#you can’t beg for help from someone you don’t know exists

[artist-issues]

Vignette is my favorite song on Clancy.

He goes “to me, the song makes the most sense when viewed through the lens of addiction.” And everybody responded to that like “omg TYLER what’s he addicted to??”

Like they’ve never heard that from him before.

There’s literally a whole song about going through cycles of addiction and what’s he addicted to, ladies and gentleman—

Doubt.

He’s addicted to doubting God. That whole bridge of the song is the literal point of the Bible verse James 1:6 “But let him ask in faith, with no doubting, for the one who doubts is like a wave of the sea that is driven and tossed by the wind.”

It’s…it’s all over his songs. It’s all over that one interview with Apple Music where he explains he doesn’t know how to talk about his faith yet, so does he really believe it if he can’t talk about it, etc.

In Vignette he describes what he’s been doing over and over, the dark addictive thing, like this:

“Fresh off a binger in the woods

flesh, covered in bites

testing what is real, what is good,

Man, it’s been a long night.”

Break it down. Tyler chose to describe a location. Didn’t have to. But because he did, you can get something from that. He’s in the woods. Woods? Trees. “Why won't you speak / Where I happen to be? / Silent in the trees / Standing cowardly.” Standing in the woods, out there alone, looking for something out of the ordinary and dramatic to happen, to alleviate his feelings, to give him proof that God exists.

That is the place he goes to wrestle with that.

Next line. His state is having flesh that is covered in bites. Mmkay, he’s used zombie imagery before. Heavydirtysoul: “Mindless zombies walking around with a limp and a hunch/ Saying stuff like, ‘you only live once’ /“ Zombies are people who don’t think about where life came from or where it’s going; they just shuffle around, not moving well through life, based on a ‘hunch (a feeling or guess based on no known facts.) They’re dead, pretending to be alive, mindless. That kind of crowd, or even that kind of mindset, has been chewing away at the songwriter. Getting covered by something so dark sounds a lot like the phrase “swallowed by the vignette.”

What’s covered in bites? Flesh. Only one other place where he’s used that word. Holding Onto You: “I’m taking over my body, back in control, no more shoddy / I’ve fought it a lot and it seems a lot like flesh is all I’ve got / not anymore, flesh out the door, swat /

I could say a lot about that song and the different meanings behind the word choice of “flesh,” but suffice it to say, it sounds just like Romans 7, (I don’t care, read all that scripture, it’s life-giving.)

"For we know that the Law is spiritual, but I am of flesh, sold into bondage to sin. For what I am doing, I do not understand; for I am not practicing what I would like to do, but I am doing the very thing I hate. But if I do the very thing I do not want to do, I agree with the Law, confessing that the Law is good. So now, no longer am I the one doing it, but sin which dwells in me. For I know that nothing good dwells in me, that is, in my flesh; for the willing is present in me, but the doing of the good is not. For the good that I want, I do not do, but I practice the very evil that I do not want. But if I am doing the very thing I do not want, I am no longer the one doing it, but sin which dwells in me. I find then the principle that evil is present in me, the one who wants to do good. For I joyfully concur with the law of God in the inner man, but I see a different law in the members of my body, waging war against the law of my mind and making me a prisoner of the law of sin which is in my members. Wretched man that I am! Who will set me free from the body of this death?" 

The flesh is biblically at war with the Spirit, in a Christian. It’s the sinful urges and lifestyle, which have been defeated in Christ, but are still weighing us down and tempting us until He comes back. I’m not saying “doubt” is always a fleshly thing. I’m saying: addiction is always a fleshly thing—it’s laboring under the authority and control of something that is not Christ. Usually we are talking about addiction to a substance. But it can also be addiction to a mindset.

Doubt or ‘losing your faith’ or whatever can sound real romantic. But actually you know what, when you’re doubting, you get to stall. You get to say ‘well I’m not sure’ so you quit moving. You quit trusting, so you quit obeying. That aspect of it can be less daunting than the alternative—so it can be appealing. I don’t have to obey and do hard things if I’m not sure of the one giving orders. I can sit in uncertainty; that can be the slightly less scary hard-thing that I choose.

So. The flesh—the evil part of him that is already dead in Christ, but he keeps putting it on like a snake trying to fit in old shed skin—is what the zombies—the mindless, pretending to be alive mindset—are feeding on. And they’re doing all this while he’s out in the woods—where he normally goes to puzzle out whether or not God is who He says He is.

He’s putting back on that nasty old skin that doesn’t belong on him anymore. He’s going out where his only company is the undead, mindless-pretending-to-be-alive. And he’s doing what?

“Testing what is real, what is good.” Oh. Romans 2:12. “Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect.”

He’s using this phrase, but not like the Bible does. And that’s intentional. He uses the phrase incorrectly, to show how using it incorrectly is the problem.

He’s cutting out the fact that the testing is supposed to be for “discerning what is the will of God.” That’s the context, that’s the motive that is safe to base testing on. But he’s not operating in that correct, safe space. And he adds “what is real” to “what is good.”

When you take out “figuring out God’s will” but then you add in “what’s even real?” you’re saying, “I’m not sure God is even real, so nevermind about His will—let ME figure out what is good.” You’re not going to find “what is good” on those terms. Without Him, when He is in your category for ‘might not be real,’ when you remove Him from the equation, who’s to say what’s good? Anybody. Nobody. So “good” doesn’t exist. That’s zombie-thinking, right there. The absence of sense. Mindlessness.

Now factor in what I said above. That interview with Apple Music. “If I don’t know how to talk about it, do I really believe it?” Add in a dash of “Clear.” “Cleverly masking your words /“ Put in the whole entire character of Blurryface, who cares what everyone thinks and can’t be “clear.”

Vignette is just another chapter in the same old story. Tyler Joseph isn’t always 100% sure God is who He says He is. And at his worst, in his flesh, he cares more about what you think than he does the truth…so he can’t be clear about what he believes.

“Man, it’s been a long night.” Yeah. It has.

[vamptarot]

Your FS’ Most Complimented Trait | PAC

pile one pile two pile three

how to choose a pile . . . choose whichever you feel drawn to or ask your guides to guide your eyes to the one that is meant for you! ᡣ𐭩

pile one : - dongmin

𐙚 : the moon, the high priestess, the emperor, the fool, the magician, the lovers

⭑ their most complimented trait

Their aura is what gets complimented most often! Even if people don’t necessarily have the words for it, they know there is something really unique about your person that simply just makes heads turn. (sort of ironic that Dongmin is the picture for this pile.) Although, younger people might actually compliment their aura.. of course, most of this is in a playful manner and yet there still is something so admirable about your future spouse my dear pile one.

They could potentially have the sort of beauty where you can’t help but admire them with ever loving eyes, getting lost in the moment because even if for a moment the world disappears and you don’t even consider snapping out of it, you just get stuck in admiring them with the shrieking pain of desperation in your chest that screams at you, begging you to caress their face because you don’t want this moment to pass, but you know it will, and eventually the realisation that they are a human and not a work of art hits you.. so you have no choice but to stay still and process your emotions without looking crazy in their eyes.

You know, that sort of drop dead gorgeous beauty.

They have a beautiful smile and a pretty laugh/giggle. I won’t lie to you, they are the sort of person who makes people question their sexuality. Not necessarily by flirting, but by just existing.

Also probably make some people annoyed, because even if they aren’t someone’s type people just absolutely cannot help but be attracted to them, to be charmed. They don’t even gotta try for it! For some of you, you could also react like this when you see them and be around them in general lol.

Though that’s for a very specific subgroup of people reading this pile! Specifically for feminine presenting, short, usually shy and thiccer people who are into men!

The guides present for this reading that I work with showed me a tall, tan, blond dude with green eyes shirtless in summer wear just looking cool. Then the reader being shy as they watch them on their phone and blushing like crazy lol That’s for a very specific someone though, so only take what resonates! (actually some of you reading, or your future spouse, could be non-binary! you go monarch fr)

⭑ how it makes them feel

Unfortunately this makes them very uncomfortable! :(

It depends on who it’s coming from, of course! The uncomfortable feeling usually comes from when they are being complimented by older women and men. By this, I mean people over 35, for some of you 40.

They feel sort of disgusted because they know their thoughts, feelings and intentions. Unfortunately, there is a lot of people who want to use them but your future spouse thankfully sees through their actions and words! They usually tend to be more careful around people like that, not trusting them straight of the bat if at all. (I don’t blame them! I connected to the older people’s energy and most of them are so gross…)

For the most part they are very annoyed. Your person is someone who works incredibly hard when it comes to their work field and for what they have. They are not the sort of person who take things for granted. The goal here is to achieve great things in life, each and every day they work hard to build up a life they can be proud of. To live comfortably, to spoil their future family and their loved ones. (Their mom especially!) Getting compliments on their work is how they know they are doing great and are on the right path in life.. that they can truly fulfill their goals. Yet, they don’t hear any of that. They work hard, and get complimented for their looks. It’s annoying.

They could often look at the compliments as fake, as if it comes from two faced people. Believing them is just something hard to do, at least in their eyes. In their belief most of them compliment your future spouse just to kiss up to them, because they have something to gain. So they could be pretty influential people my pile one. Although, I think it’s important to mention that they tend to be a bit insecure, so they might think these things even at times where people are being genuine towards them!

⭑ what they wish to be more complimented on

The love that they have in their heart! For some of you, this could be related to spirituality as your person is religious. I do think this is mostly relevant if you are Christian, Muslim or have another Abrahamic religion in your heart. Although, for most people this is for romantic love. ᡣ𐭩

In their eyes they love deeply, in a beautiful and honest manner. They are a lover boy. There is a huge wish to be appreciated for the person that they are. They try their best. Every second of the day, even when they fail.

Your future spouse’s heart is very fragile, they are a sensitive soul. So when you get to be with them, please treat them gently. They are kind, forgiving, understanding, polite, funny and someone who wants good for all. They know this too, and so do the people around them. Which can break their heart, because there could be times where their head is filled with confusion about what they could have possibly done wrong. (Nothing btw. Literally didn’t do anything wrong.)

I also do see that in the past romantic partners have unfortunately mistreated them, so they wish to be appreciated in a romantic manner. To be held and told they are doing a good job. That they can never be seen as only a second option, and that they are someone very competent. Honestly your future spouse just wants to be told they are doing a good job in life. That’s their wish for a compliment.

possible ages : 14, 17, 19, 24, 26, 30, 32 [don’t be alarmed, we just have a very mixed crowd of readers in this pile is all.]

— ✮⋆˙ : brazil , tank top , duck , ‘tikkitakka’ , red clothes , bone cracking , count down (1 2 3 4 5) , ‘love of my life’ , leo , mickey mouse , 2020/21 audios , model

my pile one ;; your future spouse is such a sweetheart, ir deeply saddens me that they have to go through something like this! being treated as nothing but a pretty doll when you have strong feelings and a sense of accomplishment can be soul crushing.. but don’t worry, they will get through this!! someone in this pile also has a future spouse who is 19 and a model, their sensitivity came through a lot. (not a bad thing btw) so, I thought that’s really cool and felt like mentioning! either way, if you liked this pac please go ahead and take a look at my paid readings if you wish to!thank you for reading! 🫶🏻

pile two : - drinks !

𐙚 : the emperor, the wheel of fortune, the hermit, the lovers, the world, the moon

⭑ their most complimented trait

The thing they get most complimented on is… their success! Pile two, I do think your future spouse is very successful in life and have achieved many great things that they are proud of. Of course, this can be related to money but it’s not necessarily the case you know? It’s just that they can overcome anything that life throws at them and come back twice, thrice or even more successful.

This is admirable to many people because the way they do it is just almost humanly impossible. Their persistence and power of will is incredibly strong, it’s like nothing can bring them down at all.

It’s like they if you broke their arms and legs so they cannot fight you, they would still bite and not let go of you. If you steal all their money they will use all their resources to earn more and form a community that will make sure that you never do it again.. they go far, but never too far. They always know what to do and how to win, and they do.

Honestly this might annoy people sometimes out of jealousy, but they still cannot help but admire your person. ‘Cuz they are just cool like that, you know?

Those things of course, have not happened but were just examples! Regardless they always know how to thrive, how to live and make life around them fun. They even make living for the people around them easier, so they could possibly spoil their family members and help out their parents with bills and such. (Someone’s guides are calling me to mention this person is someone of colour!)

They work hard while making it look easy!

⭑ how it makes them feel

Unfortunately, your future spouse becomes anxious when people compliment them too much. They don’t mind a few times, they might even agree and feel good to be seen. To be viewed as someone who can get things effortlessly, easily and thrive.. They like to be viewed like that as they don’t like to be viewed as weak and someone who can’t do anything. They want to feel useful.

Their fears could possibly set in when they can feel people’s jealousy.. They might have bit of trust issues, paranoia or trauma for past bad experiences. (different for everyone 🫶🏻) This could make them very cautious as they think people could be planning on taking the things they worked hard for away from them.. Losing everything is one of their biggest fears.

Another one is.. not living up to people’s expectations. They could possibly be scared of people expecting too much from them. That if they were to see the real side of them, the real them, people would be left disappointed. They don’t want to feel like a fraud, let alone be one. So this anxiety is with them pretty much most of the time. It has settled in a place deep inside their heart.

It’s not impossible to get rid of this feeling of course, but they might need a bit of time to heal from it. Possibly professional help. I truly do hope they will be able to receive the help that they need! 🫶🏻

You will play a huge part in their healing journey also, just make sure to not give up your health for the sake of theirs!

⭑what they wish to be more complimented on

There is not much to say here truly, because their wishes are really very simple. Their wish is for the current compliments to continue… from a genuine place. For them to be true.

They want to keep being successful, and be acknowledged for it. Although, they do want to be acknowledged about their emotions too.

They are scared, nervous and quite frankly they have a hard time opening up about this even to their close loved ones. Unfortunately, shame seems to sit in their heart with loneliness as it’s company and it’s the cause of their misery.

They want to be comforted, praised about how good of a job they are doing at controlling their anxiety and keeping their feelings in check. It is something that they are proud of, but possibly need validation about.

They don’t get it because they don’t tell anyone about how they feel, and if they do try to they just can’t seem to open up completely. They know this too, and don’t blame anyone for it. They just crave emotional intimacy and for someone to be a peaceful company for them, a person that can naturally calm them down. Their daydreams often revolve about being nurtured by someone trustworthy.

possible ages : mid 20s & mid 30s ! 🫶🏻

— ✮⋆˙ : ‘please turn of the lights’ , akmu , bolo , playlists , wiping someone’s tears , father-son issues [‘you have to be manly!’ , ‘a real man doesn’t… ‘ and so on], frozen yogurt

my beautiful pile two, I truly hope your future significant other can heal in their own pace as they don’t seem like a bad person, truly. and the very same goes for you, as you could potentially relate at some parts to their feelings.. you are doing good, i am proud of you. you are cool too! i am sorry I couldn’t channel much, they just happen to be a private person. 🫶🏻 regardless, if you enjoyed this and would like to, please feel free to check out my paid readings. thank you for reading!

pile three : - hyunwook !

𐙚 : the empress, the fool, the devil, the hermit, the lovers, temperance

⭑ their most complimented trait

There are two bigger subgroups in this pile, so that’s how I am gonna treat your reading. Please look at which group you resonate with and read for that my beautiful pile three 🫶🏻

Group one is for people with a future spouse who already have kids, group two is for people with a future spouse who is younger! Late teens to early twenties.

group one

So.. I do think some of you already know this, but your future spouse is already a parent. This could be to one or multiple children, although I think young kiddos, not grown up ones.

They constantly get complimented on how good of a parent they are and how much of a good job they are doing. Their hard work constantly shows through the efforts they constantly make and put out in the world so their family can live happily.

Even if they don’t have a lot, they would rather give everything they have to their kids so they don’t gotta suffer and just put up with their situation in quite. For some of you this is about food.. they would rather starve than to have their kids not eat.

Fortunately, for most people in the pile it never gotten that far and the compliments are much more leaning towards how they give everything they can to their kids! To pamper them. so they can live a happy life! 🫶🏻

group two

My beautiful, in your case your future spouse gets complimented a lot on being a good son/daughter to their parents.

The energy here seems really cute because your future spouse is really humble, they get shy easily and just quietly take the compliments or say thank you in order to be polite.

I do see that the compliments are very well deserved though, as they help out whenever they can, especially their mother.

[for those into girls this is just a cultural thing, as you will marry a poc person. that’s a really small amount tho, most of the people reading this pile will be with a man.]

Either way they could help out with things like washing clothes, moving things around, building things just so the burden is less on their mother. This comes from a place of appreciation towards their mother, and for the most part a lot of love too. They are aware their parent(s) already has it hard, so they try to help out wherever they can.

⭑ how it makes them feel

Both groups are about guilt, but very different kinds, so do please choose whichever one you resonated with the most in the previous point 🫶🏻

group one

If you resonated with group one it is very much likely that your future spouse is currently married. Their guilt revolves around not actually loving their spouse, but everyone praising them for being a good parent. In their eyes, a good parent is loving towards their spouse in order to set a good example.

At first I actually wrote father, so this could be a man who grew up in either a household where the mother was respected.. or one where she wasn’t and he hated it. That honestly depends person to person, but the whole point is they love their mom and want to honour her by showing that they were raised right.

Either way, they want to be a father their children they look up to.. they do. [I know that sentence doesn’t make sense, but someone’s guides want me to form it that way so I am keeping it.] They just can’t do it, because they just don’t love their spouse at all. It’s not that they want their kids to hate their parent(s), but they cannot bring themselves to keep doing this for long.. which makes sense, they will meet you after all.

They could also at times when they feel stressed could potentially be more cold towards their kids than intended or just not live up to the mental image they had of themselves in their head. It’s those ‘I love you but I don’t like the way you are acting right now’ moments. Honestly they really just seem to be a new parent, not really used to kids crying or being overwhelming… so they could at times act in ways they aren’t proud of and will forever be ashamed of. Doesn’t seem like a bad person tho, just lots of big emotions.

group two

If you get uncomfortable by sexual things easily, please do prepare mentally or skip this because I am going to be picking up on their guilt in regards to sexual experiences.

So, I do think they have an immense amount of guilt because they do not think they are a good son/daughter/kid. People have this certain image of them, that they are good, angelic or even perfect.. when that’s far from the truth. In their eyes at least.

They do think like this because they feel an intense sense of shame. Your person for sure has a porn addiction, although it’s not severe, it doesn’t stain their mind or influence the way they behave with people at all. It’s just that if they feel the urge, they need to get rid of it. Thus, the guilt, they get called a good kid and they immediately remember their acts and feel sorry. They feel like they are unintentionally putting on a facade. Which is not true in the least, they are a good person. Unfortunately, they just don’t have a good relationship with sexual things.

They feel ashamed about certain kinks they have, even if it’s truly not inappropriate or uncommon. The things they watch, think and sometimes even that they are attracted to multiple people.. even if they are single. They are an insanely loyal person though, do not get them wrong.. it’s just that they get little crushes. Which we all do! But your person truly feels guilty and wishes they could just keep with one crush.. it makes them feel like a scum, if you will.

Truth to be told, they just want to be loved, they need a support net, a lifeline that will make things okay.

Most of these issues stem from trauma, and while I can pick up on several I will not be saying them since it would be disrespectful to tell their vulnerable moments to everyone on the internet 🙂‍↕️ So, sorry! I cannot tell you the hardships they went through. Since they are your future spouse, they will tell you themselves eventually.

⭑ what they wish to be more complimented on

Nothing! This is the shortest explanation out of all the piles in this topic.. because there is truly nothing they wish to be complimented on.

They just want to improve themselves, live a good life and be the person that they strive to be. There is this ideal version of themselves that they wish to achieve, as long as they can do that they don’t really care what people say. Good or bad, they don’t give much importance to people’s compliments because at the end of the day it doesn’t really matter and can change in the blink of an eye if the person just oh so ever slightly changes.

They just wanna be well disciplined, well mannered, hard working, well kept and in shape. They have high expectations of themselves and they wanna reach it. So that’s what they focus on, not what potential compliments they could get if they improve if that makes sense?

Compliments don’t matter much to them, it’s just that they have a breaking limit / point when they can’t handle hearing them anymore. A few times it’s fine, but eventually they will get annoyed by them. Especially if it’s repetitive. It’s like an ick, or they can tell when someones fake. To them it’s one of those little annoying moments in life that you sorta have to politely go through in order to avoid trouble or more bothersome things to deal with. Kinda like washing dishes! (Lol, what?)

possible ages : late teens (17-19), early twenties (20-24), mid thirties!

— ✮⋆˙ : taylor swift playlists , jerseys , papaya (fruit!), cannibal by kesha , hentai / yaoi / yuri , painted nails (red / hot pink) , lovebird , 00s / 10s movies

my dearest pile three, your future spouse is going through it 😞 thankfully they will be able to heal from all of this! I don’t blame them for the guilt that they feel, but please don’t be too harsh with your words when it comes to them! It’s something that will stick even if they like to pretend that they don’t care, ya know?… I am sorry that I couldn’t dive as deep into their guilt as possible but privacy exists for a reason! Didn’t wanna be disrespectful.. Either way, if you enjoyed the reading and perhaps feel like it feel free to check out my paid readings! thank you for reading!

[the-oblivious-writer]

Get Her Back!

Clarisse La Rue x Daughter of Athena!Reader

One-shot

Summary: You and Clarisse have always had a reputation for the rollercoaster you both called your relationship. While on another one of your "breaks," you decide you want to mess with her

Warning(s): Swearing, Clarisse & r are hella toxic, jealousy (on both ends but mostly jealous!Clarisse), making out (nothing more is hinted at, just Clarisse & r kissing like the problematic girlfriends they are), & arguing

Notes: Wooo this one got a bit heated before I knew it. Hope you enjoy

You and Clarisse La Rue… how does one sum up your relationship with the Ares kid? You and her were known for being on and off, arguing almost as much as you made out. You were both in a toxic, heated, yet passionate, relationship. 

Oh, how you loved each other. 

You met Clarisse the first summer you got to camp. It didn’t take long for you to discover what you had gotten yourself into. She argued with you about everything, she had an ego and a temper and a wandering eye; you couldn’t help but be attracted to her, even when she was so obviously lying about her height. 

The first time you left Clarisse was in the spring, that was when your current dynamic truly started. You lasted about a week before you were back in her arms, forgetting how you threw all her stolen clothes out your cabin’s window just a few nights before. 

You were currently going through another one of your breaks with Clarisse while you laid down on your bed, reading as you tried to ignore another little lecture from your friend. 

“All I’m saying is that I don’t understand why you stay with her, you know? The second my boyfriend did me wrong, I kicked his ass out the door. For good,” he said, sitting at the end of your bed.

“That’s because you didn’t have what me and Clarisse have,” you responded, looking up at him from your book. He shrugged, mumbling, “Whatever.” 

“Do you love or hate her? I honestly can’t tell anymore. One second, she’s the worst human being to ever exist but then the next, she’s the love of your life, the woman you’re gonna marry.”

“I guess it’s up and down,” you replied in a nonchalant tone before looking back at your book.

He lightly chuckled, shaking his head a bit as he said, “I need to learn when to give up trying to figure you out.”

—

Later that night was the bonfire. You didn’t really feel like attending but your friend had basically begged you to go. Just five minutes in, and he was already flirting with a girl from cabin ten. You were staring off into the fire, red solo cup in your hand, when you suddenly heard somebody sit next to you. You turned your head to see a dark haired boy, looking at you with a smile as he spoke.

“Hey gorgeous, I’m Steve. I think I’ve seen you around before. Athena cabin, right?” He asked, his eyes never pulling from you. You didn’t feel like entertaining him. You weren’t stupid, you knew he was flirting with you. But thoughts of not reciprocating his flirtatious attitude quickly disappear when you see Clarisse watching from the corner of your eyes. 

All night you had to watch Clarisse cuddle up with someone who wasn’t you. And all night you refused to give her the attention you knew she was hoping to get out of it, your pride and stubbornness wouldn’t allow you to. So when you finally get the chance for that sweet revenge, you don't hesitate.

You looked at the boy next to you, putting on a sweet smile and placing a hand on his knee. “Yeah, cabin six. What about you?” You slightly tilted your head, looking at him as if he was the most interesting person on earth.

“Hermes cabin,” he responded. He suddenly grew a bit shy under touch, but welcomed it nevertheless. “Hey do you uh… wanna get out of here? I know this cool spot I could show you.” You knew what that was code for; do you want to make out?

“Sure, sounds good,” you winked at him before getting up. He held his hand out for you, which you took as you both began to walk away from the fire. Clarisse's eyes were on you the whole time, clenching her jaw as she watched you walk with him hand in hand. She ignored her siblings’ confused looks as she walked over to you before you and Steve could go any further.

“I think she’s good here,” she said—not asked.

“Um, I think she can make her own decisions. She’s a big girl, if she wants to go, she can go,” he responded. 

“I don’t know who you think you are, but she’s not leaving with you.” She glared at the boy with storms in her eyes, her fists balled up. By now your hands were separated from the boy’s, watching the entertaining scene in front of you with a knowing look on your face.

“Excuse me–” Before he could get himself into any more trouble, you walked to Clarisse’s side—she instantly put her hand on your lower back.

“Listen it was nice meeting you Steve, but she’s right; I should really get going; it’s getting kinda late.” You gave him a fake apologetic look. “Maybe I’ll see you around some other time?” You managed to get out as Clarisse was practically dragging you away. 

“What’s your problem?” You said to her when you both finally made it to the cabin—her cabin. 

“My problem? What’s yours! You know Steve is a douchebag, we were literally laughing about it last week,” Clarisse let out with an aggravated tone. 

“Why do you care so much? Shouldn’t you be thrilled that somebody else is stuck with my high maintenance ass!” She only rolled eyes, shaking her head. “Yeah, you really think I wouldn’t bring that up!” You dryly laughed.

“Oh my Gods,” she mumbled before continuing. “You are the most frustrating woman I have ever met!”

“And you’re the most hot-tempered woman I have ever met!” You shouted back, throwing your hands up as you stepped closer to her. “You’re a hot-headed asshole!”

“Well it’s better than being a stubborn know-it-all!” She took a step towards you; your faces were now no more than inches apart. You both stole a glance at the other’s lip before a moment of silence. Suddenly, your lips connected. She was firmly gripping your waist while one of your hands found itself in her hair as the other held the back of her neck.

“I fucking hate you,” you mumbled breathless against her lips. She pushed you up against the cabin door; Gods, you didn’t even care that you were still outside and anybody could just walk by.

“I fucking hate you too.” Her kissing was hungry, passionate. Blood was rushing through veins, your cheeks were warm, and butterflies had erupted in your stomach. You could feel Clarisse feeling for the door's handle for a few seconds before you reached behind you to turn it.

You both went inside, Clarisse kicking the door shut. You could feel her warm touch as her hand grazed the skin of your lower back. She walked you backwards toward her bed, never daring to pull away. 

“Fuck, I love you,” you let out as Clarisse moved down to your neck.

“I love you too, don’t you forget it,” she murmurs against you. 

Clarisse La Rue may have been narcissistic, stubborn, hot-headed, and pretentious, but you were your mother’s daughter, so maybe you could fix her.

-----------

A/N: she could abuse me, beat the dog-shit outta me, cheat on me, hit me with her car

[lemonlover1110]

𝐌𝐲 𝐁𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝

Toji Fushiguro

[Chapter 13] Payback

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Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x f!Reader

Chapter Warnings: MDNI, Shiu x Reader, Smut, Handjob

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

Toji takes you out to dinner, bringing Megumi along so it’s not seen as a date. He takes you to one of your favorite places to eat, and you’re sure he has something up his sleeve. What can Toji possibly do this time around? You try not to think too much as to what Toji can possibly do since you are eating something you like, and something your baby seems to enjoy.

You’re mostly talking with Megumi, completely forgetting about Toji’s existence while the two of you talk. Occasionally Toji chimes in with something stupid, it does earn a chuckle from you each and every time though. You eat in peace, and you almost feel like a family.

“We have to talk about something.” Toji ruins your peaceful moment after you order dessert. Your eyebrows perk up, and you wait for him to speak up. What does Toji need now? He’s not going to beg when his son is right there.

“What is it?” You ask him, not being patient enough to wait for him to spit it out. Megumi adverts his gaze, too embarrassed to look at his father.

“I’m seeing someone.” Toji reveals, and your eyes grow wide. The same man that was begging you to get back together not even a week ago is telling you that he’s seeing someone. It’s fair to say that you’re speechless with the announcement. You have no idea what one says with this type of announcement.

“That’s good…” You try to remain stoic with the news. He wants a reaction from you, and you’ll make sure not to give it to him. You have a lot of questions, but maybe it’s best if you keep them to yourself– Maybe ask Shiu or even Megumi. 

“Don’t you have any questions?” Toji asks, and to his disappointment, you shake your head. Megumi still isn’t looking at his dad, and Toji sighs defeatedly. “I have to use the bathroom, I’ll be back.”

“He isn’t seeing anyone.” Megumi quickly reveals when Toji gets up and leaves to use the bathroom. You furrow your brows, knowing that a teenager is involved in his father’s affairs. You can’t help but roll your eyes, knowing that Toji just can’t help but share everything with the world, “There’s a woman that visits him and does like him a lot but he’s not into her. They went on a date… But he’s just doing this to make you jealous.”

“I figured as much.” You chuckle. It does make you feel better, but it also upsets you. He goes through great lengths to make your life more difficult. You click your tongue before saying, “Your dad’s a dumbass.”

“Tell me about it.” Megumi responds, and you two change the topic into something more lighthearted. The conversation dies when Toji comes back from the bathroom, but luckily for you, dessert gets to the table.

You dive right into the sweet treat, noticing how neither of them grab their spoons and begin to eat. You knew they would agree to order dessert but proceed to not eat any of it. They’ll just say anything to please you.

“Do you want to come over and watch a movie?” Toji asks, catching you off guard. You can’t help but roll your eyes at the audacity. First, he says that he’s seeing someone, then he proceeds to invite you back to his place; you know better than anyone that Toji doesn’t mean anything platonic when he invites you back to his home.

“I can’t.” You proceed to put your hand on your bump. “Baby makes me sleepy and I’d rather not fall asleep on your couch.”

“I’ll carry you to our bed.” Toji says, and you bite your tongue. You shake your head disappointedly.

“Aren’t you seeing someone, Toji?” You point out, and he remains unphased. He’s seeing someone but he couldn’t make it clear that he doesn’t respect them enough. Right then and there, the best idea comes to your mind, and you blurt out, “Plus, Shiu wouldn’t be okay with it.”

“What does that idiot have to do with anything?” Toji quickly asks, wondering why you're bringing his best friend into this. 

“You’re not the only one seeing someone else.” You lie to him, and you know that it’ll cause some issues for Shiu but right now the look on Toji's face is priceless. He’s gone completely white, completely speechless.

“What do you mean?” Toji tries to see if his ears deceive him. But your next words reaffirm what he just heard,

“I’m seeing Shiu.” 

“You..” He begins but for some reason he can’t finish his sentence. Toji Fushiguro, who is never at a loss for words, can’t speak. “You’re seeing my best friend? Romantically?”

“Yes.” You nod in response, and the man has to take a sip of his water to calm himself down. He’s a little too young to have a heart attack, no? Why is his heart beating so fast?

“Megumi, keep an ambulance on standby. I’m going to be sick.” Toji says, putting his hand over his chest, and Megumi rolls his eyes at how dramatic his father is.

“You’re so dramatic.” Megumi mutters, crossing his arms. “I thought you were seeing someone too?”

“She’s seeing my best friend!” Toji yells, and you take a deep breath. All eyes are on you. He’s so dramatic over nothing.

“You kept sending him over, what else did you expect?” You ask him, adding fuel to the fire. You don’t want to sit by and watch Toji act as if he’s a victim. “I’m not really in the mood tonight, Toji. If you need anything, text me.” 

“Wait!” He yells, but his plea falls on deaf ears.

An hour after you get home, there’s a knock on your door. Your mind immediately goes to Toji, and you’re about to ignore it since you’re not really in the mood for talking. But after thinking it over, and as the knocking becomes more desperate, you realize that Toji wouldn’t be at your door yet.

“Shiu… He told you.” Are the first words to leave your mouth as you open the door. He doesn’t look as mad as you expected him to be… Matter of fact, he looks amused. “Sorry, he just said something and I wanted to piss him off.”

“I’m not mad. Well, maybe a bit.” He licks his lips. You’re trying to read his expression, trying to decipher what he’s feeling. Shiu is just like Toji, hard for you to read. But you luckily got to know Toji enough to be able to read him like the palm of your hand; Shiu, on the other hand, is still foreign to you.

“Why?” You ask him, moving aside to let him into the place. He takes the hint, stepping inside the apartment. He takes off his shoes and loosens the tie that’s around his neck before making himself comfortable on your couch.

“You got me in trouble with Toji and I didn’t get anything in return.” He says, and you can’t help but smirk. You walk over to him, sitting down beside him.

“What do you want in return then? I’m at your service.” You look mischievous, and he’s about to match your energy. You’re moving closer to him, and he doesn’t even try to move away.

“A nice candle lit dinner will do.” He answers, though it’s not what you have in mind. And you know that it isn’t what he has in mind either. You move closer until you’re practically breathing down his neck. He knows that whatever you’re going to do, you’ll do it with the sole purpose of getting back at Toji. 

“How about I give you something else?” You whisper into his ear and a chill runs down his spine. He bites down his lips before nodding in response. He doesn’t care that this will have consequences. He can’t just tell Toji that you were lying because it did happen.

Your lips lightly press against his, quickly pulling away before you ask him, “Do you want this? I can stop.”

“I want it.” He confirms, your lips going back on his but not pulling away. Your tongue swipes over his bottom lip, before his mouth parts. Your tongue enters his mouth, quickly pressing against his own tongue, while your hand caresses his thigh.

All of Shiu’s blood rushes to his dick, and he could moan even if you’re not doing anything yet. Since the moment he laid eyes on you, Shiu has wanted to do this. He’s been waiting an eternity to feel your lips on his, and he can’t control himself when he finally feels you.

His hand goes to the back of your head, pulling you closer as his tongue takes control. Your hand goes to unbuckle his belt, struggling since you only use one hand. He helps you out, in a rush to feel your hands on him.

“Are you sure?” You pull away from the kiss to ask him. He feels your hand play with the waistband of his briefs. He wants to scream yes into the air, over and over again. He’s never wanted something more. “I don’t want to ruin your friendship with Toji.”

“You already did.” He chuckles before his lips land on yours again. Your hand goes into his briefs, your thumb circling over the tip of his cock before your hand moves down to the base. You begin to lazily stroking his cock, and the man moans into the kiss even when you’ve yet to do much. 

You pull away from the kiss, taking your hand out and spitting on it before going back to pumping his cock. You peck his lips, before kissing his cheek and making your way to his ear. Your teeth begin to nibble on his earlobe as Shiu throws his head back and moans into the air.

He’s red, already sweating and out of breath with how good you’re making him feel. He shuts his eyes, moaning your name as your hand twists on his dick. It’s just a handjob, nothing that warrants the reaction that he gives you. But he couldn’t care less.

“Fuck– Like that.” He moans as your hand picks up speed. His cheek is pressing against your head, his hand gripping your shirt as he feels his release near. His mind is focused on you, and only you. Lately you’re all that he’s thinking about, and this isn’t going to help him.

Shiu will do just about anything for you.

He’s moaning your name over and over again until a groan leaves his lips, his cum ruining his shirt and coating your hand. He looks at you, eyes filled with lust. He’s in need of more. But just in a brief moment, guilt takes over.

“Do you want more?” You ask him, and he does. But he shouldn’t. He shouldn’t be doing this in the first place, he swore to himself he wouldn’t do this to Toji. Moreover, you’re simply doing this to get back at Toji, and it doesn’t feel right.

Shiu was willing to do this no matter what at first, but tonight he doesn’t want to be used. Maybe his feelings for you go deeper than mere lust.

“Maybe another time.” He answers, and you get off him. He stands up and makes his way to your bathroom to fix himself up. 

“Will this make up for the candle lit dinner or do you want something else?!” You shout, while you look for some tissues to clean yourself up as well. 

“We’re even!” He yells back, and you’re fighting back a smirk, biting on the inside of your cheek. You know that he’s going to want more even though he claims you’re even.

You just have to give it some time before he comes knocking at your door again, asking for more.

[successfulgoddess333]

MY LONG AWAITED SUCCESS STORY PLUS RANT/YALL NEED THIS STOP WHAT YOU’RE DOING AND READ

First things first

I’m tired of being nice

I have took time out of MY day to help you guys

EVERY DAY

I have given tips methods

Advice answered questions

Replied to countless amounts of DMs

Etc etc I’m not providing false hope here I AM trying to help you guys

I’m getting so many different suggestions and asks

Let me say this

STOP

from now on

No more questions

If it’s urgent

Like you really wanna know something

DM me

I WILL respond

No more questions asking how to enter the void

My account is literally talking about HOW TO ENTER THE VOID STATE

Are instructions not clear?????

Get off your butt and fucking do it!!!!

Stop procrastinating stop being lazy stop asking questions you spreads know the answers to

And for the love of God

STOP ASKING ME TO ENTER FOR YOU!!!!!!!!!

I’m doing what I can to help you all manifest

But it’s YOUR job to make it happen

Y’all used my kindness against me and it’s pissing me off I’m tired of people not even asking anymore

Just begging me

I AM NOT A MAGICIAN

I was literally YOU

not too long ago

I am a nice person but I am at my limits

Stop repeating questions

Look at my page for the answers you need

Stop asking me to enter for you

If it’s not happening

DM me for ADVICE

I used to be the kid that got asked by others to do their homework for them

If I didn’t put my foot down

Y’all were gonna drive me insane

Literally

I love y’all but stop depending on me

Just ask

For advice

But stop treating me like a Genie

And I manifested for someone and it doesn’t work

Then what

Am I a liar now???

Am I fake??

Like are you serious

Bruh I’m serious when I say

I’ve had enough

Read this story to see how YOU CAN ALSO

Transform your life

I literally went from

TRIGGER WARNING ⚠️

I went from slitting my own wrists and going in my closet trying to hang myself EVERY FUCKING NIGHT

I used to stare in the mirror

Crying about how my body looked

I used to go to school scared because I was getting abused by guys there and bullied by girls

All my friends turned their backs on me and I literally said

FUCK IT

I don’t deserve this fucking life so you know what I did????

I changed it

It’s so easy it’s insane

I too over complicated it

I too was desperate

But your desires are yours

They just are

Ignore them MF negative thoughts

Matter of a fact don’t even call it that

You are giving your “intrusive” thoughts power by saying they are negative

Don’t label them as intrusive thoughts

THEY DO NOT EXIST

THEY WILL NEVER MANIFEST

And I’m not just saying that it’s true

It’s soooo fucking true

By labeling them as “intrusive” or “negative” you’re giving them power

To take over and control your life

When this is not what you want

Don’t fear your own head

Bitch it’s YOUR BRAIN

It can’t NOT listen to you

Change your goddamn assumptions

You are a bad bitch you’re hot beautiful

You’re THAT bitch

Bad bitches don’t beg we make shit happen

Get off your cute ass and go get your dream fucking life

Bitch you can have it all

You can marry Shawn Mendez

Be the sexiest model on the planet (but you’re only 5’3) OK ANDDDDD

Marissa Rose is the first 4’11 runway model

You mean to tell me it’s not possible???

They have plus size models

Shirt models

Models with tig ol biddies

Models with tattoos models with piercings models with scars etc

ANYTHING IS POSSIBLE

You can get a call back from that job

Better yet fuck 9 to 5s

Bitch YOU ARE RICH

You are literally Jeff Bezos

Don’t manifest “small shit” cuz if you can get an apartment and a job

You can also manifest $100 million and 2500 square feet mansion

You can have superpowers

You can be a master manifestor

You can become a celebrity and overnight

You can meet your favorite celebrities at awards shows

You can sit next to Ice Spice at the Grammys

EVEN SHE MANIFESTED HER DREAM LIFE

There’s proof in her old tweets and in your interviews

YOU CAN HAVE HARRY STYLES TICKETS FOR WHENEVER HE DECIDES TO DROP AN ALBUM

YOU CAN BE THE NEXT BEYONCÉ

YOU CAN MEET OR EVEN PERFORM WITH TAYLOR SWIFT

YOU CAN HAVE ALL THE MONEY YOU WANT

YOU CAN SHIFT TO ANOTHER REALITY AND MEET MICHAEL JACKSON

YOU CAN HAVE THE SINGING VOICE OF AALIYAH OR MF MARIAH CAREY

YOU CAN MANIFEST THAT YOUR DOG NEVER DIED OR THAT

YOUR EX STILL MISSES YOU

KANYE WEST MANIFESTED KIM K

TOM HOLLAND MANIFESTED ZENDAYA

YOU MEAN TO TELL ME YOU CANT HAVE

MICHAEL B JORDAN WAITING ON YOU HAND AND FOOT????

YOU CAN ENTER THE VOID MANIFEST YOUR Sp

AND WAKE UP NEXT TO YOUR CRUSH

YOU CAN MANIFEST BEING IMMUNE TO BAD SHIT BEING A GODDESS BEING SO BEAUTIFUL THAT PEOPLE FORGET MEGAN FOX EXISTS

YOU CAN MANIFEST LOOKING LIKE MARILYN MONROE

OR MADISON BEER

YOU CAN MANIFEST TALENT

BITCH ITS ALL POSSIBLE

You OWN THIS SHIT THIS IS YOUR LIFE BOO

Go fucking get it!!!!!!!

SUCCESS STORY

I was tired of own shit so I used the method that I created

I already posted it

Go read it

Here’s what I manifested

1. SP

I manifested a girlfriend because I’m bisexual asf

And I created her on my phone

Just write if list of what she looks and acts like

I manifested my dream career

I manifested platonic SPs

As in friendships

Money

A strong intuition

More knowledge

A better self concept

Immunity

The ability to hypnotize with my eyes(OK I HAVENT TESTED THIS OUT BUT IM EXCITED TO)

Meeting a celebrity

Can’t say who but I manifested it for the future

I even got pets now!!! A puppy two kittens and two snakes!!

I manifested lots of cool talents

I improved my dancing!!!!!!

I was insecure about my voice

So I changed it

Deadass I sound kinda sexy now

I wanted a whispery ass voice😭😭

So I got oneeee

I also manifested a LOT of personal stuff that I won’t share

Unfortunately I’m SUPER protective of my soul and just overall self

And I’m not posting a face reveal

This might seem surprising to most

My passive aggressive behavior but this is literally how I am daily

I really am nice but y’all just make me ANXIOUS

But still

I love you darlings soooo much

Like for real

But please just pleaseeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

Don’t make me your wish granter

Make your own wishes come true

If it’s cool with y’all

I’ll manifest tonight

That entering the void will be easy for you guys

But you HAVE to do it yourself I can only guide you

You got this babe

If you got offended it’s working

That means you needed this

Take this tough love and go use it for good

I better see some goddamn success stories this month or we gon fight

(Not literally that’s just my humor talking)

Love you bitches

Now go meditate before I appear under your bed tonight and yank yo shit

Love youuuu💗💗💗💗💗

[solxamber]

Fairytales and Fever Dreams - Vil Schoenheit x reader

When you decide to beg a fairy for help at your lowest point, you didn't expect that he'd decide to help you— at the cost of you making skincare for him.

You’re a mage at the academy, and life has officially declared war on you. Seriously. You’re about this close to having a full-on breakdown, the kind where they find you cackling in the library while surrounded by half-finished spell scrolls. One more minor inconvenience and you swear, you’re going to walk out onto the quad, set fire to the herbology building, and just stand there, staring blankly as it burns, sipping tea.

And why? Because you have four—count them—four finals on the same day. You don’t know who pissed in the universe’s cereal, but apparently, you’re the one paying for it.

"Okay, it’s fine," you mutter to yourself while chewing on the end of a quill. "You just need one little miracle. Just a small one. Like, I don’t know, a meteor wiping out the school. Or the headmaster spontaneously combusting. Something normal like that."

But then, you remember the rumor—the kind of rumor people whisper about when they’re this close to a mental collapse. Oh yes, the whispered tale of the fairies in the forest at the edge of town. Supposedly, if you bring an offering to the fairies, they’ll grant you a wish. Any wish. No strings attached.

You snort. It’s probably a load of magical nonsense. But considering your current state of sleep deprivation (and let’s be honest, mild hysteria), you’re willing to give it a shot. Desperate times and all that.

So, you scrape together the fanciest honey and milk your student budget can manage, which is probably a 5/10 by fairy standards but hey, beggars can’t be choosers. You pack it up in a basket like some weird, broke Little Red Riding Hood and trudge out to the forest.

The second you arrive, you’re not even trying to be subtle or respectful about it. No, you go straight to begging.

“Please, fairies, PLEASE!” You fall to your knees dramatically, waving the basket around like you’re presenting some holy relic. “I’m begging you. I need help. I haven’t slept in three days, I’m running on a liter of coffee and sheer spite, and if I fail one more class, I’m gonna have to turn myself into a toad and live under a rock. Just—just one wish, that’s all I’m asking!”

It’s bad. Like, so bad, you’re half-expecting some animal to come along and put you out of your misery out of sheer secondhand embarrassment.

But then, there’s this rustling sound behind you, and when you look up, someone is standing there.

Correction: the prettiest person you’ve ever seen is standing there.

He’s tall, ethereal, and glowing—literally glowing, like he bathes in moonlight and stardust. His hair’s all silky and perfect, his skin looks like it’s never heard of acne, and the expression on his face tells you that he’s about two seconds away from calling security on you.

“Why, exactly,” he starts, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow that could cut glass, “are you kneeling in front of my forest and making this embarrassing display?”

You blink. Several things occur to you all at once:

1. Fairies are real. Huh. You thought you were just being insane.

2. Holy hell, he’s the most beautiful person (fairy?) you’ve ever seen.

3. Wait—his forest?

You quickly wipe the pathetic tears from your face and stumble to your feet. “A-are you… a fairy?”

“No, I’m a sentient dust bunny,” he deadpans. “Yes, of course, I’m a fairy. What are you even doing here?”

You hesitate. He’s giving off serious annoyed model on a runway vibes, and you’re not sure if he’s going to hex you out of his forest or just roll his eyes so hard that you get flung into another dimension.

“I, uh… finals,” you mumble, the tears starting to well up again. “Four finals. Same day. And I haven’t slept. I’m one failed exam away from permanently turning into a raccoon.”

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose like your existence is just too much for him. “And you thought the best course of action was to come here and… grovel?”

You nod pathetically. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

For a moment, he looks like he’s about to just walk away, leaving you to your breakdown. But then his eyes narrow, and he points at your backpack. “What’s that?”

“Huh?” You look down and see the sunscreen bottle sticking out. “Oh, uh, that’s just something I made. I’ve been working on a skincare formula for sensitive skin.”

He steps closer, plucking it from your bag with the grace of someone used to handling priceless artifacts. “Skincare, you say?” He opens it, sniffing it cautiously before dabbing a bit onto the back of his hand. His eyes light up for a second, and you swear you hear an angelic choir in the background. “Hm. Not bad. A bit of a lavender undertone. Smooth texture. SPF 50?”

You nod. “Y-yeah.”

He looks back at you, and for the first time since he appeared, you see the barest hint of approval on his face. “It’s hard to find good skincare products these days, even among the fairies.”

You’re not sure how to respond. Is this your life now? Trading finals survival for skincare tips with a beautiful fairy?

“Well,” he says, still admiring the product, “I suppose I could grant you one wish. One. But only if you agree to make more of these skincare products for me.”

“Really?” You blink, not entirely believing your luck. “You’ll help me?”

He gives you a sidelong glance, a smirk playing on his lips. “I don’t do charity. But your skincare is adequate. And it’s not every day I meet someone this close to unraveling. It’s almost entertaining.”

You stare at him, mouth hanging open like a fish. “Deal. Deal. I’ll make you whatever skincare you want, just get me through these finals.”

He gives a nod, satisfied. “Then we have a deal.”

And just like that, you’ve somehow bartered your way out of academic doom with a fairy obsessed with sun protection. Let’s hope this arrangement works out better than the rest of your life so far.

Apparently, fairies like Vil don’t believe in things like cheating or, you know, the basic decency of using magic to fix your problems instantly. No, that would be too easy. And Vil—your very pretty, very exasperating new fairy overlord—has decided that the best way to help you pass your finals is to tutor you personally.

His price? One skincare product per lesson. And you, being surprisingly decent at making potions and cosmetics (alchemy major, what else), agreed because, at the time, you thought, How hard could it be?

Sweet summer child. You had no idea what you were getting into.

Because Vil? He’s not just strict. He’s villain origin story strict. His “tutoring” is so intense, so grueling, that you’re starting to wonder if he’s secretly training you for some kind of sadistic mage boot camp. At one point, you fail a poison-brewing technique, and he makes you redo it. Then again. And again. And again.

By the fifteenth attempt, you’re seriously contemplating bottling the poison and taking a little sip just to see what happens.

“Again,” Vil says, his voice icily calm, like he hasn’t just been watching you fail for an hour straight.

“I think I’m seeing stars,” you mutter, staring at the cauldron. “Should potions be giving me a near-death experience?”

“Focus,” he says, completely unfazed by your descent into madness. “If you can’t even get this basic potion right, I have serious concerns about your competency as a mage.”

You’re on the verge of a mental breakdown. One more failed attempt, and you’re going to throw yourself off the nearest cliff. Or better yet—turn yourself into a toad and hop into a pot of boiling water. Anything to escape the relentless perfectionism of Vil Schoenheit.

“Maybe I’ll just hex myself into a mushroom and live out the rest of my life in peace,” you grumble under your breath as you stir the potion yet again.

“ What was that?”

“Nothing!” You stir faster.

To your utter shock, the potion finally turns the right color. You’ve done it. You’ve successfully brewed the poison, and it only took, what, half your lifespan?

Vil inspects it with a critical eye, and after a long, painful pause, he says, “Acceptable.”

“Acceptable?!” You want to scream. This is the culmination of blood, sweat, tears, and the remnants of your sanity, and all he has to say is acceptable?

“Yes, acceptable,” Vil repeats, as if your suffering isn’t the most amusing thing he’s seen all week. “You’ll need to refine your technique, of course, but this will suffice for now.”

You groan, head in your hands. “I’m going to transmute myself into a sock and live in someone’s laundry basket.”

But here’s the kicker: despite all of Vil’s strictness, he’s actually the nicest person (fairy?) you’ve ever met. You don’t know if that’s pathetic or straight-up depressing, but still, it’s true. He’s picky, yes, but he cares.

Apparently, Vil has a radar for poor life choices because one day, after what feels like your 57th failed poison attempt, he takes one look at the sad pile of instant noodles and energy drinks cluttering your desk and clicks his tongue in disapproval.

"You've been eating this?" He gestures at the disaster that is your meal—a cup of ramen sitting next to an open bag of questionable chips. His expression could curdle milk. "Do you actually value your internal organs, or are you trying to audition for the role of a trash panda?"

You blink, staring at your gourmet spread, and then back at him. "Excuse me, I’ll have you know, this is an advanced student diet. We run on caffeine and MSG."

He raises an eyebrow. "You’re not running on anything. You’re sputtering at best."

You open your mouth to argue, but then glance down at the pathetic excuse for food in front of you. Okay. Fine. Maybe you are sputtering. But what are you supposed to do, handcraft five-course meals between four finals and Vil’s poison-torture sessions?

Vil sighs dramatically, as if your very existence is a personal affront. "I’m not letting you continue this… self-destruction. You’re going to eat real food even if it kills you." He waves a hand, and suddenly a basket of the most beautiful, vibrant fruits and vegetables you've ever seen appears out of thin air. It's like the entire organic section of a high-end grocery store, but, you know, without the soul-crushing price tags.

"Where did you even get all this?" you ask, poking suspiciously at a particularly shiny apple. "Did you steal it from some enchanted Whole Foods?"

Vil glares at you like you’ve personally insulted his lineage. "I foraged it from my forest, you uncultured turnip."

You blink. "I’m a potato now, and a turnip? What’s next? Are we making a root vegetable salad?"

Vil rolls his eyes. "No, we’re making something that doesn’t resemble a cry for help. Get to it."

You sigh, but with Vil watching like a disapproving food critic, you figure you might as well try to impress him. You rummage through the basket, grab a few ingredients, and somehow manage to throw together a halfway decent stir-fry. You may be broke, but you can cook. It’s one of the few things that hasn't gone completely sideways in your life.

You serve it up with a flourish, smirking a little. "Voilà, a proper meal. Happy now?"

Vil inspects the plate with his usual level of judgment. You half-expect him to whip out a magnifying glass and start searching for flaws. Finally, he takes a bite, chews thoughtfully, and then gives you a rare, grudging nod of approval.

"Surprisingly competent for someone who survives on garbage," he says, in what you can only assume is Vil’s version of high praise.

"Wow, a compliment. I feel blessed," you deadpan, but you’re grinning. It’s not every day you get validation from a fairy with standards so high he probably judges oxygen.

Vil continues eating, and you join him, secretly proud of the fact that you managed to cook something that didn’t send him into a rant about toxins and poor life choices. For a moment, the two of you sit in companionable silence, just… eating. It’s weirdly nice.

After you both finish, Vil leans back, looking mildly satisfied. "If you continue to feed yourself like a proper human being," he says, "you might actually survive your finals."

"Yeah, well, if I keep spending time with you, I might also survive on sheer fear," you mutter.

He smiles, that rare, dazzling smile that makes your brain short-circuit for a moment. "Fear is a good motivator. But I expect more than just survival from you. I expect excellence."

You groan. "You know, for a fairy who showed up because of my embarrassing begging, you sure do expect a lot."

Vil just smirks. "You begged for help. I’m making sure you don’t embarrass yourself further by failing."

"Touché," you admit, stuffing another bite of food into your mouth to avoid further conversation.

You know, maybe being insulted by the prettiest fairy in existence while eating fresh, organic food isn’t the worst thing that’s happened to you.

But soon enough, it was back to work. After the food debacle, you whipped up a fresh batch of moisturizer for him. It’s something you’ve done a thousand times before, so you’re not expecting much.

Then Vil tries it. And his entire face lights up like you’ve just handed him the elixir of eternal youth.

“This is… impressive,” he says, his voice soft with genuine surprise. “It’s incredibly hydrating, and the texture is—” He pauses, then flashes you a smile that’s so dazzling, it practically sparkles. “You’ve outdone yourself.”

And then, out of nowhere, he leans over and kisses you on the cheek.

You freeze.

Your brain flatlines.

“Wha—Did you just—?”

Vil pulls back, completely unfazed by the fact that he just KISSED YOU. “If you continue to make products of this quality, I may have to keep you around longer.”

Your heart is still trying to restart, but you manage to nod. “Yeah… yeah, sure. Skincare. I can do that.”

You stare at him, wondering if this is real life or if you’ve just died and gone to some bizarre, fairy-run skincare hell. Because if that’s what’s happening, it’s starting to feel weirdly okay. Especially with the way he’s smiling at you.

And as you walk away, still reeling, you catch yourself thinking, Is dropping out of the academy to become Vil’s personal skincare maker really such a bad idea?

Honestly? With a smile like that? You’re starting to think it’s the best idea.

You’ve finally survived—ahem mastered—the hell that was poisons and advanced magical theory under Vil’s terrifyingly perfect supervision. You can now confidently brew lethal concoctions and analyze obscure spells without mentally cursing out every deity you can name. That’s progress. But of course, your next subject is Magical Beasts, and because life apparently hates you, it’s your worst one yet.

When you express this to Vil, expecting some helpful advice or perhaps even a break (hah, wishful thinking), he just waves a hand dismissively.

“I’ll ask a friend for help,” he says simply.

And that’s how you end up in the presence of the most extra fairy you’ve ever seen in your life. (Okay, you’ve met a grand total of two fairies, but still.)

The fairy in question bursts into your study room in a whirlwind of sparkles and sheer chaos, trailing a cloud of rose petals and the distinct scent of overly expensive perfume. He’s tall and elegant, his wings shimmering with iridescent hues, and before you can so much as blink, he’s speaking a mile a minute in a mix of French and pure gibberish.

“Mon cher! Quelle horreur! This room is an insult to aesthetics! Non, non, I simply cannot work in these conditions!” he cries dramatically, gesturing wildly at your meticulously organized notes.

You blink. “…What?”

But he’s already prancing around, rearranging your books and scattering glitter like some kind of deranged fairy godmother. Then, with zero transition, Rook starts rambling about magical beasts and their habitats in a way that has your head spinning. One minute he’s critiquing your choice of ink color (“Black? How dull!”), and the next he’s rattling off obscure beast facts with the enthusiasm of a caffeinated professor.

“The Hippogriff prefers moonlight baths! Ah, and the Knarl must be serenaded with music, or it will—how you say?—stab you!” he chirps, waving his delicate hands around in a way that seems more dangerous than helpful.

You’re sitting there, bewildered and slightly concerned for your sanity. “Wait, wait, wait, so—hold up, what do I do if a Knarl shows up in the daytime?”

Rook stares at you like you’ve just asked if water is wet. “Why, you run, of course!” Then he bursts into laughter, as if this is the funniest joke he’s ever heard.

By the end of the afternoon, you’ve lost count of the number of strange and sometimes horrifying tidbits he’s thrown at you. You’re pretty sure you’ve somehow become an expert in magical beast theory without consciously realizing it, and the sheer absurdity of the situation is enough to make you feel like your brain’s been hijacked.

“And that,” the fairy declares with a dramatic twirl, “is how you tame a Chimaera!”

You blink, staring at your notes, which are now a colorful mess of drawings, beast diagrams, and snippets of what you hope are actual instructions and not just fashion advice. “…I feel like I’ve learned a lot. But also absolutely nothing.”

“Perfect!” he crows. “You have done magnifique!”

Before you can process what the heck just happened, you decide to thank him the only way you know how: by giving him a small, beautifully-packaged vial of a custom serum. You’ve worked hard on this formula, combining the best of alchemy and skincare magic, and as soon as you hand it to him, his eyes go wide.

“Pour moi? C’est incroyable!” He clutches it dramatically to his chest, as if you’ve just gifted him a crown jewel. Then, without warning, he’s leaning in way too close, inspecting your face with an intensity that borders on obsessive. “Mon Dieu, you are a true artiste! So beautiful! So—”

“Excuse me,” a low, frosty voice cuts in.

You turn just in time to see Vil gliding over, expression smooth but eyes narrowed. With the grace of a professional diplomat (or maybe a particularly possessive cat), he slips between the two of you, placing a firm hand on the other fairy’s shoulder and gently guiding him away from your personal space.

“Thank you for your assistance, Rook,” Vil says with a polite smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “We appreciate your expertise, but I believe that’s enough for today.”

Rook pouts but finally relents. He throws one last, longing glance at your serum and then at you, as if you’re both equally captivating. “Ah, c’est dommage… I shall return!” With that, he flits off, leaving you standing there, more confused than ever.

You turn to Vil, raising an eyebrow. “Uh… thanks?”

But Vil isn’t looking at you like a savior. No, he’s looking at you like you’ve just betrayed his entire bloodline.

“Excuse me,” you ask, blinking in confusion. “Did… did I do something wrong?”

“You,” Vil says slowly, his voice dangerously soft, “are my skincare human.”

You stare at him. “Um. What?”

“Mine.” Vil’s gaze flickers pointedly between you and the direction Rook flew off in, his lips pressed into a thin line. “I did not agree to share your talents with anyone else.”

Oh. Oh.

“Vil,” you say, a grin spreading across your face despite yourself. “Are you… jealous?”

The way his expression shifts from imperious to indignant would almost be funny if it weren’t so incredibly satisfying. “Jealous?” he scoffs, tossing his hair back with a haughty flick. “Don’t be absurd.”

You glance pointedly at the pink tips of his ears, which are steadily darkening into a bright red.

“Riiight,” you say slowly. “Totally not jealous at all. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I’m not,” he insists, crossing his arms, but his voice is just a fraction too defensive.

“Sure, sure,” you say with a mock-serious nod, fighting to keep a straight face. “It’s just that, you know, your ears are kind of giving you away.”

Vil sputters, shooting you a glare that could melt glass. “You—!”

“I’m just saying!” you chirp, smirking as you lean back. “I’m your skincare human. Got it, boss.”

He narrows his eyes, but the flush on his ears betrays him. “Remember it,” he huffs, turning sharply on his heel. “And don’t you dare give away my products to anyone else without consulting me first.”

You watch him stalk off, your grin widening. Maybe studying under Vil isn’t so bad after all.

Finally, your last subject: Offensive Magic. You’re almost at the finish line, but there’s one little problem. Apparently, dueling Vil or Rook is a fast track to the afterlife, and you aren’t too keen on becoming a cautionary tale.

That’s how you find yourself facing off against the youngest of the bunch—a fairy named Epel. He looks as thrilled to be there as you are, which is to say, not at all.

“Vil made me do this,” he mutters under his breath, glaring at nothing in particular.

You quickly realize that Epel’s main emotion is mild resentment, which honestly? Relatable.

The duel begins, and you’re expecting something simple—maybe some low-level spells, something to pad out your barely passing grades. But then Epel smirks, lifts his hand, and suddenly, half the field explodes in a brilliant display of magic that has you rethinking your life choices. Like, seriously reconsidering everything that led you to this exact moment.

You’re left standing there, jaw practically on the floor as bits of dirt rain down around you. “Holy shit,” you breathe. “You’re so cool.”

Epel freezes. His eyes dart to you, clearly shocked by the praise, and he suddenly looks a lot less surly. “...Really?”

“Yeah! That was amazing! I didn’t even know you could do that!”

He rubs the back of his neck, trying to hide a smile. “Well, I’ve been practicing…”

And just like that, you’re friends. Bonded over the mutual understanding that Offensive Magic is both terrifying and awesome when Epel’s involved.

Later that day, after a lesson where you actually didn’t almost explode yourself (personal growth!), you, Vil, and Epel are lounging in the forest. Rook’s off doing...whatever mysterious thing he does, leaving you all in relative peace. You’re casually chatting about the lessons when Epel, totally offhandedly, drops the biggest bomb of the century.

“Yeah, well, you’re pretty lucky the king of the fairies decided to help you out.”

You blink. “The what?”

Epel gives you a look like you’ve just asked if the moon was real. “The king of the fairies. You know, Vil.”

You almost choke. “Vil’s the king of the fairies?” Your voice cracks like you’ve hit puberty again.

Vil, lounging nearby, doesn’t even flinch. “Didn’t I mention that?”

“NO. YOU DIDN’T.”

“Well, now you know.”

You stare at him, mind reeling. “I’ve been—wait—what in the Sevens—you’re the king of the fairies? And you just—casually tutor people? Like it’s no big deal?!”

Vil sighs, flipping through a book as if this is the most normal thing in the world. “I thought it was obvious.”

“It was not obvious!” You’re flailing at this point, and Epel is snickering behind his hand, clearly enjoying your existential crisis.

Vil’s still cool as a cucumber, but when you stammer, “No wonder you’re the most beautiful fairy I’ve ever seen,” you catch the faintest flicker of a smirk on his face. He straightens up just a little bit, clearly preening at the compliment.

Rook suddenly appears out of nowhere, laughing like he’s just witnessed the funniest thing in his life. “Ah! How charming! Our humble little mage finally sees the light!”

“Yeah, yeah,” you grumble, feeling your face heat up. “This is too much. My brain can’t handle this.”

The lesson ends, and you decide to thank Vil the only way you know how—by crafting him a night cream as a parting gift. You’ve gotten pretty good at making skincare, and you can tell he’s been eyeing this particular blend.

But then, in a rare moment of what can only be described as vulnerability, Vil hands you the jar and says, “Could you…apply it for me?”

You freeze. “Huh?”

He’s holding it out to you, but he’s not meeting your eyes, and—wait, are his hands shaking? You squint. Is he nervous?

Nah. Can’t be. Vil doesn’t do nervous.

“Sure,” you say, trying not to overthink it. You take the jar and start gently massaging the cream into his flawless skin. Vil closes his eyes, and for a moment, it’s almost…peaceful.

“You’re really good at this,” he murmurs.

You smile to yourself, oblivious to the emotional storm brewing inside him. “Thanks! I’ve been practicing.”

What you don’t realize is that this was your last lesson. Vil knows this. And for some reason, it’s hitting him hard. He’s spent all this time tutoring you, teaching you everything he knows, and now…you won’t need him anymore. You won’t come back. You’ll pass your exams and move on with your life, leaving him behind. And the thought of that—it stings more than he wants to admit.

Meanwhile, you’re completely unaware of his inner turmoil, humming to yourself as you finish applying the cream. “There you go. All set!”

You stretch, packing up your things, already mentally planning your next skincare batch for him. “Well, I’ll see you around, okay?”

“Wait.” Vil’s voice is soft, almost hesitant. You blink as he suddenly pulls you into a hug, catching you completely off guard.

“Uh…Vil?”

He’s holding you tightly, and when he speaks, his voice is a little sad. “Good luck.”

You frown, confused. “Why do you sound so sad? I'll pass my exams for sure after all your help.”

He doesn’t respond. You shrug and hug him back, giving him a gentle squeeze. “Alright, see you later, drama king.”

And with that, you stroll off, leaving Vil standing there, still holding on to the weight of his unspoken feelings.

Rook, watching from a distance, smiles knowingly. “Ah, how bittersweet…”

Epel just rolls his eyes. “Man, this is like watching a soap opera.”

You passed your exams. Scratch that—you topped them. You’re basically an academic legend now, leaving everyone wondering what kind of ancient god you made a pact with. The professors are whispering your name like you’re some ancient prodigy who’s been secretly acing exams since the dawn of time.

Naturally, you’ve decided to celebrate by making your magnum opus: the most legendary lip balm the world has ever seen. The kind of balm that could revive a dying star, or, more realistically, soothe the chapped lips of a certain fussy fairy.

With your glorious lip balm in hand, you set off to the forest to see Vil. The path is familiar, and yet, today something feels... off. The trees look droopy, the flowers are wilting—like someone forgot to water this whole section of the forest.

“Oh, great,” you mutter, stepping over a vine that looks like it’s given up on life. “Did everyone just forget what hydration is?”

When you reach Vil’s cottage, your gut instinct kicks into overdrive.

Something’s wrong. Really wrong. Your heart is racing. You knock once. Twice. Still nothing. Panic sets in, and before you know it, you’re knocking the door clean off its hinges in your haste.

“Oops,” you whisper, but there’s no time to dwell on it because you see someone on the bed. It’s Vil, and he’s looking about as far from his usual flawless self as you’ve ever seen. He’s feverish, pale, and frankly, it kind of looks like he's dying.

“Vil!” you rush over, shaking him gently. He opens his eyes, squinting at you like you’re an overly bright light in the middle of his fever dream.

“I didn’t know hallucinations could be so vivid,” he mumbles, his voice hoarse.

“What hallucinations? I’m real!” You’re practically crying now, shaking him harder. He just smiles faintly, completely convinced that you’re some fever-induced mirage.

Fantastic. Not only is he sick, but he also thinks you’re a figment of his imagination.

Frantically, you start brewing a cooling potion, your hands shaking as you mix the ingredients. Vil just watches you with a dazed, slightly amused expression, like he’s impressed that his hallucination has such a good grasp on potion-making.

“I’m real,” you repeat, as you pour the potion down his throat. He gives a tiny nod before slipping back into unconsciousness.

Cue full-on panic mode. You don’t know what’s happening or why Vil’s like this, so you do the only thing you can think of—you send a carrier pigeon to Rook, because of course fairies don’t have phones.

Rook shows up in record time, practically gliding into the cottage like some kind of majestic hunting bird. He takes one look at the pitiful scene—Vil feverish and weak, you hovering like an anxious mother hen—and smiles.

“Oh, he’s heartbroken,” Rook declares, as if that explains everything.

“Heartbroken?!” you echo, disbelief dripping from every syllable. “I saw him two days ago, and he was fine. How could he be heartbroken in two days?!”

“Ah,” Rook says, his eyes twinkling with dramatic flair, “fairies can only fall in love once, and when they do, they fall hard. He thought you wouldn’t return after your exams. He was suffering in silence, believing you’d move on without him.”

You stare at Rook, dumbfounded. “Is he blind?!” You throw your hands in the air. “I’ve been horrendously in love with him since day one! How could he not notice?”

Rook just beams at you, like you’ve confirmed his favorite romantic theory. “Ah, l’amour. So tragic, yet so beautiful.”

At this point, you’re ready to throw your hands up in frustration. How does Vil not notice? You’ve been making him skincare products, practically living in his cottage, and hovering over him like a lovesick puppy. Could he really think you were just going to leave? But of course, Vil—being Vil—had assumed you’d outgrow him and move on to something better, leaving him behind like a discarded serum bottle.

With renewed determination, you take care of Vil, nursing him back to health with potions and plenty of water. You even manage to coax him to eat something other than the fairy equivalent of air-dried kale. Slowly, he starts looking more like himself, his fever fading and his color returning. But when he finally wakes up, fully lucid, his eyes widen in shock.

“You... you’re real?” he whispers, staring at you like you’re some miraculous vision.

“Yes, I’m real,” you huff, crossing your arms. “And I made this.” You pull out the lip balm you’ve been working on, your prized creation. You swipe some on your lips and then lean down to kiss him.

Vil blinks, stunned into silence. After a moment, a small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “That’s... a surprisingly effective balm.”

You grin, feeling the tension melt away. “Maybe you should test it again.”

Vil wastes no time, pulling you in for another kiss, his lips soft and cool from the balm. He kisses you a second time, then a third—because, well, it’s important to make sure the balm has long-lasting effects, right?

But then, you pull back slightly, the grin slipping from your face. “Vil, I... I passed all my exams. I even got an offer to move to the capital.”

Vil’s entire body tenses. His hands, still resting on your waist, tighten slightly as his eyes flicker with something you can’t quite place—fear? Dread? Whatever it is, it’s like a storm cloud settling over him.

“Oh.” His voice is soft, but there’s a weight to it, like he’s bracing himself for the inevitable. “I see.”

You can feel the tension in his body, the way he’s holding himself so carefully, as if preparing for you to tell him you’re leaving. That you’re going to take the offer and disappear from his life, just like he feared. He’s already trying to let you go, even as his hands tremble slightly against your waist. It hits you all at once—how terrified he must have been, thinking you’d leave him behind.

For a moment, you just watch him, your heart aching at the sight of his barely concealed distress. And then, finally, you say, “I declined the offer.”

Vil’s breath catches. His eyes snap up to yours, wide with disbelief. “You... you what?”

You smile, leaning in closer. “I declined. I’m not going anywhere, Vil. In fact...” You take a deep breath, your grin widening. “I’m opening a skincare shop right here, on the edge of the forest. And I’m going to live here. With you. No arguments.”

For a moment, Vil just stares at you, as if he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing. Then, slowly, the tension in his body dissolves, replaced by pure, unfiltered relief. His hands, which had been shaking moments ago, steady as they pull you closer, wrapping you in a tight embrace.

“You’re staying?” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion.

“I’m staying,” you confirm, your heart swelling at the way he’s holding you, like he’s afraid to let go.

Vil presses his forehead against yours, his eyes closing as he takes a deep, shuddering breath. “I love you,” he murmurs, his voice so soft, you almost miss it.

Your heart skips a beat. You smile, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I love you too, drama king.”

Vil huffs out a small, breathy laugh, pulling you down into the bed with him, his arms wrapped securely around you. For a moment, everything is still, peaceful, as you lie there together, tangled in each other’s arms. Neither of you says a word, content just to hold each other, the weight of the past few days finally lifting.

And as you drift off to sleep, you can’t help but feel a sense of warmth, knowing that you’re exactly where you’re meant to be—by Vil’s side, where you’ve always belonged.

I'm so deeply in love with this man it's kinda embarrassing

Masterlist

[zephyrchama]

Hi!! I love your hc’s , can I request how the brothers would react to a s/o from who’s deathly afraid of wasps , like phobia strength fear . (It’s spring where I am and I have a phobia of wasps so i really want comfort stuffs lol)

Thank you! I've been wanting to write something bug-related, hope I don't disappoint too much! If there's not enough fluff or comfort, I'll try to come up with something else. I wound up writing how they'd handle the situation.

(little scary note: Devildom wasps are probably awful monstrosities, maybe even bigger than human realm ones. They could have all kinds of RPG monster-style wasps in addition to the “normal” sized ones that humans are familiar with (yet have some crazy venom).)

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Lucifer revels in being the first person you go to when you feel afraid. He doesn’t quite get why it’s such a big emergency, and he doesn’t like the chore of having to stop what he’s doing just to take care of a common pest, but there’s a warmth in knowing you come straight to him when you're scared. At first he would tell you to go ask someone else. Or, couldn’t you chase it off yourself with magic? He knows that surely you’re more than capable. He has better things to do than deal with a wasp. But with enough begging, he’d give in. Especially if you bury yourself under his coat. He can feel you trembling. Grasping his shirt in your fingertips and shakily asking “Lucifer, please?” will usually do the trick. He takes his coat off and drapes it over your head so you don’t have to watch while he takes care of things. Typically, it only takes seconds to erase all traces of the wasp’s existence. It takes far longer for you to convince Lucifer to help than it does for him to actually help. As the problem persisted and the weather got warmer, Lucifer started insisting you wear bug repellant to keep the problem at bay. He stops you in the morning to make sure you’re wearing it. If you come to him later in the day with a wasp-related issue, he’ll hold you back and personally make sure every inch from head to toe is coated before you leave. "I can't have any pests approaching you when I'm not around," he explains.

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Mammon loves when you rely on him. He has no trouble getting rid of a pesky bug or two. The first time it happened, he panicked. His human was crying and shaking and could hardly speak - the human he’s supposed to be in charge of. If anything happened to you, he’d be in a world of trouble. “What? What happened, huh?” he asked, grabbing your shoulders. He couldn’t understand unless you told him. “Help,” you whimpered, pointing where you had been standing moments before. “What?” The only thing there now was a buzzing wasp, flitting to and fro. “That thing?” You nodded and the relief that washed over him was immense. He almost laughed. “Man, don’t scare me like that! C’mon, the Great Mammon’ll take care of it for you.” Now, he’ll ask for rewards. Nothing big, but just enough to motivate him and keep you from taking advantage of him. He can’t let you find out that your tears are his weakness, after all. Mammon makes a big show of playing the hero, saying “get behind me” and pulling you in close. He’ll wrap an arm over you, guiding your head into his side while firing off a spell with a “bang!” Sometimes he’s so focused on how cute you look that he misses and sets fire to a shrub, but as long as you’re not looking, he can coolly escort you in the opposite direction as if nothing is out of the ordinary. “Well? Don’t ya think the Great Mammon deserves a reward for savin’ ya?”

-----

“Do I have to?” Leviathan gets anxious and doesn’t want to confront the wasps. He can see how distraught you are and it’s tugging on his heart strings, but they freak him out too. He’s so much stronger and he knows it, but their unpredictability is unsettling. He’ll let you take shelter in his room for as long as you want, or under his hoodie as long as you don’t move too much. If you’re especially persistent, he’ll eventually work up the courage. It might take a while though. With a mighty wadded up newspaper in one hand and the other hand outstretched protectively in front of you, he’ll slowly inch forward towards any unsavory bug. At the smallest sound though, he’ll jump and it’s back to square one. If the wasp moves and you shriek, he shrieks with you. “Don’t scare me like that!! I-I… I almost had it!! Arrghhh!” If you two are lucky, the commotion attracts one of his other brothers who rolls their eyes and crushes the wasp like it’s made of paper. On days when backup never arrives, you have to play hype man until Levi finally works up the nerve to one-shot the target. “I did it!” He looks so happy, and he occasionally strikes a silly victory pose despite also falling back in relief. He is the hero who saved the human in distress, after all. The next time it happens he’s still incredibly reluctant, but he upgrades his rolled-up newspaper to one of those electric zapping polls so he feels a little cooler.

-----

Satan is usually unperturbed by the bugs. They’re certainly annoying, but nothing to fret over. “You want me to take care of that?” he’ll ask, no questions asked. You don’t even need to say anything. He notices when your attention wanders from him, when the look in your eye changes and your demeanor shifts upon spotting one. You don’t have to speak if you’re unable to. Grabbing on to the empty sleeve of his jacket is enough of an answer. Satan is especially handy if there are multiple bugs buzzing in the vicinity. It’s not often he gets to practice his curses on a moving target. If he’s having an especially rough day, he’ll pack all his frustrations and wrath into a single blow that’s way more powerful than necessary. That is doubly true if he’s interrupted during a nice moment. Satan likes to savor good times without being disturbed. He’s ruthless if a wasp comes along and ruins the nice atmosphere between you two. He tries to be careful around his book collection, but anything else in the way is fair game to be destroyed. His attempts to calm you down afterwards are less helpful. He tries to distract you with trivia. “That was just an infernal warrior bee. You can tell by the three horizontal stripes and ones vertical stripe on its back. We must have walked past its nest, they’re mostly harmless unless you get too close and they start unsheat-” ”Aaaaaahhh!!!” The quickest way to shut Satan up before your fear gets worse is just to shout louder than he talks, especially if you nuzzle your head against his chest while he does it.

-----

Asmodeus gives you a nauseated look. He could probably destroy a bug in seconds, but they’re gross. He wants nothing to do with them. “Isn’t there anybody else around to get it?” It’s quite a sight to see Asmodeus publicly charm people into disposing of a wasp for the two of you. It is the most convenient way when other people are around. He does it as naturally as breathing, and then the two of you have to run from his obsessed fans instead of an insect. If Asmo sends a distress text to his brothers, it’s rare for someone to actually show up. But if you join him and spam the house’s group chat together, somebody will inevitably come to your aid. The two of you have cowered together in a corner many times waiting on one of his other brothers to show up. Due to this, you’ve perfected a defensive formation. If you both hug each other, fingers intertwined and head resting on the other’s shoulder, it calms you both down while also minimizing the blind spots in the room. You can spot any bug approaching with a 95% accuracy rate. If it’s a long day and bugs are a major recurring issue, Asmo will snap. Enough is enough. He still manages to be so pretty, despite his raging demonic energy knocking down everything in its path. He feels so disgusted afterwards though and will invite you to bathe the grossness away with him in a long, long bath.

-----

Beelzebub the reliable. Beelzebub the wonderful. You have so much appreciation for this dude. Beel is often the one you can turn to when nobody else will help. He’s not the best at spotting the smaller insects so you need to be very descriptive about where you saw them, but he shows no hesitation when it comes to exterminating them for you. The way he casually just whacks them aside is astounding. He’s more concerned about your shaking and crying and will try to prioritize comforting you over handling the wasps, but that just makes you more scared. With each passing moment, who knows where they’ll fly to next? “Please, please Beel. Just please take care of it, make it go away!” The sooner the better. The corners of his mouth will turn down, hesitant to turn his back on you, but he agrees. “Ok.” You must ensure to reward him with plenty of snacks. It keeps him protectively by your side for longer and otherwise he starts wondering how the felled wasps would taste fried. He used to get concerned you wouldn’t eat with him, but has since learned you need time to calm down before you appetite returns. It helps if you can sit in his lap, a fortified spot you’re certain no wasps can get near.

-----

Belphegor is too lazy to lift a finger most days. If they’re not bothering him, he doesn’t want to bother with them. But the way you twitch, the way you shriek and jump over the smallest movements, will start to concern him. It’s cute at first. He enjoys seeing a new side of you, the easily startled side. It's amusing. If it goes on for too long though he knows you’ll get nightmares and it will mess with your health. Humans get sick easily like that. He’ll laugh at you and then fell the buzzing menace with ease. It’s easier to get Belphegor to help when he’s tired. The buzzing annoys him to no end when all he wants is a peaceful nap. He might not even be conscious of what he's doing and protects you out of pure instinct. When he’s cranky, he shows no mercy to the insects hassling you. You’ve got blanket permission to throw yourself in his arms when he’s taking a nap. His demon form tail is an especially potent fly (or any winged creature, really) swatter, ensuring nothing gets near the two of you. Belphegor will literally take care of everything in his sleep while he snuggles up to you without a care in the world. One time you were escaping a nagging Lucifer instead of a wasp and tried the same tactic. It only made him madder. But it was great to see him get bapped in the face with Belphegor’s fluffy tail.

[edenianprincess]

INTRO !!      ❤︎ ׄ                                               Dialogues Intros .ᐟ

Dialogues intros about characters’ relationships with a gender neutral!reader. Characters chosen are Reptile, Liu Kang, Mileena and Kung Lao. Content warning: Slight suggestive theme in Kung Lao’s and one in Mileena. Please, respond to the poll at the end!

Syzoth ! Mirror dialogues You: There's no way I have a clone. You: I'm here to bring Reptile back to Shang Tsung.

You: So, you’re the shape shifter? You: It was difficult to accept my two forms, but Syzoth helped me.

Reptile: How can you move on from your dead family so easily? Reptile: Stop plaguing my mind! I have to fight these thoughts.

Syzoth ! At each other

You: Do you think you can beat me without using your other form? Reptile: With you? I don’t think I can contain the beast within me.

You: Why is your tail wiggling? Reptile: I don't know what are you talking about, my dear.

You: Do you need my aid to end the Zaterrans' conspiracy? Reptile: I appreciate the thought, but only I can infiltrate them.

Reptile: Is this warm bloods’ way of courting? You: No, I just want to spend time with you.

Reptile: Zaterra isn’t a place for you to visit. You: I want to visit your bullies not the place.

Reptile: If I had known I was going to fight you, I would have been more worried. You: By you hurting me or because you know I’m going to win?

Syzoth ! With other characters

General Shao: A warm blood and a Zaterran? How amusing. Reptile: Do you feel envy because nobody wants you, General?

You: I’ll gift your head to Syzoth. Shang Tsung: If it weren’t for me, he would still be with his wife.

Shang Tsung: I see that you have a new partner, if only I- Reptile: You will die before threatening me again!

You: Thank you for Syzoth’s promotion, Empress. Mileena: Now, can you stop harassing me with that?

Johnny: Imagine a movie about you and Y/n, a Beauty and the Beast type of story. Reptile: What is this story about, Johnny?

Kenshi: You kiss a guy who eats bugs? You: Never after dinner.

Kung Lao: No other’s skills will impress you more than mine. Reptile: Sorry, Kung Lao, but I do not think you can beat Y/n on that.

Kung Lao: Syzoth told me that I wouldn’t be able to beat you in a fight. You: And still you didn’t listen?

Liu Kang ! Mirror dialogues

You: You’re not with Liu Kang in your timeline? You: His heart is only dedicated to Kitana.

You: For Liu Kang’s sake! Who are you? You: You should go ask him.

Liu Kang: We can’t both exist in a singular timeline. Liu Kang: Y/n would beg to differ.

Liu Kang ! At each other

You: I’m going to make you fall on your knees, this time. Liu Kang: I have no doubt about this, dearest.

You: You know you can’t blame yourself for every tragedy. Liu Kang: It still hurts me when they happen.

You: How am I supposed to win against you? Liu Kang: By exploiting my weaknesses, you know them very well.

Liu Kang: There's no need to push yourself beyond your limits. You: Just one more round, okay?

Liu Kang: You shall be rewarded after this fight. You: Is it what I have in mind?

Liu Kang: We need to be prepared if we interfere with another timeline again. You: No need to hide that you want to spend some time together.

Liu Kang ! With other characters

Geras: Your relationship with Y/n was unexpected. Liu Kang: Even I couldn’t help but fall for their charms.

You: C’mon Geras, you know him more than me. Geras: I do not know what Liu Kang wants for his birthday.

Kitana: I didn’t think of you wanting someone after centuries of being alone. Liu Kang: Love can change greatly one’s perspective.

Kitana: Liu Kang is a very mysterious man. You: Makes him hot, doesn’t it?

General Shao: Your love for weaklings like your champions and partner is utterly pathetic. Liu Kang: Your lack of strong bonds is why you lose every time.

Shang Tsung: How can you be so sure Liu Kang isn’t manipulating you for his own interest? You: You mean, just like what you’re doing right now?

Johnny: A demi-God? Damn, Y/n hit the jackpot. Liu Kang: I would say I am the one who did.

Kung Lao: You’re wayyyyy out of Lord Liu Kang’s league. You: Are you somehow jealous?

Mileena ! Mirror dialogues

You: Your Mileena is a clone? You: If you mean an abomination then yes.

You: I’ll kill you slowly then I’ll replace you. You: You won’t infiltrate the court again, Shang Tsung!

Mileena: I can spoil Y/n more than you. Mileena: Spoil them with your death!

Mileena ! At each other

You: You're the strongest princess l've ever seen. Mileena: Are you implying you have met others?

You: What a killer smile you have. Mileena: All the better to kiss you with.

You: Your mother won’t let you a moment to breath. Mileena: That’s why I’m happy when I’m with you.

Mileena: Urg.. Why do we have to fight more? You: We can take this fight somewhere else if you wish.

Mileena: I don’t want to hurt you if I lose control. You: You won’t, I know you can control it.

Mileena: You will fall head over heels for me again! You: Challenge accepted.

Mileena ! With other characters

Kitana: I know you love them, but you need to think of your imperial duties first. Mileena: I can handle more things at once than you think.

Kitana: Tarkat is taking over my sister more and more. You: We will fight it together with her.

Sindel: Did you think I wouldn't know about you sneaking out with Y/n? Mileena: These treacherous guards, I'll have their heads!

You: Is this fight necessary, Empress? Sindel: To test if you're worth my daughter.

Mileena: I entrust you for the security of the royal wedding. Li Mei: As Sun Do's First Constable and a friend, I can’t feel more honored.

Li Mei: You must be ready to protect the Empress. You: Are you doubting me, Li Mei?

Baraka: Don’t let your lover be inflicted with Tarkat. Mileena: Never in my life will I let them be inflicted with this pain!

General Shao: I’ll take rightfully the throne from Mileena. You: You can steal the throne but, you can’t steal her ruling competence.

Kung Lao ! Mirror dialogues

You: Is this a nightmare? You: No, this is Kung Lao’s dream.

You: So your Kung Lao disappeared just in a snap? You: You can say that.. yes.

Kung Lao: The man who wins gets to date Y/n. Kung Lao: Can’t we let them choose? Or are you afraid because I’m the most handsome?

Kung Lao ! At each other

You: Someone should put you in your place. Kung Lao: I wouldn’t mind, but only if you’re the one doing it.

You: You need to train harder if you want to be the champion. Kung Lao: If it means that I’ll win with you below me, then I agree.

You: Is this a date? Kung Lao: Only if you wish it to be.

Kung Lao: Don’t get too distracted by my face while fighting. You: It will be my first target.

Kung Lao: So, what should we dare? You: I’m sure you have plenty of ideas.

Kung Lao: Don’t you feel a certain tension between us? You: I would, if it weren’t for the monks watching us.

Kung Lao ! With other characters

Kung Lao: Told you, I’ll get them for a date. Raiden: I couldn’t be happier for you.

You: You got a crush on Outworld’s Princess and you didn’t tell me! Raiden: Kung Lao told my secret to everyone, didn’t he.

Raiden: The monks said you shouldn't let your dating life distract you from training. Kung Lao: Pff.. What do they know about love?

Sub-Zero: Your weak lover would have died if I didn't hold back. You: Call him weak all you want, but at least he can admit defeat without whining.

Kung Lao: Y/n is watching us, time to show them what I can do. Johnny: It’s going to be hilarious when I beat you.

You: Do you think Kung Lao will one day become champion? Liu Kang: If he continues to do well, plus with you by his side, I have no doubts.

Kenshi: I can’t believe there is someone that you love more than yourself. Kung Lao: If you were to meet them, you’d understand.

Reptile: Kung Lao wanted me to scare you off with my invisibility. You: He probably thought that I’d jump into his arms and ask for his protection.

‘𝓣𝐇𝐄 𝓔𝐍𝐃  Please don’t copy/translate and don’t reblog if you’re a yand3r3 blog/reblog account, or you’ll be blocked. Besides that, likes/reblogs/comments are appreciated.  For those who don’t get the second mirror dialogue for Kung Lao, he died in the previous timeline by getting his neck snapped.

[jarofstyles]

face sitting with shy y/n and confident, cocky n loving Harry pls 🥸

YES YES PLZ

Patreon

—-

“C’mon darling.” His coo was soft. “Sit down.” Hands held her hips as she was teasing him without meaning to. Her soft cunt hovering over his mouth, making it water as he tried to ease her nerves.

“You promise you’ll tell me if you can’t breathe?” She peeped, looking down at his eyes. Her hands held the top of the headboard, wanting someone to steady herself on. If she felt weak when he was licking her out when he was laying between her legs, she was scared of collapsing on top of him.

“Mhm. But I don’t mind, baby. S’a dream for me to go out that way.” Death by pussy. Very much appropriate for him, if they were being honest. He was a needy man, a fiend for getting his mouth on her and neither of them could refute it. “You know your safe words, my darling. Just sit that pretty ass down and let me taste you.”

When she took a hint too long, Harry decided to take it for himself. Grabbing her hips, he pulled her down and let his mouth latch on to her clit, getting the most unladylike squeak from Y/N that melded into a moan. As soon as he began to suck, to lick on her, her brain was empty.

This was the part she loved so much. Letting go of everything else in her life and focusing on the pleasure- but it was still hard sometimes. Keeping quiet the best she could, she muffled herself as her head fell back on her shoulders, accidentally jerking her hips when his teeth grazed her clit. It should hurt, but it didn’t. If anything it felt heavenly? A new sensation for her.

“Cmon, baby. Let me hear you.” He pulled away from her cunt, peering up from underneath her. “Move those hips. Fuck my mouth. I want you to use my tongue and make yourself cum f’me.” He crooned. “You can do it, baby. I know how much you love to cum on my tongue. Show me how much you want it.”

His shy, sweet girl. She was so hesitant, nervous with new things but he knew for a fact she was interested in this- so he stepped in again. Helping her further, he gripped her hips and rocked her slightly with his strength. Letting her move on top of him, showing how good it could feel. Y/N, thankfully, was a fast learner.

It took little time for her to catch on, slow movements of her hips as she let out tiny little moans that he loved, drinking right from her cunt. Burying his tongue in it, letting himself get sopping wet. If there was one place he was confident, it was in between his best girl’s thighs. He knew how to pleasure her. “There we go, darling. Get what you want on my tongue.” His hand moved to her ass, giving it a gentle swat. Y/N ate it up, moaning at the sting as she rocked on his tongue. Harry loved being here, getting sticky and wet from her pleasure. Being the source of those tiny moans she was still a bit afraid to bleat out, he would work her until she was begging to cum- but he couldn’t deprive her of the pleasure she didn’t even know existed. “I know, sweetheart. Perfect little pussy gets all sensitive when I lick into her… but that’s my job.” He pressed a kiss to her clit, making her shiver. “Just want to keep you cumming for me.”

[ohbo-ohno]

merry christmas @luminousbeings-crudematter, here's the ghoap x reader purge au! (a week and a half after you posted about it... im so sorry)

5.7k, mind the tags <3

cw: ROUGH NONCONSENUAL SEX in all caps, pwp, under-prepared/painful anal sex, some pretty intense fear stuff, people covered in blood and referenced violence (it's a purge au lol)

Your hands tremble where they’re tucked close to your chest, blood sticky and thick between each finger. You feel coated in it, like someone has taken a brush and gone over every inch of your skin, painted you in red.

It’s in your mouth. You can feel the warmth of it on your tongue, the taste of iron sickening. You tell yourself that maybe you bit your tongue, that it’s not really your ex Phil’s blood coating your teeth.

Your thin pajamas are hardly any protection against the chill of the night air, less so with how soaked they are. The stench of piss is heavy in the air, a mixture of yours and his, but you don’t have time to go back inside and change.

You’re running on pure instinct, an animal urge deep in your mind insisting you run. You’d always thought you’d have more of a flight instinct than fight. Despite how you feel now, how your legs itch to carry you as far away as possible, the cooling corpse left behind tells you the truth. 

You stumble into the wall, a wave of nausea knocking you off balance. There’s a trail of red left behind as you use one hand to balance yourself, the other held protectively over your heart. 

Your security system - cheap, but usually enough to let you sleep through the Purge - is completely destroyed. There’s no chance of it protecting you, and the bust in windows will let anyone on the streets see your vulnerability. You’ll never feel safe there, and you can’t shake the need to run.

There’s no chance of any of your neighbors helping you. There’s some neighborly camaraderie between your floor-mates, but that all disappears on Purge night. It’s every man for himself, every year, without fail. You know that. You even think the same as them, pretend no one else exists when that siren goes off every year. 

But now, shaking and terrified, you wish you could knock on a door and see it open. Hear the security system disengage and see a familiar face, beg for help and thank them on your knees.

It’s a nice fantasy. Reality is less kind, seeing you shake with a dawning chill as you manage to shoulder open the door to the stairwell, cringing when it slams behind you.

The cold cement is rough on your feet, and a distant part of yourself worries about slipping - your feet are slick with blood, and you can hear yourself leaving a trail of footsteps. You don’t try to slow down, holding tight to the metal railing and shuffling down the stairs.

You’re halfway down the first of four flights when the door on the next floor opens, a large figure stepping into the stairwell. Your stumble to a stop before you even register that you’re not alone anymore, and you’re backpedaling before you even fully realize.

He’s big, his face covered in a red skull mask. From your vantage point you can see his hair is shaved into a mohawk, and he’s shirtless with only a pair of gray sweatpants on.

He’s drenched in blood. Even more than you, and you feel like you’re drowning in it. If you’re painted in blood, someone took a bucket and dumped it on this man. You can hardly see any unmarked skin, and you wonder for a split-second if the skull was once white.

There’s an audible grin in his voice when he calls up to you. “Look’it you, bonnie thing. You tryin’ to run?” He steps to the side, leaving a wide open space for you to pass him to the next staircase. You’re frozen where you’re leant against the railing, hardly able to breathe. “C’mon, give it a shot.” 

You listen, scrabbling further back and all but throwing yourself up the stairs on all fours. You’re only the need to get away, an innate fear that tells you to get as far from the blood-soaked man as quickly as possible. You swear you hear him laugh as you launch yourself up the next flight, panting already.

There’s no safety found in going up though, as hardly two flights later you’re tugged to a stop by your instincts alone.

Standing above you, hardly six feet away and blocking the door he must’ve just come from, is another giant. This one fully clothed and with a white skull mask, somehow bigger and more intimidating than the man you can hear coming up the stairs behind you. You can’t see even an inch of skin, black gloves on his hands and mean black combat boots reaching nearly his knees.

There’s a moment, before the chase ends, where you contemplate jumping over the railing. There’s no going up, there’s no going back, and you can’t even begin to imagine what these two men want with you. The only thing that keeps you from throwing yourself over is the fear that you wouldn’t die on impact, that you’d be left injured and even more vulnerable to these men.

You’re not sure you could’ve tried that plan had you even wanted to, because the moment it forms fully in your mind a pair of thick arms wraps around you, and a heavy weight forces you to the ground.

You cry out at the sudden shove, palms scraped raw against the cement. The man behind you covers your body completely - his knees bracket yours, his hands rest on either side of your head, and there’s no part of the back of you that isn’t cloaked in him.

He doesn’t say anything as he ruts against you, the blood from his chest soaking through your tank top and making you cringe further away. You can’t stop the quiet stream of whimpers as you try to shrink into the stairs, try to get away from the beast behind you. He doesn’t care, only drops more of his weight onto you and pantomines fucking you.

You can feel the outline of his cock through his pants, as thin as the clothes both of you are wearing are. If you weren’t wearing your shorts, if he tugged the waistband of his pants down, he’d be inside of you.

The thought makes you tear up, makes you want to slam your head back and try to knee him in the balls, makes you want to fight.

But all your fight is gone. It died with Phil and your security system, and you’re left only with a weight in your bones that makes you wish you could sink through the floor. 

The hard plastic of the skull mask presses to the sensitive skin of your cheek, biting into the fat there. You can see the gleam of bright blue eyes in the sockets, the creases at the edges that tell you he’s smiling.

“You gonna fuck her here for the first time?” The white skull asks, voice deep enough that you hardly register the words. Your eyes are jerked to his form and it makes you shiver to see him sitting on the top of the staircase you’re pinned to, legs spread wide as he stares down at you with a cigarette between lips exposed by the tilted mask. You feel like a sacrifice, thrown to the stairs of a temple for a god.

“Can I?” The man over your shoulder pants, accent roughened from his own movements. You can’t tell if the wetness between your thighs is piss, blood, or an even worse option. You bite your tongue to hold back a whine, wince at the burst of iron in your mouth.

The man above you tilts his head, smoking blown into the air. “You fuck her here, you won’t get to go again on the roof. Don’t need you gettin’ spoiled.”

Your nails dig into the concrete, folding beneath the pressure as you shake beneath the red skulled man. He whines over you, like a petulant kid being told no for the first time, but goes still against you. That alone has you blinking open damp eyelashes, watching him from the corner of your eyes.

“Alright, I’ll wait,” he pants, chin resting on your soldier. “Give ye some time to get ready, huh lass? It’ll be easier for ye then. Just think about what we’ll do to ye, how good it’ll feel to get properly fucked, yeah?”

You sob when he grinds one final time against you, your hips pushed into the harsh edge of the stairs. 

He’s dragging you up after that, hardly letting either of you stand fully before shoving you up the stairs. You can’t catch your balance and let out a small cry as you fall back to your knees, mouth twisting in pain at the unforgiving surface against your naked knees.

You flinch when a gloved hand grasps your chin, tugging up until you’re forced to look towards the white skull above you.

You’ve landed between his feet, a boot on either side of your body, and if you’d moved forward even another half foot, you’d have face planted into his lap. 

Your heart skips a beat when you realize you’re making eye contact with him. The dark brown of his pupils blends almost seamlessly with what must be black paint smeared around his eye sockets, and the only reason you even realize you’re locked in a staring contest is the way the light reflects off the whites of his eyes.

You don’t have time to try and move away from him on your own (or, more accurately, to throw yourself backwards and pray you didn’t break something falling down the stairs) before a pair of bare hands are shoving you up from beneath the armpits, making you almost squeal as you jerk in the direction you’re forced.

“Up, c’mon,” red skull grunts, hands flitting from one part of your exposed skin to the next as he herds you upstairs. “Need to get inside ye, kitty, fuckin’ walk.”

You sob as you stumble up the stairs, the top of your foot scraping painfully against the concrete. You glance over your shoulder just in time to see White stand to follow you two, but you’re nearly sent sprawling again when Red only shoves you all the more harshly.

“Pl-please,” you manage to gasp, shoulder roughly bouncing off the wall. A glance up tells you you’re two full flights away from the rooftop. “Please, I don’t know what you want, b-but…” You can hardly talk around the sobs floating in your throat, choking you. “Please, please don’t hurt me.”

Red groans as he tugs you nearly off balance, the sound echoing off the walls and full of what you can only describe as hunger.

“Fuck, haven’t even gotten ye naked yet ‘n yer already beggin. Knew ye’d be perfect for us.”

You can hardly see through the tears in your eyes, the rest of the trip up to the roof all gray with streaks of red and black. You can’t focus enough to try and get away again, can’t get enough of your panic under control to fucking think.

The red skull catches you when you almost go careening over the rails, one broad hand catching you by the chest and gripping.

He groans, you flinch. “Fuck, cannae wait to get my mouth on these.” He pinches with his whole hand, your breast going sharp with pain on every fingertip. You whine, flinching further against his chest and trying to shrink away.

“Keep movin’, Soap.”

“Aye,” Red - Soap - pants, and you can practically hear the saliva gathered in his mouth when he swallows. “C’mon, kitty, only a little further.”

The blood on your hands has dried by the time White is shouldering open the door to the roof, your hands itching and the red flaking away every time your fingers twitch. The night air is a cold shock, just jarring enough to tug some reason back into your brain.

Soap doesn’t stop his herding until you’re far enough from the door for his partner to block it with an old metal chair, the back tucked under the door handle. You tuck your hands beneath your arms, shoulders curled in in an attempt to preserve warmth.

You wouldn’t have expected the night to be so cold. Half of the street is burning - flames painting the sky, giving you the exact opposite impression of the biting chill you feel. There are dozens of people in the streets, carrying guns and axes and chainsaws and all sorts of other weapons you can’t see. You feel bile rise in your throat when you realize the dark pools reflecting flames in the street are blood, not water.

“Fuckin’ finally,” Soap grumbles, and you don’t have any time to think before his mouth is pressed forcefully against yours, tongue shoving at your lips.

Your eyes are wide open, unlike his, and you make a shocked sound high in your throat at the sight of his maskless face. You can’t really see what he looks like with the way he’s pressed against you, but it’s a shock nonetheless.

You keep your lips pressed tightly together, no matter how much his tongue prods and tries to force its way into your mouth. You feel more than hear him laugh against you after a few long seconds, and one of his massive paws comes up to cradle your jaw pointer finger against your temple and thumb under your chin.

He stops trying to force himself between your lips after almost a minute, instead shifting to just… licking your lips. His tongue paints wide across your mouth, soaking you in his saliva. He’s almost scarily determined in the way he accosts you, his grip tight on your face as his other hand shifts to bruise your hip, covering what feels like the entire bottom-half of your face in his spit. You can’t help but grimace, trying to pull away from him, but he’s pressed too close.

“Can’t fuckin’ wait to be in ye,” he pants, breath warm and wet against your cheeks. “I know yer gonna squeeze me just right, bonnie, can tell already.”

“Please,” you say, voice weak. “Please, don’t, I don’t want you to-”

His groan is guttural. “Ye wanna know a secret, bonnie?” His voice is quiet between the two of you, bright blue eyes boring deep into yours when he pulls back. To your endless frustration, he’s handsome.

He leans close, whispering so low that you almost have to strain to hear hum. “That’s what makes you fun. Wouldnae be draggin’ you up here if ye wanted it, could get you any other night of the year for that. But it’s Purge night, lass… so you go ahead and fight as much as ye want, yeah? Just makes it more fun for me.”

You can’t help but sob at that, fat tears streaming down your face as he maneuvers you. You feel disconnected from your body as he forces you down to the ground, your soft belly left exposed when he pushes up your tank-top to cup one of your breasts, a whimper crawling out of your throat at the way the gravel presses into you.

You feel his breathing grow heavier as his hands move down to your shorts, shoving them off your hips and leaving them loose around your calves, completely disregarding your pitiful attempts at crawling away.

“Poor thing, been stuck in these the whole time? They fuckin’ reek, bonnie, no offense. That his piss or yours?”

You shake your head against the ground, face twisted up in acute humiliation. For some stupid reason you don’t want to even begin exploring, you find it necessary to whisper, “H-his.”

Soap hums, and you curse yourself inwardly when the humiliation is slightly alleviated.

“Get ‘em off her,” the white mask says, and you can’t help but jump at the sound of his voice. He’s sat on a large box only a few feet away, leaning back and relaxing, looking for all the world like he’s settled in for his favorite show. “Don’t want anythin’ of his touching her now.”

The sound Soap makes at that is animalistic, a snarl coming from deep in his chest that makes you flinch as he all but tears the shorts from your body. You wince at the wet splat of them landing several feet away.

You force your forehead into the gravel when your knees are forced wide, a rough hand and another pair of knees spreading you.

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no…” you can’t help but beg, voice trembling. “Please- god, please don’t-”

“Fuck,” he moans over your shoulder. “Yeah, keep goin’, lass.”

You sob at the feeling of warm skin against your bared behind, his thick length slotting itself smoothly between the slightly spread lips of your pussy. Your eyes squeeze shut and it takes all your willpower not to keep begging.

He slides himself back and forth against you for a few long breaths, using online the slight slickness from a mixture of piss and blood to get some friction. But to your immense horror, it only takes a few moments for the sensual movement against your clit to have your body preparing itself.

The slight wetness at your hole might be a betrayal, but it’s not nearly enough to ease the way when he pushes inside of you with no warning.

You nearly scream, a high sound of pure panic and pain when it feels like you’re being split in two. Somewhere off in the distance, you hear someone laugh. Right above you, Soap groans.

He’s buried himself to the hilt inside you before the pain has had any time at all to fade, and he’s fucking into you hardly a second after that.

Every thrust forces a grunt from your throat, the entire weight of him slammed into your back each time his balls smack against your clit. Your face is twisted up in a grimace, your whole body racked with pain that your assaulter couldn’t care less about.

“Fuck, kitty. Yer squeezin’ me so good, such a good girl, shit-! Knew you’d be ti-tight as a vice, fuck, but didn’t know you’d be squeezin’ me so tight I can hardly move.”

Your whine is plaintive, his moan is filled with pleasure.

“Yer gettin’ so wet for me, bonnie. Ye like this, huh? Bet you like it just as much as I do, gettin’ thrown around and takin’ advantage of. That it, kitty? Ye like being forced?”

You sob and shake your head against the ground, crying all the more when sharp pebbles dig into your cheeks.

“Naw, I think ye do. Why else’d you be- fuck, squeezin’ me like that?” 

“Cause- because-” you try, but you can’t get the breath in to get more than a single word out.

“Huh? Cause- cause-?” Soap mocks, his voice pitching up to mimic you as he plants himself deep inside you, grinding his hips against the meat of your ass. “C’mon, kitty, tell me why. Go on.”

“Cause I want you to stop!” You cry, balled up fist slamming into the gravel. You can’t help but whine ow when the sharp rocks poke into your skin, and Soap’s laugh shakes your entire body.

“Good,” he whispers, breath hot against your ear. “Squirm all ye want, lass. I love it when you fight.”

You can do nothing but go limp beneath him as he begins fucking you again, his pace somehow faster and even more relentless. It’s a small mercy that there’s no fight left in you, that you can’t give him any more pleasure. 

It certainly doesn’t stop him, though. Despite the fact that you’re doing your best impression of a dead fish, Soap pants and moans against your shoulder like you’re the single best thing he’s ever slept with. His cock is painfully hard inside of you, and his pace never once slows.

He’s loud when he finally comes, the sound of his orgasm clear enough that you know he’s thrown his head back to the sky. You can only whimper as he rolls his hips against you, working the last spurts of cum out of his cock and into your unwilling body. 

“Fuck,” he sighs in your ear, sounding far more satisfied than he has any right to. “Good girl, kitty. You were perfect.”

You sniffle beneath him when he slowly pulls out, both of you groaning at the sensation. He gives you an almost perfunctory pat on the ass, and stands to walk away. You manage to open your eyes and focus just in time to see him slide to the ground in front of his partner, leaning against the wall.

“Yer turn,” he sighs. “Warmed her up good for you, Lt.”

Despite the hatred boiling in your gut, you can do nothing but lay limp on the ground and watch as his partner stands, cracking his neck and moving towards your prone form. 

You want to run, you want to fight, but you can only watch the executioner come closer and wait for the metaphorical axe to fall.

He crouches by your head first, grasping your chin and pulling up until your torso tries to follow to alleviate the tension. He stares deep into your eyes for a long moment, and you find that it’s impossible to even tell where his pupils are with no real lighting. You feel like you’re truly looking into the empty eye sockets of a skull, no man and no mercy to be found.

“You’ll call me Ghost when I fuck you,” he rumbles, thumb stroking over the scrapes on your cheek. He doesn’t wait for a response, simply hauls you up by the shoulder and turns you onto your back. 

He’s rough with your limbs as he shoves your legs together and up, his forearm banding across the backs of both of your knees and holding them to your chest. You whimper and wiggles as best you can, but the bruising blow against your thigh is enough to have you gasping and stilling.

“Don’t fight,” he warns, and you feel his gloved fingers running up the crack of you. “You’re hurtin’ enough as it is, and I’m not gonna help. You wanna make it worse too?”

You shake your head, unsure if he can even see you through your legs. He doesn’t respond, and hums when he swipes two fingers through the liquid gathered between your lips.

You whine when those fingers move further down, a fresh panic creeping in when he presses around your back hole.

“You should be glad Soap fucked you so good,” Ghost drawls. “He gave you all the lube you’re gonna get.”

You feel like an animal when you whine again, unsure of how to even begin trying to speak. You yelp when a thick finger slides into your hole, completely disregarding any resistance and forcing its way in until it’s buried to the knuckle. Your cries go ignored.

“Quit squirmin’,” Ghost scolds, pulling his finger out to smack your ass before shoving two back in. “You’re fine.”

You’re not, you’re terrified and hurting and upset, but none of those things matter when Ghost only coaxes more of your slick and Soap’s spend to your unused whole so there’s less resistance. 

The only blessing you have is the fact that you can’t see more than the outline of Ghost’s figure with the way he’s got you positioned. You try your best to close your eyes and float into disassociation, and while you can’t fully manage it, the fact that you can’t see his face - his mask - helps you distance yourself from what’s happening.

The moment you realize this is of course the moment it stops being true. 

He seems to decide you’re ready after scissoring three fingers inside of you, hefting himself up so that he looms more fully over you. You can only whine as you feel the movements of him unbuckling his belt, feel the weight of him slap against your slightly spread cheeks.

Fresh tears fall past your lashes as you stare up into the fathomless darkness that are Ghost’s eyes. There’s nothing there, just a cold empty skull prepared to ruin you.

You don’t even have the energy to beg.

The stretch of him inside your ass is five times worse than Soap was. There’s no natural lubrication, and nowhere near enough synthetic lube either. Your hole feels like it’s on fire, the stretch white hot as he gives you no mercy.

You’re not even fully sure what you’re babbling as he slowly sinks to the root, only aware of the pain and fear and panic sitting heavy in your heart. You fear you’ll choke on your tears, head jerking back and forth.

He sighs when he bottoms out, heavy barrel chest forcing your knees past your shoulders. Your hips strain, just another pain from the endless abuse.

“There,” he grunts, patting your thigh when you go limp from it all. “Stay nice and still now, just need a place to dump my cum.”

Upsettingly enough, that hurts. The idea that you could mean nothing to this man is somehow worse than the thought of him having some other twisted feelings for you, your hormone-addled mind deeply insulted. 

His thrusts are long and slow, each one pulling nearly completely out before slamming back in. The sound of your skin slapping together is embarrassingly sexual, and a distant part of you is aware enough to pray that no one nearby had heard your screams and cries.

Ghost is near silent as he fucks you, the opposite of Soap. You can only hear the occasional grunt when you squeeze him because he’s inches away from your face - you can even feel the occasional gusts of breath when his hips start working a little faster. 

There’s nothing you can do but lay limply beneath him and take it, just a vehicle for his pleasure. You almost manage to float away, to pretend none of this is happening or has ever happened, when his free hand moves from your thigh to the top of your cunt.

You nearly squeal when he rubs your clit, the smooth leath gliding over your slick bud. Your eyes fly wide open, back arching as much as you can with three hundred pounds of man holding you down. The loud laugh from several feet away only makes you writhe more.

“Make her squirt, Lt!” Soap shouts, his voice carefree.

“Shut it, Johnny,” Ghost grunts, voice roughened with pleasure. You don’t even have time to focus on the fact that he’s just told you Johnny’s name, far too preoccupied with the tidal wave of pleasure rushing towards you.

You have no idea why it happens. You’re never quick to come - almost every single partner of yours has complained about you taking so long to get off, it’s been an Issue in several relationships. 

So it makes absolutely no sense that after hardly a minute of rough circles against your clit, you’re clenching down on the cock in your ass and moaning loudly as your orgasm overtakes you.

The natural clench of your body only makes the pain worse, a sharp spike of it running up your cunt and making your moan shift into more pained sounds. Ghost only moans in tandem above you, his thrusts becoming slightly less even as he lets your orgasm coax out his own.

You sob when you feel his cum paint your insides.

Unlike Johnny, Ghost doesn’t pull out after he comes. He lets your legs fall limp on either side of him, just barely managing to catch them for you before you slam your ankles to the ground. He leans his torso over yours, elbows resting on either side of your shoulders while you do nothing but wait beneath him.

He’s sweat off some of the makeup. This close, you can see hints of pale skin in the sockets of the mask. There’s nothing to read in his eyes, but that flash of skin tells you he’s still a man.

You swallow, trying to work moisture back into your dry mouth, and whisper, “Will… will you let me go now?”

You know it’s more likely he’ll kill you. It’s what you can only imagine happened to all those bodies in the streets, what you know happens to tens of thousands of women every year. 

So it’s not a surprise when he doesn’t answer you verbally, instead covering your mouth with his palm and pinching your nose shut with his fingers. 

Your eyes flutter shut after a moment, lungs tightening already, and all you can hope is that suffocation is a quick death.

———————————————————————

You wake, gasping, in a dark room. 

You’re lurching forward before you’re even fully aware that you’re awake, coughing loudly and gasping when it feels like your throat is bleeding.

“Oh, poor thing,” you hear a familiar accented voice coo, and a moment later there’s a warm hand patting your back. “Yer alright, deep breaths.”

You jerk back from Soap - Johnny - as soon as your coughing is under control, scrambling back on your palms and staring at him with wide eyes. He only grins at you, looking for all the world like any other normal man in his sweater and sweatpants.

He got changed at some point - these pants are clean. He’s not wearing his mask either, and you’re struck dumb by how non threatening he manages to look.

He also changed your clothes - or Ghost did, maybe. You try to cover your chest with one hand, but there’s no hiding the fact that you’re completely naked. 

Johnny only laughs at your attempted modesty. “Been starin’ at them for hours, lass. Ye’ve got nothin’ to hide.”

That’s… horrifying, and does absolutely nothing to calm you down.

It’s then that Ghost rises from a chair, stepping forward and making you aware of his presence. “Calm down, Johnny. We don’t want her panickin’ this early.”

Soap fully pouts, tilting his head at you before glancing up at his partner. “I haven’t even done anythin’, Ghost. Was just sayin’ hi, tha’s all.”

Ghost snorts, gripping Johnny’s mohawk and tugging back until the other man sprawls back on his ass. “You know how you are, pup. Give your kitty some space.”

Johnny listens, crossing one leg beneath him and bending the other close to his chest, looking casual as can be. Meanwhile your heartbeat only gets faster, and you wince when you happen to lean too far one direction and feel a throbbing reminder of what these men did to you.

Ghost steps forward again, crouching just out of arm's reach. You realize he’s not wearing the same skull mask as before, but a balaclava with a printed skull pattern instead. His eye sockets are unpainted, and you’re shocked by how such little things make him look so much more human. 

“You can calm down. Long as you behave, nothin’ much worse’ll happen to you.”

You find yourself almost comically not-comforted by that, and can do nothing more than stare at him with wide eyes. 

“Where…” Your voice cracks, so you swallow and start again. “Where am I?”

It’s Johnny who speaks up. “Our place. We finally brought ye home with us, kitty.”

The world feels like it’s slowed around you, and your eyes drag from one kidnapper to the other. You have to swallow again to work any moisture into your bone-dry mouth.

“Is the Purge over?”

The creases at the corner of Ghost’s eyes are painfully obvious with how pale his skin is, and you shudder at the thought of him smiling.

“Been over for… what, five hours now? Somethin’ like that.”

You can’t fight the tremble in your voice now. “Then… then you have to let me go.”

Ghost’s head tilts, the creases get deeper. “Do I?”

You nod with as much conviction as you can - which is almost none. “You can’t keep me here. You’re breaking the law.”

Ghost leans closer on the balls of feet and you lean further back, your spine pressing into the wall behind you. “Are we now? And who do you think will stop us, pet?”

“The- the police. Someone will report me missing, they’ll come looking.”

“Oh? And you think they’ll come here?”

You nod as best you can, and jump when Ghost laughs. It’s low and quiet, only a few beats, but it’s like gasoline thrown on the small fire of panic in your mind.

“You have no idea where you even are, and you think they’ll find you? I hate to break it to you doll, but you’ll be lucky if they look for you for a week. You have any idea how many people go missin’ after the Purge?”

Your breath is quickening. “So that’s it? You’re just going to… going to keep me here, forever? What are you even going to do?”

His laugh is sharper, meaner this time. “We’re gonna do a whole lot more of what we did last night, pet. Keep you as a little cocksleeve, a pretty thing tucked in the basement just for our entertainment. Ain’t that right, Johnny?”

You manage to tear your eyes away to look at Soap and see that he’s nearly salivating, having inched closer and closer and shifted so he’s knelt behind Ghost. There’s a feral spark in his eyes that has every hair on your body standing straight up.

“Yeah, tha’s right. Don’t worry, lass, we’ll make sure yer never lonely. Might even stay the night with you, cuddle up in the winter. Bet ye could keep our cocks nice and toasty in the cold, huh? Gonna let us use ye as a little heater?”

“A heater, a mattress, a fleshlight… your future’s lookin’ bright, sweetheart,” Ghost drawls, mockery dripping heavily from the cruel words.

Your eyes dart back and forth between the two men and their predatory stares, your heart racing against your ribcage.

It’s not a conscious choice for you to launch yourself towards them, reaching out and clawing your sharp nails down Soap’s face with a feral scream that tears your throat to shreds. 

Even as Ghost throws you off and forces you to the ground, you vow to fight these men to the end. You’ll kill them both if you have to, leave them dead and wander however many miles it is back to your apartment.

Ghost only laughs when you shout this in his face, and you scream as you lunge forward, just managing to catch his masked chin between your teeth and bite.

With your fight instinct back in full force, you’re ready to make their lives hell.

[dirtyvulture]

Darkest Knight - Part 2

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Mutant!Reader

18+ only, read at your own risk

Summary: You meet a pretty woman in a bar...

Word count: 4954

AN: Click here for Part 1!

Thanks to everyone who read and interacted with Part 1. Things get a little wild in this one...

“I should have never come here,” Natasha cries. “You don’t deserve this, after everything you’ve done for me–”

“I can help you,” you insist. “Please, Nat. Just tell me who they are–”

She looks up at you, and even in the darkness the fear in her eyes is unmissable.

“The Red Room.”

The words send physical shivers down your spine. They weren’t ones you had expected to ever hear again, and you were shocked that this woman knew of its existence, let alone escaped. Now, you can fully sympathize with and understand her fear.

“Put your shoes on. We’ll go out the back door. Hurry.” You speak in short but commanding sentences, directing Natasha into the kitchen. The pounding on the door escalates to heavy, inconsistent thuds, and you know the “officers” are using their battering ram now. Luckily, you had assembled this cabin yourself, board by board, with the door built of solid oak, so that would buy you some precious time.

You stop at the freezer to grab a plastic bag that Natasha doesn’t even look at. She’s staring at the back door, practically shaking with fear, and anger fills you so suddenly you can’t see. But you can’t slip into one of your rages now, not with Natasha being in such close proximity and having no idea what you’re actually capable of. If she knew who you really were, what you were, she’d run happily into the Red Room goons’ arms and beg them to take her away from you. 

On the other side of the back door, you hear the crunch of boots on fresh snow, the anxious heartbeats, and the pump of a shotgun.

You don’t have any time to warn Natasha before you jump in front of her, shielding her body with yours just in time as a round of buckshot blasts through the door into your chest. The pain is like an explosion that takes your breath away, but luckily darkness engulfs you before it becomes overbearing.

Natasha screams when your weight falls back into her. You are ridiculously, unexpectedly heavy, almost pinning her down, but she manages to scramble back in time, leaving you to thud onto the floor. She stares at your body in shock, where lead pellets are buried in your chest, blood seeping out to soak your layers of shirts. Natasha instinctively gravitates for you, trying to find an area to apply pressure so she can slow the bleeding. 

“Y/N, Y/N,” she whimpers, ignoring the fist punching through the weakened door and opening the lock from the outside. 

“Hey, I found her!”

“And you took out the other one!”

“Natalia…” someone says in a mocking voice. “Natalia, come home to us…”

Natasha’s head snaps up and adrenaline fills her veins as she blindly launches herself at the soldier who killed you. She tears the shotgun out of his hands and clubs him on the head with it, knocking him down and smashing the butt into his helmet’s face shield until it cracks. She hasn’t felt fury like this in a while, putting her in an almost euphoric state, but her focus is a concentrated pinpoint, and she doesn’t see the second soldier behind her pointing a gun at her head.

“RAHHHHH!” 

Natasha ducks, wondering if someone let a large animal into your home. She catches a flash of silver as the muzzle of the soldier’s gun falls harmlessly to the floor as if sliced right off. You’re back on your feet all of a sudden, teeth bared in a ferocious snarl, three silver, knife-like claws protruding from your knuckles. You slash at the soldier, tearing through his body armor effortlessly and puncturing his heart. He crumples next to his partner, who’s shaking in complete terror while crawling away from you.

“Don’t look, Nat,” you growl and she turns away, flinching when she hears the man’s cut off scream. She jumps when you grab her shoulder, afraid that she’ll find herself on the other end of your knives, but you shake her gently. When she looks at you, your knives are gone and so are the buckshot holes in your chest. 

“How are you–What did you–” Natasha stammers.

“It’s okay,” you say, taking a step back from her when you sense her overwhelming levels of stress. “I’ll take care of you. I promise.”

Natasha slips her hand into her pocket, where your stolen pocket knife is. It would be like trying to fight you off with a toothpick, but Natasha Romanoff wasn’t one to go down without a fight.

“Nat, please. We can get away on my motorcycle. Come on.”

You’ve made no move to hurt her, keeping your hands where she can see them. Even though you had turned the Red Room soldiers into shish kabobs, you hadn’t let them suffer, taking them down with deadly accuracy and efficiency. Deep down, Natasha knows she can trust you, but her body is having a very resistant physical reaction to going with you. After all, anyone’s natural instinct would be to run very fast and far from away from a person who literally came back from the dead and mowed down two grown men with knives built into their arms. 

“Nat?” you prompt a final time, not sure what you’re going to do if she refuses to go with you. 

“Okay,” she says, wringing her hands together frantically. “I trust you.” 

It means more than you can explain that she’s put her faith in you and you lead her out of the bloodied kitchen. You race to the shed, where you tear off the padlock with your bare hands. There’s only one helmet, which you clasp around Natasha’s head. You throw one leg over the seat of your motorcycle and it sinks considerably under your weight. Natasha slides on behind you, wrapping her arms around your muscular torso, unable to resist the waves of body heat coming off of you.

She hardly notices the blistering wind as you take off into the forest, somehow finding your way around trees and rocks despite keeping the headlights off. Her fingers are clenched, almost frozen, to the plastic bag you had made such an effort to retrieve from the freezer. She has no interest in its contents now, clinging to you desperately and closing her eyes, hoping that when she opens them she’ll wake up from this nightmare.

You eventually turn the motorcycle onto a road and careen on. 

*********************************************************************** It’s probably not the wisest idea to stop at a motel, but you’re certain Natasha is still exhausted from the long night that’s not over, and you need some time to collect yourself. You park your motorcycle in the dirt lot and shake Natasha awake.

“We’ll stay here for a few hours, then keep moving,” you say, gently prying the plastic bag from her. Her hands are freezing and you feel awful for not taking care of her better. 

“But the men…they could catch up–”

“You need to get proper rest,” you interrupt. You’re not sure how many hours she had been awake before she met you at the bar, and while she’d already been looking better after dinner, you didn’t want to push her.

“This is too dangerous–” Natasha protests.

“They know you’re with me,” you say, and this quiets her. “So they’ll need to come up with a new plan if they want you.” You untwist the plastic bag, pulling out a soggy wad of cash. Her eyes grow wide. “This should keep us covered for a few days.” Then, you notice the rusty red splotches of dried blood splattered across your shirt. If you walk up to the front desk like this, the manager would call the cops. “Uh…shit.”

“Here.” Natasha takes her jacket off, despite your protests for her to keep it on, and she wraps the sleeves around your shoulders, carefully draping them in a way that hides the blood splatter. She fights back a visible shiver. “Much better.”

“Thanks. Let’s go quick,” you say, herding her into the tiny front office that barely fits the two of you side-by-side. “Two rooms,” you tell the pimply boy behind the dusty desk who smells like energy drinks and weed. 

“Huh?” he responds, blinking slowly at you.

“Two rooms. Please,” you say through your teeth, pulling out a few bills to show your commitment.

A long pause as you stare each other down.

“Uh, yeah we don’t have two rooms,” the boy says. “Just one–”

“That’s fine, then,” Natasha intervenes, as you can consider hefting the kid over your shoulder and dragging him out to the dumpster around the corner. “We’ll take whatever you have left.”

“Sure.”

You reluctantly hand over the deposit and he disappears into the back room to find the keys. Mumbling under your breath about the lack of hiring standards, you rub absently at your chest and Natasha looks at you in concern.

“You okay?” she whispers.

“Yeah.” You drop your hand back to your side. “Probably gonna cough up some buckshot later, to be honest.”

Natasha doesn’t know if she should laugh or leave. “How did you…” she trails off, searching for the right words.

“Heal so fast?” you supply. “Always have. I was literally just…born that way.”

“And the…” Natasha gestures to her own hands and forearms. 

“Claws?” you finish. “Been with me since the beginning, too.” Your answers are vague, almost useless in the new number of questions they spark, but Natasha knows now is not the time. The boy finally returns with a key hooked to rabbit’s foot, which you accept with a very judgemental scowl, but are very glad to finally be on your way to some privacy for the night.

***********************************************************************

Natasha startles awake, trying to piece together the traumatic memories of the past eight hours into a coherent storyline. She’s alone in the motel room, her anxiety skyrocketing at the thought that you might have ditched her, when the door creaks open and you step back in. You’re wearing new clothes and holding a crumpled white bag stained with grease. 

“Did you sleep okay?” you grunt, tossing the bag onto the bed by her feet. “I got you some breakfast. It’s probably shit, but everything else nearby is closed.”

“Thanks.” Natasha reaches for the bag, despite having almost no appetite. She takes out one of the sandwiches, but can’t bring herself to take a bite. “Y/N, I think we need to get moving again. We’ve hung around for too long–”

“Eat your damn sandwich, then we’ll leave,” you gruff, and it’s almost endearing to Natasha how grumpy and thoughtful you can be at the same time. “But you know, we can’t keep running forever.”

“We can run far enough,” she insists. You don’t respond and Natasha realizes you’re waiting for her to take a bite of her egg and sausage sandwich. Fighting back a smile of amusement, she nibbles off the edge of the dry muffin and you nod in satisfaction. 

“Look Nat, I want to help you. You know that, right? But I’m…familiar…with these Red Room goons and–” Her eyebrows shoot up as she keeps chewing. “That’s another story for another day.”

“Did you escape from them, too?” Natasha asks, her eyes wide. 

“Well, not exactly. But I know who they are. What they are. And what they do to women like you.”

Natasha tenses suddenly, sensing judgment from you. She’s ready to defend herself, that she didn’t let them break her or keep her hostage, when you add, “They should be burned to the ground. Just a bunch of psychopathic perverts.” She laughs out loud, startling you because you weren’t even trying to make a joke, but you let out a snort. 

“But they’re a damn smart bunch of perverts,” you continue. “And you know we can’t take them alone. I have some old friends that can help us. I’ll take you to them.”

“More old friends? Like the one who’s clothes I’m wearing?” Natasha says, wanting to join in on the lighter mood, but she immediately regrets so when she sees the sadness cloud your face.

“Not like that,” you murmur. “She would’ve helped us, though. But she’s gone now, so…”

Natasha doesn’t know what to say, guilt gnawing at her stomach for making such an unnecessary joke.

“They’re in New York. It’s been a while since I last saw them, but I’m sure they wouldn’t mind us stopping by,” you say to break the silence. “They’d help us without question.”

“Even against…the Red Room?”

“They’d have those Red Room schmucks for breakfast,” you chortle, the mood lightening once more. The knot in Natasha’s stomach loosens, and she takes another bite of the sandwich. “But it’s gonna take us a while to get there. And we’ll probably need a car…”

“I’ll handle it,” Natasha volunteers.

You look at her with a raised eyebrow, challenging but curious. “Okay. We’ll go when you’re done eating.”

***********************************************************************

While you clear out the motel room of all your tracks, Natasha triumphantly returns with the keys to a large blue Ram truck. You’re sad to leave your motorcycle behind, but it’s served you well, so you take it for one final ride to a strip mall, Natasha following in her menacing blue truck. You park in a shaded corner, saying good-bye with a caress to the faded leather seat, then join Natasha in the truck. 

With good weather and little traffic, the drive would take about 40 hours. And even though you’d be able to make the entire drive yourself with minimal stops, Natasha won’t let you. It’s a long first day, stopping for more junk food and bathroom breaks. You buy a phone from a gas station to text your contact in Westchester, and in the few responses you share, they seem eager for your arrival despite your circumstances. 

Another night is spent at a shoddy motel, and this time you don’t automatically ask for separate rooms. Natasha seems comfortable in your presence–tolerant, at the very least–and you’re starting to enjoy her company too. She keeps to herself for the most part and even though you can feel her studying you sometimes, she doesn’t ask anything inappropriate. She also tries to take care of you, though you think of yourself as the last person who needs it, but it’s cute how she picks up on your favorite gas station snacks (the jerky and Snickers bars) and buys you extra packets behind your back, and she offers to drive almost every time the two of you get back into the truck.

So on the third and final day of your trip, when Natasha begs to make a stop at a mall in Ohio, you agree, mostly because you know how happy it will make her. While the mall itself is disappointingly unimpressive, Natasha has the biggest smile as she drags you around under the pretense that she wants to find some clothing that wasn’t bought from a gas station, but she tries to browse every store, commenting which retailers have taken the old spots of familiar locations from her childhood. 

“Try this one on,” Natasha says, thrusting yet another checkered flannel shirt at you.

“They all look the same,” you grumble, feeling that you may be colorblind because you can’t tell what’s different about the prior three she’s made you try. 

“No, this one goes better with your eyes,” she says, her cheeks suddenly turning red when she realizes what she’s said.

You grin at her. “Then I’ll buy this one.”

You proudly wear the shirt out of the store, sneaking a glance to see Natasha’s expression and she does seem even more excited than when you first arrived at the mall. For lunch, you stop in the food court, and while you’re wolfing down a triple-patty burger with frightening intensity, Natasha suddenly reaches across the table and grabs your hand.

“What?” You stop mid-bite.

“Behind you,” she hisses.

Wiping grease off your chin, you drop your shoulder and turn your head subtly. But you know immediately who Natasha’s referring to. A woman with long black hair tied into an immaculate ponytail, not a single stray hair flying about, wearing a black overcoat and gloves, strides towards the food court with purposeful, powerful steps. You recognize her posture, her outfit, and the cold, emotionless expression on her face. 

“Holy shit,” you mumble. “They sent a Widow after us.” 

“We have to go!” Natasha tries yanking up but she isn’t strong enough. “How do you think she found us?”

“They’ve probably been tracking us the whole time,” you say, sad to leave the remainder of your meal. “They were just waiting for the right time to strike.” It’s hard to walk fast without making it obvious that you’re running from someone. You offer Natasha your hand and she takes it without hesitation. You drag her along a little, urging her without words. “It’ll be fine, Nat. We’ll take care of her and keep moving.”

“We shouldn’t have stopped here. This was all my stupid idea,” she says. 

“It wasn’t a stupid idea. I liked it.”

If the two of you weren’t running from a Widow, Natasha would have stopped and hugged you. Although she hasn’t known you for more than four days, she feels completely safe with you and has a deep admiration for you. You’ve never prodded about her past, you’ve never judged from where she came from. While you’re not such an open book yourself, Natasha can see how much you’ve relaxed around her from your first meeting. She likes your calmness, your willingness to drop literally everything in your life for her, with no expectation of anything in return. She’s never met someone like you before but hopes that you’ll let her stay around even after this mess is cleaned up. 

“Go this way,” you say, nudging Natasha into a maintenance corridor, having seen a sign for roof access on one of the walls. At least you could take care of the Widow without worrying about innocent casualties–assuming there weren’t more hiding up there. “Take the stairs,” you instruct Natasha, pushing her into the stairwell.

“I hope you don’t expect me to jump from the roof,” she replies.

“Well, if we have to, I’ll jump first and catch you,” you quip, but there is no time for her to linger on your comment. She dashes up the three flights of stairs with lightning speed, while you lumber up behind her.

“The door’s locked,” she says, stopping in her tracks.

“Move.” Your middle claw rips out of your hand and you slide it between the jamb and wall to cut the lock. Throwing your weight against the door, it pops open easily and you stumble out into the unusually bright outside. “Let’s go.”

“Where?”

“Just hide somewhere and wait.”

Natasha is skeptical of your plans, not wanting to be caught in a dead end with another Widow, but she hurries towards an air conditioning unit. When she turns around, she sees you’re not following her and are facing the roof access door, your claws sliding out as the Widow makes her appearance, now wearing a gas mask.

“Y/N!” Natasha screams with no other way to stop you.

The Widow tosses a metal canister that immediately releases a thick, white fog. It hides the Widow and worse, burns your eyes until they water and destroys your sense of smell with a piercing, peppery odor.

“Shit.” You drop onto your belly, searching for a breathable pocket of air. You hear another canister clang to the ground, spreading the white fog farther and farther. As you crawl to where you think Natasha is taking cover, the unmistakable pops of gunfire ring through your skull. 

Your sense of sight, smell, and now sound are completely unreliable and fear ices your veins as you think about Natasha’s safety. But she’s also a Widow herself, so you’ll have to trust that she can handle herself while you figure out the way to her. You force yourself up, wiping snot on the sleeves of your new flannel and hunkering down, focusing hard to feel the vibrations of movement on the roof. You pivot left, inching forward cautiously. The faint click of a rifle trigger alerts you and you lash out with your claws, slicing uselessly through the fog. But it was nothing but a ruse, as the Widow comes up behind you and stabs you in the neck with a pronged instrument that sends hundreds of volts of electricity through your body. Your muscles seize and you collapse to the ground, seizing uncontrollably.

You’re pretty sure you’ve bitten your tongue off as blood fills your mouth and you start choking, unable to roll to your side to cough it out. The Widow points the muzzle of her at your face, pressing the cold metal tip to your forehead. You bare your teeth in a vicious snarl, wishing you could will control back into your body to slash her throat out.

“Good night, mutt,” the Widow says. 

***********************************************************************

Natasha tucks her mouth and nose into her elbow, charging into the fog while wielding the tiny pocket knife she stole from your apartment. She tackles the Widow with her full bodyweight, puncturing the blade through her vest deep enough that the Widow screams, dropping her gun.  Knocking off the Widow’s mask and pulling her into a tight headlock, Natasha squeezes her arms as tight as she can, counting the number of seconds it takes before the assassin finally stops struggling and slumps to the ground. With watering eyes from the gas, Natasha strips the Widow of her equipment, despite knowing that at her peak, her bare hands would be deadly enough weapons. The gas starts to spread further and further and Natasha can finally see your convulsing body. 

She runs over to you, tentatively yanking the taser out of your neck. You take a huge breath of air, rolling to your side and coughing hard. 

“Thanks,” you mutter as your tongue grows back. Shakily you get to your feet, touching the side of your neck and feeling the jagged openings left by the taser slowly closing. “Where is she? I’m gonna–”

“No. Let’s go,” Natasha intervenes, grabbing onto a handful of your shirt to stop you, like you’re a dog on a leash. You push her away, stomping over to where the Widow is lying motionless. Your claws pop out. She won’t feel anything. 

“Y/N, STOP!” Natasha yells and you freeze, turning to glare at her. 

“They sent her to kill us,” you seethe.

“But she’s not herself,” Natasha begs. “She’s being controlled. You know that. Please don’t kill her. She was just…She was just following orders.”

You clench your fist, the muscles in your forearm rippling as you retract your claws. Natasha gulps and takes a visible step back from you. She’s never seen such rage in your features before, not that it would be unwarranted, but it almost seems like you’re on the verge of completely losing control. Your expression twitches when you smell the fear rolling off Natasha in waves. She’s not afraid of the Widow anymore. She’s afraid of you. 

“Fine. Sorry,” you grunt, backing up. You want to put your claws down your throat for scaring her like this. Your whole life you had fought to convince everyone that you were more than the animal you were born to be. It always felt like a losing battle. 

“No, I’m sorry,” Natasha says. “I said something that upset you.”

“Is that mine?” You’re suddenly distracted by the sight of a small knife poking out of the Widow’s side.

“Uh…” Natasha glances at you sheepishly. “I thought it would come in handy eventually.”

“Hmm.” You don’t dwell on it though, having other things to worry about. “Let’s just get the hell out of here.”

The parking lot is a jumbled mess as people hurry to leave as emergency vehicles enter the premises. You keep your head down, hoping you’re moving fast enough for no one to notice the few stains of blood on your collar. Natasha races to keep pace with you. She’s barely able to jump into the truck in time before you have it in drive, speeding out of the parking lot. 

“Thank you,” Natasha finally whispers as you merge onto the highway.

“For what?” you grunt, your knuckles clenched tightly around the steering wheel.

“For not killing her.”

You make another grunting noise.

“You know she doesn’t deserve that.”

“It’s not about what she deserves,” you snarl. “She was there to kill me and take you back to the Red Room. Which she failed to do. So if anything, the Red Room will probably kill her–”

“They wouldn’t do that,” Natasha interjects. “The Widows are huge investments. That’s why they want me alive.”

“Well, they don’t really seem to care if you get in their crosshairs of trying to kill me.” You don’t like how your words come out, but it’s too late to take them back now. You know none of this is Natasha’s fault–you were the one who willingly came to her aid, who insisted on driving her across the country, who offered your own friends to help. 

“You don’t deserve this either.” Natasha’s voice drops. She sounds small, and when you side-eye her, she’s curled up in her seat in a way that makes her look small too. You frown. “You were just trying to be a decent person, and now you’ve had your life threatened several times, you had to leave your home, you’re being chased across the country–”

“Stop it,” you interrupt. “If this is the consequences of my actions, then so be it. I’d do it again a thousand times for you. Because you’re worth it.”

“I am?” Natasha looks at you in disbelief, partially because this is the most emotional she’s ever heard you and partially because she wonders if this is you admitting you have feelings for her.

“Yes,” you confirm, giving her a slight smirk before focusing on the road. 

***********************************************************************

The final stretch of the drive is rough, but you make it. It’s nighttime now and exhaustion weighs on your shoulders from the entire day’s events. You shake Natasha awake as you park on the driveway.

“We’re here,” you say, cutting the lights and turning off the engine. Natasha gets out of the car, gaping at the enormous mansion you’ve stopped in front of. As you walk with her up to the front door, she stops to read the plaque.

“‘Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters,’” she says. “Hang on, this place is a school? Why would you bring us here? You’re putting children in danger, Y/N–”

“Hold on,” you cut her off. “The kids and staff here? They’re just like me.”

“Just like you? Meaning–” Before Natasha can finish her sentence, the front doors swing open and a woman with spiky gray hair appears, throwing herself at you.

“Y/N!” she cries.

“Hey, Ororo,” you mumble, returning her hug with a little less passion. “Sorry to arrive so late. Ran into a little trouble earlier…”

“You made it safely and that’s all that matters.” She pats your shoulders affectionately. “Hi there. I’m Ororo,” the woman introduces herself to Natasha, awkwardly standing off to your side. “But the kids around here call me Storm.”

“I’m Natasha.”

“Please, come in. It’s freezing and I know you’ve both been on the road for days,” Ororo invites. “Your room is all prepped, Y/N.”

You hadn’t even thought to ask her for another guest room, but you have a feeling Natasha won’t mind sharing again. You gesture for her to enter the mansion first. She seems in awe, and a little overwhelmed, that this building had been converted into a boarding school. Maybe later you’ll take her to the basements to show her the other half of the school. 

A man wearing ruby sunglasses despite the midnight hour stands at the bottom of the staircase, a beautiful red-headed woman by his side.

“Jean,” you breathe, almost frozen in her presence.

“Hi, Y/N,” Jean says in a sultry voice that makes your heart beat embarrassingly faster. Natasha feels a prick of jealousy when she sees the way you’re looking at this new woman. 

“Y/N!” the man barks.

“Good to see you too, Scott,” you add, not noticing the way Natasha moves closer to you, almost brushing against your arm. “This is Nat. She’s been traveling with me for the past few days, and–”

“You’re the one who escaped the Red Room,” Scott says, and Natasha cringes.

“Yeah, she is,” you answer, annoyed by his tone of voice.

“And how do we know that we can trust her?” Scott asks.

“Because I trust her.”

There’s a pause while Scott accepts this answer. 

“I just finished heating dinner up for you two. It’s in the kitchen,” Ororo interrupts. She’s the only one thrilled to host guests, you think. 

“Thanks, Ro,” you say.

“Well now that you’re back, Y/N, we actually need a substitute P.E. teacher tomorrow morning,” Scott teases, his arm going around Jean’s waist. “How about filling in, for old time’s sake?”

You raise your arm, extending the middle claw only. Everyone howls in laughter.

“Put that away,” Ororo chastises. “Come and eat now, before the food goes cold.”

You and Natasha start walking after her, but you stop when you hear the whir of wheels, an older bald man zipping up to you in a wheelchair. 

“Professor,” you greet, for the first time taking the initiative to hug, leaning down to embrace him. “Thanks for helping us out. We really appreciate it.”

The man smiles, a twinkle in his eye. “Of course. Welcome back, Y/N.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

AN: Click here for Part 3!

Hopefully, going to the X-Men was a wise decision on R's part...

Let me know what you think. :) Please leave likes, comments, and reblogs.

[nivisdreaming]

4 words

Hard dick

Grey Sweatpants

exactly. you get me.

Summary: Eddie’s thrilled to finally have his own place. Or at least, mostly his, since he does have a new roommate. A roommate that’s starting to give him some troubles, since she can’t seem to keep it down, and the walls aren’t all that thick. But, maybe she doesn’t actually mind all that much?

WC: ~1.8k

Tags: Roommates to lovers, mutual pining, a touch of emotional angst, fem!reader, 2nd POV, surprisingly un-smutty, cliffhanger, but still, exhibitionism, voyuerism, daddy kink, f!masturbation, vibrator use, mentioned m!masturbation, dry humping, bondage, heavy dom/sub undertones, implied oral (m!receiving)

“I’m gonna have to fucking move out. That’s my only option.” Eddie rests his forehead against the cool metal of the table in front of him with a thump.

“Don’t be so dramatic, I’m sure there’s something else you two can work out!”

“He has plenty of options, Stevie, however he is incapable of all of them because they include talking to pretty girls, something Edward Munson clearly has a chronic phobia of,” Robin chimes in as she lifts a french fry to her mouth. Eddie rolls his eyes despite knowing she can’t see them and lets out a long groan.

“What would I even say to her?? ‘Hey by the way, our apartment has the thinnest fucking walls in existence and I can hear every time you get off and it keeps getting me fucking hard so I would appreciate if you could not!’”

Steve makes an indigent sound. “Wait, hold your horses, you never mentioned this was a mutual thing Munson! This isn’t just a noise complaint, this is you dragging your roommate into your kink escapades, handcuffs on the wall guy!-“ He’s cut off by Robin bursting into laughter and throwing a playful punch to his arm.

Eddie grumbles a complaint and looks upwards just to fold his arms across his chest in annoyance. A pout crosses his face as Steve chuckles with Robin. “In my defense, it’s not like she didn’t get there on her own just fine,” he mutters, giving another roll of his eyes.

Robins jaw drops, “Wait, hold on, what?” Steve’s eyes fly between Eddie and Robin as he tries to puzzle out Eddie’s statement, his hand frozen over the basket of fries he was reaching into.

Now it’s Eddie turn to laugh, just glad he can finally find some humor out of this interaction with his friends. “I know I told you guys she was the total innocent type when I moved in, but, based on what I’ve been hearing… I assumed wrong,” he says with a smirk. He looks between Steve and Robin, both of them stunned into silence for a moment while Eddie takes another sip of his drink. “It would be easier if she was like, a vanilla girl or something, but god help me, I’m not allowed a bit of that Munson luck for once in my life. I just get to listen to her practically begging to be taken while knowing she’s not actually mine to be taken.”

Robin’s thoughts finally seem to reboot as she gives a clearing shake to her head. Steve shoots a nervous glance around them, trying to make sure there’s no children in range who could possibly overhear this, while she takes a long slurp from her milkshake. “Okay, but consider, could she be?”

Eddie raises an eyebrow. “Could she be what?”

“Yours for the taking, dummy. If you’re really.. overhearing as often as you say you are, there’s no way someone else has a claim on her, right? I fail to see the blockage here. Besides the you part of the equation, but that’s fixable bud!”

“Hey! First of all, ouch, my ego! Second of all, I’m not gonna fuck my roommate. I’m not even going to ask to fuck my roommate, because that’s weird and like you said I’m me!” Eddie scoffs and downs the rest of his soda. “Neither of you are helpful, and I’m not spending the last 13 minutes of my lunch break being made fun of,” he climbs out of his seat and pulls on his jacket, “Sayonara, suckers!” He turns to leave, but Steve grabs him by the sleeve.

“Eddie. Look, I know Robin and I joke, but seriously. I’ve seen how you look at her and how she looks at you. You’re not as bad as you think, you know that? This isn’t Hawkins High anymore, you’re not ‘The Freak’, you’re Eddie Munson, the cool metal-rocker she shares an apartment with.” Eddie shoots him an unimpressed stare. “I’m not saying do anything you don���t want to, okay? Just… keep your options open, okay?” Steve pulls away from Eddie to scratch the nape of his neck nervously. Eddie nods and sidesteps around him, leaving Steve to depart back to Robin while he briskly makes the 10 minute walk back to the garage.

—

By the time Eddie makes it home from work his roommate is already holed up in their room, but when Eddie enters his shared-wall bedroom, he is met with silence on her end.

He tosses his jacket off and flops onto the bed, a heavy sigh escaping his lips as he reflects on his day. Work was the usual, a few bitchy customers but nothing out of the ordinary. It’s his lunch with Robin and Steve that’s really eating at him, running circles around his mind and planting ideas in his head that previously he would have only entertained as fantasies. He hates it, how dirty it makes him feel, to imagine his innocent, introverted roommate pinned underneath him and making those sweet mewling sounds at his touch instead of her own, but he can only suppress his urges for so long, especially when he hears the mechanical buzzing start sounding through the wall.

They didn’t necessarily start as dirty thoughts. At first, he was imagining making dinner for you, stirring a big pot of mac and cheese while you sat next to him atop the counter, legs swinging back and forth while he let you ramble your day just to enjoy the sound of your voice in his ears. Then it shifted to eating the dinner in front of TV, you curled up into his side while you ate and giggled at one of the cheesy rom-coms you roped him into watching. Then he was placing a kiss on your cheek just to watch you get flustered, and you were getting brave and leaning in for a full kiss, and if he squeezed his eyes shut he could imagine the sighs coming from the other room were his to inhale. His breath to steal from your lips as he trailed down your neck, marking you with red and purple fireworks until there was no covering up how he was corrupting your innocence. His.

A high-pitched whimper snapped him out of his daydreams, followed by a harsh huff. He barely had time to register that the whirring sound had ceased when a knock came from his door as it was nudged open.

“Hey Eddie? Do you have any batteries I can borrow?” Eddie flies up to a sitting position, making eye contact with the meek figure standing in his doorway. You’ve got a blanket wrapped around your body, held together with a tight grip in the front to keep yourself completely covered. Or, almost completely covered, because the blanket bunches behind you as you shuffle, revealing your bare legs up to the tops of your knees. Eddie can’t seem to keep his eyes on yours anymore.

You shift uncomfortably under his gaze, but take a step into the room, not away. “Eddie, you’re… staring,” you take another step forward, “This.. might seem a bit weird, but I really like those pants on you. Especially like this.”

Eddie lets out a high pitched squeak as he takes in his own grey sweatpants, and the outline of his erection that clearly showing through them. He lurches to grab a nearby pillow to cover himself, but a hand around his wrist stops him. In front of him, you’ve allowed the blanket to fall away in favor of halting his movement, revealing yourself to be nothing but a pair a white cotton panties with a very visible wet splotch. “Just wait a second,” you release his hand and lean over to shut his door and lock it. When you turn back around, Eddie is wide-eyed and disheveled, as if starstruck by you. “I was gonna let you make the first move with all of this, but I think the endorphin rush has got me all confident, so I’m just gonna go for it,” You return to Eddie’s bedside and place one hand on each of his shoulders before swinging your leg across his lap and sitting directly atop him, laying your crotch right on his.

Eddie gasps and involuntarily bucks his hips upwards at the sudden pressure, further encouraging you. “I know you’ve been listening to me. The thin walls thing goes both ways, I can hear when you get off with me. Was hoping you wouldn’t make me ask for it, but I can’t wait anymore,” you whisper in his ear as you begin to grind, rutting your hips against his to stimulate your clit. You sigh happily at the feeling of his hands trailing up your back, glad to finally receive his warm touch, but his grip on your waist is quick to turn harsh as he forces your movement to stop. You’re ripped away from him as he flips you over, pushing you to your back so he can place his weight on your own.

“You wanted me to ask? All this time, all I had to do was ask?” He gathers both your wrists in one hand and pins them above your head while the other finds purchase pinching and pulling at your exposed nipple, triggering you to whine and squirm under him. His eyes meet yours again, and the uncharacteristically dark look in them sends a shiver through you. “God, darling, I am going to make you beg. Trust me, when I’m done with you, there will be no asking, just you pleading for mercy.” He releases your hands and pulls away from your breasts to unbuckle his belt and tug it off, fastening it into a set a restraints that you willingly slip your wrists through. “Safeword is Metallica. You can’t talk, you slap me twice anywhere. Either way, that’s the only way this stops. Am I clear?” You nod as a response, but a soft palm cradles your cheek and lifts your chin upwards.

“Words, princess. While you still have them.” His thumb strokes a soothing pattern along your jaw.

You can feel your heartbeat racing, and the fuzzy feeling in your head makes a full sentence hard to put together, but the gentle touch lures you to a moment of grounding. “Yes, I understand Eddie. Metallica or two slaps if I can’t take anymore.”

He snickers and gives a gentle pat to your cheek before pulling back. “Make that a ‘sir’ or a ‘daddy’ next time, sweet girl.” He climbs off from on top of you to tug off his t-shirt and sweats, leaving his inked skin and hairy chest for you to ogle at. You tug on your restraints with a slight whine, disappointed by your inability to reach out and touch him.

“On your knees, baby. Your hands may be indisposed, but I can still put that useful little mouth of yours to work.” Eddie pulls his boxers off from around his ankles and tosses them behind him as he stands at the edge of the bed. You shuffle towards him eagerly.

“Yes daddy.”

[ponderingmoonlight]

Chapter 3: Entangled Ambitions - A Pact Sealed in Royal Halls

Pairing: Gojo x fem!reader

Warnings: reader's death, language

Genre: Isekai, Romance, Fantasy

Synopsis: Your life takes a tragic turn as you perish in a car crash, only to awaken in a whimsical world of fantasy with none other than Jujustu Kaisen characters as its main protagonists. But as if that wasn't enough, you're about to marry the prince version of Gojo Satoru. How will you navigate through this world of history and fantasy? Does your life take the same sudden twist of fate as that of your favorite characters?

<- Previous Chapter l Next Chapter ->

Satoru’s heart stops beating for a moment, eyes widen at the harsh words you just spit at him. How would someone like you know about his powers? He was always keen to hide them, never used his abilities in the presence of someone apart from Suguru and his family. He doesn’t even know you that well. You, the daughter of Naobito Zenin. How on earth did you find out?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You clear your throat, nerves threatening to fail you. This is the only chance you have left. If Gojo Satoru doesn’t rethink his decision…No, there is no way you’ll die again.

“I am talking about your ability to manipulate the area around you freely, the fact that you can distort space. You are also able to create barriers and voids that nullify any incoming attacks, which makes you almost invincible in battle and is responsible for your great reputation as a fighter. But if your followers get to know about the real reason behind your skills…You know how great the fear of people with special powers is in this country, that all of them get executed. Not even Your Majesty will be spared from this.”

You are walking on thin ice. He is the prince, after all. So much higher in his rank that it would be easy for him to get you executed due to false accusations. But this might be the only card you have left, your last spark of hope. If Gojo Satoru won’t marry you, your father will let you get killed. And apart from that, this might be the only chance you’ll get to meet your favourite characters. What about Geto and Nanami? If Naoya and Gojo exist, they are definitely somewhere in this world as well. You are literally living the dream of every anmie and manga fan.

Well, except for the stinging fact that you call Naobito your father and Naoya your stinky brother.

“That are some heavy accusations you’re throwing at me, Lady (y/n). You know as well as I do that I could get you executed right on the sport for your unwise words despite the fact that you are a daughter of the Zenin family”, he replies.

The way he crosses his legs while smiling down at you arrogantly makes the urge to fall onto your knees and beg him for forgiveness grow louder and louder. But no, this is exactly what he wants. At the moment, all Prince Satoru does is playing and testing you. You can’t allow yourself to be messed with. After all, he has absolutely zero clue about what he is in your old world, that you actually died and reincarnated here. He definitely does know that your life depends on his mercy, though. And that your proposal benefits both of you.

“Why did you decide on marrying me in the first place? Was it because you fell in love with my portrait or rather because your family forced you to choose a wife and you thought I wouldn’t cause trouble because I’m a Zenin, because you considered I would urge to get away from my possessing family as soon as possible?”

Threatening him any further has no use. After all, Gojo is aware of the fact that you know about his hidden talent. Instead, you should focus on things you can actually prove, things that are obvious.

“You are a very loudmouthed young lady. I expected you to be more sublime. As a member of the famous Zenin family, you sure got taught etiquette and obedience from a young age, didn’t you?”

He can’t help himself. Just one look into your glimmering lavender eyes makes him provocative you even further. Of course, every little thing you said is true. Yes, your words are a serious threat on his way to the throne. Yes, his family does in fact urge him every single day to decide on a wife. Your proposal is the best solution for both of you, allows him to carry on with his unbothered life without the responsibility to satisfy his finance’s needs. But still…

“I couldn’t care less about my ancestry, Prince Satoru. All I care about is my own freedom”, you clarify, determination dripping from each and every pore of your face.

“And if you don’t decide on helping me, I have to find another gentleman who suits my requirements better.”

“Another gentleman? You are aware of the fact that I’m the prince, right?”

Out of all the arguments you brought up in this conversation, this one is the one that bugs him the most. Out of some strange reason, the sheer thought of you getting promised to another man doesn’t sit right with Satoru.

“As a prince, you are far above my status anyway. If it weren’t for politics and the reliability when it comes to the advanced weapon technology of my family, I wouldn’t even be considered as your fiancé”, you argue in all seriousness.

“What if I don’t allow you to marry another man?”

“Then I will find my ways to do so.”

“Fine, I will propose to you at the ball this weekend.”

Wait…what? After all the arguments, the discussions and the stinging fact that he stares at you with narrowed eyes, he actually agreed on it? Just when you’re about to thank him and leave, he gets up and opens his full mouth.

“But I want to re-arrange the conditions to suit my needs as well.”

Your pounding heart almost stops inside of your chest. For a moment, you just sit there and stare at him plainly like an idiot. Gojo Satoru, having conditions? This definitely doesn’t sound appealing at all. But do you really have another chance? It might be true that you are able to find another gentleman, the anger of your father will carry on, though. And who knows if he wouldn’t kill you even if you marry another wealthy man. No, this engagement is your best and eventually only option.

“What conditions are we talking about, precisely?”

“Once a week, I am allowed to present you as my fiancée in a way I will decide on my own. As the prince and future ruler of this country, I need to reflect a strong relationship with my future queen to the outside. It has to be credible. Everyone must think that we are deeply in love with each other, Lady (y/n).”

Shivers run down your spine before you’re able to stop them. Just one look into his blue thirsty eyes…This man won’t touch you even in your sleep. Doesn’t he have multiple young women just waiting for a chance to hit on him? Playing his wife for an additional day of the week. How wasteful, considering that you’ll never be more than his fiancée, that this engagement will get cancelled the minute it doesn’t benefit both of you anymore.

“I will fulfil my role over the span our engagement last and accept your addition, Prince Satoru.”

“Great! Now that this is out of the way, let me tell you one last thing.”

Before you’re even able to react any further, he grabs your arm and pulls you close. For a moment, you forget how to breathe, your nose tingling by the exquisite scent that radiates from him. You actually never wondered about the way he smells. But now that he is so close you would be able to touch him, so close that you can feel his breath brushing over the bare skin of your face, heat begins to crawl up your spine. Suddenly you feel like fainting, the immense presence of him standing this closely to you simply taking your breath away.

“If you decide on betraying me by telling anyone about my secret, I will execute you. There are no real feelings between us, I won’t even bat an eyelash.”

“First, make sure you keep your end of the bargain, Prince”, you bite back out of instinct, holding his gaze without any mercy.

Does he really think you’re scared of him? He might be Gojo Satoru, the honoured one, the strongest, the prince of this country. You might have been surprised by the way he grabbed you out of thin air. You are still (y/n), still you.

Instead of backing up, you take another step towards him and grab the collar of his elegant jacket. But you know all of his dirty little secrets, parts of his past and future. You are definitely no one to be messed with as well.

“And make sure you don’t disappoint me.”

You let go of him as sudden as you grabbed him, creating a safe distance between both of you by crossing the room and coming to a stand in front of the exit.

“Send me an invitation to the ball along with a pricy bouquet of lavender flowers. It was an honour to visit you, Your Majesty. I am looking forward to our next meeting.”

One last polite curtsy, one last elegant smile. But just when you’re about to call the waiter in order to open the door for you, it swings open by itself.

And your cheek clashes into something particularly hard.

“Oh no, I am beyond sorry My Lady! I wasn’t aware of your presence!”

That voice…You get greeted by a pair of the manliest hands you’ve ever seen, hands gliding up his definitely toned arms. He lifts you off the ground as fast as you stumbled onto his, arms holding you into place tightly.

“You must be Lady (y/n), what a pleasure to finally meet you. I am Sir Geto Suguru, the steward of Your Majesty.”

“S-Suguru?”

Your widen eyes focus on his face in an instant, heart almost beating out of your chest. All those times you admired his drawing, the way he acted so elegantly. The countless fanfictions you’ve read with this exact first meeting.

Only to end up with him in bed later on.

“That is my name”, the man in front of you replies along with a small laughter.

That smile. That oh so charismatic smile. And that manly smell, a mix of mint and leather. You force yourself to gift him with a smile and create a safe distance between both of you. So this is him, the best friend of Gojo Satoru. Even in this world, you can tell how close they are to each other.

Will it stay like this, though?

“I’m sorry, I must have hit my head a little too heart”, you comment, finally ripping your eyes away from his brown ones.

“Do you know each other?”, the firm voice of Prince Satoru interrupts.

A look into his face tells you that he isn’t amused by this sudden meeting at all.

“I’ve never seen Lady (y/n) apart from the portrait that was sent to you, Prince Satoru. But may I say, you look even more mesmerising in person.”

“Weren’t you about to leave when Sir Geto arrived, Lady (y/n)?”

Gojo smiles at you without his eyes, a cold glare decorating his face that is definitely supposed to intimidate you.

But instead of backing up, you take a risky step towards Geto Suguru and bow oh so sweetly.

“Oh Sir Geto, I don’t deserve your kind words. After all, it is you who is a feast for my eyes. No excuse me gentlemen, I still have lessons to attend. I hope we’ll meet each other again this weekend, Sir Geto. Have a nice week, Prince Satoru.”

Without gifting him another single look, you turn on your heel and walk out the door.

You did it. You convinced him to propose to you. But…is this really what you want? Is Gojo Satoru really what you want? Just the way he stared at you with arrogance dripping from each and every poor. Urgh, you fucking hate him. There’s no way to deny that he’s driving you over the edge. Why on earth does it have to be him? Why not Geto, what about Nanami?

Why does it have to be Gojo Satoru?

“She seems like a really nice young lady”, Suguru comments visibly amused while sitting in your former place.

“What your tongue, Suguru. She will me my fiancé after this week is over.”

Tags: @m0k0k0 @lees-chaotic-brain @sanicsmut @risuola @fire-loving-siren

@sunshine7queen @gatitam @kentocalls @hellkaiserinphoenix @skylarlyn823

@livmarauder @nothisispatrick300 @haileycannotcometothephonern @xstom @byakuya61085

[supernovacoffeestop]

“Why do you think so low of yourself?”

You lift your head to look at the man at your side, who had grown to be your company over the months. After he saved you from almost being eaten by a demon, you begged him to at least let you repay with food or a place to pass the night.

Even since, you two somehow had grown closer to each other, you discovered that his name was Yoriichi and that he was a swordsman. You thought that it was a dangerous job, but, at the same time, it was because of it that he ended up saving you from death.

You discovered about how he lost his wife and two kids because of these beasts, and you couldn’t help but feel pity for him. Since the start, you always thought of that man as someone who deserved the world.

“What do you mean?” You asked, looking at him as you stopped your hand lifting the tea midair.

“You don’t need to pretend to be confuse, Y/N” Yoriichi said, looking at you. Somehow, hearing your name coming from his lips always made you shiver, even if it filled you with guilty at the same time.

“I’ve seen the way you look down at yourself near other people, or how you seem sad every time you can’t complete something. Even if isn’t your fault.” His words, despite seeming harsh, were said with a tone of gentleness. Like he didn’t wanted to startle you.

“..I..” You looked away from him, from his maroon eyes. You couldn’t really stare at Yoriichi right now, a pool of embarrassment growing in your middle. “I think it’s just your imagination, Yorii.” You spoke, not being able to admit to him your own insecurities. Compared to him, your own worries seemed so little, so insignificant.

But somehow, Yoriichi always seemed to know you better than yourself , or maybe he could just read you very well.

“..I may not know you for a more than some months, Y/N.” He started, making you look at him again. “But, I believe you’re one of the most hardworking person that I know. Despite everything you’ve passed and grown used to, you’re still so kind to everyone.”

He lift his hand in your direction, like he would touch your cheek. But he stopped, unsure of himself.

And, for some reason, you found yourself leaning into his hand, letting his calloused hands touch your cheeks. You could see his normal stoic face changing for a moment, a small smile appearing into his lips.

“I was just a man you never had seen in your life before, doing his job. But still, you invited me inside not knowing if you could trust me, and gave me a warm meal and a place to pass the night.” Yoriichi said, his finger gently rubbing your cheek.

“You’re much more than you give yourself value, Y/N.”

And with that, he removed his hand from your cheek, leaving you with a feeling, a longing that you never noticed it existed before.

Damn you, Yoriichi Tsugikuni and your pretty face and way with words.

[quinnyundertow]

Picking up the Pieces

For my bby Choso

MANGA SPOILERS BELOW

Angst with a happy ending, Hurt/Comfort

1,800 Words

Summary:

The fight with Sukuna has finally ended. Before he’s wisked off the battlefield the boy named Yuji begs you to try and save what’s left of his older brother.

AN:

I have been drowning in writers block. The manga has me so damn depressed and the one I want to live most right now is our baby Choso. He deserves to live that domestic life he never got to feel. Best big brother ever.

Picking up the Pieces

Choso had thought for sure he had died. No he definitely died. He had protected his little brother with his life. There wasn’t a more noble way to die. Now his brother would have the chance to thrive and grow old. Find a first love, have his first kiss, buy his first home. Have children that would have called him uncle Chocho. Never mind that Choso never had the chance to do any of those things either. Yuji would have the chance that he never did; and that made it all worthwhile.

“I’ve got you, just hold on.” Someone is talking to him. The voice is what he imagines angels sound like. Do curses get to go to heaven? Maybe death won’t be so bad. “Don’t you dare die on me.”

He’s so tired. More tired than he’s ever been in his existence. A part of him is annoyed you keep shaking him awake. Just let him rest for a minute. “Yuji needs you, so you can’t give up yet.”

Yuji? Who’s Yuji and why did he-? Yuji. Yuji! He takes a gasping breath in as his chest keeps getting harshly pushed on. He doesn’t know what CPR is but it’s painful. You keep pushing against his broken ribs. Don’t you know that’s excruciating? Wait, what about Yuji? “Yuji?” The words come out strangled and almost too low to hear.

“Holy shit you’re alive.” Your voice breaks with a mixture of relief and joy. “We're not out of the woods yet but damn it but we’ll get there!”

He tries to ask for Yuji again but all that escapes is a hacking cough from all the smoke he inhaled during his fight with Sukuna.

Thankfully, you somehow manage to understand and respond accordingly, “Oh, right. Yeah, Yuji is okay. Better than okay. Well I mean they rushed him to Shoko, our healer, but he’s gonna be okay. He’s not a vessel anymore. They won. I don’t know how they pulled it off but they won.”

The wave of relief that washes over him is visible. Your voice is coming in a little panicked now, “Woah, woah, woah! Nope! Yuji is okay but he still needs you. When they rushed him off he was asking for you. He begged me to save you. Said you’re the best big brother in the world.” Your tone warbles and his face feels wet. At least he thinks it does. Are you crying? Why are you crying? He’s a curse. You’re presumably one of Yuji’s companions, a sorcerer. Shouldn’t you want him dead? He’s straining to try and make out your features but you look like a shadow on a curtain or static on a tv. Are his eyes even open? Does it matter? He feels so nice, so warm. You’re cradling him and he can’t help but wonder if this is what his mothers love would have felt like. If his father wasn’t a rapist and if he hadn’t been born a monster.

“Shit, shit, shit. I’m losing him again!” Your voice is shrill and screaming as you wake him up again. You’re yelling names he doesn’t know, “Nitta! Nitta!” The sound is fading out. He can’t hear anything now. That’s alright. It’s perfect to go back to sleep to. He’s so warm and lovingly held. Just a little nap, well..maybe a long one. A nice long sleep.

~~

“I’ve got you, just hold on.” Your fingers keep slipping as you’re trying to do chest compressions. There’s just so much blood. The entire area reeks of it. Blood, smoke, dust. Smells of a battlefield. His pulse is so slow you’re not sure if it’s stopped or not. “Don’t you dare die on me.” This was bad. The worst you’ve ever seen. His body is so burnt and mutilated at this point he isn’t able to regenerate like a curse normally would. You try to infuse him with your cursed energy but it’s like his body doesn’t know what to do with it. It’s trying to shut down and you’re here telling it to work harder.

You can’t give up though. You’ve barely met the man in front of you but you know Yuji. As Shoko rushed Yuji off the battlefield his eyes had met yours. Choso’s name on his lips, his eyes a plea. “Please, Cho- tell him he’s the best big brother I could have asked for.”

The pain in Yuji’s eyes had been so raw. So visceral. Not even knowing what you were agreeing to you had yelled to Yuji, “I’ll do everything I can!”

So here you are. You aren’t sure if your reverse curse is even doing anything at this point. There are so many disconnected pieces of tissue. Blood vessels and veins so destroyed there is nothing left to repair. Nowhere for your technique to start. You can’t create something from nothing. He’s not breathing. Chest compressions. You’re throwing all the strength you have left into them. You vaguely remember someone saying you should push to the beat of “Staying Alive”. The song feels inappropriate in your head but it helps your timing. At least you hope it does.

The curse lying on the ground has given everything for his brother. Now you need him to live for himself. Grunting with exertion you manage to say, “Yuji needs you, so you can’t give up yet.”

When the corpse in front of you gasps you’re momentarily stunned. When are you supposed to stop chest compressions? Now? He’s hacking and you're trying to help him clear his airway. You're shocked he has an airway. Sukuna had practically obliterated him with flames. His lips are moving. You feel your cursed energy finally managed to find something inside of him it can work with.

Hands under his underarms, you pull. He’s not as heavy as you expected. Of course he isn't, he doesn't have anything left below the knees. You’ve managed to get his head resting on your thighs as you sit in the crumbling city turned battleground. He manages to croak out one word. “Yuji?” The word comes out strangled and almost too low to hear.

“Holy shit you’re alive.” Your voice breaks with a mixture of relief and joy. He would ask about his brother when he’s the one who is holding on by a thread. “We're not out of the woods yet but damn it we’ll get there!”

He’s giving this terrifying sounding cough that’s more liquid than air; but to cough means he has something there to cough with. His eyes open and his pupils are unfocused and blown. They don’t respond at all to light.

His brows are furrowing in panic when you don’t immediately respond, “Oh, right. Yeah, Yuji is okay. Better than okay. Well I mean they rushed him to Shoko, our healer but he’s gonna be okay. He’s not a vessel anymore. They won. I don’t know how they pulled it off but they won.”

His lip somehow manages to curl into a hint of a smile. He must not be able to feel any pain due to all the adrenaline. He’s relaxing against you and his eyes are closing. “Woah, woah, woah! Nope! Yuji is okay but he still needs you. When they rushed him off he was asking for you. He begged me to save you. Said you’re the best big brother in the world.” Your tone warbles and you’re yelling at yourself to hold it together. Tears fall from your visage on to his. You want to at least comfort him in his potential final moments.

Your hands go to rest on his cheeks. Your fingers lightly caressing him as you continue to give everything you have left in yourself to heal him. You brush his dark sweaty bangs off his forehead. His eyes open partially again staring into the sky. He’s rejecting your cursed energy again. “Shit, shit, shit. I’m losing him again!” You have to make an executive decision. You had been trying to give him the strength to kickstart his own regenerative capabilities but there’s not enough energy in him anymore to utilize it. You have to stop the bleeding. You have to sacrifice his legs below the knee if he’s going to survive. Rather than regrow the limbs like he normally would you focus purely on closing every open wound you can find. FUCK. Where is Shoko? Where is Arata Nitta? Someone? Anyone? There are too many wounded and dying. Not enough healers. Never enough healers.

A streak of platinum blonde hair in the distance catches your gaze, “Nitta! Nitta!” He was one of your underclassmen before you graduated. The Kyoto school is small enough to where everyone knows everyone. Nita’s looking for you in the rubble, unable to tell where your voice is coming from at first. “Arata!” His eyes lock on yours and he’s sprinting through the chaos. He looks like a track star the way he’s jumping building detritus like they’re hurdles.

He’s leaning over you trying to find where you are bleeding from but it’s all Choso’s blood. At least you think it is. “Can you help him?” Nitta’s face jerks down to what he had thought was a corpse in your arms.

He’s shaking his head no but he’s doing the movements for his technique. It won’t heal the curse hybrid but it will buy him time and at this point you’ll take anything you can get.

There’s a sharp tug in your gut as your cursed energy feels like it’s suddenly being siphoned out of you. You originally couldn’t find any of Choso’s energy to help him. Now large lifesaving gulps of your cursed energy flow into the man fighting for his life on your lap. You gasp in pain as you try to limit the amount of energy you are giving out at once. Choso’s not even conscious but instinctually his body is struggling like it’s drowning and you're the life preserver.

Nitta looks panicked, “He’s going to kill you!” You can’t afford to pass out now there are so many more people that need healing. Choso is unconsciously pulling you under with him. “This is a curse. It feeds off our kind. He’ll take from you until there’s nothing left.”

Shit. You feel like you’re going to faint. Choso’s eyelids are fluttering, they open as if seeing you for the first time. He’s clearly still delirious as his onyx eyes look at you confused. You visibly flinch, a groan in pain leaving you as he takes more of your energy. Understanding clicks in his brain and the rapid siphoning of your energy abruptly stops. Nitta is calling your name.

Nitta tries to pull you away from Choso so he can’t cling to your energy again, but you refuse to budge. You're not sure if Choso is even conscious despite his eyes jerkily roaming your face. Caressing Choso’s brow, you lean over him. Your lips are near his ear as you murmur comforting words. “I’ve got you. Everything is going to be okay.”

Chapter 2

AN:

If people want more I’ll continue. It just flowed out so here it is. Please don’t comment if you don’t have anything nice to say.

[izvmimi]

cw: smut. minors dni. fem!reader is a brat and izuku’s kind of a bully tbh. brat taming energy. there’s a fair bit of dialogue. horny then turns soft.

izuku won’t tell you this up-front, but he secretly loves it when you’re mad at him.

not if he’s truly done something to wrong you in some way - he would never dream of wanting to hurt your feelings after all - but when you’re throwing a sometimes silent, sometimes not-so-silent tantrum that falls just short of making any damn sense, it gives him a little bit of glee, hidden in the sparkle of his green eyes.

“say that again, sweetheart?” 

you’d started all of a sudden, as usual, sighs that were a little too heavy as you sulked around the house, short responses, a furrow in your brow. he’s been tolerating your mood all evening, because as usual, he is far more patient than you are, and now you’ve run out of passive and are leaning heavily into aggressive.

your snippy reply comes without hesitation.

“i can’t stand you,” you hiss. your voice is sweet venom when you rack up a fuss over something silly, and your tantrums, especially when they’re thinly veiled bids for attention, are terribly amusing to him. 

the scrunch and twist of your features to portray contempt right now as he watches you declare your discontent... they awaken something in him; there’s a fair bit of excitement at the prospect of mollifying you into appropriate behavior.

he’s going to enjoy breaking you down.

“oh, is that so?” he asks, his tone inquisitive and slightly condescending.

“yes.” you keep your voice even and clear.

you’re folding laundry now, refusing to let him help, but keeping your eyes focused on the television in front of you, and he’s given you a healthy amount of distance poring through a set of worn notebooks at the dinner table. he sits directly in your line of sight and he can feel the intensity of your pout.

he sighs but the sound is light. leaning back into his chair, he throws a look at you over his shoulder and his goading grin is wide and obnoxious.

“you know if you want me to fuck you, you can just ask. use your words, honey.”

a pillow goes sailing through the room in the direction of his face blazingly fast.

“fuck you.”

he’s caught it, eyes playful and predatory. 

“i’d love to.”

your voice is warning as he moves quickly, just faster than you can perceive. one minute he is seated several feet away from you and he pisses you off more than anything you can imagine at the moment, and the next minute he’s knelt in front of you, eyes level with yours. your heart pounds.

“get away from me,” you warn, your face warming up as you draw your legs in.

“make me,” he says, sweetly. 

you mean to push only semi-roughly against his chest, but your arm goes through the space between his chest and his arm and he clamps down with his bicep just enough to trap you, and when you gasp in surprise, he grips you by the chin with his other hand.

the action is too smooth and too earnest. dark eyelashes bat at you playfully and he pouts as though he is the most innocent lamb in existence. he really is too pretty and it only makes you angrier.

“you really don’t like me?” he says in a sad voice, a playful frown. 

“i hate you.”

izuku smiles even wider, ready to play.

---

your whining is incessant now but at least this time the whining is of the more sexual kind, the high-pitched cries and wails of someone who is receiving just a bit more stimulation than she can handle, legs spread firmly apart as you sit in his lap and back pressed against his broad chest. his fingers pump quickly in and out of your center, and you melt against him with every pant as his fingers work you to unfair amounts of pleasure. it’s the exact reason why you hate him, the fact that he can so easily play you like putty, begging him for more - more love, more love, more love. 

izuku bites your ear gently as your back arches against him, the hold he has you in with his arm around your midsection unbreakable. sucking, nipping at your neck and shoulders with soft, repetitive touches of your clit with the tips of his fingers unrelenting. 

“you don’t sound like you hate me,” he teases. 

you are breathless, working yourself into a frenzy onto his thick fingers. 

“i-izuku! you-” you hiss his name, and he’s still unsatisfied with the defiance in your voice. his fingers curl and you see white, and he rubs your back as you cum with no reservation onto his digits, onto his calloused hand. 

your head spins, but he’s not done breaking you down as you come down from your high. quickly he lays you onto your back, leaning just a little bit of his weight onto you as he rests above, chin propped up by his elbows on either side of your body.

you’re a curious sight. messy, your complexion deepened by lust, the smallest tears in the corner of your eyes. cute. his.

“are you still mad?” he asks tentatively.

“stop making me cum every time you annoy me!” you argue, then close your eyes shut in embarrassment as you see him stifle a laugh. you sound silly.

“stop being a brat and i won’t try to fuck it out of you,” he replies simply. you give him a fierce look and he smiles again and before you can realize your mistake, he’s poking at your center again with his thick cockhead. 

he plays with your puffy pussy lips, the leak of pre and your wetness allowing him to glide playfully against the labia, teasing you. you shudder as you wait for entry; it doesn’t come.

in fact, he’s taking his time, humming a tune under his breath even. your blood boils.

“stop playing with me, ‘zuku!” you complain again.

“behave,” he whispers. his breath tickles your face as he draws in close, kissing your forehead.

you would open your mouth to say something sassy, but the craving is there to be filled already, his heat against your heat forming a knot in your stomach. he watches you contemplate, entertained. 

his fingers trail the side of your face.

“don’t you have something to say, love?”

you begrudgingly shake your head.

“so am i going to fuck someone who’s mad at me or someone who loves her ‘zuzu very much?” he asks. he’s still playing with your hair and your head and shifts back, so that you no longer feel his cock against your entrance but rather laying hot and hard on your lower belly. you physically ache.

fidgeting under him, you wrap your arms around his neck.

“p-please.”

horny desperation looks adorable on you, he thinks, but a little more folding is necessary.

“p-please, what?”

“please...” you mull the nickname in your mouth again,” please, ‘zuzu”

he smiles.

“and what does my sweet baby girl who isn’t throwing tantrums want?”

you furrow your eyebrows.

“izuku!”

he frowns back. “that’s not very sweet,” he tsks. “bad girls don’t get cock, unfortunately.” he starts to pull back and your legs tighten around him in a panic.

“no! don’t.” you grit your teeth. “fine!” you force yourself to soften, then look up at him again with the sweetest, most pacifying look you can muster. “can you fuck me ‘zuzu? please? want your cock to fill me up, please?”

he’s obviously pleased that you’ve broken once again.

“of course, sweetheart.” there’s a soft caress of your cheek that comes with the realignment of his hip against yours, that press of his cock flush to your folds that makes your stomach flip.

you murmur his name again, softly, gently, and his heart softens too.

a precious little headache you are.

he slips inside you, groaning a little in time with your mewls as he nestles inside, making space for himself as he fills you up. even if you’re obnoxious at times, you still give way to him, even if he has to be a little forceful. you’re as soft as your insides around him, tender and gentle as your skin dampened by sweat and desire, and as sweet as the tastes of your juices on his tongue.

"do you love me?” he whispers into your skin as he cradles you in his arms. he’s no longer teasing but asking for real. and you always respond the same.

“more than anything. no matter what i say.”

he feels the same.

more than everything. no matter what.