#Pearl Alley | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

swordsandholly · 5 months

Text

Fancy

Ch 1: Here’s Your One Chance | Next | Ao3

MDNI

Vampire! Poly! 141 x Plus size! Fem! Reader

Word Count: 3.6k

Summary: A permanent darkness rests over the city. You’ve lived here your whole life - in the slums, just another human to be pushed and pulled at the whims of the vampires that run it. Another human made to bleed and crawl their way through a meager life.

Maybe, just maybe, a meeting by happenstance will change your fate for the better.

A permanent darkness rests over the city. Cold, too. Despite living here your whole life you’ve never quite adjusted to the artificial nature of it - to the shadow hanging above the miles and miles of city and the constant chill on your skin.

Really, you aren’t meant to be here. This place isn’t built for humans despite the mass that live within the confines of the city’s dome. It’s made for creatures - beings of the night that stalk and rule. The air has become rotten in the lower neighborhoods over a century due to pollution and overpopulation. It will turn your lungs black before the age of five without the proper protection.

Apartment buildings are crowded and decent living conditions are hard to come by. Many have a waitlist longer than the human lifespan. Most operate on a dorm system - at least one person per room. Randomly assigned of course, based entirely on who can pay the rent. You’ve lucked out enough to earn a shitty studio to yourself. It’s cracked and crumbling but the locks are tight and it has a window - even if the view is just a building across the alleyway.

You squeeze into a black mini dress, tying your hair up to show off the double string of pearls on your neck. They’re the nicest thing you own - the only thing worthy of this club. The only thing that can project the image needed to get proper tips. Red lipstick as a final touch. It’s corny, you know, but the vampire clients are always suckers for it. Pun intended.

This job is important. There can’t be a hair out of place. This is your chance. Your one chance to make enough money to get out of the slums. To at least make it to the middle city. You can practically hear the grime on the sidewalk as you make your way toward the metro station. Dirt and debris so caked into the very air down here that you have to wear a respirator as you go. It’ll leave marks when you first take it off, but they usually disappear by the time you’ve made it from the depot to the club.

You don’t bother with sitting on the train. Hell will freeze over before you chance catching whatever new disease has grown in that Petri dish. Instead you join the rest of the patrons in awkwardly standing in the center of the cart, damn near falling over when the train lurches to begin its journey from the slums to the upper city. There are actual names for the two areas, but nobody uses them anymore.

The respirator makes a hissing sound as you remove it after stepping out of the train. The cool, clean air of the upper city fills your lungs. It’s satisfying in a way its sticky, filtered sister could never be. The faux fur of your cropped coat tickles a bit as you walk, blown by that strange breeze that never seems to stop in the upper city. The one that blows all the grime and smog downhill.

The club sits square in central downtown - the bottom level of a historical hotel. It’s an elegant building. Red with curled metal accents over the windows and doors. Modeled after the ancient art nouveau movement. It sparkles underneath the artificial LEDs of the city - all signs and glowing windows. You can always tell where the humans are, catching glimpses of that unmistakable glow only a UV light gives off.

You duck down the alley behind the hotel. Grimy and dark, the complete opposite of the front entrance. Your heels clack on the concrete loudly - echoing off the hard walls of the building surrounding you.

It’s easy enough to slip into the routine of your job. Going back and forth to the bartender, carrying various drinks and placating the egos of cowardly men and the vampires they lie to themselves about being equal to. You can see the hunger in their eyes when you tilt your head, exposing more of your neck to the light. When your wrists just pass their noses as you set down their glasses.

It’s hard work. Long hours and more days of the week than you would like, but it pays enough for you to afford your little apartment and save some for your future.

“Hey! New girl!” The owner barks at you as you gently set your tray back into the stack to be washed.

You whirl on your heel. Shit, did you fuck up? Ruin everything? Your mind runs through every interaction over the course of the night - every comment, every stilted moment. “Y-yes, sir?”

“Need you as a Companion.” He stands in front of you, the pinstripes of his suit warping over his massive crossed arms. The wrinkle in his nose makes his mustache twitch.

“C-companion!” You squeak. “I’m not-“

“We had a call out. Need you to take the private booth in the back.”

Your eyes are saucers - heart beating so hard you almost can’t hear his words. You don’t know what to make of this. His words are harsh and cut right though you, but the prospect they hold…

“You paying attention?” He grunts.

Your voice shakes. “Just… why me?”

“You match their preference.” Its blunt. Uncaring. Not that you would ever expect much sympathy from the owner of a place like this - feeding girls to vampires and their kin.

Generally, you’re not the type to be preferred - too big and soft for most. It’s what kept you as a server exclusively, you’re sure. Companion is such a major step up, too. You haven’t had any training. You never thought you’d get there - only a few girls make it from Server to Companion. To have it by happenstance…

With a deep breath you remind yourself that this is temporary. Just for tonight. You are acting as a replacement, nothing more. If you pull this off maybe you’ll get enough tips to finally replace the air filtration in your apartment. Maybe you can even get an overhead UV light. Oh, wouldn’t that be lovely!

Another tray is shoved into your hands. Is this… actual gold? Ornate designs line the outer rim - all weaving in and out of each other inlaid with iridescent mother of pearl. It’s cold on your hands and so shiny you catch your reflection in it before the bartender sets a bottle of wine and four glasses on it. You’re fairly certain between the wine and the tray you are holding upwards of four thousand dollars a in your hands. It takes everything to keep your hands from trembling.

You slowly head for the back booth - just beyond the main floor of the bar. It’s far more quiet here. The music from the floor muffled by distance. There are only a few private booths and they are only ever occupied by the city’s elite. The top of the top. You pause at the heavy, velvet burgundy curtain separating you and your clients for tonight. They could be anyone.

You hope they aren’t the type to get rough.

Balancing the tray on one hand, you use the other the push the heavy curtain to the side - entire body alert and tense as your eyes land on the four men sitting around the rounded booth. Their eyes meet yours, and you freeze. A shiver runs down your spine.

They’re beautiful in that way only vampires can be. Untouchable. Marble-esque. Eyes clear and bright even in the low light of the booth - that sheen of night vision apparent. Lions staring down their prey and you, who walked into the den willingly.

“Good evening.” It takes everything to keep your voice steady. To slip back into that comfortable customer service headspace you’ve curated over the years. “I’ll be your Companion tonight.”

“What happened t’ Cherry?” The man on the outer right side of the booth asks. His arm is slung carelessly over the back of the booth, body slack and comfortable.

“She was unfortunately unable to come in tonight.” You say softly, carefully sliding the tray onto the table. “If I’m not to your standards-“

“Well, now, none of us said that.” A man with an imperial beard smiles. It softens his face - makes him look less like stone. “What’s your name, dove?”

“Fancy.” You murmur. It’s your chosen work name - based on a song your mother used to play from a century ago. One of your earliest memories is her lifting you into her arms and spinning around to the song. All the workers names are single words. Easy to remember. Easy to request for returning quests.

“Fittin’.” The man to your left grins, bright blue eyes sparkling. His fangs catch the light - your hands tremble for a brief moment.

“Do you know who we are?” The masked man beside him asks. His voice rumbles through your nerves, all the way into your bones. You can hardly look at him - the skull covering the top half of his face makes your gut churn.

Should you know them? Oh, fuck, you probably should. Vampires live forever - their names and legacies travel across centuries. Millenia. It’s going to give you away. You’re just a low class human from the slums. You don’t know Vampires from the uppers.

The illusion of luxury only goes so far.

“It’s not a trick question.” The man to your right smiles gently, tilting his head to the side.

“No, sir.”

“Well,” The one with the beard sits a little straighter. “I’m John Price and these are my… confidants. Cohorts. Kyle Garrick, Johnny MacTavish and Simon Riley.” He gestures to each as he goes.

John Price… John Price… Nothing comes to mind. Nothing about any of them, for that matter.

“Lovely to meet you.” You smile pleasantly, slipping back into the script. Swallowing roughly and steadying yourself, you reach for the bottle and slowly pouring a tester amount into the four glasses. “Tonight we have a vintage red from 2089.”

John hums, swirling the glass before taking a sip. His eyes glow in the low bar light. “You remember the 80’s, Simon?”

“Which one?” The makes you pause. How many 80’s could there be?

John laughs, whole and hearty. Little crows feet appear in the corners of his eyes. “Which d’you think?”

“I remember the blood.” The masked man mutters. He doesn’t look at John - dark eyes locked on you. You keep up the well trained smile. Neutral, comfortable.

“Och, ye would.” Johnny scoffs, taking his own glass after John gives you a nod to fill the four properly. “Cannae ever remember the good.”

“Well what’s your finest memory then Johnny?”

“There’s was this lass… think her name was Cassandra. Had the biggest tits and-“

“Enough of that. Theres a lady present.” John waves his hand. To your surprise, Johnny actually listens despite looking muffed about it. You can’t help but snort. Lady. As if.

How old are they, anyway? They look young - especially Johnny and Kyle. Definitely below thirty when they were turned. John obviously leads but that doesn’t necessarily mean he turned the rest of them. They could have just come together over the years. Vampire covens vary heavily as to why they came together. Sometimes friendship, sometimes relation, sometimes just convenience.

Simon is still staring you down, hooking a thumb under his mask to raise it just over the end of his nose. Scarred lips sip from his glass.

“Come sit, luv.” Kyle pats the booth beside him.

You snap out of your thoughts at the prompt - moving to sit in the empty spot beside Kyle. The next thing you know hands are on your hips, passing you over until you’re sat square in the middle as if you weigh nothing. You know vampires are strong - you’ve gotten thrown around by your fair share in the slums, whether a mugging or fucking - but it still startles you. They could crush you with barely a flick of the wrist.

Fingers brush over your shoulders, tracing the shape of them before lowering to rest between your exposed shoulder blades. They’re cold and leave a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

“Tell us about yourself, hm?” John prompts.

“Oh, not much to tell.” You shrug and smile. “I’m from the city. Started here about a year ago-“

“How have we never seen ye then?” Johnny interrupts, eyes locked on your chest. “A bonnie thing like ye…”

“Well…” You raise your hand to your mouth like you would when whispering a secret. “I’m not supposed to tell but I’m actually a server, normally.”

“Oh, really?” Kyle leans his chin on his palm. “In a dress like that?”

“What’s wrong with my dress?” You huff, letting the pliant facade slip just enough to make yourself seem real. Just a little less doll like before you return to the script.

“Absolutely nothin’.” Simon hums beside you, eyes near black under the shadow of his mask.

Your face heats. Client compliments never get to you and you’re not sure what about his feels so different. All of their attention is so intense. It dives under your skin and burrows deep in your marrow.

“So, seeing as you implied I should know who you are-“ You tilt your head and meeting John’s eye, “who are you?”

John chuckles, leaning close. “Oh, no one important. Contractors. Independently employed.”

“Ah, so, criminals.” You laugh.

“If you say so.”

“I can’t exactly judge.” You lean in as well, shoulder pressing against his broad chest. The material of his suit is soft and thick. High quality. “I mean, look where I am, hm?”

“Are ye a criminal, lassie?” Johnny grins at you, tilting his head. How he makes a mo-hawk cute is beyond you.

“Shh.” You press a finger to your lips.

It’s easy enough to look sultry, to play the part, to mindlessly flirt. Easy enough to fall into the simple back and forth. Scripted. Basic. Nothing out of the ordinary. They’re just clients at the end of the day, even if they have more money and power than your usual crowd.

You carefully refill each of their glasses. You can feel their eyes on you - boring through your very being. It takes more concentration than you’d like to keep your breath from hitching when John’s hand rests on your upper thigh. You lean forward, pushing each glass back to their respective owners.

Johnny takes your hand before you can retract it, placing gentle kisses from your palm to your wrist. He sighs shakily, teeth catching your skin ever so slightly.

“Johnny.” The masked man rumbles in warning.

“Not gonnae bite, LT… she just smells incredible.” Johnny murmurs against your wrist.

“Have you ever been bitten, dove?” John asks, eyes half lidded as he stares you down. That feeling comes back.

Prey. You’re just prey.

“N-no…” You shake your head, voice smaller than you’d like. You’re not supposed to. Clients aren’t allowed to bite the girls here - it’s not one of those clubs - but in reality you’re at your mercy. To book one of these rooms they surely have the money to pay whoever necessary to do whatever they might want with you.

“Donnae look so afraid.” Johnny chuckles.

“We’re not goin’ t’bite.” Kyle leans forward. “Just curious.”

“Oh…” You whisper. Johnny drops your wrist and you pray that they don’t notice how quickly you retract it.

“Alright boys, time for business.” John sighs. He suddenly grabs your chin, turning you to face him. It’s a light touch, not too rough but solid. His pupils dilate and yours with them. “You’ll forget everything we say from now until I snap my fingers.”

The next thing you know you’re blinking blearily, sitting in John’s lap with your legs across Kyle’s. The younger man’s hand rests on your leg, thumb gently stroking your ankle as you come back to sentience.

It’s like coming up from the undertow and getting your first gasp of air.

“There she is.” Johnny murmurs, smiling softly.

You were compelled - you know that much. It’s disorienting. You rub the corner of your eye, purposefully evening your breath. At least your clothes are all still in place. You don’t feel… touched. Not bitten either. A choked sigh escapes you against your will, hands trembling in your lap.

“You’re alright, dove.” John coos, cold breath puffing against your neck. A shiver runs down your spine. How much time has passed? When… what… “Can be hard t’come out of it, hm?”

“I’m okay...” You whisper.

“Have some water.” Kyle pushes a glass toward you. The concern on his face feels foreign.

A large, empty decanter of scotch sits in the center of the table accompanied by several empty glasses. That’s the closest hint you have to how long you’ve been here. You take the glass of water shakily and sip, leaving an imprint of red lipstick on the rim.

John continues to coo and soothe down your hair. His other hand travels down to rest on your hip, holding you in place against him. It’s strange… this feeling. You’ve been compelled before briefly but it wasn’t like this. John has to be strong. Old. He’s been around a while to have that kind of power - for it to be this difficult for you to come out of the haze. It’s taking more concentration to keep from crying than you’d like.

Stranger, though, is the way they watch you. The way John works you back to reality. Most vampires would have been inappropriate while you were gone, wouldn’t bother with the borderline aftercare needed when coming out from under their spell. Most would have left you slumped in the booth - drained of blood and pleasure - laughing as they went.

You clear your throat, sitting up a little straighter and gathering your wits. “Can I get you gentleman anything else?”

They share a look, one that you can’t quite interpret.

“You’re sure you’re alright?” John asks, voice low.

You look up at him with big eyes. Childlike, almost, staring up in wonder. It’s so strange how vampires aren’t quite white - they just lack the redness of life. The pink under the skin that signifies a beating heart and limited life span.

“I’m sure.”

John presses closer, breath caressing the shell of your ear. “Thank you for being so gracious f’us, tonight.

“Always…” There’s an honestly behind the word that startles you. A craving deep in your bones to prove yourself worthy of him and his men.

Strange.

“We best be on our way.” Simon rumbles, prompting Johnny to let him out of the booth.

John’s eyes flick between yours briefly before he moves you off of his lap with the gentle touch one might use when handling fine china. As much as you want to stay there, dazed and still coming down, you have work to do. So, you stand after them and begin slowly gathering the empty glasses on the tray. They feel heavier in your hand the normal.

A cold touch runs up your back and you freeze. Fingers trace the curve of your spine. You straighten, turning slowly only to meet those soft blue eyes again. John takes your hand, eyes alight with something you don’t understand. “I’ll tell the owner he’s wasting you as a servin’ girl. You’re made for more.”

Before you can even possibly decide how to respond, he’s gone. Disappeared through the curtain and into the forever night. Something crinkles in your hand. When you look down, slowly opening your fingers, the contents make your heart jump into your throat.

Cash. A massive roll of neatly banded cash.

How much is this? A thousand? More?

With frightened eyes and slippery hands you tuck the cash into the secret pocket of your coat. Having that much cash on your person is so out of your wheelhouse - out of the realm of possibility- you don’t know how to react.

You didn’t even get to say thank you.

Your mind whirls as you finish up your shift, eyes glazed over while slipping on your coat. The other girls look off put. A few whisper and stare.

What do they think you did?

Then again, you think as you brace yourself for the lurching and squealing of the metro, there isn’t any way to know what happened. Not unless one of the vampires tells you, and good luck prying any information out of one of them. Even if they tell you, they can just make you forget all over again.

How did you behave? Were you the same as always? Were you an entirely different person?

Some people forget themselves when under compulsion - every inhibition thrown to the wind carelessly. You need your inhibitions. They keep your job secure and yourself safe. You can’t afford carelessness.

The walk back home is tense. That small bulk in your pocket burns a hole though you as your mind runs with every possibility of what might have happened. What you might have done to earn such a massive tip. It can’t have been dignified, could it?

There’s no way they just like you. That’s not how vampires are.

It takes everything to motivate yourself to actually take off your clothing and jewelry before falling into bed. However long they had you, it drained you. Left you tired and shaky as you crawl under the thick bundle of quilts that make up for the lack of heating in your home.

Your eyes meet the wad of cash that barely fit in the inner pocket of your coat. It feels like a threat. Use me well or lose me forever! Make me count because you’ll never see me again!

For now, at least, you can bask in it.

1K notes · View notes

vinceaddams · 1 year

Note

Any tips on learning to make buttonholes? I've been putting it off for.... *checks notes* like three years.... but better late than never and all that. I don't have any fancy machines so I gotta do it by hand but that seems right up your alley.

Thanks!

It IS up my alley, yes, I do most of my buttonholes by hand!

I'm actually part way through filming an 18th century buttonhole tutorial, but I expect it'll be a few more weeks before I finish that and put it on the youtubes, so in the meantime here's the very very short version. (The long version is looking like it'll probably be about 40 minutes maybe, judging by how much script I've written compared to my last video?)

Mark your line, a bit longer than your button is wide. I usually use a graphite mechanical pencil on light fabrics, and a light coloured pencil crayon on dark ones. (I have fabric pencils too, but they're much softer and leave a thicker line.) You may want to baste the layers together around all the marked buttonholes if you're working on something big and the layers are shifty and slippery. I'm not basting here because this is just a pants placket.

Do a little running stitch (or perhaps a running backstitch) in fine thread around the line at the width you want the finished buttonhole to be. This holds the layers of fabric together and acts as a nice little guide for when you do the buttonhole stitches.

Cut along the marked line using a buttonhole cutter, or a woodworking chisel. Glossy magazines are the best surface to put underneath your work as you push down, and you can give it a little tap with a rubber mallet if it's not going through all the way.

I'm aware that there are some people who cut their buttonholes open using seam rippers, and if any of them are reading this please know that that is abhorrent behaviour and I need you to stop it immediately. Stop it.

Go get a buttonhole cutter for 10 bucks and your life will be better for it. Or go to the nearest hardware store and get a little woodworking chisel. This includes machine buttonholes, use the buttonhole cutter on them too. If you continue to cut open buttonholes with a seam ripper after reading this you are personally responsible for at least 3 of the grey hairs on my head.

Do a whipstitch around the cut edges, to help prevent fraying while you work and to keep all those threads out of the way. (For my everyday shirts I usually do a machine buttonhole instead of this step, and then just hand stitch over it, because it's a bit faster and a lot sturdier on the thin fabrics.)

I like to mark out my button locations at this point, because I can mark them through the holes without the buttonhole stitches getting in the way.

For the actual buttonhole stitches it's really nice if you have silk buttonhole twist, but I usually use those little balls of DMC cotton pearl/perle because it's cheap and a good weight. NOT stranded embroidery floss, no separate strands! It's got to be one smooth twisted thing!

Here's a comparison pic between silk buttonhole twist (left) and cotton pearl (right). Both can make nice looking buttonholes, but the silk is a bit nicer to work with and the knots line up more smoothly.

I've actually only used the silk for one garment ever, but am going to try to do it more often on my nicer things. I find the cotton holds up well enough to daily wear though, despite being not ideal. The buttonholes are never the first part of my garments to wear out.

I cut a piece of about one arm's length more or less, depending on the size of buttonhole. For any hole longer than about 4cm I use 2 threads, one to do each side, because the end gets very frayed and scruffy by the time you've put it through the fabric that many times.

I wax about 2cm of the tip (Not the entire thread. I wax the outlining/overcasting thread but not the buttonhole thread itself.) to make it stick in the fabric better when I start off the thread. I don't tend to tie it, I just do a couple of stabstitches or backstitches and it holds well. (I'm generally very thorough with tying off my threads when it comes to hand sewing, but a buttonhole is basically a long row of knots, so it's pretty sturdy.)

Put the needle through underneath, with the tip coming up right along that little outline you sewed earlier. And I personally like to take the ends that are already in my hand and wrap them around the tip of the needle like so, but a lot of people loop the other end up around the other way, so here's a link to a buttonhole video with that method. Try both and see which one you prefer, the resulting knot is the same either way.

Sometimes I can pull the thread from the end near the needle and have the stitch look nice, but often I grab it closer to the base and give it a little wiggle to nestle it into place. This is more necessary with the cotton than it is with the silk.

The knot should be on top of the cut edge of the fabric, not in front of it.

You can put your stitches further apart than I do if you want, they'll still work if they've got little gaps in between them.

Keep going up that edge and when you get to the end you can either flip immediately to the other side and start back down again, or you can do a bar tack. (You can also fan out the stitches around the end if you want, but I don't like to anymore because I think the rectangular ends look nicer.)

Here's a bar tack vs. no bar tack sample. They just make it look more sharp, and they reinforce the ends.

For a bar tack do a few long stitches across the entire end.

And then do buttonhole stitches on top of those long stitches. I also like to snag a tiny bit of the fabric underneath.

Then stick the needle down into the fabric right where you ended that last stitch on the corner of the bar tack, so you don't pull that corner out of shape, and then just go back to making buttonhole stitches down the other side.

Then do the second bar tack once you get back to the end.

To finish off my thread I make it sticky with a bit more beeswax, waxing it as close to the fabric as I can get, and then bring it through to the back and pull it underneath the stitches down one side and trim it off.

In my experience it stays put perfectly well this way without tying it off.

Voila! An beautiful buttonholes!

If you want keyhole ones you can clip or punch a little rounded bit at one end of the cut and fan your stitches out around that and only do the bar tack at one end, like I did on my 1830's dressing gown.

(I won't do that style in my video though, because they're not 18th century.)

Do samples before doing them on a garment! Do as many practice ones as you need to, it takes a while for them to get good! Mine did not look this nice 10 years ago.

Your first one will probably look pretty bad, but your hundredth will be much better!

Edit: Video finished!

youtube

And here's the blog post, which is mostly a slightly longer version of this post.

#ask #buttonholes #sewing #hand sewing #sewing tutorial #I've been procrastinating on the video this week #I want it done! I don't want to work on it I want new projects! I want to cut out more gloves!#currently forcing myself to do the last few buttonholes on these pants and then maybe I can cut out new gloves? as a treat?#but I hope I get some filming done tomorrow too

4K notes · View notes

dcxdpdabbles · 9 months

Text

DCxDP Fic Idea: The Contact, the Butler and the Sly Time Lord

Martha accidentally engaged Bruce to a higher being when he was two.

It sounds terrible, but she hadn't thought that the man wearing the Time ghost costume at her husband's Halloween Gala wasn't wearing a costume and was actually the physical embodiment of Time.

She just thought he took Halloween very seriously.

Mr. Clockwork was charming and didn't care that she had married from the lower level of first class. Her parents were rich, of course, but they weren't old money, and they certainly didn't have a lot of power to speak of.

Because of that, the elites of Gotham thought she wasn't good enough to be in a family such as the Waynes. It was so lovely not to be dragged into conversations that were thinly concealed insults.

Everyone else at the Gala thought Martha had no right to be there with them. Why was she just a few zeros off from being middle class, and wasn't it just so sad that Thomas would stain his family with her?

Secertly, Martha prayed Bruce would do something wild, like marry a girl from Crime Alley or even adopt kids in lower classes to make them all choke on their pearls.

Her son would be one of the most powerful men in a few years, and she couldn't wait to see what kind of hell he would unleash upon them. She would never push, of course, but it would be a nice fantasy to have every time she had to face passive-aggressive comments from ladies told by their fathers they would be a far better Mrs. Wyane.

" Why, hello there. Aren't you the cutest little thing?" Mr. Clockwork coos, smiling down at Bruce. He clung to his mother's skirt, his matching cowboy costume a miniature version of what she was wearing.

The boy had wandered over in the middle of their conversation once he was bored of coloring at his table. Martha couldn't blame her poor baby. There really wasn't much to do for those his age here.

Thomas had stated that children were usually not brought along due to being loud and distracting.

Martha wouldn't hear any of it, insisting her son would be going with them at the party or there would be no party. The majority of the elites believed children should be seen, not heard, and that boiled her blood something fierce.

Thomas had thankfully known when to pick his battles, so he allowed his wife to drag him to a costume store for a family costume to wear. He currently chatting with a group of investors in all his cowboy glory somewhere on the other side of the gala.

"Say thank you, Bruce," She tells her boy, but he only hides his face more, causing the two adults to chuckle. "Do you have kids, Mr.Clockwork?"

"Yes. Two daughters and a son" The man chuckles "All three are a handleful but I love them dearly."

"Oh, how wonderful. Bruce is my only son, but I want to give him siblings," she tells him warmly. She can picture Bruce chasing after his younger siblings dressed up as the Grey Ghost he loves.

She knows Thomas was worried about their chances of having a second child. He was informed not too long ago that he may suffer from secondary infertility. She didn't mind. If they couldn't have a child of their own by blood they could easily adopt.

Martha worked long and hard to provide good orphanages to the city. Maybe one day, a child from there could be her own. She'll have to speak to her orphanage managers- those in charge of the kids- to see if they could help her find one.

They have successfully been getting kids into good homes (At least she thought the number of children constantly changed, and the kids were never seen again, meaning the families that adopted them loved them enough to never return!)

Mr. Clockwork hums "how about giving him a spouse instead? My girls or boy could be a good partner"

Laughing, she assumes he meant her work on bettering the lives of the gay community- in honor of her brother who passed during the AIDs epidemic. "I'm sure Bruce would be happy to hear Mommy found him a husband."

"Is that a yes?" Clockwork eyes' flashed with an emotion that was gone too quick for her to identify.

"Yes, of course. If that is what they both want, I wouldn't mind their marriage at all."

Mr. Clockworks red eyes - contacts? A medical condition?- gleam, and his voice takes on a strange rhythm. "Then so shall it be, my son Danny Fenton shall be married to Bruce Wayne per their Blood Mother and Core Father deal."

Huh. Maybe Mr. Clockwork is a nutcase. Suddenly, she thinks back to her father, who would often tell her that she lived in a delusion because he did not want her to see the horror that Gotham truly is.

Even when you think you're doing good, Gotham has a way of making your work into nightmares.

Was Mr. Clockwork one of those people he warned her about?

Thankfully, he leaves not long after that. He claims he must return to work before his co-workers notice him gone. She doesn't see him for the rest of the night and half wonders if she had been speaking to one of the wait staff they hired as extra help.

Not that she minded, but it made her think his name might not even be Clockwork.

She tells Thomas the story hours after Bruce is put to bed with a candy bucket and the last guests have all slipped home. Thomas is exhausted, having been playing host longer than her because Martha had left around eight to take Bruce trick and treating. Then she got home and put him down for his bedtime.

She got back to the party around eleven but it was a much-needed break from all the hostility that Thomas had been forced to face alone.

"WHAT!?" Thomas booms when she finishes the story. They had just crawled into bed, and Thomas had been rolling to his side for sleep before her words flung him back. "Clockwork!? You're sure you spoke to Clockwork!?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

"What did he look like?"

"Um well he was in costume, but red eyes, blue skin, and he was wearing purple robes." She watches as the blood drains from her husband's face. "What is it darling? Who was he?"

"Oh, this isn't good....Alfred! Alfred!" Thomas frantically calls as if the devil had appeared in their bedroom.

Their servant and sometimes lover comes racing into the room, carrying a loaded shotgun. Ever since Thomas had met him overseas when he hired the British man as a personal bodyguard, he fell hard and fast for Alfred but he still deeply loved Martha.

He had sent Martha a letter detailing his feelings for his guard, and only after she had given him permission did he pursue the butler. Alfred had insisted on meeting Thomas' wife to prove that she was okay with him having a lover, so he had followed Wayne back home.

Then he simply never left.

Maybe because he was the best butler Wayne ever had, with his regal training and service in her royal highness' army, but she thinks that her own developed feelings for Alfred convince him to remain.

Alfred insisted that he was only a servant and thus could not be added to their marriage besides a bed partner occasionally. Still, Martha hoped one day they could convince him otherwise.

Bruce already saw him as a second father.

He looks at the pair, dressed in their nightwear in a rather enticing position (Thomas had grabbed Martha by her shoulder, to look into her eyes but that left them rather entangled on the bed) with no visible threat, and raises one brow.

Before he can say anything Thomas is all but rolling out of bed in a frantic leap. He tangles up in the blankets, falling gracelessly over the edge in failing limbs "Martha made a deal with Clockwork!"

At once, Alfred's handsome face drains of blood. "Oh dear, Martha darling, you made a grave mistake."

She can only blink at the men in confusion. "Who is Clockwork?"

"He has many names, but I knew him as Merlin," Alfred informed her evenly. He took her hand in his, the tremble in his fingers revealing his unease. " He had shown interest in Master Thomas before and was the one I protected him from. I barely fought him off and only due to outsmarting him. I would not be able to do it again a second time."

What?

"He is also known as a Fae or incubus in some circles. The kind that steals you away for fun." Thomas babbled from where he was pacing next to the bed, eyes franticly glancing about as if the bogggie man was about to leap out at him from the shadows.

For a moment, Martha wondered why her husband, a man of science and medicine who had never been superstitious, believed this Clockwork was some...some creature of myths.

"Martha, love, what did he ask of you?" Alfred questioned, bringing her hand to his lips as though kissing them would confirm she was safe before him.

"He asked for Bruce to marry his son."

"Oh, gods!" Thomas fretted, speeding up, his long strides becoming far more frantic. "Please say you didn't say yes."

"I-thought it was a joke, I didn't see anything wrong with it, I- said yes."

Alfred closed his eyes, looking like a man who had just been informed his death sentence had been signed by the Queen. "Then all we can do now is pray."

Years later, as Alfred is dusting the portrait of his deceased loves. He allowed his hand to trace the cover of Martha's painted smile and Thomas' strong jaw, mind filled with stolen kisses and sweet nothings that were ripped away that fateful night.

He is still struck by their loss. Every now and then, the knowledge of their death creeps in during his most mundane activities. It's like a kick to the chest every time.

Oh, how he misses them.

Ding Dong

The front doorbell jolts him out of his memories so violently it takes the aged Butler a moment or two to get a hold of his senses. He puts down the duster, climbs down the latter, and quickly makes his way to the door.

Stopping to fix his suit coat, he throws it open with a prepared smile. He expects extra help from the catering company Master Bruce hired for Wayne's annual Halloween Gala.

He was not expecting the two men, one looking nervous around Master Bruce's age and the other sly. His age is hard to gauge, but it may be due to time not affecting him as it did mortals.

Alfred's blood freezes at the sight of those cunning red eyes and smirk. "Merlin."

"Alfred Pennyworth." The demon chuckles. "I prefer Clockwork, as you know, but it's good to see you remember me. Most humans are prone to forgetting in their limited age."

"What are you doing here?"

"Why I came to fulfill the deal between Martha Wayne nee Kane and I"

"Martha is dead. Your contact is void."

Clockwork chuckles again, the sound as deadly as poison. "The contact lives as long as all those involved in it live. You know this."

Alfred presses the panic button on his wristwatch, knowing it sends a message to everyone in the manor to evacuate immediately. He will not live through this battle, but hopefully, it will give Master Bruce time to escape. "You will not lay a hand on Master Bruce."

"Come now, Alfred. We are to be in-laws. Our sons are joining in holy matrimony. Why the hostility-"

"Excuse me what?" The other man-demon? Ghost? Higher-being? cuts in, looking at Clockwork with brows knitted into a frown. "What did you mean holy matrimony?"

"Danny, you're getting married," Clockwork says with a cheerful wave.

"The hell I am!" The man barks, flushing red with anger. Alfred can hardly believe he just yelled at the monster. "I am not marrying some random guy!"

"It is the way things must go for the good of mankind-"

"Oh, go suck on a lemon! We both know that whole "this is fate" is bull!"

"You are embarrassing me in front of our new in-laws, younn man" Clockwork actually waves a finger at the fully grown human. "This is my one chance to marry you off to a good man. We both know that you can't attract a mate on your own."

"What!? Yes, I can! I've had girlfriends and boyfriends before!"

"And yet, no spouse! No wedding! Not even a ring!"

"Moby Dick, I knew this bonding fishing trip was a lie! You can't make me get married because of some contact you made when I was three!"

"It's not permanent! Martha Wayne said If that is what they both want, I wouldn't mind their marriage at all. This means you both must want to be together after one year of marriage. See if you like it, and if you don't, I can always find you a new husband."

"This isn't returning a jacket to a store! I can't just see if I like being married Clockwork!" The man hissed running a hand through his hair. "We're going home. I'm so sorry for bothering you today Mr. Alfred."

Alfred blinks at the young man's sheepish smile, wondering if ti's a trick. "No bother at all."

"Danny, if you leave without marriage, Bruce Wayne will die in an hour due to breaking our contract," Clockwork says, crossing his arms. "Honestly, your sisters were far more mature regarding their marriages."

Danny punches him in the face with a glowing hand. The higher being falls like a sack of bricks.

"Right, I'm going to drop this one off at a nursing home, and then I'll return to marry Bruce. Only so the contact doesn't kill him, and I swear I'll only visit every once in a while until our year is up." Throwing- Merlin, holy shit- over his shoulder as if though he weighed nothing, Danny waves at Alfred and scurries away, vanishing into a green portal.

Alfred is left standing at the doorway, utterly flabbergasted. Distantly, he wonders if the hollowing wind is actually Martha laughing herself silly in the afterlife.

Carefully, he reaches up for his com, switching it on to the sound of his family's frantic bickering. They were all worried about him since he sent the alarm and were fighting about following policy or saving him.

"Master Bruce," He says faintly silencing the coms "Please come to have your suit fitted as soon as you can."

"What for?" His son asks, likely looking for a coded message, but Alfred doesn't have the mental capacity to make one.

"Your wedding, sir. It's tonight, courtesy of your mother."

The coms explode into chaos.

#dcxdpdabbles #dc x dp crossover #Alfred/Thomas/Martha #spirit halloween #In which Martha thought her lovers were making shit up about their epic battle against the Time Lord #Clockwork is Merlin because he likes messing with humans #Danny is tried of his adoptive dad trying to set him up #arranged marriage #Clockwork hords choas like a dragon and motherhens like a bear #Alfred is just tired

2K notes · View notes

damianbugs · 18 days

Text

theres a thunderstorm going on right now and im thinking about how the entire todd family is seen as cautionary tales for things that were completely out of their control and to be forever immortalised for it after their deaths. father with bruised knuckles, mother forever in her bed, son of mine now son of his — dead. don't try to save your family and don't try to live because you're rude and violent (edit: and poor) and they said you had it coming. now is that true? well whatever! nothing major, nothing new, another crime alley tragedy, just too ugly for pearls.

#willis todd #catherine todd #jason todd

605 notes · View notes

baby-tini · 5 months

Note

Dabi with a daddy kink.

Oh, and this man would fuck you in public. Not even like, "fuck in a public bathroom," would bend you over in a restaurant with everyone watching and do it.

A/N- I just want to start this off with.. why the hell are you so right?!?! He absolutely is the type of man to do some shit like this~ 😩 I hope you like it...

CW- smut, daddy kink, public sex

The first time it happened, it was an accident and you swear by that, really you do. It was in the heat of the moment, his cock was just so deep and your brain was fuzzy, everything seemed so high and cloudy. His hand was so warm and big around your neck, lithe fingers calloused and squeezing just right. Your voice coming out garbled and squeaky, tongue limp and wet, hanging out so pretty for him. So soft and warm on his thumb as he slips it in to keep you quiet for him.

He freezes when he hears it at first, cerulean eyes shooting to your own, burning hotter than hades flames. Dilated pupils leaking uncertainty as they flicker from your irises to your lips, thumb sitting pretty wrapped in plush skin. But you give yourself away when your eyes get all wide and anxious, at that point you know, that he knows what you said. That little gargled whine of "Daddy" was real, it came from you, and fuck, the repeated spews of "sorry, 'm so sorry Touya", "didn't mean it, just so good Touya." Leave him light-headed, heart pounding against his chest, pupils dilated on a high he didn't know was achievable. There's a quick, tighter squeeze around your throat before his hand pulls away to wipe the tears off your cheeks, hands moving wet hair off sticky wet skin.

"Shhh, it's okay, calm down pretty baby, I'm right here, yeah? I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere. But I need you to say it again princess, say it again for Daddy, please?" You try to say it again, you really do, for Touya, but it comes out choked, you don't mean for it too, it gets caught in your throat when his wet thumb presses down on your sticky clit. Rubbing rough circles into the little pearl, getting leaky juices on the floor when it drips off his cock, smearing on your thighs. "Try again baby, need to hear it again, you sound so pretty, hm?" Too much. It's too fucking much, his voice is raspy and cracking, warm breath panting in you ear, pleading with you.

He gets faster in his pace, cock twitching inside it's warm confinement as his balls slap against your ass. Heavy and full, ready and willing to give you everything you need. But it's too hot and stuffy in the dirty alley-way, people walking by and laughing. Parts of different conversations bouncing off your ears as your eyes roll back. The first spurt of warm cum he fucks into your cunt, has you keeling and pleading with him, voice raising in pitch as your nails dig into un-burned skin, blood starting to leak and gather under your nails.

"Daddy please, too much please, I can't, please I swear I can't, 'm too full," his hips stutter while hitting against your own. His abs clench, body tensing in full from the euphoria. Head thrown back as his eyes clench tight, white canines biting deep into your neck, pulling away soaked in crimson as deep imprints burn in their wake. The pain leaves a dopamine rush in your brain, ears buzzing from the overstimulation of everything.

"There you go baby, there you go, 'm so proud of you, so fuckin' proud, good girl." It's all so warm. His hands burning as electric eyes stare you down and whisper praise into your ear. Warm, wet tongue licking up ruby from your throat- smearing it onto un-flawed perfect skin. The full shock that wracks through your body when you cum for him makes you feel faint, legs like jelly and thighs strained from being wrapped around his waist for so long. The cobble from the cold, stone wall leaving nasty imprints on the backs of your thighs and arms. But it's all so worth it, worth it for Dabi, worth it for Touya.. worth it for Daddy.

602 notes · View notes

hermitcraftheadcanons · 1 month

Note

Gem is a deer hybrid, and when she joined Hermitcraft she completely forgot to mention that her antlers would just. fall off her head once the weather got chilly enough. In her defense, it's so normal to her that she forgot it wasn't normal in the slightest to any of her new friends in the Hermitcraft server. But she definitely freaked some people out.

The first one fell when she was sparring with Etho. He stabbed, she ducked, his sword caught her antler and took it off in one clean swoop. While Etho is standing there in shock and horror because as far as he knows that is not supposed to happen and he just severely injured his dear friend, Gem gets up, thanks him for dealing with that for her, it was getting kinda itchy and they're gonna drop either way, y'know? might as well make it fun, and asks if he can help her adjust her hair to cover up that awkward little bald spot. Etho does, and then later goes home wondering if the whole thing was a fucked-up fever dream or maybe Gem is just a masochist. Gem goes home thinking that Etho might not know that much about deer.

The second one she might have been actively trying to get rid of, because it's just really weird to be walking around with only one antler. It feels all lopsided, and the other hermits are looking at her funny, probably because of how weird it looks. (They're wondering if she got a haircut or something, or did she always look like that? They can't even tell what's missing from her appearance but something looks off). She knows all the doorways in Grian's midnight alley are fairly Grian-sized (read: short), so she agrees to the tour with the assumption that her antler will knock against a doorway or a low-hanging lantern and fall right off. Which is exactly what happens. Grian, who at that point has been awake for 36 hours and may be missing his entire soul, thanks to Mumbo, decides that such a thing isn't even worth dedicating any of his sparse and precious brainpower to. Gem realizes that Grian is not in any state to be giving tours or building or being awake, and reports him to Pearl. The next few people, Pearl included, that Gem sees all give her the same confused-freaked-out look. Gem chalks it up to them getting used to her winter look.

Once Gem realizes why everybody has been freaking out, (which takes a while in it's own right, since the hermits are too polite to just come right up and ask her where the hell her antlers went) she stands up at the next Hermitcraft meeting to explain that deer drop their antlers in the wintertime, and they'll grow back in the spring, and she's fine, it's like how kids lose their baby teeth and grow new ones, except she does this every year. (Cut to: Gem explaining to about 15 vaguely mortified hermits, that, yeah, in most species, young kids teeth fall out of their heads one by one and are replaced by stronger teeth. this is normal. please stop looking at her like that. it's normal.)

Completely normal! I wonder if she ever uses the shed antlers as decoration?

#hermitcraft #geminitay #mod mleem

342 notes · View notes

barefoot-joker · 7 months

Text

Put a Ring on It~Yandere!Lucifer X Reader

Hey, guys! Welcome back to another Yandere!Lucifer fanfiction. I went a bit of a different route than I normally do, so bear with me. As always, I hope you enjoy and have a great day/night!

Words: 2438

Warnings: Kidnapping, Unorthodox way of getting a partner

I hummed as I walked about the antique store, dusting some of the cases. Today was a bit of a slower day so I tried to find things to occupy my time with. I had already swept, cleaned the windows and moved some items around so dusting everything was my next option. My coworker Jessica meanwhile sat behind the counter polishing some of the glassware our store had to offer. “And so then he got down on one knee and proposed to her in front of the whole restaurant! Can you believe it?”

“And you and your boyfriend were just sitting there and watching?”

“Yeah. It was so romantic, Y/n!”

“It sounds like it was. Were you dropping hints to your man at that moment?”

“Well of course! We’ve been together for six years for crying out loud!”

I chuckled and began dusting one of the jewelry cases. “So how about you, Y/n? Anybody in your life?”

“No, unfortunately. Love isn’t really up my alley right now.”

“I get it.”

Ding! The bell above our front door went off.

Jessica and I both turned our heads towards the door to see an older woman standing there. She was in a red floor length dress and had a grayish brown fur shawl wrapped around her shoulders. She looked on the wealthier side not only because of her clothes but because of all the jewelry she had on. Rings decorated each of her fingers and pearl and gold necklaces draped around her front. She looked around and then spotted us. “Excuse me. Is Sarah in?”

“No, the owner isn’t in, unfortunately. What can we do for you,” Jessica replied.

The woman walked over and set a dark red velvet bag on the glass case. Opening it, she pulled out a gorgeous gold ring that looked like a snake wrapped around a medium sized ruby. The cut of the gem made it appear like an apple. “I was looking to sell this piece of jewelry. I no longer need it in my collection.”

The woman kept glancing around the store, almost like she was paranoid someone was following her. “It’s very beautiful, ma’am. How much were you looking to get?”

“It doesn’t matter. What’s your best offer, sweetie?”

Now that surprised me. I would have thought the woman would have asked for quite the chunk of change considering her appearance, but hey, this job still surprises me sometimes. “We’ll have to look at it and check out if it’s real gold or not. Plus we’ll need to check the karat of ruby you got.”

“You know what, nevermind. Just keep it, sell it, I don’t care!”

Suddenly the woman bolted out of the store despite Jessica and my protests. The slam of the door shook us out of our shock. “What was her problem? It would have only taken us a minute or two to evaluate the ring.”

“I think she had a lot more going on then we could have helped her with, Y/n.”

I hummed. Jessica picked up the ring and twirled it in her fingers. “It is quite the beautiful piece. The old gal could have probably gotten $200 for it. Oh well. You better clean it up and put it in the case. I’ll be on my lunch break.”

“You got it.”

Jessica stood from her perch and went into the back room as I placed the duster back in its proper place. Grabbing some jewelry cleaner and a rag, I picked up the ring and began to clean it. As I rubbed it down and made it shiny the more I felt drawn to it. It was almost like a small voice in my head was telling me to try it on. Eh, it couldn’t hurt could it?

Slipping it onto my ring finger, I admired it by the sunlight coming through the front window. It was quite the stunning piece with the ruby becoming slightly transparent and the gold of the snake shining. “Okay, that’s enough.”

I went to pull off the ring but surprisingly it wouldn’t give. Confused, I pulled again, only to grit my teeth when the ring felt like it tightened. “What gives?”

I pulled at it once more but pulled back when it felt like a fire from Hell grazed my fingertips. “Ow!”

I sighed and stared at the ring, the snake seemingly winking at me. “You’re coming off whether you like it or not.”

Heading into the bathroom, I splashed my hands with hot water before grabbing some soap. Scrubbing my ring finger, I pulled and pulled at the stupid piece of jewelry but it would not come off. I kept at it until my finger was bright red from how hard I was pulling. “Y/n, are you okay?”

I turned to see Jessica behind me, an eyebrow raised in curiosity. “I’m fine. It's just this ring won’t come off!”

I showed her my hand and the brunette tutted. “It looks like it’s jammed on there real good. I see you tried soap and water but to no avail. Have you tried oil yet?”

“No.”

“Well I seem to remember there was some vegetable oil in the break room if you want to try that. What made you try it on anyway?”

“I figured since we try jewelry on all the time it wouldn’t hurt. I guess I was mistaken this time around.”

“Just go try the oil and I’ll Google if there’s anything else we can do.”

“Okay.”

I dried my hands on the towel and then made my way to the break room. I opened all of the cupboards until I found the bottle of vegetable oil. Opening the cap, I splashed some onto the ring and around the finger before I began to rub. I did this for a few minutes and then attempted to pull again. Once again the snake tightened and it felt hot to the touch. I growled in frustration and pulled a few more times. Getting nowhere, I put the container of oil back and slammed the cupboard shut. I went over to the sink and rinsed off the excess oil before returning to Jessica in the main room. “Did you find anything useful?”

“No, but listen to this. I just did a general search on the ring and found an interesting article. Apparently a ring just like yours was said to have been crafted back in the Renaissance. A rich man was trying to court a young woman but she would have nothing to do with him. Summoning the Devil, the man and Lucifer made a deal that at the next masquerade ball the man would have the young woman. The Devil then crafted a ring and said that is what the man will propose with. If the woman denied his affections then she would become Lucifer’s. At the ball the woman denied the man’s affections and right then and there, the horned demon took her. It is said that whoever puts the ring on next will belong to Satan himself.”

“And where was this article found?”

“Somebody posted it on Reddit.”

I rolled my eyes. “Stop trying to scare me with fairy tales. I’m already anxious that the stupid thing won’t come off.”

“Yeah, but can you imagine Y/n? You might now be the Devil’s next wife!”

We looked at each other deeply before we both burst into a fit of giggles. “OMG as if that article is true, am I right?”

I laughed. There was no way it could be true…right?

Jessica came up to me and spun me around in a twirl. “We’d better look for your wedding gown while we’re here. We wouldn’t want Lucifer to be disappointed would we?”

“No, we wouldn’t.”

We giggled as we ran around the store finding all the pieces to make me the perfect bride. When we finished, we stood by the full length mirror. I held the white gown up to my chest and Jessica draped a veil over the top of my head. “Look at you! I’d say Lucifer is one lucky man!”

“You think so?”

“Oh I know so! So you couldn’t catch a human’s romantic affections but hey you got the Big Boss of Hell on your side!”

I set the dress down and the two of us began to dance. Jessica hummed a tune as we waltzed through the store, laughing the whole time. “Okay, okay. We’d better get back to work.”

I pulled the veil off and picked the dress back up. Returning them to their spots, Jessica and I continued our work day.

Later that night, Jessica and I were finishing locking up. The brunette clicked the door shut and turned the key. Pulling out the key, she turned to me. “I hope you have a good night, Y/n. And if the Devil does end up marrying you, don’t forget to send me an invite.”

“Will do. Have a good night, Jessica.”

The two of us waved at each other before heading off in opposite directions. The night was slightly busy as several cars drove on the road and people were out and about. As I was walking down a quieter street, I heard a slight humming. Curious, I looked around and couldn’t find anything that created the noise. I ignored and kept walking. Out of the corner of my eyes I could see bright golden specks fly up around me. Probably just fireflies.

Suddenly I couldn’t feel the ground below me and I was free falling. I screamed and quickly closed my eyes, my limbs sort of flying about. Just as sudden as I started falling, I stopped. The air in my lungs flew out as I sat on the hard ground and slowly but surely I opened my eyes. I gasped as my surroundings were completely different. I appeared to be in a hallway, red and light red striped wallpaper with white filigree decorated the walls, golden lights hung from the walls, and a red carpet lay atop the dark reddish floorboards. “There you are!”

My head snapped in front of me and my eyes widened. A small demon with a pointed tail and suit stood in front of me, his yellow eyes staring me down. “We’ve been wondering when you’d arrive, Miss. Please, come with me.”

I stood and backed away from the creature. “W-where am I? How’d I get here? Who are you?”

“All questions will be answered in due time, my lady. However, we need to get you ready. His Majesty will be here very soon and he’s expecting to see you.”

The demon grabbed onto my hand and led me down the corridor to a room on the right. We appeared to be in a walk-in closet of sorts as there were clothes hanging everywhere and a variety of dressers. The butler let go of my hand and had me sit at a vanity. The lights around the mirror were very bright so I found myself squinting. I watched as the little demon went to a couple of the different dressers, pulling out various things. He came to me a few moments later and stood behind me. Taking my hair in his claws, he petted it a few times before putting in a golden snake barrette. He repeated this action on the other side of my head. He then went to my neck and clicked a pearl necklace into place. Smoothing out the shirt I had on, the demon glanced over me before deciding I was fit enough. Grabbing my hand once more, the two of us walked down the hall and to a grand staircase. Going down to the first floor, he led me to a large room with two black thrones. The red eyes on the chairs stared me down as suddenly a poof of red smoke made a man sit on the left seat. He was on the shorter side and wore all white with a splash of red here and there. Our eyes locked onto each other and a big grin made its way to his lips. “Ah, darling! I’ve been waiting for you!”

The demon butler pushed me forwards and bowed. “Your Majesty. Will there be anything else you need?”

“No, but thank you, Dorian. Let us be.”

“Of course, Your Highness.”

The little guy walked out of the room and with a click of the door, my heart began to pound loudly. I turned back to the blonde man and he motioned me forward. I gulped and went up the three steps to be near him. “I’ve been so excited to see you, my dear! Looking at you through a magic ball doesn’t do you justice.”

I could feel skin heat up at his comment. “Um, w-who are you?”

“How rude of me! Lucifer Morningstar, King of Hell and your soon to be husband.”

I choked on my spit as he wiggled his eyebrows. “W-what?!”

“Oh did you not listen to your friend’s little story? We are to be wed, my dear.”

“I thought it was just some-”

“Fairy tale? Not at all! You slipped on my ring and are therefore mine. Oh, Dorian made you look so cute!”

I couldn’t believe it. Jessica’s story she read was real and I was going to be the Devil’s wife. Lucifer patted the throne next to him and I sat, still in shock. “Oh we’ve got so much to plan, sweetie! After all if we’re to be married next month-”

“Next month?! Are you crazy? I don’t even know you nor do I want to be in this situation!”

“It won’t be that bad, Y/n. We can get to know each other even after the wedding. Many couples get married and find love with each other after.”

“Look, I don’t want this. So you can just take your ring back and let me go home.”

I stood up and made my way down the stairs when suddenly I was flown back into Lucifer. He held me on his lap and nuzzled into me. “Ah, ah, ah! I can’t take the ring off even if I wanted to. It’s bound us together, you and I. Besides, you’re too cute to pass up.”

He booped my nose and I wanted to die right then and there. “I promise we’ll be happy together. I’m a very attentive lover and I can give you whatever you want. I am the Devil after all.”

He gave my cheek a kiss and all I could think of was Lord get me out of here.

772 notes · View notes