he would lock you in a room as punishment, or how he would force you to feed him on his lap with overly revealing attire unfit for a noblewoman as he continued to be so fond of you.

Some days he would ask you if you loved him, loved him as much as he does to the point of obsession. The hurt in his eyes as he held you tighter asking what you wanted that would make you happy, "Why don't you love me as much as I do?" He would ask, as you watched tentacles move around the desk writing papers that were related to work. Tentacles that were connected to his back.

He pulled you closer to him, arms holding your waist tight, already forced to sit on his lap against your chest to touch his, which forced you to look up at him, unable to look anywhere else. Even if you were able to, it would be a bad decision to do so when he got angry.

Just as much as he loved dressing you up, you also have watched him morph many times, into something or someone else to make whatever fantasy even more real. The doors locked so that no one could come in, the windows shut so that no one could see through, and the lights but only from the flickering candle. "Do you want me to look like your lover? Would you love me more if I looked like him?" He asked, pulling your thigh closer to him, as you watched him morph, becoming nothing more than black goop to the man who you once loved.

The soft smile on his lips and the brightness of his eyes made you think that he finally loved you. It fluttered your heart but also sent shivers down your spine, as you knew that this wasn't your crush.

He was desperate for your love, yet at the same time, he was sadistic, forcing you to love him. There were days when he threatened you to stay by his side, unless you wanted to go out of the room or mansion naked, or face something worse. Your only choice was to stay there or hold his arm like a love-sick wife who loved him just as much as he loved her.

You felt gross, so vile, by this monster parading as a human and also forcing you to love him. But he didn't care, as long as he could see that you loved him and were by his side, playing by whatever whims he had in the bedroom or office. You were the person he had fallen in love with when he sneaked into the town of humans. You were kinder than anyone he had met. He had fallen in love with you that day and would do anything to keep you with him. He would even kill and take over the body of a noble just to get closer to you.

So long as you belonged to him.