#abrupt ends

[365runesoftheamalgamations]

Random Writings pt.2

a small write inspired by and written for this prompt from @writing-prompt-s. c:

words, sentences, prompts thoughts will be presented in blue!

warnings: mentioned death, drowning/falling mentions, talk of bodies, talk of death, mild mention of puking let us know if anything needs to be removed/added. c:

*~*~*~*

June 5

No one goes into the sky anymore. I think it's a fear thing, one of those innate fears of falling from the sky that no one was actually aware of until it could happen. Kind of like being on a giant skyscraper without a single ladder or safety net, so if you fall, you just… don’t stop. At least, that is what everyone thinks now. No one really found the end of the sky, you know? It wasn’t really ever a problem. I mean, I think we all kind of enjoyed the sky being ABOVE us rather than BELOW us. Bc now, the beaches are empty, the houses abandoned. Now, no one comes near the end of the world. The sky was endless, and that draws a different kind of torture and horror when you can fall into it, rather than from it.

*~*~*~*

June 18 Clouds are weird. They stay underneath our feet now, hugging the beaches like a fog that never rises. It's weird, seeing the clouds. Bc like… you know, like, knowing you could touch them, if you were brave enough to leave the water? All of those movies where heroes and people touch the clouds and run their hands through them seems so much closer now. But no one wants to go onto the beaches now. No one wants to get near the edge of the skies, and clouds. I wonder if we should call them cliffs now? Not so much beaches as just dropoffs, at least not in our perspective anymore. But most people aren't brave enough to even enter the sandy fields. And those that have tried, haven't come back.

*~*~*~*

July 2 They started calling it reverse drowning. It seems weird, I guess, if you think about it? That with the switching of the sky and ocean, came the weird concept that our bodies treated each like they were switched as well. Bc like, we breathe water and sink into the skies. It’s weird, bc it doesn’t feel like that. The water feels so weightless, you can still jump, even though you hover, sinking slowly back onto the ground without incident. And with that change, came the slow realization that we no longer could breathe in the air. … They used to find bodies everyday, when it first switched. It was bad times, for everyone. Especially Mom. She used to be a lifeguard - I loved sitting on her guardpost thingy and just watching the waves and the people and the sky - but she quit after one week led to bodies “washing up” on the beaches in the tens. I guess I was lucky she kept me locked up in the house right after the switch. I remember seeing the news, hearing about the bodies, but Mom refused to let me see anything close to the coverage. I know it was bad though. Mom was puking that whole first week.

*~*~*~*

July 10 Sea storms are a lot more dangerous now. They pull you out, throwing you into the sky. No one really thought much of it until the water seemed to DRAIN into the dropoffs. A few of the houses closest to the beaches got dragged off. Kind of like a hurricane, or tsunami, only in reverse. I saw it with my own eyes. I never got it out of my head. Just the idea of seeing someone being dragged towards the beaches, the water screaming louder than any wind, and even your body, tethered and secure. being lifted from the ground like you were nothing more than a piece of wood. I remember being pulled out to Ocean by the waves. I used to love the thrill of the drag, the anxiety of the pull that would threaten to take me back home. Now, it feels like the wrath of some kind of god that wants nothing to do with us. Throwing us back into the sky to die without remorse.

*~*~*~*

July 13 I STUCK MY HE

should we continue this?

[prncssguya]

something about the boy and the heron saying that beautiful things don’t last forever and that’s okay. it’s okay to move on, there will be pain and grief but happiness and hope will come again.

[dsdnjfd]

simon eats it sloppy.

through the mask, slobbering on his hands and knees like the mutt he truly is; like his only salvation is the ichor that drips between your thighs. like your cunt is the only thing that could save his wretched, blackened soul. he wants to roll in the tang that'll stay on the back of his tongue for weeks into deployment, that'll stay soaked into the fabric of his balaclava because fok no he isn't washing it before he leaves (he'll nearly tears the thing to shreds when he can no longer smell you on it).

large, calloused palms scratch over the sensitive skin of your quads and inner thighs as he opens you up for him, watches your folds part like that of a carnation (love, devotion, distinction, fascination) as he pushes your knees up to your chest. drags his tongue all over you, the creases where your vulva and thighs meet and gets you shaking before he's even touched your clit. before he's even taken the mask off. brushes his thumb over the little bud reverently, fondly. he thinks the way your thighs tremble in response is the most precious fucking thing.

and when he finally breaks watching you drip onto the cushions below, he's feral. rabid. barely gets the damned mask up to free his mouth before he's on you again, slurping up your slick and sucking your clit into his mouth. the suction is heavenly after so much teasing, and if his tongue finds its way to your ass too, that's his business. your toes curl in the air where your feet dangle uselessly, panties you're sure that simon will pocket later still around one ankle.

simon's relentless when he's like this, a dog chasing after it's favorite toy. he won't let up, won't even palm over his cock until you're at least three climaxes deep from his mouth alone. totally pussydrunk and ready for more.

[ghouljams]

Cooking with Ghost is chaotic but comfortable. He's a big man in a comparatively small kitchen, and despite his skill with a combat knife his chopping abilities leave a lot to be desired. He always assures you that nothing has to be perfect, but his messily cut carrots are... not it. He gets relegated to stirring duty, making sure nothing in the pot burns while you finish prep. It's alright, once you have everything simmering, pulling spices from the cabinet over the stove and shaking them into the pan, Ghost finds his space. Leaned against the counter beside you, basking in your company with his arms crossed over his chest. You chat about your day and he grunts in acknowledgement. Anyone else might think he was bothered by your chatter, but you know Ghost. You know he's happier hearing you fill the silence.

"Does this need more salt?" You ask, raising the spoon you'd been using to stir. Ghost moves, swipes his finger through the sauce and raises it to his lips.

"Tastes alrigh' ta me," he shrugs, before taking another swipe and raising his finger to your lips, "but you're the chef."

You part your lips, and Ghost presses his finger to your tongue, watching as your lips close around the digit. You pull your tongue over the pad of his finger, tasting the salt on his skin more than the salt from the sauce. You open again when you've cleaned what you can off him, and Ghost drags his finger off your tongue to wipe it against your cheek.

"Good?" He asks with a smirk and a raised brow.

"Yeah, yep," you stick your spoon back in the pan, "so good." Ghost hums, making himself comfortable again despite the burgeoning heat between your legs.

"You got any ideas on dessert?"

"Not really," you scrunch your brows, trying to think if you have anything you could whip up, "were you hoping for something in particular?"

"Had one or two ideas." Ghost says, his voice low enough to give you one or two ideas. You think they might line up with his too.

[killakalx]

↳ blank/ageless blogs & minors dni

17+ content, gun play, wall sex, degradation, vigilante!reader, implied to take place during b:ak

“fucking slut,” the arkham knight rasps from behind, “just givin’ me a hard time cause you wanted to get fucked? ‘s that what this is about?” he’s wrestled you up against a rough concrete wall, ass perked up against his crotch and cock buried to the hilt. the domineering presence behind you would be— damn near is— life threatening, but the debauchery that comes with it has you aching for him; aching for anything he’d give you. you’re almost ashamed of yourself, ashamed that you’d let such a crude and cruel thing take place during your patrol. almost.

“mm- fuck you,” the words dare to come out of your mouth with a whine and the grip restraining your arms gets tighter, deepening the arch of your back so his dick reaches deeper and giving you hazy vision- not that you’d get to look at him anyway.

“other way around, sweetheart,” he coos through his modulator to feign concern, just as he thrusts hard enough to make you mewl and your body is nudged harshly against the wall. “‘s that how you wanna get talked to? like you’re something you’re not?”

“you don’t- know me,” you manage between gasps, doing your best to ignore the pang of arousal you get just from listening to him. maybe you just didn’t know any better. luckily enough, he’d be willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. if you’d known what he’s done, known of the pain he’s so familiar with and can so easily dish out, you’d watch your fucking mouth. “just shut up and-“

you cut yourself off when he’s pressed something into the side of your neck, digging into your skin as an overwhelmingly silent order. the air almost shifts with your silence yet he still pistons into you with a slow but rougher pace, groans of arousal- or frustration- loud in your ears.

you know better than to glance at the barrel of the gun, since he’s gotten his point across by now. suddenly there’s no question that this is life threatening; no questioning just how easily he could fuck you up. your life in the hands of the arkham knight, who’s gone toe to toe with the dark knight and killed some of the pettiest criminals in this same manner; save for his cock bruising the insides of your poor pussy. already leaking around him, slick and cum soiling the thick fabric of his tactical suit. all sore and puffy, just to clench around him every time his balls smack against your ass.

“you’ve got a mouth on you, y’know?” he ponders under the helmet through a breathless moan. “good news for me if I keep your sorry ass around, I guess. you gonna shut your mouth or should i give you a mouthful of lead and be done here?” the barrel of the gun is dragged down your neck as he speaks, modulator altering the tone of his voice in a menacing rasp that somehow encourages your lewdness. the way he talks is degrading, as if you’re a lowlife deserving nothing more than exactly what he’s giving you and it has you writhing… for a moment you wonder how your poor mentor would feel about someone under his wing getting off on his most immediate rival’s cruelty.

deep groans and curses leave you keening against the wall, closer and closer to gushing all over his cock. “nah, you want somethin’ else,” he drawls out, “just a nasty little thing, huh.” his hand palms the fat of your ass to push you further up and your own moves to grab onto him, but before you can reach he’s grabbed your wrist to fold it behind your back and you whine. the laugh he huffs out his condescending, like you should’ve known not to even try it. “hands to yourself and we both get what we want, mkay doll?” ❧

[vanderilnde]

you lose your way on the pastures of a hidden farmstead. however, upon meeting the husky owner, being lost quickly becomes the least of your problems.

cw for noncon/dubcon, forced lifestyle puppy play, kidnapping

read on ao3

-

John sees you coming from over the horizon.

He heard the sputter of your van before seeing it. The plume of smoke that follows in your wake, orange and ashy, as you drive down the pebbled road.

He was rounding the house after letting the cattle out when he noticed you. He tips the brim of his hat back and watches, grinding his teeth into the wad of tobacco folded into his cheek, his hackles raised because you’ve decided to ignore the splintery No Trespassing sign in big, black letters pounded into the front of his farmstead.

He wraps a hand around his belt, watching as your camper van slows to a stop in front of him.

The hinges in John’s jaw lock. He’s ready to throw out an expletive, threaten you with the bare metal of his pistol, browned with age, and throw you into the back of his rust-bridled truck. He’d drive you into town and toss you onto the porch of the sheriff’s office, maybe teach you a thing or two about trespassing.

But your engine cuts, and your door swings open, and John’s tobacco turns heavy in his mouth.

He sees your shoes first, pressing tracks into the dirty road as you step out. Frilly socks that end below your knees. You’re wearing tight little denim shorts and a gauzy top that sticks to your chest, knotting your nipples in the summer heat.

You smile.

It’s a little sweet, dewy-eyed. It makes John’s cock chub up, makes him swallow his tobacco on accident, sticking to the spine of his throat.

“Hi mister,” you say. Light and wispy like the breeze that whorls through your ropes of hair. “Sorry to be a bother.”

John perks up. He crosses his arms over his heavily built chest, the hair on his forearms bristling with his newfound flush.

“Just trying to find my way here–“ you unfurl a map and point towards a little dot. “Mind helping a girl out?”

You giggle. It’s coy, John tells himself, just like the flutter of your eyelashes as you hoist your neck up at him, preening.

“Um… sure,” John takes off his cowboy hat and runs a hand through his sweat-matted hair. “Four hours. East. You jus’ follow the road.”

Gooseflesh creeps down John’s skin as you turn around and toss your map into the van, your ass spilling from the bottom of your shorts.

You turn back around and John coughs, averts his eyes to the cattle in the distance. He tightens the reel of his lasso around his knuckles, squirming.

“Thanks, mister,” you grin. “Know anywhere I can top up on gas?”

He gives you another look.

His eyes sweep a trail of flames over your body, making your blood churn. He keens at your nipples and the grain of your denim shorts digging into your cute pussy. He can see the barest outline of it winking back at him. Making his cock pulse.

He decides not to tell you about the gas station a kilometre west of here. Decides that would be too much trouble for a pretty lady like you.

“I’ve got plenty,” John says. Gruff, grizzled, like a bear that’s been in torpor too long. “Follow me.”

All John has to do is snap his tongue against the roof of his mouth to get you to follow him. He takes you into his rustic farmhouse, the place sparse in a red-blooded way, and leads you to the kitchen.

You don’t expect the dog, large with mud-felted paws, that pounces and almost knocks you to the floor.

Its tongue is rough and wet and gnarled against your cheek. You squeal, trying to push it away. It probably thinks you’re playing because it wags its tail, nipping at the divot in your shoulder.

“Aye,” John barks. “Off of ‘er, Dog. Git! Git on out of here.”

John shepherds the dog—aptly named Dog—into his crate by tossing a threadbare toy into it. The golden-haired mutt chases after it, following the toy into his cage.

“No way to treat a damn lady…” John mumbles under his breath. He smiles apologetically at you, his soft wrinkles puckering. He puts his hands on his hips, digging his fingers into his moth-eaten jeans and his sun-bleached flannel. He cocks his head to the side, squints.

“So, sweetheart, how about that gas?”

-

John brings you to a barn out back.

He leads you with a hand split on your lower back, past the stables and the paddocks and the roaming cattle beneath the blaring sun.

He pulls open the large barn doors, his arms flexing with the exertion, and puts his hands on his belt.

It’s an abandoned building. There’s no chicken, no stallions. It’s clear that the barn has been delegated to a storage space of sorts, going by the hay-bales strewn around and the miscellaneous staples of ranch equipment.

John smiles. It offsets his rugged look, makes you disarm a bit.

“Apologies for the mess,” he says, starting to tear through the supplies. “Just wasn’t expectin’ a pretty lady on my doorstep today.”

You stifle a giggle just to be nice, but John, in his time-honoured ways, reads it as coy again. It makes his cock stir against the metal teeth of his jeans, makes his mustache turn hot and wiry against the damp skin above his lip.

John rummages some more. Pretends to nick his finger on a metal steeple. Expels a heavy breath. His stomach paunchy and his chest strong, the hairs pressing against the gauze of his flannel as he rises to his feet and shrugs, hands set on his belt.

“Sorry sweetie,” John grumbles. “No gas here. How do you feel about dinner though?”

The change happens so quick you almost get hit with whiplash.

Your lips pop around stutters, and John’s balls turn heavy. He can imagine your lips parting around his cockhead, all the way down to his pubic bone which is stale with sweat and musky, steel-wooled. It makes him grip his belt tighter, white-knuckled, and undo the first few buttons of his flannel.

“Sir… I really should be getting out of your hair.”

“Nonsense,” John chuckles. “It’s the least I can do for havin’ no gas. I can go into town tomorrow and get some.”

You’re already impaired by the burning, penetrative summer heat. It doesn’t help the way John is looking at you, like a stray predator that made its way onto his ranch and forces him to lock up his animals for safety.

John senses the rumination written into your pretty features. He tacks on, “An old man like me never gets any visitors. None as sweet as you, surely.”

You have to nod, still a little hesitant. You say yes only because there’s a bulky rancher here keen on filling your belly and the sun is beginning to set.

John chuckles and claps his large hands together. He leads you back to the main house and ends up feeding you shepherd’s pie and a cold can of Cola. He pours himself a glass of whiskey and that makes you indignant, as if he sees you as a kid.

Dog stirs at your feet while you eat. Nosing at your ankles and nudging your legs for some food. John flares. He snaps his fingers and snarls, and Dog, moulded by his Pavlovian response, ambles into his crate.

“That’s where naughty dogs go,” John tells him. “You’ll stay there ‘til we’re done.”

You finish not long after that. John gives Dog the plates to lick before soaking them in soap water and shows you your room for the night. His room, actually, but he says he’ll sleep on the couch because he’s a gentleman.

That makes you smile.

But when you wake up the next morning, you’re choking.

Your throat is cinched with nylon webbing. The collar cuts into your windpipe, hindering your sprinting breaths, causing panic to lick up your spine. You sweat and the collar soaks it all up. Makes your skin itchy, flaring, as you chisel at your flesh to try peeling it off you.

You stumble out of John’s bed and hurry outside. He’s herding the cattle when you run towards him for help. Your mind is too scattered to realize he’s the only other person on this farmstead. He’s the one who did this.

“Mister, mister–“ your words come out stifled, cramped against the tight ruck of your throat. “Mister, I dunno what’s happened. Help-“

John puts a hand up and tuts like you’re nothing but a strident, misbehaving mutt.

“Easy,” he grunts around a cigar. “Jus’ calm down, will you? You’re hootin’ and hollerin’ and scarin’ the cattle.”

You choke around your tears. You hang your head, still trying to wrestle the collar off you, your fear ripening into panoramic horror when you look down and see golden fur embroiled into the collar. A bone-shaped tag engraved with a word that makes your blood run cold.

Dog.

It’s John’s name for his pet, but on you, it’s derogatory. Degrades you to a four-legged pup that laps water out of a basin and squats to piss, that needs a handler as rough as John to keep you in check.

He cups your cheek, passes his thumb over your fat tears.

“You don’t like it?” He asks, his voice distorted with a hint of disappointment that, despite you, makes you feel bad. “I took it off Dog. Now he’s runnin’ around the ranch with no collar. I thought you’d appreciate it.”

He curls his fingers under the collar and tugs you close. Your face puckers as he expels a plume of cigar smoke over your face, softly squeezing your bum.

“Good dogs say thank you though. Are you a good dog?” John asks. His eyes darken, eclipsed by something dusky. “Or are y’naughty?”

John forestalls your begging reply, squashing it against your throat as he grips your collar and drags you behind him. Taking his puppy on a walk.

You bridle at the deep-seated embarrassment. John’s other animals seem to have more freedom than you, watching from their pens and pastures as you kick and scream behind him. He pulls you into the main house and takes you to the kitchen. Bullies you to your knees in front of the crate.

He grips the scruff of your neck and forces your head inside. It smells stuffy, stale. The dog bed is moth-eaten and covered in fur.

John pats your ass. He rubs your pussy through your shorts, slowly pulls them off. Kisses your slick clit which is outlined by the dewy gusset of your panties.

“Y’gonna keep cryin’?”

A long cry quivers past your lips.

John’s fingers, although jaded, a testament to working with his hands, make you feel delirious. Makes you curl your pert ass into him, your cunt begging for more.

“Go on, girl,” he grunts. “Go on in. Git.”

He takes you by the collar and shoves you inside the dog cage, since–

“You wanna keep cryin’. I’ll give you somethin’ to cry about.”

There’s barely enough space inside to move around. Dog is a big dog, so you’re able to spin around and face John, but that’s all. You tuck yourself into a fetus position, resting on your knees, the metal grating pressing tracks into your hot skin.

“I don’t reward bad behaviour,” John says. “So for that you’ll spend the night here.”

John clicks his teeth each time you misbehave—clawing at the door, begging him to let you out—his kissing teeth bully the sound of your pleas, until eventually, you quieten, responsive to his clicking tongue.

“That’s it,” John says. There’s a thread of praise in his voice that makes you squirm. “You stay there an’ think about what you’ve done.”

He stands up and prepares his lunch. Eggs on bread and a beer to wash it down. John eats slowly, as if he’s teasing you. Disciplining you further. You don’t think he’s going to feed you, another component of his punishment, until he’s rising from his chair and squatting in front of you, his empty plate in his hands.

Well, almost empty.

Veins of leftover egg yolk are smeared around the ceramic. You look at it, and then at John. He passes his fingers over the yolk and sticks his arm in your crate because the gaps are big enough, waggling his coated fingers.

“Eat.”

You’re shaking. Hesitantly unfurling your tongue, working it around John’s thick fingers, swallowing whatever dregs of food he’ll let you. You become more eager as it goes on—lapping at his yolk-covered fingers as well as the mud and mire crusted into his nails. Sucking at his swollen knuckles, nibbling on his finger hair.

He belly laughs before pulling his fingers out of your cage. John stands up and soaks his plate in sudsy water, turning to look at you.

“Busy day today,” he says. “I’ll see you tonight, pup.”

You find yourself whimpering—not talking—as he turns to leave.

-

That night, you’re woken with a scuffle and John clicking his tongue.

It rouses you immediately. That, and the thin sound of his belt unbuckling.

Sweat sticks to your skin, dewy, when John prods through the crate and gropes you. You can’t see him but you can feel him. Rubbing your puffy cunt, thumbing your clit. Flattening his tongue against your pussy and pulling your lips into his mouth.

“So fuckin’ sweet,” he mumbles against your clit. “Knew you were a sweet girl.”

John’s tongue travels up and wets your asshole. It makes you jerk against the metal, makes the cage rattle.

He pulls away and you moan, thinking it’s another punishment. You push your ass against the gratings, presenting yourself, the metal gridwall rubbing against your swollen clit and making you shiver.

John mumbles something about patience. It seems that he doesn’t have any patience either, soft-soaped by your pussy, because he’s pressing his tip against your opening and feeding you his cock.

John fucks you through the holes of your cage.

Your lungs barely have space to stretch. Your knees are folded into your chest and your collar is still biting into your neck. You’re being split open on John’s cock, your arousal turning your thighs sticky. Drool trickling from your mouth and sticking to your cheek.

You don’t know when it ends. When you come, thighs trembling, or when John paints your walls. You also don’t know when it starts again.

All you know is that it becomes a daily thing, lapsing into a weekly thing. You go to bed in your cage but, sometimes, when you behave, John will let you sleep on the foot of his bed. He’ll clip your nails for you and keep you well-groomed. Brushing your hair, cutting it for you. Bathing you in a galvanized tub out back.

Unlike with Dog, John will even let you eat while he eats dinner. He’ll unzip his jeans and let you slobber at his fat cock while he sips away at his blended whiskey and polishes off his meal with his full belly and his soon-to-be empty balls, mumbling all the while about how much of a perfect pet you are, how he’ll never let you go.

Not that he was planning to, anyhow.

[bunicate]

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ 𐙚 ₊˚ BOUNDED TO. belphie x fem reader

warnings ꒱ྀི incest. mild dub-con. blowjob. minor hairpulling. jealousy. sis-con belphie. repost / 18+

“luci says you’re not supposed to come in my room anymore.”

you kept your position on the bed. you lay on your slightly exposed belly with your back facing the door. you didn’t see the point in directing your gaze behind you when you were expecting this very moment to happen.

it’s been a few days since your last exchange, and it was only a matter of time before he’d seek you out once more. still, you maintained your weak show of defiance.

belphie chuckles dryly, amused at your attempt.

"well, for one, luci isn’t even here," he sneers.

he recoils at the nickname, annoyed at how sweetly it rolls off your tongue while he spits it out of his. jealousy hangs off the fringes at the mention of his elder brother, and it’s only quelled when he remembers his access to you. it dampens his anger, though only by a bit.

“and why am i not allowed here? did you tell him all the dirty things i did to you?”

you tense up at the words he utters, saturated with taunt, and your face begins to warm.

he watches as you become rigid, knowing that memories from just a mere few nights ago were running around in your head, and he took that as his invitation to keep going.

“did you tell him how i sucked your fat little cunt until you squirted?”

and incoming—you chuck a pillow at him with your demonic strength hoping that it would somehow drive a hole through his head for being so crude.

“shut up! you said you wouldn’t make fun of me for it."

belphie smirks as he catches the pillow with ease and he tucks it under his arm.

regret settles in the pit of your stomach, but more importantly, embarrassment.

you recall that night in such vivid detail. he parted your folds, in awe at the puffy thickness. he sucked at your chubby mound, flicking his tongue against your lips until he delved in deeper, warming your hole with his mouth. he used such sensual descriptors, calling your cunt succulent and sweet until your cream coated not only his tongue but the entire lower half of his face.

you feel ashamed that even recalling the event begins to arouse you. your thighs squish together without your permission, and you hope it snuffs out the remaining desire.

"it's nothing to be embarrassed about. it was sexy—cute even.”

belphie teases, and you audibly groan.

he was different from beel in many ways, and you questioned how he could be the twin of such a sweet and friendly glutton until you realized the extent of belphie's insatiability.

he would never admit it, but he inexplicably craved you. his utter desire to pull you apart and put you back together for his own pleasure. he wanted you all to himself, which struck you as odd.

he’s mean; he teases you, pulls your hair, calls you names, and then, when you’re on precipice of exploding, suddenly you’re his ‘darling little sister.’ he'd whisper praise against your lips, making you forget why you were mad in the first place. he’s mastered riling you up and talking you back down, but it was exhausting—he's exhausting.

you settle on ignoring him, preferring to kick your feet back and forth on the bed while you busied yourself with whatever had your attention.

he lowers his head to peek underneath your oversized shirt and perversely looks between your bare thighs before locking the door behind him.

he walks towards your relaxed frame, remaining a good distance away but close enough to peer over and glance at what had you so occupied.

“are you mad at me?” he questions, tossing the pillow to the side.

“when am i not?”

you shrug off his pathetic attempt to ease your anger, as you are used to his patterns by now. you hum the measly tune playing and tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, refusing to look at him. “what do you want, belphie?”

“who says i want anything? can’t a big brother hang out with his little sister?”

you scoff.

“nice try, but we don't 'hang out' and no, co-napping doesn't count.” you lock your phone and put it on the nightstand.

“just tell me what you want.”

his tongue pokes the inside of his cheek.

“is that any way to talk to your big brother?”

he reels back some of his attitude hoping it comes across as playful. he didn’t want you to be too upset because he wasn’t sure he’d be able to calm you back down. thankfully, you didn’t seem angry—just bothered, and somehow belphie hated that more.

“you’re only older than me by like a month and that’s not anything to brag about.”

he sucked his teeth. always eager to remind him that, while he was older, it was just barely –as if he cared.

“doesn’t matter. i’m still your big brother.”

there’s a brief moment of silence before you sigh. “whatever you say.”

you're appeasing him; it's like you didn’t actually believe it yourself. his annoyance spiked, and you enjoyed it. it was nice to give him a taste of his own medicine for a change, and see him so worked up , especially over something so trivial.

“look at me when i’m talking to you.”

you choose to play coy and ignore his demand until you're suddenly startled.

the bed abruptly dips as he settles on top of you.

you finally turn around to protest, but he barely gives you a chance. your bewildered eyes meets his firm gaze. his mouth connects to the spot just under your ear, his breath fans your skin, and a shock travels down your spine, resting in your lower back.

his hands weaves around you and digs into the sheets, trapping you against the bed.

“don’t be like that.” his voice is much lower and more inviting, but still authoritative.

he takes his other hand to lift up your shirt to your surprise. he admires the cute and skimpy pajamas and how the shape of your slit was visible as you futilely kicked at him.

embarrassed, you reach to pull your shirt down.

“b-belphie! stop !” you shriek.

he snickers at your expression. his lean and languid body drapes over you as he burrows into you. his nose and lips caress your skin, inciting goosebumps. it prods you lightly, making you shift from being abashed to giggly.

you can’t stop the laugh from bubbling up inside; you bite your lips to muffle them, but when he licks at your neck, you can no longer hide it.

“that tickles,”

“yeah?”

the skin around your eyes wrinkle and your body twitches from his teasing.

“if that’s the case . . .”

he moves too quickly for you to process. his knees settle on either side of your hips, his chest to your back, while his hands pin your wrists down. you’re so used to seeing belphie so idle that his agility catches you by surprise.

his mouth latches on the back of your neck and begins to plant spit-covered hickeys on your skin.

“n’more marks . . .” you whine, but he doesn’t listen. he hoped lucifer would see them.

if there was one thing he hated more than lucifer, it was the relationship you had with him.

you were different around each other. the lucifer he knows is cold and calculating, except when he speaks to you. It’s gentle, reassuring, and sickeningly tender—it's disgusting. he babies you, and you lapped up his affection like a puppy.

belphie supposes he shouldn’t be surprised. you’re the youngest and the only girl—the only sister—and you’re lucifer’s favorite. you're docile and soft-spoken around him and lucifer treated you like you were as fragile as a quaint flowers. he’s always careful— worried that if he were too rough, he’d pluck you from the ground and you’d wilt.

you were a demon; you could withstand much more, but the avatar of pride didn't care.

he didn't care that you were spoiled, bratty, and foul-mouthed, and maybe lucifer was blind to it. he couldn’t realize that about his precious sister when he was too busy fucking her.

dinners were especially tortuous. he wonders if you can feel him staring daggers at you when you obediently take your seat next to lucifer and proceed to give him all of your attention.

he hates how you play with your hair and cross and uncross your legs, like you’re nervous. what could you possibly be talking about with him that turns you into a fidgeting mess?

why should he even care? he doesn't care; actually, it didn't matter. you can pretend all you want; he knows what type of girl you are and the naughty things you likes

belphie's teeth scrape and lightly prick your skin to prove a point —it’s not deep enough to bleed but just enough to bruise and hear your mewl. he’s so close that his lashes gently feather your cheek. the smell of your hair and faint perfume lingering cause belphie to become feverish. it annoyed him to see how his body reacted to yours.

his cock pulsates against his pants, and he presses into your behind. you’re soft and pretty and sweet enough to taint.

“I need you to do something for me, baby sis.”

he struggles to ask. he didn't want what you believed to be about him to be true. he's only around you when he needs something, but he swears you are a drug. he can’t help the tent in his pants and how aroused he gets when you’re angry and pissed off at him.

you twist your neck as much as he’d allow to look at the demon behind you.

“w-what?” you stutter, too focused on the way his hips grind against your ass.

your shirt rides up, but this time from his movement. you can feel his eyes burning on the skin of your butt, and you couldn’t pull the fabric back down to hide.

"you know what i want.”

belphie leaves a trail of kisses on your body. tugging down your collar, he nibbles on your shoulder.

“I need your pretty little mouth,” he whispers right by the shell of your ear. his nose digs into you, tracing vertical lines while he inhales your scent. “i want to feel it around my cock.”

you tutted.

"we can’t anymore. we’ll get in trouble.” you wiggle against him, attempting to shut your legs to ease the throb in your lower region.

“we won’t.” he promises. “I just need to cum in my little sister’s throat.” he eyes the length of your neck, eyes hazy like he was imagining it. “i need to fuck it.”

you blush profusely at the demand. “nuh-uh” was your defiant reply.

in response, belphie unpins one of your wrists and instead tangles his fingers in your hair to pull it. your head is thrown back from the force, and you cry out. “hurts..”

yeah, of course it does. he wonders how angry lucifer would be if he saw how he roughhoused you.

your plump lips are slightly parted, and your eyes are glossy. he looks between the two of them.

with an open mouth, his lips find yours to press a sloppy wet kiss. he couldn’t resist you, and he wouldn’t even try to.

“we won’t get in trouble as long as you don’t tell anyone, okay?”

he knew someone would notice the number he did on your nape, but you didn’t need to fret about that, at least not now. he loosens his grip on your strands while his hips still move at a slow pace, cock-humping your backside for his gratification and to encourage you.

“b-but—”

“but nothing. you’re going to suck me off because i’m your big brother and you love me, right?" the exalting feelings you possess for him can’t be questioned, but you remain hesitant. you know it’s wrong, and yet you nod anyway.

“ i love you so much, belphie.”

he smiles at your obedience. you’re always more likely to listen when your cunt is weeping for him. he didn’t have to see it to know that you’re soaked.

“good.” he pats the side of your cheek.

you study him with glossy and affectionate eyes. your lips are pursed and trembling like you want another kiss. he’s learned how to read your silent pleas, and so he grants you another peck.

“love you.” you say it again, but with the innocence that belphie craves. you hope he melts at the sound of your voice, but he doesn’t. he crumbles.

“love you too. i love you so fucking much, you have no idea,” he mumbles it against your soft lips, his orbs staring deep into yours with such desire and fondness. he kisses you once more and then twice, rubbing your chin softly.

“my perfect little sister isn’t that right? you're going to do what your big brother says.”

and his mouth is hot against yours. his tongue, used to such venom, felt sweet for a change and it makes you wet.

your back arches as he continues to kiss you. his tongue caresses the roof of your mouth; it's messy and audible, and you croon at the sensation. you felt sensitive; even your nipples brushing against the cotton of your shirt were enough to draw out tiny squeaks.

“big brother...” you mewl it against his mouth, and belphie fucking groans.

“f-fuck.” he’s zipping down his pants.

“i'm so fucked up. you have no idea how fucking hard that makes me.”

he spanks you on your ass and removes his body from on top of you. he lays on his back, crossing his arms behind his head to rest on your pillows.

he’s relieved when your dainty hands pull down his pants and his cock springs free. slender and long, tilting slightly with thin veins on the sides, a rosy pink tip coated in a thin layer of pearlescent white.

your mouth puckers and sucks on his leaky slit for a few seconds before you bury him in your throat. the friction is familiar, and the burn forces you to produce more spit. your drooling mouth deepthroats him, suctioning around his shaft with your tongue flicking on any vein it comes across.

you keep going even as his cock kisses the back of your throat. when he hears you gag, his hand rests on your head to keep you still.

“I want to feel you choke, baby. cmon suck it.”

bucking into the vice that was your mouth, your hair fans out around his thighs. belphie thinks to tug on it when he wants to fuck your face even harder.

“gonna empty my cum in my little sister’s throat,” he groans gutturally just as soon as your lips touch his coarse hairs. your tears threaten to spill.

he calls out to you, continuing to hump your warm mouth.

“call me big brother again.”

you look up at him with that precious, messy cock-sucking face as you swallow around him.

you try to straighten your back , attempting to remove his length from the slick opening of your throat, but the firm hand on your head keeps you still.

“say it.”

you feel a wave of anxiety. you try to keep the drooling from overwhelming you, but it doesn’t stop. you swallowed around him reactively, aware of how much he was stuffing and stretching your mouth. you’re careful to prevent yourself from choking as you struggle to speak, but you gag a few more times.

“b-bwig b-bwother.”

filthy ribbons of spit and cum drip for your mouth ruining your clothes and sticking to your chest.

your tiny mouth struggles to take him. it’s far from perfect, it’s sloppy and messy, but belphie thinks you never looked more beautiful.

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

I don’t know if This is the place where people make requests but I was thinking Katsuki and y/n have been friends since childhood but as they grow up Katsuki takes the hero path and y/n chooses the villain path it’s like the 2nd year of UA Katsuki knows y/n is a villain and keeps it a secret she’s also in the class. I don’t know how much I’m aloud to ask but hiiii and if this gets picked thank you

ouuuu this is such an interesting request ! i luv me some angst once in a while ! this is also probably the angstiest fic ive written rn lmfaoo ! i tried to honour your request as best i could and i hope you like it ! (also yall keep enabling my katsuki friends to lovers addiction its not me its yall sooo🤥..) also here, reader’s family is part of a crime syndicate sorta like the chie hassaikai !

fem reader, blood n injuries, kinda angsty but i cant bring myself to fully write angst so take the bittersweetness <33 katsuki claims he hates reader but he doesn’t, reader has a sorta traumatic backstory but if u squint HARD, reader feels guilty, slight miscommunication trope, lemme know if i missed something !

"how long are you gonna keep doing this ?"

you're rolling up your bloody sleeves when you hear the question you'd been expecting fall from your best friends lips.

"what do you mean ?" you're playing dumb, you know it. and unfortunately, katsuki knows it too.

he narrows his eyes at you, you ignore him "don't give me that shit." he all but growls at you "how many more times are you gonna come to me all fucked up like this ?" you'd expected him to be louder, but you blame that on the fact it’s so late. angrier isn't the term you're looking for, you've known him long enough to know he's trying to hold back his anger. for you. you feel your stomach twisting at the thought.

"as long as you'll have me" you jest, smiling at him. you never took anything seriously. from the time you were kids until now, katsuki hates that about you. "you'll keep taking care of me, won't you suki ?"

you're spoiled, you think everything is a fuckin' joke. katsuki hates that about you.

he huffs, grabbing your outstrechted bruised and bloodied arm "i won't if you keep wakin' me up so late. we've got school tomorrow, you dumbass." his actions are softer than his words, like they always are. he cleans at your injuries with the med kit he has stashed away in his room for emergencies, emergencies being you. you snort and katsuki can barely cover the smirk growing on his face at the sound.

"you're such a goody two shoes." you sigh playfully, but your tone is more loving than playful like you'd hoped.

you'd been hiding your lifestyle from kastuki until you no longer could. coming to him one night heavily injured because you thought he was the only one you could come to, a decision you regret to this day, even as you sit here in his bedroom again.

you'd never meant to get him involved in your mess. katsuki, who's future was so promising. katsuki, who since the ripe age of 5 with starry eyes and bandaged cheeks proclaimed he would be the best. katsuki, who had wanted you to be together when that moment came.

but you had to ruin it. and you're sure that even as he sits there with you and cleans up your wounds, a part of him hates you for it. you don't blame him, how could you ?

you ruined everything. you always do—

you feel a finger flick against your forehead and when you focus again katsuki's eyes bore into yours.

"don't go zoning out on me, idiot. don't go falling asleep on me either. 'f i can't sleep, neither can you." you huff out a laugh at his petulant demand. you hum as he bandages your arm up carefully. " i think i can do that." you sigh.

"i wasn't asking." he retorts, looking up at you seriously "don't go knocking out on me."

you're left speechless at his words. because despite what he says, you know what he means. you've known katsuki for too long not to.

it’s stupid that such a simple sentence has you blinking rapidly, sniffling away the tears forming in your lash line. katsuki sighs. even when you tried acting tough, you’ve always been such a crybaby.

neither of you say a word as he finishes bandaging up your wounds. he insists on rewrapping up your hand and your heart squeezes because you know he’s stalling and it would be time for you to go soon.

it’s for the better, you think. despite your heart tying itself in knots, you won’t allow katsuki to get caught up in them.

he finishes and no words are exchanged. he stares at you, pleading for something you’re not quite sure about, or at least that’s what you tell yourself (you’ve known him way too long not to know what he wants). you avoid his gaze, your eyes growing misty again when you hear him sigh in defeat before he gets up from his bed and leaves the room.

while you’re throwing your jacket on and tugging your dirty boots back on (katsuki was a stickler about keeping his room clean) you can’t help but look around his room. it makes you giggle how he hadn’t really changed that much at all.

he’s thrown out most of his action figures but it seems he just couldn’t separate himself from the all might one’s. he’s still got the all might poster, his pride and joy that he never stopped showing off when you were kids. and then you see something on the shelf where he keeps all his manga.

katsuki walks back into the room and his shoulders visibly sag when he sees you ready to go. you don’t see it though, you’re focused on something on his shelf, he raises a brow.

before he can ask you anything though, you turn to him with a sly little grin, the grin he knows you have when you’re about to say some dumb shit. he hates that about you.

you’ve got a small rubber band looking thing pinched around your finger and katsuki feels his stomach drop.

"you still have this ? " you twirl the braided friendship bracelet you’d made for him when you were kids around your thumb and index finger, giggling when you see katsuki’s expression morph from curiosity to embarrassment. faster than you could blink, he’s already stomping over to you. he wobbles around a little on his bed to reach over your shoulder to snatch the bracelet back.

“don’t go snooping through my stuff !” his fingers are inches away from the bracelet when you switch it over to your other hand. a struggle breaks out where you push and shove at each other. you end up underneath him with him trying to open up your hand tightly clutching onto your bracelet.

“s’not snooping—if it’s just sitting out in the open !” you giggle. he finally manages to snatch his bracelet out of your death grip with a huff and a pinch at your thigh. you don’t miss the way he inspects it carefully before deciding it was unharmed and placing it right back where you’d found it. your heart squeezes despite yourself.

“either way, don’t go puttin’ yer dirty paws on my stuff. you’ll get your germs on them.” he snickers childishly. you’re just as if not more childish because you blow a raspberry at him. katsuki squishes your cheeks out with his hand in response.

you realize you feel a little too comfy, then realize you’re laying in katsuki’s bed and suddenly spring up to try and leave but a hand pushes at your chest, stopping you from doing so. “where the hell do you think you’re goin’, huh ?”

“home ?”

“don’t think so.” he utters simply, pushing you down onto his bed harshly “you’re not going anywhere.”

“katsu—“

“shut up. none of that bullshit you spout all the time” he leans down until your noses almost brush against each other, you inhaling sharply and katsuki grips the sheets next to your head “ if you get yourself in trouble again, i’m the one you’re gonna come bother and i’m trynna sleep. you’re staying.”

the asshole knows exactly what to say to make you feel bad, even if he doesn’t mean to. so you swallow the lump in your throat and concede “okay, fine” you nod “but i gotta leave super early, so don’t be surprised to see me gone when you wake up.”

“s’less trouble for me if you are.” he quips. he’s mean, he’s always been mean. yet his eyes tell a different story. there he goes again with those pleading eyes. the ones that make you want to spill your entire heart and more, to give your life and soul to him. you turn your face away from him.

“stop that.” he whispers, nosing at your neck, your heartbeat picks up and his does too.

“stop what ?” you're playing dumb, you know it. and unfortunately, katsuki knows it too.

“stop trying to act all hard. you know i won’t fall for that shit. those other extra’s might, but i won’t.” he’s awfully quiet. it almost gives you whiplash how he’d went from wrestling you to doing..whatever this was. you don’t mind, despite yourself. “known you too fuckin’ long, unfortunately.”

“yeah” you choke out “yeah, unfortunately.” you feel tears burning in your eyes but you refuse to let them fall, that’d be unfair. you’re not allowed to be upset over something you’d caused.

“for fucks sake’s, yn” katsuki goes from gripping his sheets to gripping your wrists, you close your eyes. “ just—fuckin’—“

“i’m sorry.” you whimper, he pauses.

“i’m sorry, i shouldn’t have come tonight, or any other night” you sniffle “i should’ve—you should’ve forgotten about me.”

you’re babbling, you always do when you get in your own head. when you refuse to tell him what’s bothering you, determined to do everything yourself, katsuki hates that about you. though it’s something he can’t really get too angry at you for, cus he does it too.

you’re babbling and you’re crying like you always do because you’re a crybaby despite acting like you’re not, and katsuki hates that about you. that’s why he sighs and flips you both over so you’re laying on top of him. immediately despite your better judgment, despite claiming he should’ve forgotten you, you cling to him like he’ll disappear if you don’t.

you’re clingy. you’ve always clung to him. you’re annoying, spoiled and bratty. you make dumb jokes and you never take anything seriously and you cry easily and katsuki tells himself he hates all of that about you.

because it’s easier to say than admit he’s hopelessly in love with you.

he doesn’t care about waking up late to treat your wounds, he’d stay up all night even if it meant fucking up his sleep schedule just to take care of you. he’d give everything he has just to hear you giggle at your own stupid jokes and he’d offer up every limited edition all might figure he has just to stay here and bicker with you over nothing. he’d always comfort you cus you cry easily and he wants to breathe the same air you do constantly, he’d swallow you whole and keep you safe right next to his heart if he could.

you’re clingy, annoying, spoiled and bratty and all of the above but katsuki would do absolutely anything for you.

so he comforts you as you lay crying into his chest. apologizing about something he has no idea about. he’ll ask and he knows you won’t answer him, but he doesn’t care. as long as you’re here.

you fall asleep soon after and you’re still clutching onto him. he reciprocates by holding onto you just as tightly, hoping it keeps you safe as you dream. it’s a stupid thought, he thinks. but it seems you’ve gone and wiped your germs onto his heart.

“you drive me fuckin’ crazy.” he whispers into the air. you’re still wrapped up snuggly in his embrace and his black sheets. in his room where you’d spent the majority of your childhood together. until you came to him with a snotty nose and big wet eyes and told him you weren’t allowed to come play at his house anymore.

fate must think it’s so fucking funny, because despite you not coming over anymore you’d ended up going to the same school every year afterwards, even now ending up in the same class. and with you sneaking into his room almost every night to have him clean up your injuries.

he knows you’ll be gone in the morning, somehow untangling yourself from his snake like grip. with tired eyes and some treat from that coffee shop you know he likes, your stupid way of apologizing to him. katsuki wants to tell you you don’t have to do that because he’d forgive any crime you commit. he’ll turn a blind eye to whatever you do even though he’s studying to do the exact opposite because it’s you and he loves you. but you’ll get in your own head and start assuming stuff. so he accepts your chocolate covered croissants and splits both with you.

you must’ve hit your head extra hard during your late night excursion to think katsuki would ever forget about you. you’re stupid that’s for sure, and katsuki wants to say he hates that about you. but that’d make him stupid too.

[theminecraftbee]

I'm kinda glad Hermitcraft 9 is ending because it was incredibly obvious that most all of them were having trouble figuring out things to do 💀

Did Scar ever finish Scarland though?

so I fully understand everyone who is sad, because there are several unfinished projects. the notable ones are scarland, joe’s pinball machine, and mumbo’s new base. plus there are a lot of new fans who haven’t had to have a season end before, as well as old fans who will miss specific season nine dynamics. plus plus, we’ve been hanging with these projects and these teams and this server for TWO YEARS, of course we’re all very attached! it’s totally fair to not want it to end and I GET IT, I really do. I’ll goddamn miss that pinball machine I wanted to see the elytra course in it finished.

that said I am slightly more in your camp—I could tell it was time, most of the hermits have either wrapped up their projects or lost steam on them, and the amount of non-decked out 2 content from the server has been somewhat minimal. I think everyone could use the holiday break and then a chance to refresh for a new season!

while I’m sure the hermits could come up with new things to do for many more months—they’re the hermits they’re good at that—the energy on the server is very. it feels like it felt at the end of season seven, when people were ready to move on. (although I want to clarify: I don’t think recent hermitcraft has been bad! that said I love decked out, so that’s definitely part of why I personally have loved the last few months of hermitcraft, even though I was feeling that people were wrapping up.)

so yeah, I get you!

[walpu]

Hi, it’s me again!! >_<

When I tell you I gobbled that headcannon post up, I went down on two knees and howled /hj

Anyways, do you think you can do some headcannons on Aventurine with Bodyguard! Reader if you have the time? But this time, with a twist :3

See, reader does care for Aven, you truly do, but before that, you were tasked by Everflame mansion and by Duke inferno himself to kill Aventurine. But you can’t bring yourself to, no, not when you’ve fallen head over heels for him.

When reader does become Aven’s bodyguard, you maintain that serious, no nonsense demeanor, but if he looks closely enough, he’ll see the lovestruck puppy hiding under the hardened shell that they’ve put on.

But the guilt catches up. One day, at least a few months after reader’s betrayal to Duke Inferno, you catch sight of an assassin sent to finish the job they couldn’t do. And so, the secret is finally revealed.

Personally, I think Aventurine would be betrayed, like very, how could he not be? He’s always kept people at an arm’s length away, and when he finally lets you in his walls, and starts falling for thier charm, this secret of yours comes out. He fires you almost immediately, but the way he stares after you with misty eyes doesn’t go unnoticed.

The next months were absolute hell. Reader found a new job as a barista, and is quite enjoying the quaint and simply life it provides, even if you do miss Aventuirne. He’s probably still seething at you, right?.

Wrong. Because you’ve gone MIA, Aventurine been scouring all over the place, trying so hard to find you. He’s loosing sleep, forgetting to eat, all things that you would chide him about. Aeons, he misses you so much.

And when he does find you, he’s overjoyed, and when the two finally reunite, the first thing you do is to apologize deceiving him. But he forgave your silly ass a long time ago, why else would he have spent the last months trying to find you?

Long story short, it’s a happy ending, Aventurine couldn’t be more grateful he has you to be his bodyguard, his closest confidant, and most importantly, his lover <33

I’m so sorry if I went on a ramble, but this idea’s been plaguing me so bad I literally can’t focus on anything else 😭😭

I'VE BEEN LOOKING FORWAR TO WRITIG FOR THIS REQUEST SINCE THE MOMENT I SAW IT I ADORE YOUR BODYGUARD!READER x AVEN SERIES btw thank you for sharing the c.ai bot

I feel like the only thing I do with each post is apologize for taking so long but right now I like from work trip to work trip so I'm actually really really sorry this madness should end soon 😭😭😭😭 Hope you'll enjoy this post, it was my goal to finish it before version 2.1

bodyguard/assassin!reader x Aventurine

characters - Aventurine notes- gn!reader, angst, hurt/comfort, pining, no beta

It was not a fast prosses for the both of to form a genuine connection. Moreover, you know goddamn well you shouldn't get attached to him.

And at first it seems easy, like yeah another rich playboy, no big deal, you've delt with people like him before, right? Right??????????????

Yeah until suddenly he's not just a rich playboy.

The more you notice how deeply lonely and unhappy he is, the more your heart softens towards him. And the more your heart softens, the more he relaxes around you, seeing behind your cold exterior.

He's not used to people caring about him. And yes, of course he knows it's your job but still, for a man who never had a real friend before, he surely can appreciate having someone who not only won't leave him but also will listen to him and look after him.

And the part about you being paid to do it? Oh well. It's the same guy who offers you to use him as you wish and who's greeting line is "I can play a role of a friend :)"

Mf is FRIENDLESS, LONELY and PATHETIC /affectionally

He'll take what he can get okay.

But goddamn. Don't think he doesn't notice how you started going out of your ways to take care of him. How you make him eat, tend to his small injuries ("my, my, you're my bodyguard, not a doctor. perhaps someone wants a raise, hm?~"), how you drag him out of casino or his office when it's too late.

It drives him crazy. It's not beneficial for you, right? The w h y.

He won't ask. Instead he will watch and slowly fold.

You are probably suffering tho lol. You should just kill him already, you've had so many opportunities to end him. Instead you spoon feed him soup because he claims he has a hangover after a night in the casino. And this little brat looks so smug about it too!!!!

Sometimes he feels like it's too good to be true: you being here, taking care of him, looking after him. The line between professional relationship, friendship and... something more is way too blurry already, and he knows it's dangerous but it just feels so good. Too good.

Duke inferno gets tired eventually. He sends someone to remind you of your mission. To remind you who you really work for.

Well, the duke receives a warning of his own. The dead body of his little messenger.

You know, of course, that the Everflame mansion thugs are not easily intimidated. They will be back. So you better warn Aventurine and tell him everything.

You can't keep lying to him, can you?

Well. It's surprisingly not as easy as you thought. After all, even if they will send someone, you'll just protect Aven like you always do, right? He doesn't have to know. Not about your past, not about your original mission. He keeps his secrets too, so why can't you?

You know goddamn well why tho. You know and yet you still can't bring yourself to tell him the truth.

It goes on like that for several months and Aventurine notices that something is clearly off, something is bothering his darling protector. He tries to pry, to tease, to cling, to pester you. Something to make you open up. Or, at least, get distracted. He can't help but feel anxious. Why are you suddenly so reversed? Do you want to leave his side? Does he not pay you enough? Does he bother you too much? It eats him alive while he tries to mask it by pestering you even more. As if to test you. As if to make sure that it's not the case.

All the hell breaks loose one day when you discover that Duke inferno has sent another assassin to finish the job.

I you spare the details but yeah, your secret was unraveled. And it wasn't pretty at all.

You have never seen emotions so vivid on Aven's face. Part of you always wanted to see him more vulnerable, more open with you. But not like this. Not this look of utter betrayal.

He collects himself quick enough, hiding behind the mask of mock disappointment.

"Hm, well, I recall mentioning that treachery is just another tool of the trade. But it seems like our little deal is not paying off for me anymore" he says with a cold chuckle, shaking his head a little. "After all, you have very little to offer outside of your dog-like loyalty. But seems like this dog bit both hands that fed it".

You were expecting him to call for your arrest but instead he just fires you. It hurts nevertheless.

What hurts even more is that look he gives you when you part ways. It's like his pretty eyes are even more lifeless now.

At first he feels this overwhelming emptiness. It truly feels like the fate is mocking him. One time, just one time, he allowed himself to relax around someone. Just this one time, with this one person who took care of him, who listened to him, who looked out for him. And this person was supposed to kill him.

Then his stupid brain finds another way to torture him. He keeps thinking about the way you have always protected him, the way you took the hit even during the last attack, when Duke Inferno's new assassin tried to get to him. You were ready to leave your past life behind to stay by his side, weren't you?

As soon as he realizes it he goes frantic. Of course he tries to find you asap but of course someone as competent as you would be able to disappear without a trace in no time. You were an assassin, after all. A skilled one too, since he never even suspected you.

This connection the two of you had, this realization that you really cared enough to betray your client, all of this makes him realize that he needs you so, so much. He needs to feel this care again, he need to look at you again, to know that you're here by his side.

He misses you so much. Your nagging, your reassurance, your touch. He's like an addict who felt what it feels like to love and beloved in return for the first time and now he can't live without it.

He doesn't eat or sleep properly, his head plagued by the thoughts about you. What if you forgot all about him? What if you're wounded? Where are you even? His fingers itch to trace your face and your scars.

He thinks about how you would scold him for not taking proper care of himself and it makes him miss you even more.

Aven finds you after a few months. It was honestly a coincidence, one of his subordinates saw you in the coffee shop you were working at.

He though that finding you will calm him down but seeing you from afar, looking somewhat peaceful and cozy, having a regular job... it's too much. And what if you really don't need him anymore? Maybe you never did? After all, he's painfully aware that he probably needs you much more than you need him.

And yet, he decides to take this risk. He's a gambler, after all.

"Somehow I'm not surprised you're good even at that. How come you have never made me coffee before, hm?"

You literally freeze on the spot after hearing this familiar voice next to you.

When you finally get to talk, you can see he's really trying to look calm and collected but how can he? His hands are shaky and his voice cracks. It breaks your heart.

He doesn't even let you finish your apology, pressing a finger to your lips.

"Hush, darling. All is forgiven. In fact, I even have an interesting proposal. I'm can be a generous man after all".

He can't fool you. Not with this shaky soft voice. And he knows it as well.

Please hug that fool and kiss him. Swear that you won't ever leave him again. Swear that you want to be by his side. As his bodyguard, as his friend, as something more. So much more. That's all he really need to feel like he's at home.

[lycheeloving]

Another multiverse yandere!Bruce fic, with special guest the Flash! It kind of got away from me and Bruce isn't even in this a lot... but I still love it tbh

again, i imagine this being at a time where you've been with Bruce for some time and have mostly accepted that you won't be getting away from him

Once again warning for typical yandere stuff, kidnapping, implied past noncon, minors dni. Oh and gn reader!

You're in the Batcave, sitting on Bruce's lap while he's typing away on his Batcomputer, researching something. He's in full Batman costume, which is hard and uncomfortable to sit on, but at least you're only sitting there and "warming him up" (as he puts it), instead of cockwarming him. Gotta be grateful for the little things. Actually, it's more like he's warming you up, because the suit must be warmer than what you're wearing (which isn't a lot), but, whatever, same difference.

At some point he pushes you off, stands up, growls out a "Don't touch anything, I'll be back soon," and proceeds to rush out of the cave in the Batmobile. Did he just leave you alone in the cave? Right next to all of his gadgets and the supercomputer?? You consider trying to contact the outside world for a second before coming to the conclusion that this must be a test, no way is he leaving you here alone if there's actually a way for you to get help! Probably.

Right as you've decided not to touch anything, the screen starts flashing with: "Incoming Video Call: Batman". What? Is he seriously calling you now? He's definitely trying to trick you into touching something, just so he'll have an excuse to punish you. No way are you falling for that! You're absolutely not going to push the button that would accept the call, even though it's glowing so enticingly... Also, what if he really needs your help (even though you have no clue what you could do to help Batman) and will punish you for not answering? Or better yet, he's seriously injured and you'll get to watch him die. That thought gets you to accept the video call.

...That's not Batman.

You stare at the guy who called you, and he's staring right back at you, seemingly just as confused as you are. Is that the Flash?? Isn't he supposed to be dead?

"...You're not Batman," he mumbles mostly to himself, then starts talking a bit louder. "I mean, I guess you could be Batman? I just was expecting you to look like more like my Batman. Not that he's my Batman, just, the Batman from my universe, I mean. Sorry. Are you Batman? You could totally be Batman, and just not be wearing the suit at the moment!"

"...I'm not ...Batman, he's... out, right now. You're the Flash, right? How are you- Why did it say Batman was calling? Wait, what do you mean by your universe??" This is too much information for you to process at the same time.

"Oh! Um, I'm from a parallel universe! Bruce somehow got his computer to be able to contact people in other universes and I'm pretty sure he built a portal thing, too... Anyways, I'm in the Batcave right now because Bruce is still on his way back and sent me ahead to call you, or, well, your Batman, to 'save some time', but I guess that was useless because Batman isn't here..." He stops rambling for a second, before adding: "Also I'm beginning to think Bruce just wanted to get rid of me, nothing we're doing currently is that time sensitive, and-"

"Wait, back up, did you say portal?" You cut him off before he can start monologuing again, sniffing an opportunity for escape. "Hypothetically, if someone were to go through that portal, could they stay in the other universe indefinitely, or would the universe or the person that went through the portal start falling apart or something...?"

"I don't think there's any issues with staying in a parallel universe! It's pretty cool, actually, the-" He stops himself from saying anything else. "Wait, who are you? I probably shouldn't be telling you all this. Are you, like, in a relationship with Bats? I mean, who else could get into the cave. And you're not wearing villain-who-broke-into-Batmans-lair clothes... or sidekick clothes..." He mumbles the last part to himself.

You can't stop staring at him. Just who is this guy? In spite of the weirdness of the situation it's actually really refreshing to be able to talk to someone who isn't completely stoic all the time (and hasn't kidnapped you). "I guess relationship is the most accurate? I mean, being kidnapped, locked up and kept as a fucktoy is a type of relationship, right?"

You say it as nonchalantly as possible, watching for his reaction to see if he thinks kidnapping people is normal, but it's looking good for you, because he's gaping like a fish out of water. "Y- Youre- by Batman? Bruce? That's- I don't-" He stutters, before awkwardly chuckling. "Ohhh, you're joking, right? You got me good, I almost believed you... Ha ha..." He doesn't seem entirely convinced.

You stare at him unblinkingly. What must his Batman be like for him not to believe you? Certainly nicer than yours. "Look, believe whatever you want, but could you do me a favor and open that portal? Bruce said he'd be back soon and I'd rather not be here when that happens, because he told me not to touch anything and instead of listening to him I answered your video call. He'll be super mad at me. Oh and this is the only real chance of escape I've ever gotten so I'd like to take it, please."

Something about the way you said it must have convinced him to believe you, as he mutters a quiet "...Alright," and before you can blink, he skids to a halt behind you through the already opened portal. Well, at least there's no doubt about him being the Flash, that was fast!

"Whew, that portal thing was harder to activate than I thought!" Thank god for super speed, you didn't even realize he was struggling with it. "So, um, what now? Do you just... come with me to the other Batcave?"

You look at him with stars in your eyes. Is this what it's like to be rescued by a superhero? You could cry, are you actually going to escape? No, not yet, you might trust him, but what about the other Batman in his universe?

"Sorry, just, are you sure your Batman isn't, like, secretly evil? Not keeping anyone locked up in his stupid manor?" He shakes his head vigorously. "I'm sure! He wouldn't- I know him, he would never even think about kidnapping anyone! And I definitely would know if there was someone locked in his manor, I've run through every room in his place way too often as to not have noticed someone trapped in there. He's a good guy, just, kind of stoic. And he hates fun. But he wouldn't hurt a fly! You know, unless it's an evil fly that needs to be stopped..."

Hm. Yeah, your Batman definitely hurts you sometimes and you're 99% sure you're not a supervillain or otherwise evil. "That sounds... convincing enough." You remember your shock bracelet and gesture towards it. "Um, could you please take this off of me first, before we go? It shocks me as soon as it detects that I've left the manor, and I don't want to find out if a parallel universe manor counts..."

He tries his best not to look as shocked as he feels while he inspects it carefully, then goes: "Um, wait a second, let me just-". He disappears and reappears in a flash. "So, I checked to see if maybe there's a manual for this thing somewhere, but I couldn't find anything. So I went through the entire manor, and guess what else I didn't find... Alfred!!" You furrow your eyebrows in confusion. "I guess that's what made your Batman so unhinged, sometimes I think Alfred is the only thing left standing between Batman and utter darkness..." This Alfred guy must be a total ray of sunshine then, you can't wait to meet him.

"So, what are we going to do about the shock bracelet, then? I'd rather not be in pain the entire time, but if you can't get it off that's still fine, as long as I can come with you..." "Oh, um, let me just-" Again, faster than you can blink he does something and the bracelet falls away from your wrist. Unfortunately, right as it hits the floor, an alarm goes off in the cave. Shit. You both grimace at each other, you should have know that the bracelet would send some kind of signal to Bruce as soon as it's no longer connected to you.

"Can you somehow disable his portal-making machine so he can't immediately follow us? Because I think we should leave right now, he's probably on his way back already!" You immediately go through the portal, not wanting to wait any longer. Even if Bruce can follow you, you'll have people protecting you on the other side. You think you can hear the Batmobile returning. Shit.

"Yeah, I should be able to-" You close your eyes and when you open them again, the portal to your universe is gone. A weight falls off your shoulders. "I messed with some wires on the other side, which closed the portal, but I was able to get back here just in time before it fully closed. He shouldn't be able to follow us. At least not immediately, he probably knows how to fix it, but this should buy us some time."

"Thank you so much. And I'm glad you made it back, I wouldn't want you to end up like the other Flash..." You sigh in relief. "The- What? What happened to the other Flash??" "Oh! Um, he's dead." You grimace sheepishly. "Sorry, that must be weird to hear."

His face goes pale. "You know what? I'm not even gonna ask what happened to him. I don't want to know. No, wait, I do want to know, how did he- No, don't tell me, whatever I say, do not tell me what happened to him."

You go to respond, but are interrupted by a sudden, loud: "Flash! Who is that?"

You flinch at the sound of his voice and turn around to face him. The Batman. Bruce Wayne. He only sounds like that when he's really angry. Your entire body screams at you to run and hide, or better yet, to apologize and beg. You've learned that hiding from him is pointless. He always finds you, and it only makes things worse. You freeze and stare at him with wide eyes, while he eyes you suspiciously. It's not him, you remind yourself. It's not him. He just looks the same.

He stops looking at you and turns to Flash instead. "You were supposed to contact the other Batman, not kidnap some terrified civilian." The Flash looks insulted for a second, before responding with an indignant: "Actually, I'm not the one who kidnapped them!". Batman narrows his eyes, then sighs. "Just explain why you thought it was a good idea to let a stranger into the Batcave."

You take half a step behind Flash before he begins explaining. "Turns out your other Batman kept them locked up! Your source for information and help is a kidnapper! Why are you even working with that guy? Did you know?" To his credit, Batman actually looks guilty after hearing that. "I didn't know, but I have to admit, I didn't look into him as much as I could have. Should have. Usually I look into every single detail of someone's life before working with them, but him looking and acting exactly like me must have made me lower my guard. It won't happen again, I assure you." He looks at you apologetically. Well, as apologetic as the Batman can look, which isn't very much, mostly he just looks stoic. But still, not an expression you've ever seen on your Batman, nor something he would ever say. You calm down a bit. This guy won't hurt you.

"So, um, is there anything we can do to stop him from following us?" You speak up quietly. "I mean, Flash messed with his portal machine or whatever it's called, but that won't stop him forever! He's obsessed with me, he won't just give up!" You start panicking again, maybe you were wrong to think you could ever be free.

"We'll think of something, I promise. We'll keep you safe. You have the whole Justice League on your side." The Flash nods in agreement to Batmans statement. You tentatively start feeling hopeful again, even if this doesn't work out, you'll at least have gotten a taste of freedom.

[qslimebignaturals]

If I had a nickel for every charlie slimecicle character that was left with an unfinished story because of a minecraft servers poor management, I'd have two nickels. Which isn't a lot, but it is weird that it happened twice.

[ghouljams]

Real quick I woke up (again) at like 2am and frantically wrote smut in my notes. Here's some omegaverse. Omega!Ghost x alpha!f!reader

cw: somnophilia, scent kink, omegaverse, CONSENSUAL noncon

The heady scent of alpha(alpha, alpha, alpha) pheromones straight from the source. Simon's mouth waters, his tongue slick with foamy spit as he opens his mouth to lick your cunt. He may as well feel his pupils dilate. The rush of endorphins his brain pumps out at just the taste of you makes him feel faint, his body eager to give in to baser instincts. Whatever you want, whatever you ask for, he lives for you, lives for this. To be between your legs, to lap up the slick that drips from you. He must be getting close to a heat, the air feels so heavy with your scent even when you sleep that he can't ignore it. Can't ignore the wanting ache of his cock when he wakes up with you in his arms.

Simon spreads your folds with his tongue, seeking out the wet heat of you. His tongue prods at your hole, and you let out a soft whimper. The fuzzy fruity scent that makes up your signature is so much stronger when it's dripping from you, juicier, sweeter, Simon feels the itch in his teeth to bite, to claim. He opens his mouth wide, settles his teeth against your clit as he drags and drags and drags his tongue over you. You squirm and he grabs the soft flesh of your hips to hold you down. The noises you make are so soft, just on the cusp of wanting. He might have waited for you to wake up if he wanted you loud, but it's better like this. It's better when he can just take his fill of you.

He presses a kiss to your clit, feels the way your muscles jump at the attention. If he gives you too much you'll wake up, and he can't have that, but he can kiss the sensitive little bud, spare it a brief suck in between the light peppering of kisses. Just enough attention to make you nice and warm for him, to feel your pussy clench and drool for him. So that when he presses his tongue into your hole, slurping your slick straight from the source, you're relaxed enough to welcome the intrusion. Simon wiggles his tongue in as far as he can, pressing against the muscles that swell with your knot, the delicate spongy spot that makes you scream. His nose presses to your skin, and he finds his head a little emptier with each inhale of your scent.

Soft peach fuzz on his tongue, that drips fruity and sweet down his throat, warm and heady in his nose... How you can walk around smelling like the best part of summer and still be walking he doesn't know. You deserve to be bent over every available surface, split open on his cock, fuck- He doesn't care about his dick, just let him do this. Let him lick and suck at your pretty cunt until his lips are red and his mouth tastes like peaches, until his head has emptied out of anything that isn't the soft moans you let out and the feeling of your skin under his hands.

He swallows you down, groans at the sight of your glistening folds, at the smear of your slick over your thighs. Simon licks his lips, and drags his tongue flat against the bend of your adductor. Look at how nice he's being cleaning you up, he thinks to himself, taking care of you. His teeth press against your skin, his breath heavy. It would be so easy to bite you, mark you. He wants to, his teeth itch, his mind pushes at him, body clean of everything but instinct. He presses his teeth a little deeper, feels your skin dimple. It feels good, it feels right, you're so soft for him, so pliant, so willing. Deeper, deeper, deeper.

You yelp, and push at his head, very much awake. Simon feels the growl that bubbles up in his chest, his eyes darting to the person trying to take his toy away. The sudden tension leaves him at your frown. His teeth unlatch and he soothes his tongue over the blossoming bruise on your thigh, his eyes locked on yours. Your fingers pet over his buzzed hair, trace down over his cheekbones, and hook under his jaw. You coax him up with a gentle pull he could never deny.

"Good morning," You mumble. Your voice drips like honey down his spine, his fingers dropping from your hip to wrap around his cock. His nose bumps yours, and you tilt your hips up, letting him press the leaking head of his cock against your hole. He knows the pinch in your brow, the pout, the soft draw of breath as he pushes inside all too well. The slight burn of the stretch as his fat cock splits you open, before it dissolves into pleasure.

"Gettin' close to a heat," He tells you. Fuck the way your cunt wraps around him is heaven. All hot, wet, silky walls that seem to cling onto his cock. He pulls out of you just enough to rock another inch deeper. Back and forth to make up for the lack of prep. You whine, your arms wrapping around his shoulders, nails digging into his back. "Big stretch, you can take it," He murmurs, the rumble of his voice may as well be a growl, but it doesn't matter with you, you take what he gives you without complaint, open for him like a chapel to the weary. Succor to the sinner.

You nod, letting him circle his hips, grind himself inch by inch until he's settled with his hips against you. You tilt your head, drag your tongue over his morning stubble, tasting yourself on his chin before he can kiss you properly. His perfect girl. Perfect little alpha to care for, to pump full, to take every inch of his cock until he's satisfied.

[frostbitebakery]

MURDER, BABY

an IGMHC outtake

“Give me something to do, Pops.”

Dooku looks up from his papers. Mild surprise marring his features as he gestures for him to come in. “The corpse of your latest friend hasn’t yet cooled down and you are bored again already?”

Obi-Wan shrugs and swings down on the visitor’s chair, boots clunking on the ornate desk.

Nawroth had been an idiot. An experiment and an idiot. Falling for Obi-Wan’s shy smile, for the lying truths. He had wanted to save Obi-Wan so badly, after the wounds he was made to understand wrong. Hazel eyes mourning falsehoods and promising help and safety and kindness.

Nawroth had been dull in the Force, earnest in his gentle, undemanding kisses, and rich in his pockets thanks to his parents’ untimely demise Obi-Wan had executed very, very carefully indeed.

Dooku’s opinion on a stipend disagrees with Obi-Wan’s lifestyle necessary for the majority of his missions.

“You are a bright, young man,” Dooku had said on the matter, deflecting Obi-Wan’s attack with dwindling casualty, gracefully twisting out of being cleaved in two. “You’ll think of something.”

Read The Rest On AO3

I Got My Head Checked on AO3

[wolvmir]

please hurry leave me

I can’t breath

please don’t say you love me 🪻

[imagine-darksiders]

A little respite...

A short Death/Reader oneshot about birthday presents, mugs, and how a Horseman without a heart isn't necessarily heartless. Enjoy! <3 xxx

---

Birthdays, Death supposes, carry far greater significance when one only has a finite number of years in one’s lifespan.

If there’s anything he’s grateful for, it’s that modern humans seem to have tailored their annual celebrations to smaller, intimate gatherings, which, in his opinion, are far more tasteful than the ostentatious and plethoric affairs those pharaohs used to throw. If the Horseman thought he’d have to wade through a veritable ocean of humans just to get to your front door…. Well. He certainly wouldn’t have been best pleased, to say the least.

Nestled within the cup of his palm and safely hidden from prying eyes is a small, unassuming parcel. It doesn’t look like much, deliberately so. The tiny thing is wrapped in some old parchment he had to pilfer from Azrael’s study. It was the first and only thing he could think of after he belatedly recalled how humans like to peel away a layer of paper before they can lay eyes on whatever has been pre-emptively hidden within it.

You became quite prickly once after he pointed out the aimlessness of the custom.

‘Some traditions,’ he begrudgingly yielded after several hours of trying to see past your cold-shoulder, ‘are better left undisputed.’

Trudging along the newly rebuilt street in the direction of your home, Death makes every conceivable effort to avoid the stares and shocked gasps from the few humans who are still milling about in the golden light of the evening.

Even after the Resurrection and the frequent comings and goings of the Horsemen, angels, makers and even the occasional demon, Humanity still hasn’t grown accustomed to seeing the Grim Reaper skulking about on their planet.

In the corner of an eye, he sees a man haul a small girl into his arms and scurry to the opposite side of the street, and it takes everything in the Horseman not to sigh.

It isn’t long before he finds himself turning onto the short, gravel path leading up to your front door. His footfalls make no sound on the loose stones, and the parcel is starting to carry weight in his palm now.

Coming to a halt on the step, his eyes drift down to the faded mat by his boots that reads ‘Welcome.’

The Horseman scoffs, as he does every time he sees it. Sometimes you’re too hospitable for your own good.

Giving his shaggy head of hair a bemused shake, he reaches for the doorknob, only to pause.

Another custom best left undisputed… Humans don’t like it if you enter their home unannounced.

Curling his hand into a fist, he instead gives the wood three, solid raps with his knuckles before letting his arm drop back to his side, briefly giving a thought to what it must seem like for an onlooker to witness the ancient Nephilim ceding to human habits.

With a grunt, he leans back on his haunches to wait, idly counting the cracks that have formed in the plaster surrounding your doorframe, each one betraying the frequency of visits made by his younger sister, Fury. It’s a wonder the entrance is still intact with how often she barges in and out, scuffing the paint and chipping off wooden flakes with her armoured shoulders.

Sometimes she forgets that while she might have the slightest build of the Horseman, she’s still unconventionally large from the average human’s point of view. Regardless, you haven’t said a word to her about the marks, as far as Death is aware, and somehow, he doubts you ever will.

His ears prick towards the sound of shoes trotting hurriedly across linoleum, approaching your front door.

“Coming! Coming!” your voice calls out, instantly shaking loose that little fragment of unease that sits between Death’s ribs every time he comes to your home and waits outside the door. There’s a private part of him, a part he’ll never reveal, that dreads the day he knocks without receiving an answer.

The handle rattles, a lock slides out of place, and once again, he hears you speaking from the other side of the wood.

“You guys are early!” you laugh, “I haven’t changed yet, but I’m-“

Your sentence trails off into silence as the door is tugged open and you poke your head into the light outside, brows scrunching together as your eyes fall upon a pale, cadaverous chest.

Blinking, you dart a look up, only to gasp at the sight of an all too familiar bone-mask tilting down towards you, inclined in acknowledgement.

“Death?” you gape, your expression falling open in shock.

Another oddity of humans, he finds. Even when you can clearly see what’s right in front of your nose, you still feel the need to ask for clarification, as though you can never fully trust what your eyes are seeing.

“In the flesh,” he says, gesturing up and down at his emaciated waist and sinewy chest, “I’m pleased you still recognise me, given our months apart.”

And it has been months. Six and three days, to be exact. Not that he’s counting.

It happens the moment he drops his arm back to his side. Like the sun rising over the peak of a dark mountain, your face bursts open with bright, glimmering warmth.

The corners of your mouth retreat from each other, spreading your lips into a grin so wide that your cheeks round out and squeeze your eyes halfway shut with unbridled delight as a laugh gushes out of you, bouncy and awestricken.

“Death!” Without warning, you bound across the threshold and - showing no hint of a reservation - throw your arms around the Horseman’s lean torso, burying your face into the concave dip below his chest, “Oh my god! I didn’t think I’d be seeing you today!”

And because he still hasn’t grown used to your displays of affection, Death forgets the etiquette and freezes in place, arms hovering rigidly above your own and his chin tucked into his neck, as though he’s mildly alarmed at your sudden proximity.

And because you know he isn’t used to affection, you don’t hold him hostage for long.

Pulling away only seconds later, you sweep a hand through your hair, clutching loosely at the strands as you take a step back and give the Horseman a quick once-over, beaming all the while.

“I can’t believe you actually made it! This is the best birthday ever!”

Well, if that isn’t the most flattering thing he’s heard all year.

“Oh! Would you like to come in?” you ramble on, stepping aside and sweeping your hand into the hallway behind you, “I’ve got people arriving for a party, but not for, like, another hour. So, you can stick around or…”

“Ah, regrettably, I can’t linger for long,” he interrupts, holding up a palm to quiet you. He truly can’t stay. And not just because he’s disinclined to ‘party.’

He’s heard whisperings of a demon uprising stirring in a city across the sea. He and War have made plans to travel there under the cover of darkness to investigate, and he’s already behind schedule. He notices that you make a considerable effort not to let your expression droop, though he can tell by the pinch of your lips that you’re disappointed.

He… hopes he can make it up to you with the tiny package hidden safely within his palm.

Clearing his throat, Death flexes his fingers, wrestling with doubts for a moment before he gives himself a mental kick and forces his hand out from behind his back, thrusting the parcel under your nose.

“Here,” he grunts as he gives it a gentle shake, willing you to take the damn thing rather than continue to blink down at it in surprise, “I understand gifts are customary on one’s… birthday, hm?”

… For a long time, you don’t say a word. You merely look at the Horseman’s palm as though he’s holding a live grenade, your eyes round and wide and uncertain. In fact, you remain silent for so long, that for once, Death is the one who feels compelled to explain himself.

“I… wrapped it,” he ventures, frowning behind his mask at the parcel, “… Although, I suppose it isn’t very good, is it.” Now that he's presented it to you, he's only just noticing how shoddy and rushed the job must look. In fact, he realises he must have stolen parchment that Azrael was in the middle of writing on, judging by the ink smudges that are only half hidden beneath the thin twine he used to bundle the whole thing together.

Mind racing, he scans your expression for tells, anything that’ll clue him in as to whether he’s made a mistake in bringing you something at all…

Perhaps… he was misinformed. It might be a grave insult to give a human something on their day of birth. Damn that half-wit brother of his, Strife. If he’s fed Death another lie to make him look foolish in front of you, why, he’ll-

A soft touch alights upon his palm.

Death’s gaze snaps down to see your tiny fingers curling tentatively over the parchment, and it takes a lot of concentration to keep his appendages from twitching as you slide the parcel out of his palm, brushing your thumb over his in the process.

“You… got me a present?” you ask gently, staring down at it before flicking your eyes up to peer at the Horseman from beneath your lashes.

Slowly, he retrieves his arm, giving it a shrug and sniffing, “It’s nothing particularly special.”

But you’re already pulling at the twine's lacklustre knot, delicately peeling away crinkled parchment to reveal the gift inside.

When you finally unfold all of the paper, a soft sound of wonder escapes your parted lips, and your face is illuminated in a soft, green glow.

It’s a flask. A tiny flask no larger than your thumb, cut from thick, crystalline glass and stoppered at the top with a chunk of cork. The flask itself has had a silver chain welded to the neck that glints in the sunlight as you bring it closer to your face to peer inside. Clinking around behind the glass, you spot a piece of shard, green as a summer field, glowing prettily like a captured firefly, small and dainty but luminous enough to cast its light through its crystal prison.

“I’m sure Muria could have made you something prettier,” the Horseman mumbles, “I’m no maker. But, I always did have a knack for crafting these talismans… You wouldn’t believe how hard it was to convince Fury to carry one…

“…Death…” you breathe.

“Yours is modified, of course," he ploughs ahead, clearing his throat, "Now, it won’t keep you safe indefinitely.” There's a pause, and you think you hear him mutter ‘yet’ under his breath before he continues, “But it will serve as a shield, of sorts. If you’re ever injured-“ Reaching out, he taps his nail against the glass. “- This will bear the worst of the damage. So long as you wear it, your skin will be harder to break. Your bones will only splinter where they might have shattered. You will be, in a word, protected.”

You can’t reply for a moment, your throat is too clogged with things you don’t know how to say.

You know this talisman. You know it because you’ve seen the one Fury keeps tucked beneath the high neck of her cuirass. She insists that Strife and War carry them too, though the brothers have yet to relinquish that secret to you just yet.

Nephilim’s Respite. It’s a protective trinket made by the eldest Horseman to safeguard his brothers and sister on their travels.

Death made them for his siblings. His family.

And now, here you are, holding the self same talisman in your hand.

You try to maintain your composure. You really do try. But when you blink, you’re slightly dismayed to find your vision blurring and a warm dampness tickling your lower eyelashes.

“Ah,” Death utters, drawing his head back to regard your gathering tears, “You’re crying. That… wasn’t my intention.”

A watery laugh tumbles out of your mouth, and you raise your unoccupied hand to sweep a wrist across your eyelids. “It’s oka-“ you start to sniff, though the Horseman jumps in before you can finish the thought.

“If the gift isn’t to your liking,” he concedes, reaching out to take the talisman back, “I can always-“

“-No!” Clutching the gift defensively to your chest, you throw Death a scandalised look, tears trickling lazily towards your chin, “It’s perfect, it’s just – it’s so much, Death! My god, I got you a mug for Christmas!"

And a fine mug it is, he reflects. Bone china, a yellow warning label with 'Warning, prone to sarcasm' scrawled across its surface in thick, black lettering.

It's one of his most preciously guarded items. He almost fed War's remaining arm to Harvester when the younger Horseman knocked it off his table.

But... you're fretting, and his reminiscing of the the humorous crockery will have to wait.

"You... accept the gift, then?" he asks, halfway convinced your eyes are misted over because he'd committed a faux-pas he isn't aware of.

There are times when Death wonders if you must think him quite dense. Such as now, for example. Short of throwing your hands above your head, you positively erupt in exasperation as you exclaim, "Wh-! Of course I do! This is the kindest thing anyone's done for me in my life!"

"Kinder than saving said life?" he quips, "Repeatedly?"

You only shoot him a wide, watery grin in response. Tossing the parchment over your shoulder, you hurry to slip the silver chain around your neck, clutching the flask delicately in a palm and thumbing the glass with fond, gentle strokes.

"I'm never taking this off," you murmur around a beaming smile.

Grunting, the Horseman folds his arms across his chest and replies, "See that you don't. With how attractive you are to trouble and disaster, this is the most efficient way to ensure you are kept relatively safe when I... when one of us isn't around to keep an eye on you." Pausing, he quirks a thoughtful brow behind his mask and adds, "Well... I suppose I could always enlist Nathaniel to play human-sitter..."

Your bright, incredulous peal of laughter cuts him off, but before he can lament on how much different he is now for allowing himself to be interrupted by a human and feel no malice, you suddenly plant a hand on his chest, spreading warmth from the tips of your fingers straight through to the hollow cavity that used to house his heart.

Death's mask tips down, his golden eyes calm, but curious as they fold into yours, old and new, sharing a moment of vulnerability on the steps of your home.

"Thank you, Death," you tell him sincerely, but oh so softly, "I mean it. Thank you."

And then, as if the thanks alone isn't quite enough to break a chip off his unassailable walls, you rise onto the toes of your shoes, reaching a hand up to hook a finger beneath the chin of his mask and drawing his head down inch by inch. Death, taken wildly aback by the boldness of laying your hands on the Executioner's mask, forgets himself, and follows the tug of your will until-

A layer of solid bone may separate you from the Horseman's skin, yet he'd still swear he feels the tender press of a warm, guileless mouth against his own, just for a moment, then you withdraw almost as soon as you leaned in, releasing his chin and letting your arms flop back to your sides.

"Well," you say, voice a little pitched like you've caught yourself by surprise, "Again, um... Thank you..."

Slowly, Death draws back to his full height, resisting the sudden urge to press his fingertips to the space near the bottom of his mask.

"Don't suppose you've got time to come in for a cup of tea?" you blurt.

And if the Reaper's thin, pale lips twitch up at their corners unbidden... Well... There's a reason he decided to keep his mask, after all.