#leviathan second for me and her

[cuntphoric]

can't believe my little sister joined tumblr

[autism-corner]

RETURN OF THE WIFE.

[grim-echoes]

i'm so glad that keeping production art is much more common within the gaming industry now because i'm utterly enthralled not only by the preservation of people's work and old ideas that might be revisited one day, but by imagining what some of these ideas might have been used for and if there's any traces of them left in the final product. it's the type of information you won't get from a dime a dozen cut content youtube video, but instead what you can reasonably draw a connection between based on what's in-game, and what you can only speculate on and i know that there's so much more we never get to see so i'm constantly left wondering, "what else are we missing out on that wasn't considered worth compiling, and will it ever surface one day?"

[guiltyandashamed]

headcannons: insecure about yourself after seeing someone else (brothers + side characters)

(2.7k words) It happens on one of those rare, quiet afternoons when the two of you are out in the Devildom, The conversation is easy. Until it isn’t. She passes you like she owns the street, tall, poised, beautiful in a way that feels otherworldly. A succubus, maybe, or a siren, or some other kind of woman with an enchanting beauty, with the kind of confidence you’ve never had. Her smile lingers on them for a second too long, and though they barely glance her way, your stomach sinks. You know it's irrational, but suddenly you're hyper aware of everything you're not. You laugh a little too quickly at his next joke. You nod without really hearing. You hide it well, at least, you think you do.

Lucifer

He catches the shift in you almost immediately. The falter in your tone, the way your gaze drops to the ground, hands suddenly too still. He’s attuned to subtle changes, he’s had to be, as the eldest, the one who notices when things go unspoken. And when he sees you look at that passing woman with something quiet and sharp in your eyes, it clicks. He doesn’t comment right away. Instead, he adjusts his pace so that you’re closer to his side. The back of his hand brushes yours.

“You know,” he says softly, “I’ve spent centuries surrounded by beings who try to manipulate attention. But I’ve never once been distracted from what I choose to keep close.” He pauses, turning his head to look at you. “And that’s you.”

Lucifer isn’t always good at emotional tenderness. But when he sees you shrinking into yourself, it rattles him more than he shows. He doesn’t press for explanation. He simply gives you his steadiness, his presence, and a hand that lingers a little longer when he reaches for yours.

Mammon

At first, he doesn’t get it. You go quiet, your smile fades a bit, but you’re still walking next to him, still laughing at his dumb jokes, just a little less like yourself. Then it hits him. He remembers the look you gave that other woman, the way your eyes followed her, then dropped away like you didn’t want to be caught comparing. Mammon isn’t the best with emotional nuance, but when it comes to you? He notices everything.

He panics a little internally. Did he say something wrong? Did someone look at you weird? Why’re you suddenly not smiling the way you usually do when you’re with him?

So he stops walking, right in the middle of the street. “Oi. What’s with the face?” he asks, softer than usual. “Don’t think I didn’t notice.” You try to wave it off, but he shakes his head. “Look, I don’t care who walks by. You think anyone else even exists when you’re around?” His voice cracks a bit from the sincerity. “You’re it, alright? You’re my favorite damn view.”

Then he grabs your hand and keeps walking like nothing happened, but his grip stays firm the rest of the way.

Leviathan

Levi doesn’t catch on at first. He’s too in his head, muttering about a limited-edition figurine he spotted in a shop window. But when he looks over and you’re not reacting like you normally would, he stumbles. “Did I… say something weird?” he asks, immediately assuming it’s his fault. Then he remembers her, the siren who walked past with all the self-assured grace he thinks he’ll never have. And he sees how you looked after her, the quick withdrawal into yourself. His stomach turns. He knows that feeling. He lives that feeling. Being second-best. Invisible. Not enough.

So he sidesteps his usual awkwardness. “Hey, um… if you’re feeling... y’know, weird or off or like, not... good enough or whatever... can I just say—that’s a total crit fail on your perception roll.” You blink, caught off guard, and he rushes on, red in the face. “You’re like... S-tier. I mean that. You’re the only one I feel like I can be this version of me around.” He offers you his sleeve to hold instead of his hand, because he’s still Levi. But the sentiment couldn’t be more real.

Satan

It’s a fleeting moment, but he sees it. The stillness in your expression after the woman passes, the way your voice flattens ever so slightly. You think you’re hiding it well, but Satan knows you too intimately not to notice the cracks. And what really cuts is how you don’t say anything. You just swallow it down like it’s not worth bringing up. He walks in silence for a beat, processing. Then, softly: “She wasn’t even half as radiant as you are when you talk about something you love.”

You glance at him, surprised, and he meets your gaze without flinching. “I know you won’t tell me what you’re thinking. But I want you to know... I saw it. And I see you.” He reaches for your hand, not to pull you along, but just to hold it in his own. “You don’t have to be louder, or flashier, or anything other than who you are when you’re with me.”

He doesn’t push the topic, doesn’t ask you to explain. He just slows down his pace, like he’s willing to match your mood and walk with it for however long it takes.

Asmodeus

He absolutely notices the woman. It’s hard not to, she’s practically dripping with seduction magic. But Asmo’s glance is automatic, casual, already forgotten… until he sees the way you tense beside him. You mask it well, but not to him. You go quiet. You stop making eye contact. His heart sinks. “Oh, darling,” he says, suddenly stopping short and turning to face you. “You felt that, didn’t you?”

He can feel the shift in your energy, the way you’re pulling into yourself. His voice gentles, loses the usual lilt. “You don’t have to pretend with me, you know. I know what it’s like to feel like you’re not enough. Even I get insecure sometimes.” He offers a small, honest smile. “But when I look at you… there’s no one else I’d rather have beside me.”

Then he does something uncharacteristically quiet: he leans in, rests his forehead against yours, and whispers, “You’re beautiful. In ways she’ll never understand.”He doesn’t need you to say anything back. He just slips his arm around yours and holds on, tighter than before.

Beelzebub

He doesn’t notice the woman at all. He’s too focused on whether you’ve had enough to eat, if your shoes are comfortable, if you’re enjoying the walk. But he notices you, how your energy shifts, how your smile fades into something tight and practiced. You try to hide it, but Beel knows the rhythm of your emotions like he knows the beat of his own heart.

He slows his steps, gently bumping your shoulder. “You okay?” he asks, voice low and careful. You nod, of course. You always nod. He stares ahead for a while, chewing on the silence like it’s something hard to swallow.

“I don’t really care what anyone else looks like,” he says eventually. “I care about you. I care about how you laugh, and how you sit beside me even when I’m eating enough for five people. That means more than anything." Then, in that gentle, unwavering way of his, he takes your hand and carries the silence for you. No pressure. No expectations. Just warmth. Just Beel, anchoring you when you start to drift.

Belphegor

He sees her. He sees you seeing her. And he sees you instantly pull away from him in that quiet, invisible way: how your hand doesn’t quite brush his anymore, how your expression dulls like you’ve slipped into some private shadow you don’t want to name.

Belphie gets angry about it, not at you, but at the world that made you feel like you had to compare. That made you feel like less. His hand finds yours again, firmly. “You thinking dumb shit again?” he murmurs, voice heavy with sleep and something else… something protective.

You try to brush it off, but he doesn’t let go. “You’re not allowed to hate yourself around me,” he says simply. “That’s the rule.” He tugs you just a little closer, leaning his head on your shoulder as you walk. “If you’re gonna shut down, I’m still staying right here. Might even take a nap standing up just to prove a point.” It’s his way of saying: I see you. And I’m not going anywhere.

Diavolo

He notices the other woman, sure, but only because your hand suddenly feels smaller in his, your steps a little slower. You don't say anything, but Diavolo's joy dims as he watches you retreat into yourself. He’s not oblivious. His life has been full of people trying to catch his eye, but yours is the presence he’s grown to crave.

“Hey,” he says gently, stopping the both of you. “Look at me.” When you do, reluctantly, quietly, he leans down a bit to meet your gaze. “There is no spell, no charm, no allure that compares to you.” His tone is softer than usual, reverent even. “Do you think I fell for you because of some illusion? I’ve ruled a kingdom for centuries. I’ve seen beauty in a thousand forms. But no one has ever made me laugh the way you do. Or made me feel understood.”

He brushes a hand against your cheek with heartbreaking gentleness. “You don’t have to say what you’re thinking. Just… let me remind you of who you are to me.” He tucks your hand into his arm like it belongs there and walks on, making the whole Devildom feel like it orbits around you.

Barbatos

He senses the change in your mood before you even feel it fully. Your steps become measured, your energy tight. Barbatos is deeply attuned to the unspoken, and though he notices the woman too, he’s far more focused on how you subtly retreat into yourself. He doesn’t draw attention to it immediately. He simply shifts his body closer to yours, not pressing but present.

Then, after a quiet beat, he speaks. “It’s interesting, isn’t it?” he muses aloud. “How easily we mistake someone else’s flash for our own dimness.” You glance at him, startled, but he offers only a small, knowing smile.

“You shine differently. Not loudly. Not demanding. But with depth. Grace. Thoughtfulness. Anyone can catch the eye, but not everyone holds the heart.” Barbatos pauses, as though considering time itself. “And you hold mine.”

He doesn’t say much more, he rarely needs to. But when he offers you his arm again, you feel the strength of it, a quiet anchor reminding you: he chose you. And he always would.

Solomon

He notices everything, the woman, your reaction, the subtle shift in your posture. You’re trying so hard to hide it, but he knows the signs. He’s been around long enough to see that kind of pain wear grooves into people.

He doesn’t call it out directly. Instead, he tilts his head and says, “You know, I’ve met sirens who could stop armies with a single glance. But not one of them has ever made me want to stay.” He lets that hang in the air for a moment before adding, “You do.”

When you blink, unsure how to respond, he offers a rare, genuine smile, less teasing, more honest. “You’ve got a stubborn light in you. The kind that doesn’t need to scream to be felt. That’s what caught me.”

He’ll nudge your hand, light against his own, as if offering you the choice: speak or stay silent. Either way, he’s not going anywhere. “Come on,” he says, softer now. “Let’s go somewhere quieter. Just us.”

Simeon

He notices, not just the other woman, but the way you go quiet. How you withdraw without a word, folding into yourself like a page creased by habit. His heart aches, not just for your sadness but for the effort you make to hide it.

He slows his pace to match yours, letting the quiet settle before saying, “There’s a kind of beauty no glamour can touch.” You glance at him, unsure whether to brush it off. He offers you a gentle smile, the kind that makes it feel like the sun’s peeking through your clouds.

“I’ve lived among angels, watched starlight bloom in the Celestial Realm… but none of it has ever made me feel the way I do when I see you.” His words are soft, unflinching. “And I see you. Even when you try to disappear.”

Then, without asking, he loops his pinky with yours, quietly grounding, quietly sincere. “You don’t need to say anything. But I’m here. Always.”

Mephistopheles

He doesn’t notice right away, too busy monologuing about something minor and theatrical, until you suddenly stop contributing. It takes a few seconds for the silence to register, and then he glances at you. Your face is neutral. Too neutral. “Oi,” he mutters, nudging your side. “Where’d you go just now?”

You give him a practiced smile. It’s almost enough to fool him. He follows your gaze, sees the woman walking away, and instantly connects the dots. His jaw clenches, not out of jealousy, but fury at the self-doubt flickering in your eyes. “Pfft,” he scoffs, too loud on purpose. “Overdressed and underwhelming. Wouldn’t last a second in a real conversation. You? You could destroy me with one look, and that’s before you’ve had your morning tea.”

He says it like a joke, but his eyes betray the sincerity. “Next time your thoughts try to trick you like that… just tell them to shut up. Or let me do it for you.” Then he threads your arm through his dramatically. “Now come along, my love. You’ve got a face worth showing off.”

Thirteen

Thirteen clocks the siren in an instant, and rolls her eyes so hard it’s a wonder they stay in her skull. But when she looks back at you and sees the way you’ve suddenly gone quiet, the light dimmed in your expression, she stops dead in her tracks. “Hey. Don’t do that.”

You blink at her, startled. “Do what?” She squints at you, then squints harder. “That thing where you act like you're fine but you’re actually spiraling over some glittery bitch who couldn’t outsmart a single one of my traps.” You try to brush her off, but she doesn’t let you.

“Seriously,” she mutters, moving to stand in front of you. “I’ve seen you face down demons, chaos, me—and that’s what gets you? That?” She jerks her thumb back toward the siren. Then, more softly, “You don’t see it, but you level me. Every time you laugh. Every time you keep showing up.” She nudges you with her elbow. “You don’t gotta talk. Just… don’t disappear, okay?” Then she throws her arm around your shoulder and grins. “Let’s go cause trouble. Hot people like us can get away with anything.”

Raphael

He notices the subtle shift immediately, your quiet withdrawal, the way your gaze drops when the other woman passes by. He’s always been keen on observing the small details, and this one pulls at something deeper in him. Raphael rarely speaks out of turn, preferring to keep his thoughts measured and precise, but when he senses your mood darkening, he allows himself to be a little more direct. “Is something troubling you?” His voice is calm, steady—a gentle anchor in the swirling discomfort you feel.

You try to brush it off, but he doesn’t press. Instead, he stays close, matching his pace to yours as you walk. “You often doubt yourself,” he says quietly, “but I see strength in you that you don’t even realize you have.”

He pauses, looking at you with unshaken sincerity. “The world might throw illusions of beauty your way, but what matters most isn’t what you show on the surface. It’s the kindness you carry, the care you give, the healing you inspire. Those things don’t fade, no matter who passes by.”

Raphael offers you a small, rare smile, not the serene healer’s smile, but a warmer one meant only for you. “You are more than enough. And I am here, always ready to remind you of that.”

[vylosinbound]

Hey again!! Hope you're having a great day/night<33

I got an idea that's been on my mind for a while :):)

(If that's okay with you, can you write it as a drabble? Or short fic?)

What about the demon brothers as well as the side characters if possible are invited to Female!MC's House in the human world to have a sleepover! and one of them found her baby pictures (most probably it's be mammon lol) + she got videos on her laptop or smth when she was also baby/toddler maybe one at the beach, one wearing an onesie, yk I think it'd be soo adorable ☺️☺️

Thank you sm in advance<3<3

Hey hey!

Thank you so much for dropping by again, I couldn’t stop smiling while writing it. Since it turned out way longer than expected, I’m starting with the brothers first!

But don’t worry, part two is absolutely on the way with the side characters. Hope you enjoy!

When demons meet baby photos:

The brothers' first time seeing baby MC

Part one

Characters: Lucifer, Mammon, Leviathan, Satan, Asmodeus, Beelzebub and Belphegor.

Genre: Fluff / Humor / Slice of life / Female!MC

During a sleepover at MC’s childhood home in the human world, the demon brothers stumble upon a folder of baby pictures and home videos. Chaos, teasing, and unexpected softness ensue as each of them reacts differently to seeing MC in her tiniest, purest form.

LUCIFER

Lucifer was setting the kitchen table in MC's house when his D.D.D. pinged with an image from Mammon. At first, he ignored it, he had no time for his brothers' usual nonsense. But Mammon sent a second message.

“YO. This is gold. Click it, Lucifer. Trust me.”

He sighed, adjusting his gloves as he picked up the device. The screen lit up. A baby. No, MC. In an oversized red hoodie, crawling across a plush rug, eyes wide and focused, their tiny fists clutching a plastic toy phone. Their cheeks were flushed, and their expression? Pure determination, like they were on a mission only they understood.

Lucifer blinked. For a moment, silence. Then a quiet huff of amusement escaped him. “...Of course,” he murmured. “So even back then, you were stubborn.”

The next image loaded without prompt: MC sleeping in a sunbeam on a pillow that dwarfed them, hugging a small plush sheep. The peacefulness in their face, the innocence of it, it tugged at something buried deep in Lucifer’s chest.

He downloaded it. Quietly. Without comment.

Later that evening, as he sat on the living room couch, MC noticed that he himself was looking at his screen with a subtle smile, he didn’t flinch.

“Sentimental? Me?” He raised an eyebrow. “It’s only for leverage, obviously. You never know when you’ll need to win an argument.” But the next time you accidentally left your D.D.D. unattended, you noticed a new album.

“MC – Protected.”

Password locked.

MAMMON

Mammon had no business being in your room. Technically. But hey, it wasn’t snooping if he was just checking you hadn’t left your wallet around, right?

What he didn’t expect was the little flash drive sticking halfway out from under your pillow. Of course, he took it. Plugged it right into his own D.D.D. because privacy laws are a myth.

And then he screamed.

The video started with MC, tiny, maybe a year and a half, waddling through a garden in a dinosaur onesie. They tripped over a tulip. Fell flat. Then popped back up with a triumphant “RAWR!” that could barely be heard over their own giggles.

Mammon clutched his chest like he was dying.

“WHAT THE HELL?! WHY’RE YOU SO—SO—?!”

He didn’t finish the sentence. Just shoved open the common room door, D.D.D. held high. “EVERYONE SHUT UP AND LOOK AT THIS. THIS IS AN EMERGENCY.”

Mammon proceeded to show them every single file on the flash drive, laughing, crying, yelling about your “genius” choices in toddler hats. He watched the video where you tried to eat spaghetti with your hands twelve times.

When you caught him later, cheeks flushed, misty-eyed and muttering “Yer still my lil’ menace… can’t believe you were this smol,” you asked if he was okay. He made the video his lock screen. He denies it to this day.

LEVIATHAN

Levi was deep into a raid when the image flashed across his screen.

Mammon: “bet you’ve NEVER seen anything this cute”

He groaned. “I’m literally tanking, you normie!”

But he clicked it anyway.

What greeted him was a photo of MC, around three years old, standing in front of a kiddie pool. Their hair was soaked. Their tiny hand held a plastic sea serpent. Glitter clung to their cheeks. They were grinning, one front tooth missing.

Levi dropped his controller.

“WH—WHA—!!” he stuttered, practically falling out of his chair. He began pacing, flailing wildly. “How is this real?! Were you born to be anime?!”

An hour later, his room was covered in digital printouts of the photo, lovingly framed with titles like “MC-chan: Episode Zero” and “Glitter Level: MAX”. He made an entire moodboard. He created a digital shrine.

When you visited later and asked why his screen was cycling baby photos of you like a magical girl intro sequence, he looked away, cheeks red.

“I-It’s for inspiration. Yeah. Totally. Inspiration…” He never stopped using “Glitter Pool MC” as his loading screen background.

SATAN

Satan had always found human homes oddly comforting, cluttered, warm, full of little forgotten stories.

He wandered the hallway of MC’s childhood house with a quiet curiosity, fingertips brushing the spines of old storybooks stacked on shelves and photographs hung slightly askew. Then he found it: a small wicker box labeled “MC’s Early Years.”

He opened it.

Inside, nestled between soft baby booties and crayon drawings, was a faded photo. Baby MC, no older than two, sitting in a pile of open books, one upside-down in their lap, pointing at the pictures with furrowed brows as if trying to decode a great mystery.

He sat down, entranced. Another photo showed them with a paper crown, surrounded by stuffed animals, mid-speech, commanding an imaginary kingdom. Satan’s lips curled into a genuine smile. “You’ve always had a flair for drama, haven’t you?”

He spent the next hour quietly exploring the box like a sacred archive. One video, in particular, made him pause: toddler MC babbling animatedly to a cat while holding a board book, pretending to read aloud. "You were trying to teach it to read," he whispered.

Later that night, he returned to the box. Not for research. Just to sit beside it on the carpet and smile at the soft evidence that even then, you were chaotic, curious, and lovable.

When you found him there and asked what he was doing, he looked up, surprisingly honest. “You were... adorable. But more than that, you were you, even then.”

He didn’t need blackmail. He was just quietly enchanted.

ASMODEUS

Asmo’s shriek could’ve cracked glass.

“I CAN’T—I CAN’T—YOU WERE SO. TINY.”

He clutched the framed photo to his chest like it was holy. “Look at this baby! Look at that SKIN! That perfect plump cheek! The pose! The accessories!”

You winced. “Asmo, that was literally a Halloween costume. I was a turnip.”

“A STYLISH turnip, darling! You were ahead of your time!” Asmodeus dragged you to your childhood bedroom, dug through boxes, and uncovered a glittery plastic tiara and a rainbow feather boa. He gasped.

“You WORE this?! Oh we are recreating this. Right. Now.”

You spent the next hour wrapped in childhood clothes while Asmo snapped dozens of photos, cooing and giggling.

But then he found a video, baby MC dancing in front of a mirror, clapping and spinning, cheeks red, singing nonsense songs to themselves.

He fell silent. “…You were glowing.”

He didn't speak for a while after that. He just watched the video on repeat, hand over his heart, eyes misty. “Even then,” he murmured later, when you caught him in your room watching it again, “you knew how to make someone fall for you.”

He uploaded a filtered baby pic to Devilgram, just your hand clutching a tiny rattle, captioned: “Even before you knew what beauty was, you were it.” He added a heart emoji. Then made it his lock screen.

BEELZEBUB

Beel followed the scent of something sweet and comforting into the kitchen, only to find MC’s father offering him a slice of homemade banana bread and a seat at the table.

“MC used to love helping with this,” their dad said fondly. “Though... most of it ended up on the floor.”

Beel took a bite, and froze. Memory hit like a wave. The flavor was warm and familiar. He didn’t understand how, until the father chuckled and pulled out a photo album from the counter drawer.

He opened to a page: baby MC in a high chair, covered head to toe in banana batter, proudly holding a spoon like a trophy. Beel smiled. “You still make that face when you eat something you like,” he said quietly.

He looked through every page slowly, reverently. Photos of toddler MC chasing bubbles in the yard. Of them hugging their baby sibling. Of them asleep on the couch, surrounded by cookie crumbs.

When you came in and found him still at the table, he looked up with a half-eaten slice of bread in one hand and a photo in the other. “I think I want to learn to make this with you,” he said. “So we can bake... and make new memories.”

You gave him the photo of baby-you with the spoon. He keeps it tucked into the back of his protein bar drawer.

BELPHEGOR

Belphie hadn’t moved in half an hour. He was lying across your childhood bed, nose buried in one of your old plush blankets, a cow-patterned stuffed animal tucked under his chin. The room was dim and cozy, just the way he liked it.

But then he noticed something sticking out from under the pillow.

A polaroid.

You, barely more than a baby, sprawled in a crib with the same stuffed cow, mouth open, drooling on the pillow, one leg dangling dramatically over the edge. He snorted. “So dramatic even in your sleep, huh?”

He wandered out to the hallway where the others were watching videos. You were no older than three, curled up in a laundry basket full of towels, fast asleep, snoring softly. "That’s adorable,” he said. “...And accurate.” Later, you found him curled up under the same childhood blanket, watching a looped video of baby-you napping in increasingly weird places, inside a dog bed, halfway off a beanbag, under the kitchen table.

He pulled you down beside him, wrapped the blanket around you both. “You still do that,” he mumbled sleepily. “Fall asleep wherever I am.” His voice was barely audible as he closed his eyes.

“I think I liked you even back then... and I didn’t even know it.”

[tojisun]

Poor poor hockey! Simon :(

he lost and now the only thing to make him feel better is a good bj

this made me twitch so here u are my love !!!

!! comfort/smut - minors dni; hockey au; praises (in a tender way and but also in a kink way); D/s-ish; some semblance of plot ig // 2.4k words (LMAO)

the horn blows, marking the end of the game and, with that, the end of spec gru’s season.

it was heartbreaking to watch the way the boys' bodies slump, their loss descending onto them like heavy rain. the arena shakes, screams from the opposing team's fans piercing your ears, but you can't blame them, really—they won on home ice, against the leviathan of the league. it is a tremendous win for them, and a devastating loss for your side.

you feel your hand getting squeezed and you turn, looking at johnny's fiancee, seeing the way her own face is crumpled in her sadness.

"i guess that's that, huh?" she says, comforting, her voice a quiet whisper that was almost devoured by the loud cheers.

sometimes you forget that she's an athlete too; that she feels things a lot more intense than you do because she understands the grapple. the desperation. the way how everything you give and everything you put out is, at the end, not enough.

you sniffle, holding her hand tighter.

"i'm so proud of 'em," you say wetly, unable to compartmentalize your grief.

she laughs, the sound of it so empty of any humour but not any less kind.

“i am too.”

you both turn your gazes back to the rink and watch the teams shake hands with each other, the players finally amiable like they hadn’t just been tussling on ice, all sparked by the sharp tension that buzzed throughout their play.

you watch as simon takes a lap, patting the backs of his team members with his lips pursed, but otherwise he is put together. and yet here you are, shaking, lips wobbling, nose twitching because you are trying your best not to cry. it isn’t like you were the one who lost so you wonder why your heart twinges with so much pain; why is it that you are the one holding back the tears?

simon turns to the crowd, roving his eyes past bodies, until they finally lock on you. his lips twitch into a smile; you give him what you hope is a big one—the type of smile that will let him know how in awe you are of him, win or not.

they skate away and you all shuffle out, preparing for the flight back home.

.

it was expected for the players to fly back home together—a semblance of normalcy even amidst the staggering defeat. it was their last attempt at showing sportsmanship; at showing the hounding media that despite the abrupt end of their season, they remained close-knit. 

simon understands it, of course. it was a media play, one that contends with the politics of the league, but it was difficult to act impartially, especially when they were making their way back, empty-handed, from the home ice of the team that had defeated them. it was difficult to not show the turmoil in their hearts, but they all managed to hold their heads up high during the exit and that was that.

they didn’t talk about it much, avoiding that last game as best as they could until the briefing, but hunger thrums in their jowls—no one was satisfied with being the second best. 

the promise of a better next season hung above them, but it is still so unreachable.

simon feels angrier than usual, unable to stop himself from taking this loss personally. like what costed them their win were only his shortcomings; like this defeat was his sole failure because he did promise to lead his team on ice, with price unable to stand as their official captain during the games. he had promised to score the most, after all, and had promised to keep the opposing puck out of price’s net, but he failed in both and, well, here they are.

back home, anguished. defeated.

he–

simon's phone rings, a quiet trill that echoes in the empty locker room. 

he shoots awake from the swirl of his thoughts, sluggish as he pulls it out of his bag. he expected it to be laswell or keller, or maybe their coach, but simon feels his world tilt when he sees your name flashing on his screen. and just like that, like he wasn’t even drowning in his self-doubt and self-hatred, simon feels like he can breathe again. 

he feels lighter, his anguish seeping out of his pores, leaving him with nothing but his flesh and his heart and his love. 

simon picks up the call, hears your voice, then he is up and running back home. 

.

there is a sense of urgency in the way he finds you, his cold body folding into the warm touch of your own. you gasped out his name, surprised at how fast you have him back in your arms after a whole season of flying and leaving and pursuing his chance at the cup—

“i’m home, petal,” simon murmurs, his voice deep and beautiful and longing, and you giggle, your eyes watering, before you nuzzle into his chest.

he breathes you in, the faint smell of ozone and rain and something distinctly flowery fills his nose, and somehow this is what grounds him, his blood spiking as desire and need fill him up instead.

and it trickles into him like wafting smoke—soft, gentle, cascading like a warm kiss. it is still intense, hungry, but it is tender. quiet. like everything about simon’s buzzed energy had transformed into this careful folding. the anger, the desperation, all of it snuffed out for a vulnerable moment.

“baby,” you begin, voice muffled from where your head is still pressed on his chest. “love, you did so well.”

he shakes, his words failing him now. 

you pull back just enough and he sees the glazed look in your eyes as you stare up at him, your lips curled in your smile. “i’m so proud of you, si.” 

his heart stutters inside the cages of his ribs, jumping, before it lodges itself in his throat. 

you giggle at his wordless tremors and press close again, your body melting onto his again, before you tip your head back to his chest but this time, instead of a nuzzle, you greet his beating heart with a kiss. one that is so light he barely feels it from his shirt, but simon feels so shaken. 

he feels so raw. 

you are holding him like he is the best thing in this world. like all his bulk and his size and his anger is still worth this softness.

“i need you,” he croaks out, unable to stop the way his feelings bloat and rage in the pit of his stomach. 

“you have all of me,” you reply, breathless, your eyes still blown open, wide and full of wonder. then they shift, turning sharper, gaining edge; still careful, coaxing, but overwhelming. “tell me, my love. tell me how you need me.”

“fuck,” simon rasps out, feeling like he’s running out of air. his fingers twitch, digging deep into your skin, feeling it mould under his touch.

he’s missed this, alright. he’s—

“mouth,” he finally manages to bite out. “wan’ feel your mouth, love.”

“okay,” you croon, kissing his pec again. “sit f’me?”

simon doesn’t even have it in him to feel embarrassed about the way he falls to his ass on the plush mattress, bouncing a little bit because of the force, before he spreads his legs open, so, so desperate. 

you have your bottom lip trapped between your teeth, canines dimpling the flesh, and simon feels like he is burning from the inside; doused with the fires of need, spark untamable, licking up, up, up.

“come on, firelily,” he rumbles, needy. “c’mere an’ kiss me.”

you huff, fond, and fall to your knees, scooting close to him. 

it was silent as you fumble with his sweats, tugging at the drawstring and grumbling when the hem gets snugged on his hips. simon chuckles, pushing your hair out of your face before he juts up just enough to give you room to slide his sweats and his boxers down.

the cool air makes him tremble and you murmur something. it was so faint that he doesn’t get to catch what it was, but his curiosity sizzles at the sight of you licking your palm, shyly with how you refuse to meet his eyes. he almost teases you, his cheeks round with giddiness, but then you wrapped your fist around his half-chub, and his sanity is razed. 

simon hisses, eyes fluttering close at the warm curl of pleasure.

jesus. he’s missed the feeling of this; your hand is softer, more supple, around his cock. it was so different from when it was his own fist rubbing himself, beating at his angrily flushed cock with desperation only for his peak to tip over mutedly, and not enough to truly satiate his hunger.

but this? fuck. 

simon doesn’t even realize he’s whimpering, his head thrown back at the curious pace of your hand, not really jerking him off but mapping along his veins almost in quiet awe. 

“‘m not gon’ last long if you–” he gasps at a particular twist. “if you keep doing that.”

“oh, no we can’t have that,” you tease, chuckling, and simon’s reply builds on the tip of his tongue, cheeky, but then you’re already moving, your back folding, your breath hitting his sensitive head.

his thighs tense in his anticipation, his stomach locking. you flit your eyes up at him, pupils blown wide in your own ragged need, before he jerks at the feeling of your tongue pressing on the underside of his cock, licking up, and teasing his leaking slit.

simon moans, guttural, his voice caught on the back of his throat. he drops his hands to his sides, fisting at the sheets as you keep licking, teasing his slit and tracing his veins, lapping at his cock so messily. 

if he didn’t know any better, he’d think that you’re inexperienced; all sloppy and curious, like you’re attempting things you’ve probably seen in porn, but then you close the ring of your mouth around the bulbed head, suckling like it’s a goddamn loli, while your hands drop to squeeze his balls, and simon’s gone. 

“shit-!” he gasps out, battling air like he’s back on ice. 

he bucks his hips forward, unable to help himself, and only stops at the warbled sound of your surprise.

“fuck,” he hisses, hand coming up to swipe the hair from your sweaty face. “i’m sorry, darlin’. didn’t mean t’force it down. s’just that y’r so good.”

he keeps petting your cheek, overtaken by his desires and no longer able to stop the string of words trickling from his heart. “missed you lots, swee’art. missed you so much—take me deeper?”

your cheeks hollow as you hum, so obedient for him.

“yeah, jus’ like that,” simon trills, his chest rising as he breathes in deeply. his stomach flexes at the feeling of you swallowing more of him, taking his thickness past your gummy cheeks and into the wet vice of your throat. “shit, baby. christ. y’feel so fuckin’ good ‘round me. so perfect an’ wet.” he giggles, drunken in his bliss. “such a messy baby y’are. so sloppy. y’wanted my cock that much, din’ya? so hungry f’r it.”

there’s a wet slurp when he hits the deepest you could allow him, your eyes rolling to the back of your skull. you choke, your body lurching in protest, but simon is at the throes of his pleasure and his rational thoughts are devoured by his gluttonous need, and simon knows it is wrong to ask but—

“hold it in? can you do that f’r me, love?” he croons, his voice curling in his euphoria.

he knows this is playing dirty; to use your weakness—the deep rumble of his voice and the gentle beckoning—to make you weak, malleable. to make you just as desperate for him because he knows all you want to do is to be good for him even when it has you straining, your eyes filling up with tears. he knows it is wrong, but he can’t help it. he wants you this way.

and you want him like this too—his desires sharpening, shaping him to be mean and dangerous. his thickness fills you up, pressing at the roof of your mouth and trapping your tongue underneath the weight of his flesh. your larynx is stretched out, stuffed, but simon is looking at you so adoringly, his own ecstasy so dizzying, so addicting.

you nod, sniffling, finally replying to his question because you want him to feel good. because you want him to lose his restraints when it comes to you.

because you want him to use you until he’s truly relaxed, his body exhausted with something beyond his heartbreak. with something beyond his loss.

simon’s lips wobble like he knows what it is you are thinking of. 

he fucks your throat that way, gentle and sometimes slipping into something so mean it makes you squirm on your knees, the muted throb of your strained legs finally turning into staticky numbness, but you don’t complain, your jaw relaxed as you let simon use you.

he growls out his praises, his words chewed on in his peaking euphoria—nose flaring, cheeks flushed red—or lilting as he teases you—pulling his cock out enough that all that is left is the head, and you whine because you want him in, please simon. wan’ more please—

“gonna cum, sweetheart. gonna cum—fuck!—gonna—”

simon throws his head back, a blinding white filling his eyes and his ears ringing. his body trembles at the intensity of his orgasm, immense pleasure overtaking every synapses in his body until all that he feels is the feverish wrap of your mouth on him.

he flicks his eyes down, panting, and twitches at the sight you make—jaw slack, eyes faraway, skin shining with a thin sheen of sweat. 

you look, fuck, you look angelic like this.

simon cups your cheek, his thumb swiping just underneath your teary eye. you focus back to him slowly, blinking owlishly. 

“shh,” he croons, gentle. “i’ve got you, darlin’. i’ve got you.”

a whine builds from the back of your throat and simon hums, responding to your wordless babble, trying to ease you back down from the fog. he continues to hold you even amidst his oversensitivity, waiting so patiently so he can take care of you now.

yeah, he thinks to himself as he continues to return your unblinking stare. i’m glad to be back home. 

hope this was good :'33 once again pls dont judge me for my blatant self-indulgence hhHHHHH oki oki mwah!!

[m1ckeyb3rry]

“…although you could not remember much, you did recall the day he had found you, for it was in a sense a second birth, the rest of your life a dark blur up until the moment you had opened your eyes to him. Him and the deep punctures in your side, which were blackened around the edges and wept red onto his turmeric-stained tunic; him and the kelp tangling around your throat, which crumbled away as soon as his palm lit upon the firm bone of your chest; him and the brine at the corners of your mouth, which dribbled down your chin as he pinched your nose shut and pressed his lips to yours, breathing life back into a sodden, weary heart that had no choice but to accept the offering.”

Series Synopsis: The sea spits you out at Phainon’s feet and tells him to save you. You wonder if he will ever regret that he falls to his knees and obliges.

AO3 Link

Current Word Count: 9.9k

Status: Ongoing

Pairing(s): Phainon x F!Reader, Mydei x F!Reader

Content Warnings: it’s me again writing for amphoreus baddies despite being like an eighth of the way through 3.0 AT THE MOST, fantasy au (amphoreus?? i hardly KNOW us), i make up lore + magic because i can, i world build also because i can, random luocha relevance fsr, amnesia trope, love triangle (we are not getting both at the same damn time i fear), violence and blood and whatnot most likely, screwy timeline bullshit, screwy spatial bullshit (this makes no sense but), an ending i personally would not consider angsty but some might, tbh i don’t actually know where this is going to go #mightdeletelater, don’t ask me who’s endgame i oscillate sm it’ll probably just be left vague, wherever you think this is going it definitely isn't, slapping that ooc warning on here because who even am i without her (it's really bad this time though SLDKHF)…

LEVIATHAN I: ECHOES IN A SHALLOW BAY

LEVIATHAN II: BLUE BELL KNOLL

LEVIATHAN III: THE TINDERBOX OF A HEART

LEVIATHAN IV: THOSE EYES, THAT MOUTH

LEVIATHAN V: SUNBURST AND SNOWBLIND

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Imagine…Dean Coming Back From The Dead

Pairing: Dean x reader

__________

“Hiya sweetheart.” You stared wide eyed at the man baring a striking resemblance to your boyfriend. Your very much been dead for five years boyfriend. He held up his hands, slowly stepping inside as you backed up. You dove for your side table where you kept the demon blade along with your other weapons.

The man who looked oh so much like Dean apart from the fuller beard and slightly longer hair, took a big step to the right, avoiding your attempts at stabbing him. He slid forward, knocking the knife away when you went back for more.

“Who the hell-“ He pushed on your back, skirting past you and going to your weapons. You growled, trying to cut him off when you watched him pick up the silver blade. He held it to the back of his hand, slicing it open.

“We both know I’m not a demon since I walked right over that devils trap under the hardwoods and I'm not a shifter or a leviathan or ghoul," he said, setting the blade back down. He held up his hands when you grabbed the knife again, ready to take aim. "Alberta."

Your eyes flared wide for a split second, Dean smirking.

"Hey, I'm man enough to admit the dude was hot. I did notice he had a striking resemblance to a certain...me," he teased. "Why'd you never hookup with him again?"

"How do I know it's really you?" He pursed his lips, thinking it over as he cocked his head.

"Same way I know you never made it past first base with that guy. You ran out of the motel room like it was on fire." You lowered your knife, dropping it on the ground. He stepped over close, gently grasping your chin with his thumb and forefinger. "I thought I told you to try and move on if something happened."

"I did try," you whispered, breath catching in your throat. "No one's you."

"Well, at least you being single makes this situation slightly less awkward," he said, dipping his head down low, tilting your chin up. "You still my girl?"

"I've always been her." He grinned, slowly touching his lips to yours, your hands finally gripping his jacket. He was so warm, so full of life.

You flinched away when an image of his cold, restless body came to mind.

"I'm sorry," he said when you ran a hand over your mouth, wrapping one arm around yourself.

"It's not you," you whispered, your eyes welling as you found his green ones waiting. "I buried you."

"I know you did," Dean breathed out, wiping away a stray tear that fell. "I'm here to stay...most likely."

You squeezed your eyes shut, shaking your head. "I can't do most likely, Dean. I can't get you back just to lose you again."

"Help me with one last job then. Jack said if I help with a case, I could come back. For real." You stared at him, Dean cupping your cheeks in his large hands. "Please. Five years was rough enough. I don't want to wait a lifetime to have forever with you."

You took a deep breath, nodding as he pulled you into a deep hug.

"Alright, tell me about the job, De."

_______________

[anna-the-undertaker]

Group Chat: House of Lamentation — 12:35 AM

Leviathan:

i’m dying

this is the end

tell ruri-chan i loved her

and someone burn my limited edition body pillow with honor

Mammon:

YOU JUST GOT A COLD BRO

calm down

stop writing your will in the group chat

Asmodeus:

He sneezed one time and said “this is how I go”

I’ve seen drama queens but this is a whole palace

Belphegor:

If he dies, can I have his headphones?

Satan:

If he dies, I’m deleting his save files out of spite.

Beelzebub:

I made him soup

He cried because the noodles were shaped like swords

He’s very emotional right now

Lucifer:

Leviathan, you are not dying

You are banned from any dramatics past 10 PM

MC:

get bell soon

wet*

wep*

forget it

brother you can just die

[Silence.]

Mammon:

EXCUSE ME???????

Asmodeus:

MC.

DARLING.

WHAT??? 💀💀💀

Leviathan:

WHAT DO YOU MEAN “JUST DIE”

IS THIS HOW YOU COMFORT PEOPLE??

Belphegor:

I’m screenshotting this for blackmail

This is historic

Satan:

Do you want me to embroider that on a pillow for him?

"Get bell soon, wet, wep, die"

Beelzebub:

I think they were trying to say “get well soon”

Autocorrect betrayed them

Like it does to all of us eventually

Lucifer:

MC.

Would you like to retract your accidental murder threat before I have to file paperwork?

MC:

💬💬💬

oh my god

I was trying to say “get well soon”

my phone glitched

twice

I gave up

I WAS TRYING TO BE NICE

AND IT TURNED INTO A CURSED CURSE

Leviathan:

YOU SAID “BROTHER YOU CAN JUST DIE”

IN A GROUP CHAT

WHILE I WAS SICK

THAT’S LIKE A WITCH’S FINAL WORDS

Mammon:

this how horror games start

"everything was normal until MC told him to just die"

Asmodeus:

I’m crying

They went from Nurse Joy to Final Boss in 0.3 seconds

Satan:

I’m printing it.

It’s going on the wall above the couch.

Lucifer:

If I see it framed, I will burn the entire common room

Belphegor:

Too late. I already made it a lockscreen.

Beelzebub:

MC?

You're still a good person.

Just maybe… turn off autocorrect

MC:

I'm gonna go scream into a pillow now

Mammon:

MAKE SURE IT AIN’T MY PILLOW

YOU MIGHT CURSE IT!

[cece693]

Hear me out percy jackson x demeter reader what if reader got kidnapped too by Luke just like Hades but reader doesn't like Luke an let me tell you percy and demeter ARE GOING WILD the crops are all dead and the water is going crazy

That's all thank you!

YOU TOOK THE WRONG PERSON

pairing: percy jackson x son of demeter

You were never meant to be part of the prophecy. You weren’t a warrior, not in the traditional sense. You could make vines grow through concrete, calm wild animals with your voice, and coax life from dry earth—but a fighter? No. You weren’t supposed to be on the battlefield.

But you were Percy’s.

And that made you a target.

They took you in the night—Luke and his followers. You fought, of course you did. You thrashed and shouted and lashed out with roots and thorn-covered whips, but Luke had planned this. He used celestial bronze nets soaked in hydra venom to dull your magic, and even as you screamed Percy’s name, the earth couldn’t reach you. Your mother couldn’t reach you.

At least, not yet.

Camp Half-Blood woke up to wilting gardens. Strawberries shriveled on the vine. Roses blacken mid-bloom. The Demeter cabin is on its knees, their prayers unanswered, the soil refusing to listen. But that’s only the beginning. Because when Percy finds out, when Chiron breaks the news that Luke took you,—“We think he intends to use them as leverage. You’re close, and their connection to the seasons—”

Percy’s already gone.

He doesn’t scream. He doesn’t shout. He just leaves, a storm trailing behind him. Quite literally.

The skies turn black. The ocean begins to surge unnaturally, even in places far from Poseidon's domain. Water floods subway systems and overflows dams. Rain won’t stop. Thunder pounds the clouds like a war drum. And Demeter? She’s not idle, either.

“My son,” she says, her voice brittle as frost. “Taken like Persephone. But this time, I will not weep. I will rage.” She refuses to bring spring. Crops fail. Vineyards rot. Fields across the globe dry into brittle husks.

Humanity begins to notice. But none of that matters to Percy.

He would tear the world apart ocean by ocean if it meant getting you back.

Meanwhile…

Luke tries to manipulate you, playing the old card of, “They don’t care about the truth, only the prophecy,” and, “You and I could be so much more.”

You stare at him like he's soil that refuses to grow. “You’re not Hades,” you spit. “You don’t get to play villain and still act like you’re in love with the world you’re trying to destroy.”

“You think Percy will come for you?” Luke mocks, cruel. “He’s a pawn of Olympus.”

You stare at him, the pain in your wrists forgotten, your breath catching not from fear but fury. Your voice is soft when you speak, but every word lands like the crack of roots splitting stone.

“No,” you say, gaze locked and unflinching. “That’s where you keep getting it wrong. He’s not a pawn.” You lean forward, eyes sharp with something ancient, something your mother passed into your bones like wildseed. “He’s the storm. He doesn’t take orders—he makes the sea rise.”

Luke falters—just for a second.

“He’ll come for me,” you continue, your voice calm, almost pitying, “not because the gods told him to. Not for Olympus. But because he loves me. And you? You wouldn’t know what that kind of loyalty looks like if it strangled you in your sleep.”

The silence stretches. You feel it in the walls—the faint tremble of far-off water

“You’re not a god,” you finish. “You’re just a boy playing tyrant in someone else’s war.” And that’s when the walls groan. Dust rained from the ceiling. Somewhere above, something—no, everything—shifts.

Luke’s smug smile finally cracks. “What did you do?”

You blink slowly. “I didn’t do anything.” You tilt your head, listening. “But the tide’s coming in.”

And then it hits.

The far wall of the chamber explodes inward, not with fire—but with water. Pressurized and howling like a leviathan. It floods the corridor, swallowing Luke’s guards in seconds. Vines as thick as tree trunks burst through cracks in the floor and lash out like serpents, tearing down pillars, choking weapons from hands, dragging the unworthy underground.

And then—him.

Percy stands in the breach. Soaked to the bone, blood trailing from his temple, celestial bronze blade clenched so tightly in his fist it creaks. His sea-green eyes land on you, and something ancient and wild ripples behind them.

“Get away from him,” Percy says, and there’s no room for argument. His voice booms like waves against cliffs. “Now.”

Luke draws his sword. “You won’t make it out of here with him,” Luke hisses. “I’ll make sure of that.”

“You already lost,” Percy growls. “The ocean doesn’t ask permission.”

And suddenly he’s moving—the kind of speed you don’t see, only feel. Water blasts forward in a crashing spiral, knocking Luke off his feet. The two clash in a blur of silver and blue. You watch helplessly, shackled, vines too exhausted to respond—but the earth is listening again. You whisper low, coaxing the stone, and slowly, steadily, the roots obey.

Chains snap. Your arms fall limp at your sides, burning—but free. Just in time to see Luke flat on his back, sword flung from his grasp. Percy doesn’t strike the killing blow. No. He plants a foot on Luke’s chest and points Riptide at his throat. “You hurt him. You took him."

Percy’s voice trembles—not from weakness, but from holding back the kind of wrath that could shatter continents. “You tried to break the world by using the person I love most as bait.”

Luke sneers, though he’s pinned. “Still think you’re a hero? You’ll never stop it—Kronos is coming. You’re just another demigod in the meat grinder, Jackson.”

“Maybe,” Percy says, eyes burning. “But I’m the demigod who’s still standing.”

He doesn’t kill him—not out of mercy, but defiance.

Instead, he lets the earth have him.

Vines snap from the ground, curling around Luke’s limbs, dragging him down like an ancient punishment—the wrath of Demeter herself. The floor cracks, soil groaning, and the last thing Luke sees before darkness claims him is Percy wrapping you in his arms.

Percy collapses to his knees beside you, arms instantly pulling you in. He smells of salt and blood and ozone, the sharp scent of a storm that finally passed. “I’m here,” he breathes. “I’m here, I’ve got you.”

You sag against him, the adrenaline finally fading. “You came.”

“Of course I did,” Percy says, almost incredulous. His voice cracks at the edges. “I’d flood the world if that’s what it took. You think gods scare me? You think fate scares me?” He cups your cheek, thumb brushing over the grime and dried blood. “Losing you—that’s the only thing that terrifies me.”

You lean into the touch. “You scared the plants.”

He laughs wetly, eyes still shining. “You scared the sea.”

[diejager]

Imagine that the hybrid 141 was getting a teammate and that teammate was a hybrid and Laswell wanted it to be a surprise for the team what they are as in hybrid was and soon as they get off the aircraft and onto the tarmac, the boys realize that they’re with another dragon hybrid and her “heat” would be soon upon her (dark blue in to black better for stealth or, whatever you prefer, she also has her wings) how would the boys handle that you can take the story anyway you want 

This… I might make it self-indulging because this idea has been clawing at the back of my mind for a long while. Cw: mating/heat cycle, fire/water magic, tell me if I missed any.

Laswell had Price wait for the surprise she had planned, the secret she kept from them when they received your file. It had all he asked for in attributes and skills, but all things personal that should have been on it were scratched out in black. He was told that it was a need to know basis, your name, age or species wouldn’t be divulged unless you told them yourself. He knew you from words from mouth to ear, ad read of your skill and efficiently but nothing he heard and found told him an ounce about you as a person. Your character was a mystery he died to know.

So when he got word from Laswell that your ETA was just over half an hour, he had the boys reconvene to the airstrip, watching the aircraft carrying you land not too far from them, the rotors slowing to a steady thrum. The anticipation that bubble din his chest made this moment crawl at a snail’s pace, the ramp lowering too slowly for his liking and the droning sound of the aircraft’s irking his ears. Then, seconds after the ramp fully dropped, he caught sight of blue horns, tines growing from a singular robust beam, segmented like those of a scale. Your head, covered by a custom made helmet to let your antlers peek out and sit comfortably on your head (at least you wore something, unlike his constant frustration with finding one that wouldn’t bother his horns), followed after you walked out, decked in your gear and a bag slung over your shoulders. 

You weren’t what he was expecting, not exactly. He read that you had a masterful experience in hydromancy, stealing water from the air and humidity and contorting it to cause havoc in the field and cutting through the enemy. He and the others shared their theories, one possibility made you into a water witch, a leviathan, or one of those creepy monsters from the deep sea. Not what… whatever you were. You had elk-like horns painted in the deepest blue he’d ever seen and a tail covered in scales of the same shade, glistening under the light like it was wet with tufts of hair - or was it fur? - crawling down the base of your fourth limb to create a silky and soft end with long, slowing locks. 

What were you? What was that smell? It got sweeter the closer you got, a softness that clung to his nose and made him salivate. He wondered how strong it must be for the Soap and König who’s noses were more enhanced and sensitive than any others, they’d probably sniff the source - you - out and answer his undying question.

“Captain Price,” you nodded your head, a small smile gracing your lips, your slitted eyes narrowed in greeting, “Hope I didn’t make you wait too long.”

That sweetness lingered around you and stuck to his hand when you shook hands, giving him a firm shake and stronger grip that he could admire for the strength you showed. Had you face been as bright as it was a few seconds before? Perhaps it was the musk that oozed off you, it was uneasily addicting and pleasing to his lizard brain, slowly moving the cogs of hos old machine. He watched you take a step back, making some distance between his Task Force and you, and his mind got clearer, nose less stuffy and cheeks wash away the slight flush. Then it hit him, the sweetness, the dazed perception of you and the growing need in his body, he was reacting to you. 

“Sorry, I was told I’d be off for the week once I landed,” you cocked your head, sharing an apologetic smile, “My cycle follows the Lunar year.”

Ah, everything made more sense now, the gracefulness of your beautiful tail, the glistening of your scales and the sharpness of your horns. He had agreed to welcome another dragon to his Task Force, he was fortunate that Asian dragons were calmer and benevolent than his European counterpart. 

Taglist: @craxy-person @crowbird @dead-cipher @iwannabealocalcryptid @iizx7y @mxtokko @capricorn-anon @perfectus-in-morte @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @angelcakes-22 @cassiecasluciluce @ramadiiiisme @ramblingsofachaoticthinker @im-making-an-effort @love-dove-noora @jinxxangel13 @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @mul-pi @danielle143 @beau-min @makayla-666 @urfavsunkissedleo @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @luvecarson @petwifed @randominstake @heartelysia @jggykhug09090 @cassiecasluciluce @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @call-me-nyxx @sans-chara @infpt-zylith @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @thigh-o-saur @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami

[harunayuuka2060]

WHB Asmodeus: ...

MC: *after hiding for about a week since arriving in Gehenna, she now appears, standing next to Satan*

WHB Satan: Should we start this meeting-

WHB Asmodeus: This is so unlike you—to stand next to a man.

MC: *tilts her head slightly* And?

WHB Beelzebub: Pft-

WHB Mammon: I don’t care about the drama between you two, but what are you doing here?

MC: I've decided to offer my assistance as a way of thanking Satan for accepting me and my son into his humble abode.

WHB Leviathan: You may be knowledgeable in witchcraft, but do you have anything to offer beyond that?

MC: I'm skilled in combat.

WHB Mammon: And so the 72 devils.

MC: *smiles* I subdued the King of Gehenna.

WHB Satan: Why are you using that as an example?

WHB Leviathan: Very well. I would like to see what you can do.

Sitri: Your heartbeat is still unstable, but it's definitely an improvement from before.

MC: I told you, I'll manage.

Sitri: ...

Sitri: His Majesty Asmodeus was clearly upset.

MC: And why are you telling me?

Sitri: Upsetting His Majesty Asmodeus would—

MC: That man knows better than anyone else not to mess with me.

MC: He already did once; I wouldn't forgive him a second time.

Sitri: ...

Sitri: I understand.

WHB Asmodeus: Ah... Why must you be so cruel? *his fingers graze his body slowly, a smirk playing on his lips*

WHB Asmodeus: But surely, you didn’t do that just to make me jealous... I can't even bring myself to be angry.

WHB Asmodeus: *his memories of that first night with MC came rushing back to him, intense pleasure started to flood in*

WHB Asmodeus: Haa... ha...

WHB Asmodeus: *smiles* I'll see you again tomorrow.

Ezrin: *feeling drowsy* Mom, your mark is glowing...

MC: Just ignore it.

Ezrin: ...

Ezrin: I'm glad Dad didn't do something crazy earlier...

MC: He knew I would beat him up.

Ezrin: Hehe...

MC: Sleep now.

Ezrin: Okay, Mom... Good night...

[h8aaz]

⭒permanent price.¹

sum. sam has to deal with the loss of you; and grieving is never easy.

cw. angst . mention of reader's death . est. relationship . s7 leviathan arc but mixed with the bunker era? ignore it .

lock the door, but what for?

no one to walk in on me anymore

sam sobbed as quietly as he could as the flames burned in front of him. you were gone. really gone this time.

you had practically forced him to promise not to bring you back. and god, did he want to break it so bad. but he reminded himself of how you felt, what you said.

“we've died and come back multiple times over the years, and i'm tired, sam. i'm tired of this—this lifestyle. i wanna grow old with you. safely. i don't wanna have to worry about what creature or biblical figure is gonna come at us every second. i just wanna be with you, sammy. but if it comes to it again; don't do it. don't bring me back. i know it'll be hard, but you gotta let me go, okay? please just let me go.”

he shuddered under the warmth emmitting from the fire. the flickering orange glow illuminated him, reflecting off his tears. he was completely heartbroken. he had held you as the lights faded from your eyes, weakly babbling about your dream life and how in love with him you were.

were.

that word tastes sour. it reads disgustingly.

you shouldn't have to be described with that awful word. all it does is remind him that you're gone. how he won't get to wake up and sleep next to you anymore. won't get to make a separate pot of coffee just so its the way you like it, and pour it into your favorite mug that he got you before you started dating. he won't get to hear you laugh, see you smile, flinch when you scold him, hold you when you cry, take care of you when you're sick. nothing.

he had to bring you back to the bunker. he had to explain to everyone what happened, what killed you. those stupid fucking leviathans. they didn't deserve to take you from him. truly, nothing did. but they did anyway. because that's what god wanted, i guess.

his love life has been doomed since jess—maybe even before that. so you meeting a tragic end wasn't completely out of the question, but not exactly a no-brainer, either. he had told you about jess, as you two had met a few years shy of her death. and you had expected something to happen to you after lucifer admitted to having demons watch over sam all his life.

but expecting doesn't prepare you for when it happens.

sam had a gut feeling that it was a bad idea for you to sneak and spy on some of the leviathans. like he just knew something was going to go wrong for the two of you.

“i just don't think you should go alone, that's all,” he tried to reason as simply as he could, not wanting to say why he really thought you shouldn't go.

“i'll be okay, sam, i've done this shit before,” you responded, lightly punching his shoulder.

he scoffed, his lips twitching into smile, but it didn't meet his eyes. the expression fell from him quickly, and you could tell. you just knew his real reason. just by looking at him.

“hey,” you spoke softly. you turned in your seat as much as the confined space of the car would allow you to, resting a hand on his arm. “i'll be okay, you don't gotta worry about that. i can handle them. bobby taught us how to kill 'em, remember? sure, it'll be tough, but i can do it. you know i can.”

he struggled to meet your gaze, his head turning in minuscule snaps. “yeah, yeah, i know.” he let out a hesitant breath before moving his body to face yours, placing his hand over yours and wrapping his fingers around it. “i'm just scared. scared that you could get hurt, or- or worse, you know?”

“i know, honey, i know,” you soothed. “but if we're gonna get closer to taking down bitch roman, you gotta let me do this, please.” you pleaded, scrunching your brows as he laughed.

“what? what did i say? why are you laughing?” you pouted before letting out a laugh. “bitch roman?” he cackled, “his name's dick, baby.” he grinned at you, clutching his chest. “dick, bitch, same thing.” you rolled your eyes playfully.

to think that was the last time he'd ever hear you laugh. and it was because you were making fun of—yeah, bitch roman.

and now here he was, giving you a proper hunter's funeral. just like you'd always wanted. you were raised into hunting like him and dean, having this whole ordeal programmed into your head since day one. even when you'd talk to him about your dream future, you'd always go out like this. buried as a hunter.

when the whole ceremony was done, he told everyone to head to bed, to let him take care of you. just one last time.

he dismantled what he needed to, to get your covered bones and whatever was left of you off the pyre. he carried you over to a hole he had previously dug, right next to the garden you had started last year. he placed you inside gently, tears free falling, cascading, down his face. he blinked rapidly at an attempt of clearing his vision. he wanted to get everything right for you. you were the best, and you deserved as such.

his nose was red and runny, sniffles sounding out left and right. most of your things were burned already, except a few items to keep your memory by. he placed a broken charm bracelet—from one of your anniversaries—onto the charred bones of your chest. it had been ruined during your final fight, and it was quickly found by sam before he even got to you.

his chest burned and ached. all over broken and choked sobs. he was shaking at every turn of his body, and push of his shovel into the nearby pile of dirt. he never would've thought he'd have to salt, burn, and bury you one day—let alone find and hold you as you exhaled your last few breaths. hell, he was there. he was just twenty feet away. sitting. waiting, in that damn car where you kissed and hugged him normally for the last time.

sometimes he can still taste your blood in his mouth. you insisted on feeling his lips on yours as you let go. and he felt it. he felt that last sigh ghost his lips; his trembling and begging, and yours falling flat and cold. when he pulled away, he saw that you had closed your eyes, a courtesy that was your last thought. you closed your own eyes to save him from looking into them. from shattering him further.

you were caring and thoughtful to the very end.

an end that should've never came. not now, at least. you should be here. the two of you were supposed to get out. be normal, happy. sam had helped you build those two rocking chairs for when you'd get old. it was a task you brought up to him unexpectedly, but he was glad to do it with you, especially with the considered future of it all.

but now?

now the chairs sat in the bunker's storage.

not forgotten, but preserved.

preserved with your left over belongings that he begged and fought to keep. because he was preserving you. he'll let go, you know he will. but you also know it'll be years until then.

and all you can do is watch. watch him grieve. watch him cry. watch him yell. watch him fight. all due to his love for you.

the words that you say are the price that i pay

gabs yaps. GUYS DONT BE MAD AT ME PLEASEEEE IM SO SORRY LMFAOOO DONT KILL ME 🙏🙏 new fic layout is inspired by my dear millie's ( @soldiersgirl )!!

tags. @starzify @sunsbaby @bejeweledinterludes @soldiersgirl @deansbeer @titsout4jackles @daylighted @bruisedfig @littlesoulshine @bluemerakis @ultravi0lence14 @legalmente-loca @sacr1ficialang3l @j2archives @mahi-wayy @emeraldcrs @liiiilsss @jdmsslvt

dm me or send an ask to be added to/taken off my taglist !!

⭒divider by me!!⭒

[thehydraethereal]

Thinking about Steve Rogers and number 17 (we haven’t even started)

Including age gap, power dynamics, Dacryphilia, fear kink. Honestly thinking about a sickly sweet kidnapper!Steve who’s been stalking reader. “Don’t you think you’re one lucky girl, got Captain America desperate to use that pretty little cunt” and ohhhhh god. He tells reader how special she is, she was made for it, so she better start acting fuckin grateful. Prompt comes in the first time he’s gonna actually use her fully

~~ ✨🍄 for emoji signoff

BEWITCHINGLY FEARFUL

younger.ᐟcaptive reader && dark.ᐟsteve rogers with PROMPT (17)

DARK AND TRIGGERING CONTENT AHEAD, THESE ARE THE WARNINGS.

You crawled your shuddering body in the corner of the disgustingly narrow dorm he put you in a while ago. You didn’t even remember when he had brought you here, the time seemed to dilate and constrict, you didn’t know how long has gone since you were taken from your ordinary lifestyle. The room was barely kissed by a cold neon light from outside of it. The light refracted through a thin glass above the metal door and there was no other source of illumination. 

In an instant, the sound of metal howling—the door was much rusted and it sounded infernal every time it was unlocked—made you flinch and bury your lips in the back of your wrist to stop the fearful sobs from escaping. 

The unnatural coldness of the neon made your weakened, teary eyes scrunch in pain, but not for long. 

The light was tracing Steve Roger’s broad figure, and it made his shoulders and arms look impossibly titanic and all-consuming. Fear was the death of the mind—you knew it—but for you, it was different. Fear made you see grotesque and leviathanic things, it possessed you and your every sense. Or maybe—this was just the effect the man above you had and not your rational feeling.

When he crouched down next to you, the heart almost jumped from your chest. Acidic tears of hatred, anger and frighten ran down your cheeks as his fingers caressed the burning skin of them.  You didn’t pull away. You knew better.

“How’s my beautiful girl, hm?”, he started, a faint smug smirk planted on his face. 

You swallowed with difficulty, the insipidness of the spit running down your deserted throat and your eyes shot up and bore into his arctic blue ones.

He was Captain America. That one Captain America everyone talked about. He was supposed to protect the souls of his countrymen, not lock young and unwilling girls in the basements of his houses and force them to breathe moldy air in his nightmarish presence.  

You whined when his calloused, huge hand wrapped around your jaw and squeezed as he pulled your face closer to his. It hurted so much. “Tell me you want me too, sweetheart. Look how much I love you.”, he grunted, eyes sparkling with sickening hope as his free hand crept between the flesh of your thighs. You tried to close your legs as you pulled your face away roughly, before he even got the chance to plant his poisonous kisses all over it. 

Steve clenched his jaw tightly, and you saw the muscles in his knuckles tighten. Like a snap of a bone, his patience cracked and he slapped you across the face. You gritted your teeth as his arms, surprisingly tender, contrasting what he has just done, wrapped around your body. “Can’t you see what you’re doin’ to me?”, Steve asked—as if he forgot the act of violence he threw upon you seconds ago—, forcing your palm over his brutally rigid bulge. It made you feel even more dizzy and nauseous, its thickness scaring you to your core. “I love you, sweetheart, I love you so much. You’re so special.” His heartbeat patted loudly against your back. “N-no…”, you whimpered, trying to get out of his hold. But it was completely useless, strengthening serum was running through his veins and the determination he had in playing with your mind into believing he cared for you genuinely made your skin crawl.

 “Sweetheart, show a little gratitude. I saved you from the misery you lived in, and I’ll give you a future by my side, you’ll be the most gorgeous thing on my arm, you’ll have everything you would ever possibly want. Jus’ be good for me, ‘cause you won’t leave this place, so why not make it pleasurable for yourself?”. His hand reached for his jeans and the sound of the zip made you tense again and clench your thighs together in fear even harder. 

“I j-just wanna go home…”, you cracked, a sob tearing through you. 

Steve shook his head and then, he reached for your face again, his thumb rubbing the tears off. 

“F-fuck you…”, you spat, as realization just hit you again and brightened your mind into acknowledging who was holding you, as he pulled you over his thigh, making you staddle it in attempt of stopping your cries... “Don’t you think you’re one lucky girl, got Captain America so desperate to use your pretty little cunt…”, Steve grunted in your ear as he reached out to toy with the lace of your underwear, purposefully ignoring the way you cursed at him.

His words pulled the last string of obedience from you, and, as if you forgot the burn of his slap, you hit him right across the face. You were slowly but surely slipping into madness down there, because no fully sane person, chiefly in your position, wouldn't do that to the golden boy of America.

It did nothing to injure him. However, his gaze turned obsidian, void of any sympathy or human emotion. He inhaled, chest puffing and almost throwing you off his thigh. Your limbs went still as his stare pinned you in place. This was possibly your greatest mistake ever made. 

You expected to receive a slap — not a punch. It sent you right on the chill-soaked floorboards. Your trembling knuckles reached for the blood-covered cheekbone, agonizingly gently to wipe it off. The crimson substance was hot on your digits, warming their frozen state. 

Steve’s knee fell on your spine, as his merciless grasp tore your underwear off your hip bones. You whined, but the punch drained the life out of you, so you were very feeble and you could do nothing against it but whimper and plead.

If he cared for you, just as he has claimed...why wasn't he stopping when he saw you so vividly and indisputably horrified?

“I fuckin' love it when you're so scared f'me...”, he growled in your ear. Tears made your body convulse, his words giving you the answer to your unspoken question, as he was preparing his thick member to take what he wanted from you, silent screams wrecking your being. Your mind was shouting: 'Please, do not do this. Not now. Not ever.'

“C’mon, baby, don’t cry…we haven’t even started.”

⁎✵࿔๛ TAGS: @highonmarvel

[lovetei]

The characters meeting you in their own wedding, and the bride was not you

Warnings: Grammar errors, spelling errors, cheating, sexual implications, readers gender is not mentioned, toxic relationship, yandere themes

Versions: Demon brothers, Side Characters

Links: Masterlist

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

LUCIFER

Lucifer stood tall and proud in his suit while looking in the mirror when his wife came in

"Honey..." His wife lovingly called out as she called her husband

Lucifer turned around to look at her "Why?" He asked "Someone is looking for you." She admitted.

His wife left the door and closed it

But after a few seconds it opened again "Honey..." He called out as soon as he saw your figure.

For once he doubted himself

He doubted this wedding

Because, how come he can never say such sweet words to his wife

But your presence is enough to have such promises and lovely messages roll out his tongue?

MAMMON

"It fucking hurts me." He said as soon as he got some alone time with you.

"It fucking hurts me that I have to spend my everyday," "Shut up." You cut him off as you lit a cigarette for you.

"I have to spend my everyday looking at her," "I said shut up." Your brows furrowed as you opened your lighter

"Looking at her and pretending," "Stop it, Mammon." You closed your eyes and leaned on the wall.

"Looking at her and pretending it was you..." His voice almost came out in a whine.

A whine you so know

A whine he knows he can use to get anything out of you

A known habit between the two of you his wife could never establish with him.

LEVIATHAN

His wife twirled around in her wedding dress with such a look too innocent for a demon

And your past lover gave back a small smile too fake for you not to notice

Her wife then excused herself saying she wants to give the both of you closure

Not knowing her husband wants more than that

"I fucking miss you." Is the only thing he said as soon as his wife left

"Have some decency and keep your mouth shut-" Before you can even finish your sentence

His lips touched yours

And when you tried to break away

His hand behind your head prevented you from doing so

"How about we shut up together? Because I'm pretty sure you won't speak a thing about this even if I drop in my knees right now."

How come you never knew this side of his?

SATAN

"Fighting on your wedding day, are you serious?" You inquired as soon as you entered the room after you saw the bride running off crying.

"She prevented me from seeing you again." He fixed his coat, looking at your reflection through the mirror.

"If I told you not to see her anymore will you listen to me?" You asked wanting to say to he should give the same respect to his bride.

"Yes, hell, I'll break this marriage and run away with you if you just tell me you love me again."

It surely didn't go as planned though

Considering how you can see his wife peeking from the slightly opened door

ASMODEUS

He insisted to come with you when you were choosing your dress as the brides maid

"Can you please have her check this? Thank you." He pointed at a long white gown making you confused.

But you got even more confused with how the staffs look at each other

So while they're helping you wear it, you asked them "What's wrong?" and their answer is

"It's the same dress the bride will be wearing..." They answered just before the curtains opened and you turned around

"I knew it'll look better on you..." He commented with such love sick eyes.

BEELZEBUB

He looked at you for one last time before the ceremony starts and he completely be tied away from you

"I love you." He simply said as he looked at you with a soft loving gaze.

"Please stop." You almost covered your ears.

"You still love me too, don't you?" He asked innocently.

"Come on, say it. Say it and I'll run away from this place with you." He contracted and he smiled.

He smiled when he saw you gulp and open your mouth with a blush.

BELPHEGOR

"How come you're still not mine..." He asked himself.

It was the night before his wedding and he asked you to meet him in your usual spot

And now

He's on his knees sobbing apologies out

"No no no... How come I'm not yours..?" He rephrased his question as he stood up.

"Why didn't you fight for me?!" He shouted as tears continued to flow out of his eyes.

You smirked

Maybe this punishment for kissing another girl is enough

You picked up your phone and called someone, putting it on loud speaker

"Break off the marriage." You ordered and the familiar voice, his wife, on the other line didn't even hesitate and said yes immediately.

You grabbed his jaw and made him look at you "This is why you always listen to me when I told you not to do something, okay?" You asked.

He just nodded dumbly "Fuck... Fuck... I'm yours now..." He whimpered as he hugged you tight, almost wanting to merge with you.

[sparkbeast20]

Things that happened in Asmodeus' selfie

Spoiler ahead, no screen shots (Not in order, just what I remember)

Asmodeus is not liked by almost all devils outside of Abaddon.

Asmodeus had two lovers before MC (Yes, MC is considered as Asmodeus' third lover)

One of which was Solomon, who was his first lover. However it seems to implied that they were just fucking, Asmodeus did felt something towards Solomon, however Solomon didn't feel the same.

The second lover was his late wife who he had their child with, who was the first Unholyc.

His wife was a witch. And in her will, she mention that Asmodeus could have all the pleasure he wants, just as long he doesn't have more children. Otherwise He, his lover, and all their children would die.

Even though Asmodeus is flirtatious with other devils, even saying that he'll gladly fuck them. The other devils doesn't want anything to do with him.

Leviathan and Lucifer interaction, and they almost about to fight but was stopped by Bael.

All kings get a moment to shine and be funny.

Belphegor slept through all of the thing happen in the meeting before MC was kidnapped.

Yeah, Asmodeus kidnapped MC.

No Abaddon nobles appeared in the story, only mention that how dangerous they are if they we're to be set free from their prison.

Incoming of extreme kinks and sexual things, like. Asmodeus is more fucking nastier than fucking Beelzebub.

There kinda mind breaking in this.

2 to 4 days of fucking with Asmodeus. No joke.

A lot of Love unholyc mention and references.

There is aftercare surprisingly.

And that's it so far. Asmodeus was good and did some things that I was into. But he's too intimidating for me. Oh I still love him, but he doesn't have the same grab as Leviathan and Beelzebub.