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literaryvein-reblogs · 1 month

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what are some ways to describe people other than eye and hair color

I am assuming you are looking for physical descriptors. Here are some examples. I may just make a different post on psychological descriptors.

Arms: Long, Muscular, Pudgy, Short, Skinny, Thin

Back: Bent, Hunched, Ramrod Straight, Rounded

Build: Anorexic, Athletic, Beefy, Brawny, Burly, Chubby, Coltish, Compact, Fat, Gangly, Gaunt, Gawky, Haggard, Heavy-set, Herculean, Husky, Lanky, Lithe, Muscular, Obese, Overweight, Petite, Rangy, Reed-like, Scrawny, Skinny, Slender, Slight, Solid, Spindly, Statuesque, Stocky, Strapping, Sylphlike, Taut, Thickset, Thin, Trim, Underweight, Voluptuous, Well-built, Willowy, Withered

Cheeks: Blushing, Bold, Curved, Dimpled, Bold, Curved, Dimpled, Disturbed, Glorious, Glowing, Hairless, High (cheekbones), Hollow, Honey, Livid, Pale, Pallid, Pink, Plump, Puffy, Radiant, Reddened, Rosy, Rounded, Ruddy, Shining, Smooth, Soft, Sun-burnt, Sun-bronzed, Sunken, Sun-tanned, Tanned, Tearful, White

Chin: Angular, Bony, Bumpy, Chiseled, Defined, Doughy, Firm, Protruding, Round, Smooth, Soft, Square, Strong

Ears: Jug-like, Large, Protruding, Tiny

Eyebrows: Arching, Bushy, Emphasized, Near, Spaced, Thick, Thin

Eyelashes: Artificial, Beaded, Beautiful, Blinking, Dark, Dark-fringed, Dense, Dusky, Heavily-fringed, Long, Mascaraed, Sandy, Sooty, Sopping, Tear-drenched, Thick, Uplifted

Eyes: Almond-shaped, Bright, Bulging, Expressive, Frightened, Gentle, Languishing, Little, Luminous, Made-up, Round, Shining, Shortsighted, Smart, Stunned, Thin, Wide, Woeful

Face: Baby, Blood-stained, Bold, Chiseled, Contorted, Dead, Expressionless, Fair, Familiar, Fierce, Flat, Frightened, Furrowed, Honest, Indifferent, Little, Pale, Poker, Pretty, Radiant, Rough, Ruddy, Sallow, Square, Stained, Swollen, Trim, Weather-beaten, Wry

Feet: Athlete's, Big, Flat, Pigeon-toed, Small, Sore, Stinky, Stubby, Swollen

Fingers: Gnarled, Long, Short, Stubby

Finger Nails: Bitten, Broken, Claw-like, Dirty, Hooked, Long, Painted, Sharp, Talon-like

Hair: Afro, Bald, Beehive, Braided, Bristles, Bun, Chignon, Coiffure, Combed, Corkscrew, Corn rows, Cowlicked, Crew cut, Curly, Disarrayed, Disheveled, Dreadlocks, Dry, Flattop, Flecked, French braid, French twist, Fringe, Greasy, Grizzled, Knotted, Layered, Locks, Matted, Messed up, Mohawk, Mussy, Muttonchops, Neat, Oily, Page boy, Perm, Pigtails, Plait, Pompadour, Ponytail, Ragged, Receding, Ringlets, Ruffled, Shaggy, Shorn, Shoulder-length, Skinhead, Spiky, Split-ended, Straight, Tangled, Thick, Thinning, Tidy, Topknot, Tousled, Twisted, Uncombed, Unshorn, Untidy, Wavy, Wiry, Wisps

Hand: Big, Elegant, Small

Height: Big, Knee-high, Medium, Short, Shoulder-high, Sky-high, Small, Tall, Towering, Waist-high

Legs: Amputated, Bandy, Bony, Bowed, Brawny, Bulging, Fluted, Gartered, Gouty, Graceful, Hacked, Hairy, Jagged, Knotted, Leaden, Long, Lower, Muscular, Pitiful, Rickety, Shapely, Shivering, Short, Sinewy, Slender, Slim, Spindle, Stockinged, Sturdy, Thin, Thread-like, Tinder, Tiny, Toothsome, Tree trunks

Lips: Blue, Cracked, Cupid's Bow, Downturned, Dry, Fat, Full, Grim, Large, Luscious, Parched, Parted, Red, Ruby, Small, Smiling, Thin, Wet

Mouth: Arch, Ascetic, Baby, Cavernous, Churning, Compressed, Cooing, Coral, Cracked, Cruel, Delicate, Dumpled, Distended, Dry, Fine, Firm, Frothy, Full, Funnel-shaped, Gaping, Grim, Handsome, Hungry, Insistent, Irritable, Large, Luscious, Munching, Musty, Perilous, Puckered, Querulous, Relaxed, Resolute, Sardonic, Sensuous, Serious, Slobbering, Small, Sulky, Sweet, Tender, Thin, Wide, Winsome, Wrinkled, Yawning

Neck: Bullnecked, Elegant, Long, Short, Swan-like, Thick

Palm: Broad, Oval, Rectangular, Square

Skin: Acned, Alabaster, Albino, Apricot, Black, Blemished, Blistered, Blooming, Blotchy, Blushing, Bronzed, Cadaverous, Calloused, Caramel, Clear, Craggy, Cream, Ebony, Fair, Flush, Freckled, Glowing, Greasy, Ivory, Jaundiced, Leathery, Lily-white, Lined, Milky, Mottled, Nut-brown, Olive, Pale, Pallid, Pasty, Peeling, Pimpled, Pink, Pitted, Pockmarked, Red, Rosy, Rough, Ruddy, Russet, Sallow, Scabby, Scarred, Smooth, Splotchy, Spotty, Sun-burnt, Tan, Wan, Waxen, White, Wrinkled, Yellow

Stomach: Bulging, Distended, Empty, Firm, Flabby, Flat, Heroic, Hollow, Lean, Paunchy, Protruding, Unbounded

Teeth: Artificial, Black, Blunted, Buck, Canine, Chattering, Clenched, Clinched, Compressed, Crooked, Dagger-like, Dazzling, Decayed, Deciduous, Extracted, False teeth, Feeble, Ferocious, Filed, Flashing, Fluoridated, Foam-laced, Fractured, Gap-toothed, Gleaming, Glistening, Glittering, Gnashing, Goofy, Grinding, Hooked, Horrid, Ivory, Jagged, Lacquered, Large, Milky, Mottled, Neglected, Pearly, Perfect, Pretty, Protruding, Razor-like, Sharp, Shining, Short, Small, Snowy, Sore, Spaced, Straight, Sweet tooth, Tender, Tiny, Toothless, Toothy, Ugly, Unrelenting, White, Wisdom, Wolfish, Yellow

Hope this helps! If it does, do tag me or send me a link to your writing. I'd love to read your work.

More: On Character Development

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yanderenightmare · 18 days

Text

♡ TW: nsfw, noncon, yandere, kidnapped reader, murder of nameless side characters

♡ fem reader

Thinking about that moment of violent change you’re forced to go through when your loving boyfriend becomes the terrifying man you don’t recognize—and how it completely eradicates the reality you’d grown so comfortable in, realizing it was all some perfectly orchestrated lie.

Rope burns on your wrists and ankles, tears streaking your chunky cheeks, and a poor soul’s blood on your pretty face belonging to some guy who’d gotten a little too close for comfort.

He’d cut him down like it was nothing.

The knife is held still by his side, a shining red murder weapon, dripping on the floor in the growing pond by his feet. He sighs heavily, casts his head back then looks behind him, beholding you through slim eyes, clicking his tongue, “Look what you made me do…”

He wouldn’t be the only one… several victims followed in his bloody path—witnesses who’d seen him struggle with you, kicking and screaming for all your worth, trying anything to get away. You were all too easily manhandled into the car, and could only watch behind the locked door, banging with bound fists on the glass while he gutted other passersby who’d threatened to call the police.

Driving off, he growls at you, first to shut up and then, “That was your fault—if only you’d been a good girl, none of those innocent people would have had to die.” His knuckles whiten on the wheel, wringing it in his stained grip—scarlet on ivory. “If you don’t want any more blood on your hands, you better sit pretty and not cause me any more trouble.”

You sob uncontrollably and inconsolably despite the threat—you can’t stop yourself—you can’t even comprehend his words. None of it makes any sense. You’d seen it all, and yet you can’t understand it—any of it. You’d watched the sweet guy you knew shed his skin and become a monster right before your eyes. It must be some bad dream, some terrible, awful, horrible nightmare.

But even if it is, you don’t want him touching you ever again. It makes you physically sick to your stomach to think you’d ever shared a bed with him—exchanged sweet nothings in the damp heat of each other. No, no, no, it’s not the same person—it can’t be. It can’t be true. What about the smiles you’d shared over breakfast, those times you’d surprised each other at lunch, all the dates, all the gifts, all the kisses, the future you’d talked about?

You’d fallen in love. But you’ve fallen in love with someone who doesn’t even exist.

He makes sure the door to the bedroom’s under lock and a key he stores somewhere you won’t find it. You squirm in your bonds on the bed when he approaches, shivering with whimpers under his hands, flinching at his touch while he unties you, then cringing as he angles your face to look at him—wanting to pry free, anything not to look into those changed eyes.

You hadn’t thought his build was imposing before, it hadn’t struck you as lethal. Naively, you’d thought him cozy—a big chest and a warm embrace he would scoop you up in, a safe place you could live. He’s cold now, menacing and filthy from his crimes—the body of a killer, a cold-blooded murderer. He’s so big it makes the room feel too small for the both of you. Claustrophobic.

He forces your gaze to him, and it’s all you see, those eyes, those unrecognizable eyes, with that look within you can’t understand, beholding you with burden.

“I still love you,” he states, though it angers him. “Even though you broke my heart. I still love you.”

You shake your head, or you try to, but it results in only tiny tremors caught in his hand where he keeps your chin, bloody fingers buried in your plump cheeks, squeezing so hard you wince.

“But it doesn’t come for free,” he seethes with an awful sneer. A type of grimace you’d never thought him capable of, overfilled with disdain. “My love is earned. And after all you did today, you’re in deep debt.”

He lets go of your face with a nasty shove, taking a mean grip on your shirt instead, using both fists to tear it down the middle. You yelp and cover yourself, but that only angers him further—causing him to grab your wrists and pin them to your side. You think you feel your joints popping.

“Test me, and I’ll hurt you,” he growls, his teeth bared at your ear where your face curls to hide itself in the pillow. “I don’t want to, but if that’s what it takes to make you sorry, then so be it. Be good, and I won’t have to take it that far.”

You lie as still as you can muster while he removes the rest—roughly as he goes—your bra, your skirt, your underwear. You only snivel and toil with the sheets in weak little fists, making your joints cramp up—feeling raw under him, at the mercy of those blood-dried hands.

You understand what he’s about to do, and yet it doesn’t really dawn on you before you hear the sharp ringing of his belt buckle being undone. You don’t look, but you don’t close your eyes either—the room is already dark enough that closing your eyes would make you feel too close to death. So, you keep your gaze fixed to the side, to the stale wall.

The bed bounces you as he shuffles. The urge to run bubbles within, but you know it wouldn’t be to your advantage. So your mind spins, thinking of other possibilities, growing ever more panicked when coming up empty.

He spits on your slit, then rears it with his spitefully erect shaft—pushing in without further prep. And you lose all sense of control.

Twisting at the attack, you scream again, “No! Stop—”

Your hands barely touch him before he’s answered the protest with a tightening grip on your neck. Unrelenting, your throat instantly snares, and you choke on any further outburst.

“I told you,” he chastises. “Why do you have to force my hand, huh?”

You gasp for any sliver worth of air, sipping through the cracks of his chokehold, but it’s very nearly sealed completely shut. You try lifting his grip with your own, both hands holding onto his wrist, wanting to pull loose but achieving nothing.

It’s so pitiful that he ignores the effort. Using his remaining hand to continue what he’d set out to do. Planting his tip at your unprepped entrance, he wasted no time before surging forward.

Your vision starts to spot, and your hands grow weak, barely hanging on.

“That’s good. Lie still and take it,” he groans—his lips on your cheek as he bullies through your dry walls, only aided by his spit. “And I might consider once’ enough.”

You don’t have a choice, feeling your body go numb. He picks your thigh up over his hip and drives deeper—starting a steady pace without letting go of your throat, squeezing the life out of you. Your hands finally drop, lying limp, and still, you feel it deep within—the thrusting as he beats your sorry cunt into an aching mess, then fills you up with awful warmth.

♡ BNHA – Deku, Kirishima, Hawks ♡ JJK – Nanami, Geto, Naoya

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

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evilgwrl · 30 days

Text

Neighbour!Simon Riley x Reader

Girl Next Door (One)

CW: Mutual masturbation ;)

Inspired by Neighbour!Simon

Chapter Two

Your legs perched up across the woven strings of the porch chair, knees littered with blue and black kisses, knotted joints tucked into your chest as you watched the peak of gold settle into a deep blue. Bony fingers laced the pages between parched hands, eyes darting maliciously between words as you hummed to yourself softly.

You were used to being out here alone, an orchestra of bats occasionally sounding out to you as they scurried away into pine trees, nipping between each other. Your flat, a smaller duplex, was tucked away into a quiet cul-de-sac, away from the hustle and bustle of London life. It was an organised routine, your body succumbing to the night air as you bathed in the comforting atmosphere of the twilight. There was an occasional hum from up the road, the chug of a car passing through, but your interest peaked when the gravel road lit up, headlights streaming towards you as you shielded your eyes.

The sound of the engine frightened you a bit before you adjusted your vision. A large shadow stepped into view, the staggering height of a man peaking your attention before you took in the balaclava flushed against his face, russet eyes covered by a delicate frame of blonde lashes, stained with black face paint staring at you before dropping his head in a curt nod.

You recognised him as your neighbour. Quiet bloke, away often on deployment you presumed, but nether-the-less was a comfort for you. Even at home, it was like he was never there, the occasional echo of hollow boots sounding against the floorboards before they disappeared. He was ghostly, slightly peculiar but you noted him down mainly as mysterious.

You had spoken a few times, sounding good morning as he was outside having a smoke when you were leaving for work. His response was gruff and shallow, a deep voice barking out a short reply before smashing the dart under the rubble of his shoe, calloused hands gripping the door handle.

He walked past you, duffle bag dropped against the porch as he huffed with his keys, bruised knuckles peaking your attention as you glanced at him, framed eyes peering in curiosity.

“Y’ alright?” His tone was curt, a hint of annoyance ringing through as his eyes stained trained on the metal knob, working the key through the hole.

You squeaked out a noise, taken back by him as you adjusted in the chair, feet flat against the floor now. “Yeah, sorry, I’m just not used to you being here, it’s uh, nice for you to be back, less lonely,” you rambled, shuffling your hands awkwardly before you shut yourself up.

He let out a grunt, the noise almost animalistic sounding as he shut the door, his vague appearance shuffling into the quiet of his own home as you sat outside, whispering an expletive under your breath as you prodded at the ecchymosis on your nobbled knees.

Rough hands rubbed at the face paint, gentle soap working into the scorn skin, thickened skin almost melting under the velocity of the scolding water. Simon’s throat was scratchy, the irritating feeling of sandpaper lining his oesophagus as he choked out a cough. Broken blood vessels littered across the scarring of his back and ribs, a splurge of hematoma drawn across the broken skin.

Ivory skin was now painted with falling droplets of water, a scratchy moose-coloured towel adorned his hips as he shook his hair, moist residue landing on the mirror as he rubbed his hands across his face, a soft moan leaving his lips as he prodded the tender knot in his back.

His home felt foreign, no matter how long he had lived there for.

His bedroom had dusk lighting, a double bed pushed against the flaky walls, the metal rods holding the frame scraping at the paint. A singular pillow to each side perked up against his touch as he layered them, unused linen welcoming him with a slight dusty smell, aching body collapsing into the plushness of the duvet.

He was aware that your bedroom was adjacent to his, your beds pushed directly together on opposite ends. He could hear the subtle creaks of your feet against the floor as you shuffled around, a chair squeaking across the floor as it collided with something before the noise of you walking sounded again. Simon could hear the springs in your bed, an acknowledgement that you were now lying down.

There was a low hum of a fan whirring, the white noise drifting into his room as he stared up at his own, the stagnant noise felt unorthodox, the familiarity of the barracks being the usual for the Lieutenant. Simon’s hands felt weighed down as he moved them from his chest to rest at his side, his breathing shallow as his ears perked at every movement you made.

You were restless, sweaty body tangled between cotton as you adjusted yourself, flinging your blankets off you as you let out gentle pants. You cursed at the lack of air conditioning available in British homes, peeling off your silken pyjama shorts as you flung them somewhere across your bedroom. Your body was hot and achy, the heat settling in even during the night as you turned to the side, beady eyes watching as the wind flickered the branches occasionally. You were tempted to sleep outside at this point, your room feeling like a sauna as you let out a frustrated quip.

There was a subtle ache between your thighs, a dull throbbing ringing through your brain as you attempted to position yourself better, clicking your calves as you rustled around. Tired arms stretched your top over your head as it too met the wraith of your floor, bare breasts perked against your sheets as you closed your eyes, cuddling up against a pillow.

Slumber never succumbed to your heated frame, the drill of your fan almost teasing you as it provided minimum cooling. You spread your legs, sweat prickling over your stretch marks as you moaned in annoyance. Your fingers trailed your slit through the thin fabric, turquoise-coloured panties fading into an aqua as you let out a shaky breath. You felt dirty, the dull throb of your cunt mocking you as needy fingers hooked into the lace, dragging them down the plushness of your thighs before settling at the end of your bed.

You fumbled around in your draw, clumsy fingers feeling around for your bullet vibrator before they rubbed against the silicone. You were sure to be quiet, your hands covering the majority of the vibrations as you nestled it between your folds, collecting the sweetness of your slick before resting it on your achy clit, an instant moan rising at your throat as you tweaked at your nipples.

The hum against your sex wasn’t enough as you sat up, resting the vibrator on your swollen nub as you straddled a pillow, sloppy pussy grinding against it rapidly as you rutted like a dog in heat, chasing your high.

You were a sight for sore eyes, breasts bouncing at your movements as you humped against the cushion, the cheap sex toy sounding against the bundle of nerves as you let out soft whimpers, mouth opened in an ‘o’ shape as you tugged at your hardened nubs that were practically aching against your chest.

It was like you were going through puberty again, squishy sounds squelching from your cunt at the licentious actions, hips getting sloppy as you felt your coil forming, antagonising moans dripping from your lips as you stilled, the silicone pressed sweetly into your clit as you whined into your hand, orgasm ripping through you as you jutted away from the stimulation, collapsing into a heap.

Simon frowned at how quickly your noises were over as a spit-covered cock throbbed in agony, veiny hands jutting around the angry member as he milked himself to the memory of your orgasm, hot splashes of cum spurting against his belly, a thick trail of hair leading down to his softening cock as he cleaned himself up before nestling into the comfort of his sheets and the barely audible hum of your breathing.

#evilgwrl #call of duty x reader #141 x reader #simon riley #ghost smut #ghost #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost smut #simon riley fluff #simon ghost riley fanfiction #simon ghost #simon riley x you #simon riley smut #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x you

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cammys-imagines24 · 1 year

Text

°•Astarion Drinking Your Blood•°

Oh, Astarion never tires of your taste.

Whether it's his first time drinking from you or the hundredth.

You were his first human after all.

But even if he hadn't of lived centuries slaking his thirst with that of vermin...

Forcing their rotten, diseased blood down his hungry maw in sheer desperation...

The Vampire would still find your blood to be like ambrosia from the gods.

The sweetest thing to grace his tongue and warm his belly.

Sometimes it's hard to stop, if Astarion is being honest with himself.

But he loves you too, too much to put you in any mortal peril.

Though after a feeding you may feel dizzy and need to recuperate the next day.

It's just, after so long dining upon infected, squirming rats with mottled fur and yellowing buck teeth...

In the shadows of night, prowling the pests and repugnant riffraff.

He can't help himself and he's grateful you allow him to indulge a little.

But despite however ravenous he is, he's always gentle.

Pulling you close and kissing the moonlit column of your throat.

Tenderly wrapping his ivory arms around your waist, his tone sultry while whispering sweet nothings and gratitudes in your ear.

Astarion is so well versed in his ministrations that you've come to want him to feed off of you just as much as he wants, no, needs to be fed by you.

You relishing his hands leaving indents in the flesh of your hips and his breath upon your nape...

Often finding yourself tugging on strands of his curled silver locks to pull him closer.

Until no space is between you two. Until his mouth touches your neck.

And once it does, Astarion can't help but close his eyes, an involuntary shudder resounding through his whole body at the perfume of you.

Your essence a seductive potion which the Vampire would gladly, willingly lap up forever and ever.

No matter how gentle and inviting he makes the build up though, there's simply nothing to be done about the initial pain.

Astarion can't help the fact that once he bares his pearly, white fangs and sinks them into the sensitive flesh of your neck that it's unpleasant.

His fangs like two white hot pokers burrowing into your jugular vein, causing a muffled scream to leave you.

Your bottom lip plump from how hard you gnaw at it.

He does hate your scream. It revolts him that he's the cause of it.

But it is a momentary distress from you before you reassuringly comb through his hair again.

And after a few labored breaths, you ease into the pain. Getting used to it every single time.

By then he's drunk on you. Gorging himself on the nectar of your life. The crimson, pulsing river of your very being.

He's practically sent to heaven with each swallow and he never thought a spawn like him would get there.

Once you go slack in Astarion's arms he holds you tight, cradling your warm body. His fingers ghosting over your chest, hips, stomach...

And when your heartbeat begins to slow that's when he forces himself to pull away.

Licking the scarlet stream which drips down the two raw puncture wounds.

Cleaning up his mess all the way down to the start of your cleavage, exposed from your unlaced shirt.

Aftercare is incredibly important to Astarion and he is quick to sweep you up bridal style in his arms.

Tucking you safely into your shared bed and fetching you a glass of cool water.

You, weakened and tired, putting up little fuss but managing to smile at him and reach out to take his hand.

He wastes no time, falling into bed with you and pulling you close so your head is upon his chest.

He keeps you in a vice grip all night long so that any who would dare come to harm you in your diminished state would have to go through him first.

And he damn well would never let any harm come to you, save that of the wounds he assaults upon your neck.

And with you content but exhausted in Astarion's arms he licks his red stained lips and smiles in satisfaction.

He thinks you are a marvel really, to allow him to drink your blood in the first place.

To consent willingly and give him a taste of pure ecstasy.

And with his flushed cheeks and twinkling, enlivened crimson eyes, he places a kiss on your forehead.

Whispering how very much he loves you while you sleep soundly upon his chest.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 astarion #bg3 astarion x reader #astarion x reader #astarion imagine #astarion imagines #astarion headcanon #astarion headcanons #baldur's gate 3 x reader #baldur's gate 3 imagine #baldur's gate 3 headcanon #bg3 x reader #bg3 fic

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dilemmaontwolegs · 5 months

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The Perfect Life || CL16 {8}

Summary: Life has flipped upside down: the people supposed to protect you hurt you and the man who hurt you protects you. Warnings: angst, fluff WC: 2.3k F1 Masterlist || One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight Taglist: RETIRED Head over to my dedicated library blog @dilemmaslibrary and opt to get notifications from there.

Nausea churned your stomach and you were grateful dinner hadn’t been served or it would surely be making its return. Blood rushed past your ears and throbbed in your head as you tried to focus on the sheet music in front of you and not the cold touch of sweat beginning to coat your skin.

“Don’t fuck this up,” your mother warned.

You vividly remembered the last time you messed up, fumbling over the tune in front of her friends. She had sent them on their way to the pool house bar and the moment the door closed she slammed the lid of the piano down before you could react. You hadn’t been able to fight for weeks with the thick bandages that kept the finger splints in place.

With trembling hands you lifted the lid that protected the ivory keys from dust. It weighed more than it looked and your eyes scanned the wood for any sign of the blood that had stained it. There was no point searching for something that couldn’t be seen, you found the housekeepers were able to clean blood out of anything.

“You’re shaking,” Charles whispered as he took a seat on the bench with you. His hands took yours and concern bled into his green eyes.

“I’m fine, I just need to get this right. It has to be perfect.”

He frowned at the detached tone and let you pull your hands free, but he didn’t leave as you raised your hands to the keys and stared vacantly at the music book on the shelf. Fingers he had seen clenched tight into fists and fighting with raw strength now moved delicately across the keys and your eyes closed. To anyone in the room it would look serene, divine even, but close up Charles could see the shimmering of tears beneath the lashes.

Something, or someone, had utterly broken the woman beside him and Charles found out just how much he could truly hate when he looked up to see your mother. Her watchful eyes were eager but it wasn’t for the music. The eyes that were the same exact shade as yours were too invested in your performance. It was a stark comparison to when his mother watched him play. There was no pride, merely cold calculations and the anticipation of a mistake.

“Shit,” you cursed under your breath as your little finger seized up and failed to reach the key needed.

Fire ignited in your mother’s eyes at the mistake, not that anyone else would have caught it unless they were pianists too. Cruel intentions played across her face as Charles shifted closer on the seat and reached for your hand, slipping his beneath yours and taking over the piece, finishing it almost perfectly.

“Such a delightful duet,” your mother clapped, accepting the applause as if she had done the work. “Dinner will be served in a moment.”

The crowd dispersed to take their appointed seats but you couldn’t move as you sat with your hands slumped on your lap. A shadow fell across you and you tensed, waiting for the pain to come.

“Come on, baby, we’re leaving.” Charles rose to his feet and planted himself between you and your mother.

“The evening isn’t over.”

Charles curled his arm under yours and pulled you to your feet but you felt like a puppet, not in control of your own body. “It is for us, and every other evening too.”

“I don’t know what game you are playing at, boy, but she belongs to me and she isn’t going anywhere.”

“Y/N is a person, not a belonging. She isn’t a price in a deal or weight in a business decision.” Charles snickered as her eyes widened. “Yes, I know about that. I wonder what the world would think of this family if they found out the truth too.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

You finally had the strength to look at him and see utter seriousness set in his handsome features. He was willing to make a scene for you with some of the nations most affluent figures in the next room, but that was exactly why your mother ceded to him.

“Go,” she snapped, an angry finger pointing to the door before she stared down her nose at you. “I won’t forget this when you come crawling back to me.”

You barely spoke a word as you followed Charles outside where he called his brother. “Tur, I need a favour. Can you come and pick us up? No, we haven’t been arrested.”

You didn’t realise you were shivering until he unbuttoned his suit jacket and draped it over your shoulders. Warmth and his scent enveloped you and you immediately started to feel better, your fingers unfurling from the stiff fists they had been closed into.

“He’s going to be at least half an hour,” Charles said as he tucked his phone away and looked around, spotting curious eyes watching from the window. “We should get a taxi and wait somewhere else.”

“Can we walk?”

Charles glanced at your heels. “Do you want to get changed?”

You shook your head and started to make your way down the driveway. “I would say the door is already locked.”

When you reached the gates you knew Franco was already advised of your impending departure. The mountain of a man took up almost all of the security booth and his sad eyes followed each step, but you kept your head high.

“Take care of everyone for me, big guy,” you said as you passed the open gates. He gave the smallest of nods before his lips pursed and he hit the button to close the gates as he had been ordered.

“You’re taking this rather calmly,” Charles commented as he laced his hand in yours and crossed the road to walk along the waterfront.

“I’m sure she was expecting a tantrum.” You smiled at the thought of her disappointment before a laugh bubbled up. “God, she is going to hate you.”

Charles laughed along with you and pulled you to a stop to watch the sun setting over the water. His chest pressed to your back as he held the safety rail either side of your body and his lips warmed your cheek. “She can hate me all she wants, it was worth it. You are worth it.”

You rested your head on his shoulder as the sun dipped below the horizon and sighed. “You make it hard for me to hate you.”

“Good, I don’t want you to hate me.”

With the red hues of light fading quickly you continued on the walk out of the suburbs and into the city. The smells from the fine dining establishments reminded you that you had missed dinner but when Charles asked where you would like to eat there was only one place that called to you.

“McDonalds?” he double checked, frowning as you looked up at the golden arches with what he could only imagine was childish wonder. “Wait, you’ve never had McDonalds?”

“Do they serve caviar?” you shot back.

“They might start when they see you,” he teased, pointing out how massively overdressed you were as he opened the door to the fast food chain. “After you, my lady.”

Charles could see you were uncertain of yourself as you checked what was on the menu. Your posture was relaxed but your eyes were darting around the room, taking in the exits and the other patrons who weren’t dressed nearly as nice as you. “I don’t know what to get,” you finally admitted after spending too long trying to choose one combo.

“Why don’t you go choose a table and I will order for you?”

You chose a booth in the back corner with some privacy and ignored the strange looks you were given as you walked by in a Dior gown. It was only when you sat down that you realised how silly it was to be wearing a 20 carat diamond necklace with no security personnel so you unclasped the chain and bundled it into your hands beneath the table.

A few moments later Charles arrived with a tray of food and slid in beside you.

“So we’ve got the classics: cheeseburger, Big Mac, nuggets, fries and a sundae.” He opened all the packaging and tore the top off a sauce punnet before dragging a nugget through it. “Here, sweet and sour is the best.”

You parted your lips and took a bite, surprised by how sweet and tangy the sauce was with the crunch of the crispy nugget. Your eyes widened and Charles grinned. “Good, no?”

“Holy fuck,” you moaned. “That is delicious!”

“Try this,” Charles said as he dunked a bunch of fries into the ice cream.

“Seriously?”

“Trust me.”

You were dubious but opened your mouth for the food he offered and frowned at the contradictory tastes on your tongue. Hot met cold, sweet met salty, crunchy met creamy. You didn’t hate it but couldn’t decide if you liked it either so you gave it another attempt.

Charles took a burger for himself and quietly ate while you took a bite out of everything before choosing the cheeseburger as the simplest yet satisfactory item of them all.

“It’s like watching a newborn try food for the first time,” he chuckled.

You scrunched up the paper napkin you had dabbed your lips with and tossed it at his grinning face. “Asshole.”

“What? You’re cute.”

“Thank you, you’re not too bad yourself, brother,” Arthur said as he dropped into the booth beside you and flicked a finger at the layered chiffon sleeve of your dress. “You look gorgeous.”

You tossed your hair back over your shoulder and tucked a hand under your chin with a dramatic pout. “This is the look of a homeless woman, Tur. I have nothing but my name and the clothes on my back, but your brother plans to take them both off me.”

Arthur tipped his head back with a laugh and stole the remaining chicken nuggets. “You can ditch the wedding plan now if you have been successfully thrown out. What happened anyway?”

Charles watched as you shrugged and murmured quietly, “She had me play for her important guests and I messed up.”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed and he picked up your hands, turning them over to check for any injuries. “Did she hurt you?”

You gently removed your hands and tucked them back on your lap. “Not this time, Charles intervened.”

Charles had never seen such a look of relief or gratitude from his brother and despite knowing he had done the right thing, he wished he could have done something sooner. Clearing his throat of the lump of regret that clogged it, Charles started to collect the rubbish on the table before picking up the tray.

You frowned and looked around for staff. “Isn’t someone going to do that for you?”

“Not here, no,” he said as he disposed of it himself before holding his hand out. “Ready to go home?”

Your argument to stay at the rundown factory was vetoed by both Leclercs so Arthur had driven you back to Monaco with Charles. It was strange to walk back into Charles’ apartment with your worldly possessions in a gym bag and briefly wondered if you were truly prepared for the consequences. You might act brave but there were really only two worlds you knew, the one in the gilded cage and the one in the iron cage. Both involved fighting of two very different kinds but both were for survival; of status or life.

This was foreign.

“I’ll take you shopping in the morning before we go to the track.”

You pulled the necklace from the pocket of his jacket you still wore and placed it on the table. “I don’t know how much this is worth but it’s Cartier.”

Charles frowned at the change in the confident woman he knew and he picked up the heavy chain embedded with diamonds. “You don’t have to worry about money,” he promised as he stepped behind you and clasped it around your throat. “I promised I would take care of you.”

He turned you in his arms and smiled as he ran a finger along the gems resting in the valley of your breasts. “You were born to wear diamonds.”

You couldn’t quite find the words to thank him because a simple thank you wasn’t enough so you slipped his jacket off and draped it over a chair before reaching for the hidden zip at your side. You brushed the sleeves off your shoulders and let the dress float to the floor under his watchful eyes before stepping closer. With each step another item of clothing was lost - heels, bra, panties, gone - until there was only one thing left. “The necklace?”

Charles smirked as he pulled you flush to his body and tipped your chin back to meet his darkening eyes. “Leave it on.”

#charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x you #formula one imagine #formula 1 fanfic #formula one fanfiction

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inkykeiji · 4 months

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⋆₊˚⊹♡ dabi + dermal piercings (& you sucking on them!)

character: todoroki touya | dabi warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, blood + licking up blood, hair pulling, toxic relationship (possessiveness, touya’s a lil mean) words: 1.1k

notes: the biggest thanks to @t-tomuras who birthed the idea of dabi having dermal piercings (outfitted with pretty sapphire studs) with meee ♡

They haven’t healed—not fully, anyway—but that doesn’t really matter.

He can hardly feel half of them regardless.

Still, they’re breathtaking.

Dewdrops of sapphire adorn his torso, glittering in the gauzy moonlight with each of his gentle inhales. Eight in total—four strung across his collarbones in pairs of two, four framed by sharp, jutting hipbones.

They’re a dainty contrast to the gaudy gold sutured across his flesh, old and worn, stained with ash and fire and blood. They look almost natural in a sense, as if his body had sprouted the jewels itself, grown from his tissues.

“So pretty,” you murmur to yourself, a delicate index finger tracing over the jutting gems embellishing his collarbone—slow, appreciative, gaze shimmering with awe in the dim light.

Sucking your bottom lip between your teeth, your pupils pulse, gaping and gluttonous, trying to consume the sight—suck him in, swallow him down, stash him away behind bone and blood for safekeeping.

The dermal piercings are nearly as pretty as he is, sprawled out beneath you, fluffy tufts of ivory messy and splayed on the dark sheets outfitting his mattress. They almost rival his eyes, the blue almost as deep, the glimmer almost as beautiful.

A tongue darts out to lave along his bottom lip, scar tissue licked raw by it’s incessant caress, the point playing with one of the hooked staples at the corner of his mouth. Rough hands flex on your hips, coarse and callused, his glassy gaze framed by heavy lids as he stares up at you, unblinking.

Your own gaze sweeps between the piercings and his face, unable to focus on one for more than a few seconds at a time, enraptured by the beauty that is Touya, spread out on display below you.

Another gentle skim of your fingertip over the twinkling little bumps, so light it’s hardly a touch at all, a fragile shiver rippling through his flesh. Pressing down, you watch as your nail sinks into puffy velvet skin, still slightly swollen from the needle, a soft hiss of air expelled through gritted teeth—wispy, not sharp, his hips twitching up infinitesimally.

It’s nothing more than a dull pressure, nerves fried to hell, singed and faulty and dead beneath dense scar tissue, but it makes his cock throb anyway, half-hard and filling with life, pelvis rolling up once, grinding into your core.

A syrupy little giggle drips from your lips, head ducking down to plant chaste kisses to the four gems lining his protruding collarbones before your tongue unfurls to smooth over them in one slow, continuous drag, flat and broad, sealing the dermal piercings with a thick coat of spit.

His chest stutters, intake of breath tangling on the whine that splinters in his throat, spine arching off the mattress to urge the piercings further into the heat of your mouth.

Your lips curl into a smirk against his skin, cheeks hollowing as you suck on the metal, hot and soaked under your mouth, the point circling them; first lazily, then with more force.

“Fuck,” he breathes out, curse tapering into a whimper. “The other ones, now.”

Sliding down his legs, your body settles between his thighs, his knees spreading wider to accommodate you, ankles hooking at the small of your back and locking you in place, heels weighing down on the base of your spine.

Damp breath wafts over his hip piercings in a gentle caress, chased by the tip of your tongue, tracing the edges of each jewel, refusing to lick over them.

A growl rumbles in his chest—dark, decadent—and slim fingers knot in the hair at the back of your head, knuckles curling tightly and yanking, sharp bones pressed flush to your scalp.

“Don’t tease.”

Another giggle escapes your lips, airy against his slick skin, but your tongue obeys instantly, gliding over the jewels in slow, heavy laps, smothering them in saliva. A sharp gasp catches in his throat, fading into a stringy moan when your tongue tenses into something hard, brushing across the studs in firm, rhythmic motions—back and forth, back and forth.

The piercings on his hips are considerably more sensitive than the ones threaded along his collarbone, the skin healthy and alive and so, so responsive, your humid breath adoring his stomach with dewdrops of condensation.

His grip on your strands has loosened, breathy pleasure melting on his tongue, hips shifting under you, hard cock prodding your ribs.

The salt of his sweat stings your tastebuds, strong and pungent, but you don’t stop licking until every last ounce of it has been washed away, cleansed by your spit and soaked up by your tongue.

But even after that, you’re still ravenous.

Your lips encase the tiny studs in a pucker and suck greedily, the capillaries tangled beneath his skin snapping under the force. Blood floods the surrounding tissues, seeping through the small pinpricks, jewels swimming in sticky crimson.

You sop that up, too, copious amounts of drool mixing with scarlet and turning the viscous substance a watery pink, painted in wide, messy strokes across his gut. Tart copper saturates your mouth, eager tongue weighing down on the weeping punctures, desperate for more.

Blotchy violet blooms below your mouth, so dark they rival his scars, your name etched into his flesh using his own ichor as ink. The vigour of your suction increases, siphoning another torrent of warm metal to ooze from the wounds, a needy moan vibrating against his skin.

It’s so good, his hips rutting into your ribs in pitiful, uneven little motions, but he’s starting to chafe beneath your blotting tongue, little fissures splitting smooth flesh thanks to your ceaseless lapping. Reluctantly, you pull away, laboured breath drifting across the piercings, still trickling lines of carmine.

A masterpiece. Yours.

“Goddamn,” Touya’s panting, a slight flush to his cheeks, clumps of hair clinging to his temples. “I should get these piercings across my entire body if it means you’re gonna slobber all over ‘em like this.”

He doesn’t need to—he knows he doesn’t need to, knows you’ll worship his body without the pretty little gems budding from the surface of his skin—but you giggle anyway, pressing a kiss to his left hip, blood staining petaled lips.

“I dunno,” you hum in mock thought, a delicate finger tracing along the staples curving over his belly button, tiptoeing across gold. “Don’t you think you have enough?”

His head lifts from the pillow slightly, staring down at his own torso, sapphire scanning across the gold sutured into his flesh, stitching healthy skin to something dead and warped.

“I suppose,” he sighs out with a practiced indifference, head flopping back down, a languid smile crawling onto his face.

His eyes dart down again, heady and shaded by thick fanned lashes, flares of mischief catching in the rising moon.

“You’d better get to work, then.”

Starting with the metal barbells climbing the underside of his cock.

#dabi smut #dabi x reader #dabi x you #dabi x y/n #todoroki touya smut #todoroki touya x reader #todoroki touya x you #todoroki touya x y/n #dabi headcanons #uGH #really i just wanna lick him all over and admire his beauty #that's all this is ahahaha #inky.dabi #inky.touya

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orangeave · 2 months

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all the places light does not touch

wednesday addams x gn!reader

summary: there are places in wednesday that the light doesn’t touch and she can’t help but to put you in all of them.

words: 4.2k

orange speaks: final part to the great war (part one | part two). damn, it's been a hot minute, huh? apologies for the wait, but i hope y'all will enjoy this last installment.

Gravesoil clings to Wednesday’s nail beds, a desperate plea scratching against her vocal cords that she will never admit to beyond this moment. You are mumbling to yourself, a language she’s never heard of slicing through the quiet; the mother tongue of the beast that lingers in places she cannot reach nor see. Wild, bloodshot eyes survey the empty space in front of you and veins crowd underneath your lashes. There’s a pause before you hunch over, hands reaching up to grasp tightly at your head and –

Wings ripple out of tearing flesh, blood soaking the floor underneath her former lover’s feet. An ominous, onyx liquid takes over the whites of your eyes, dripping slowly down the apple of your cheeks and leaving dark tear tracks in their wake that trail pass a shuddering throat.

How foolish she was to forget what lays dormant beneath your skin, waiting to unleash itself upon the world. Control was hard fought and just barely won after each battle, a traumatic fear for the possibility of a blood-curdling outcome hardening the usual soft color of your gaze.

Wednesday had always been there to placate the darker side of you but times were different now. The consequences of her wrongdoings were forming; in the shape of elongating teeth, in downy feathers expanding to three-times the length of your arm span, and in horns spiralling to reach the sky above them.

You were horrifyingly marvellous.

Gone is the fear from before, an innately evil force hunkering down to take its place. Tendrils of hellfire coat your skin in a blaze of heat that Wednesday can starkly feel, wraiths rising from the puddles of crimson ichor that is still shedding and staining ghoulish flesh. A sinister grin warps your features into a gruesome mosaic and she is wary of the scheming tug to your lips.

“Do you feel it?” You rasp, multiple layers of cadence making your voice echo and overlap into something otherworldly. Wednesday’s brows pinch, a frown of incomprehension downturning the corner of her lips. “The inevitable culling of this night, can you feel it?”

“Enough. You’re talking nonsense.” She sneers.

A shiver caresses the curve of her spine when you sigh solemnly in return, the ground trembling beneath your feet as you glide closer to her. Your left hand lifts and fingertips that resemble claws leave behind rivers of blood as you skim her jawline, thumb tucking into her jugular before the entirety of the extremity encloses around her throat.

The touch is light, there’s no weight in the action but Wednesday chokes all the same. A primal instinct of survival urges her to fight the hold because while running has never been in Wednesday’s repertoire, the need for bodily autonomy will always remain. Personal space is sacred when the world longs to claim and taint everything she’s ever come to own.

Nero; a first companion forcibly taken by the will of another.

Tyler; a first kiss lost to the lips of a monster.

You; a first something she’s afraid to name with an end she’s yet to come to terms with.

Each one is a death with its own cause and reaction but they all drive her further away into solitude, into a body built too big for her bones.

There’s a light within her that flickers and spiders which crawl from crevices dug into ivory calcium, seeking the warmth that it offers – it never lasts, they scurry with every faltering glow and Wednesday is left with the echo of an ancestor, of a destiny meant to be spent alone.

Be it by her hand or someone else’s, the truth of her fate lingers.

Still, the scraps from the before she seldom acknowledges; when words meant to burn were just measly thoughts to create distance and a twin heart still laid next to hers, where a sense of forever was yet to fade and hope, however gross the negligence of it was, was able to reach even the unlit corners of her, craves to forget – just for a moment – that this is who she has to be.

For everyone’s sake but most especially yours, Wednesday scatters those scraps until they exist in locations that are inaccessible, even to herself, and no one suffers more for it than she does. So, as she swallows back the bile of her desires, her tongue is sour with bitterness and syllables formulate an acrid speech that tries to chase away the taste of all that she wants but cannot have.

“All I detect is your feeble minded attempt to frighten me. You’re a bleeding heart, Tesoro, we both know you’re too soft to follow through with your meagre threats. You never were tenacious enough to do what was needed to keep me, this is no different.”

Regret is immediate; acid does not eliminate bitterness, it only serves to make the taste resonate deeper until she’s choking on the foul filth of an inescapable death. The true difference between you, she realizes, is that she’s not capable of being selfless without leaving scars on the ones she’s trying to shelter and that your way of being selfless only leaves you with more.

A thick smog of shadows gather in the atmosphere, sharpening your features and maniacal laughter washes over the cusps of Wednesday’s eardrums. Her pulse jumps and she just knows that you felt it because your grip on her throat tightens at last, unapologetic nails becoming a barbed wire necklace that itches to splay her tendons for the world to witness.

“Oh, Mulsa, that’s where you’re wrong.” You tsk with condescension. “Everything is different. I’m finally who I was always meant to be, existing outside of the fear that plagued me, and it’s all thanks to you. I have embraced my destiny, can you say the same?”

Mockery drips from your words and her reality suddenly shifts as she finds herself in a castle that assembles itself with a swish of your wrist. It reigns beautifully decrepit in nature; rotten beams of wood rib the frame, moss rests in divots of cracking stone, and moonlight glints through openings in the ceiling. You casually lean against a gothic throne of skulls that no one sits upon and Wednesday transforms into a court jester, in the presence of a lowly regent who pretends that they do not pull all of the strings behind the scenes.

“How long do you think you’ll last in this kingdom of solitude, Wednesday? Who else will you hurt in your quest for knowledge? And do the answers you find at the end of it all outweigh the expense others have to pay to get you there?” Your voice rumbles, ricocheting off stone walls before striking her exactly where you know it will hurt most.

Color touches her skin for the first time, anger and humiliation mingling to create a red sheen on pale flesh. It’s a sort of wickedness she never thought you to be capable of but perhaps she should have seen it coming.

“None of that is relevant.” She whispers harshly.

“Isn’t it? Am I not the cataclysm of your choices? Is this not me paying your dues?” Massive charcoal wings beat; once, twice, three times – they propel you upward, high into the air and tree bark horns tilt your jaw back with their weight. Specks of blood rain down from the force, painting the surrounding layout maroon, dousing Wednesday in turn. You bare your arms outward, showcasing your new form to an audience of one.

Crisp, off-white linen hugs the muscles of your torso while the sleeves furl at each elbow. Three buttons are undone, revealing a prominent collarbone and a smooth expanse of skin. Dark beige slacks loosely clutch to long legs – one slightly bent at the knee, toeing the edge of the other as you hover in place. You are all neutral tones with monochromatic undercurrents, eyes drowning in a void of black reeking of judgement, and vibrancy is lost to a death by her own hands.

Wednesday licks her lips, catching droplets of metallic liquid on her tongue. Stagnancy overrules the scent of trees in the foreground and there is no reprieve as she suffocates on nothing but the truth. Her resolve is crumbling; you may not be a ruler of this kingdom but you do have an undeniable deathgrip on her heartstrings. If you were anyone else, that fact would be revolting.

“Unless,” a pause. “Maybe this is what you wanted. You always did love everything dark and twisted.”

Slowly, you descend in front of her and there’s a soft click as the heels of your dress shoes settle down. Dust kicks up into the air, your wings breezing along the floor, and you wordlessly take four shallow strides around her. You come to stand behind her, breath fanning over the sensitive stretch of her neck. She can see you no longer but just your presence in itself is taunting.

There’s a brush of fingertips against her back, nudging her forward and before long she arrives at a set of steps. You shove her up them; the action makes her stumble and her balance is lost to the last stair. She falls into the vacant throne, which she now realizes belongs to her. Twin knees scrape the edge, making her body twist to relieve the pain and sit properly.

Indignation rises to the surface at the mistreatment and Wednesday tries to swallow it, to keep away words that will only perpetuate this discourse, but it’s fruitless. “My proclivities aren’t your concern. Up to this point, every decision you have made has been solely yours. I am not to blame for your indiscretions.”

“Perhaps.” You nod, standing resolutely at the incline up to the throne she sits upon. “Truly, I’m not here for placations or reasonings. You are partially correct in assuming that this,” your hand waves around your form, “is not the inner workings of your… machinations.”

“Then why? What is this macabre display for?” Wednesday interrupts.

None of it makes sense; how easily you forfeit your earlier claims.

“Because, in the end, this was never for you.” You start, something dark creeping along your legs. It rises to dwarf your already tall stature and features are slow to form but when they do, they are wholly monstrous and deeply unsettling. There is absolutely nothing in this world that compares and warning bells screech a dizzying spell of the danger to come should Wednesday choose to misstep in its presence.

Exaggerating steps loosen the hold it has on you, materializing into translucent flesh, and your body is distorted to her as the being stands in front of you. An arm raises, travelling up to your chest, and stuttering in wicked glee before plunging in. You gasp loudly, figure hunching over, and the being forces you straight with its free hand at your shoulder. With a dramatic flair, it rips its fingers out and they do not come back empty.

Without care or regard, the beast walks away from you, and the sight that greets Wednesday grips her with terror. The facade of power fades to nothing and you are left human but skeletal. Wings, horns, the black void; they’re all gone, and exhaustion coats your dull eyes, your knees buckling to the floor. Falling forward, your shoulders rise, head ducking low as nailbeds of blood trace the cracking stone of the floor. Convulsions attack your spine, driving a body of bones further into the ground.

“A distraction,” The beast rumbles in glee, an olden accent curling over its words. “To pull you away from the truth.” A bleeding, bruising heart rests in its palm; dark blotches covering the organ and Wednesday finds it disconcerting the way they pulsate, widening with each heavy breath you shudder. “We finally understand now; love is a weakness. For children who still play with toy soldiers, dreaming of the day they will change the world. It’s quite humorous, don’t you think?”

And there, right then, despite your best efforts to play it off as something else, Wednesday finally sees the evil for what it truly is: self-preservation. It is protection, disguising itself as rage. It is guardianship, shouldering all that you cannot and turning it into power. It is the heart in a beast’s hand, with a cage that moulds along its edges that wills itself not to break any further.

Red teeth gleam up at her, a grotesque smile staring straight through her, and dissuading her attention from the creature next to you. “I never wanted to change the world, Wednesday, not really anyway. But I did want you – not just the good parts but also the pieces of you that raged in contempt. I wanted the entirety of you: your doubt, your fear, your selfishness; the thousand-yard stare, the tempered soul, the frostbitten heart. I wanted the girl who despised even the thought of love.”

“No.” Wednesday utters except it’s too quiet, caught in her throat.

“God, Wednesday, I wanted it all – everything you were willing to part with and nothing more. Yet, you turned your back on us and you didn't even have the decency to give me a valid reason why. I deserved better than a half-assed excuse as to why it had to end. But it’s okay. Blame is a two-way street and I was wrong too. I pushed and ignored every warning sign, dancing along boundaries and fed into your suspicions without a need to prove myself to be on your side.”

“No.” She tries again.

(Still not enough, still on the cusp of- of-.)

“And I guess, this is all to say that we both had a choice and perhaps we chose wrong, though maybe the cards were always stacked against us. Now here we are, forcing each other to relieve it all over again, and it’s time to put an end to this. We finally get to have what we tried to cheat each other out of. You finally get to be free and I finally get to say goodb-.”

“No!” The single word rips and tears and mutilates her throat in the effort to leave the confines of her voice box. All her life Wednesday has been toeing the line between devastation and freedom, a weak grip on her inhibitions, always viscerally trying to prove something or another. Until a sick sense of clarity washes over what this all means; one more loss, one more all alone, one final nail in the coffin.

A death to rewrite all the others.

Falling in love with you was like falling asleep, gradually then all at once, because it crept along the edges of her vision until it was too late and despite her aversion to it, it was warm. And the days that followed were everything she thought herself to be incapable of; the quiet nights, the sound of rustling sheets as she wrote pages upon pages on her typewriter, the dulcet tones of you humming along to vibrating strings, the laughter without reservation, the eyes full of a home made just for her, the hands that held her softly in the dark.

And then, of course, the self-sabotage set in. Her wants and desires took a backseat to make room for fear, and somewhere in the midst, the ease of your love made way for her doubt and she swears you both lost something that day. The person she became to combat her loss of control isn’t something she’s proud of but maybe… maybe this is the part where she pleads with you to understand. Where she lays everything on the line; all her misgivings and the lies she tries to tell herself to circumvent all that she does not understand.

When your eyes cut across her own, you look at her like you know, and the uncaged beast only laughs as your features close themselves off from her once more. The vulnerability seeps out, draining from trembling, bloodsoaked fingers, and replacing itself with indifference before Wednesday even has the chance to rearrange her thoughts into coherency. The pleas building in her throat die, falling into the void of every other thing she’s left unsaid.

How repulsive.

Wednesday’s jaw clenches at her own inadequacy, teeth clicking in time with her shallow breaths. Hands of ice grasp tightly at each other while she tries to reform the truth she’s been meaning to say. It’s time, she attempts to coax herself. No longer will she bow to her lesser qualms.

Enough is enough.

“You were wrong.”

A feigned grace pulls her from the throne, rising up and carrying her down the steps that will lead her to you. Firm resolve weights each footfall to the stone beneath Wednesday, laying the groundwork for an outcome that doesn’t end with ties severed indefinitely. A disgusting amount of trepidation still lingers menacingly, but not for prior reasons. It washes over her because she knows that if she doesn't get this right and you walk away from her once again, it will be for the last time.

As she reaches you, the beast rears up into the space between you, your heart ducking out of sight with a single movement. Up close, Wednesday can see the second the previous glee renders itself obsolete, paving the way for rage to form in its stead. Translucence melds into mortal flesh in an instant, further providing a barrier to you and it’s features constantly flicker; sweeping into each other, refusing to commit to a lone one.

All of it is a warning: for you may have never been able to truly hurt her, but this beast holds no such inhibitions. And yet, Wednesday ignores it, skirting around the form with a brief flicker of eye contact. Rolling coals follow the movement, a sneer deepening the gouges at the corners of it’s mouth. Heat steadily rises at her back when she kneels before you, gaining in temperature, and a hearth set ablaze licks the skin of Wednesday’s nape, until sweat lines her hairline.

“Before,” Wednesdays continues despite the duality of the cold shell holding your gaze captive and the heat at her back, her fingertips fluttering around your body but never settling. “You said you’d never be good enough for me.” A scowl crawls into her features, disdain vaguely clinging to her words. “You were wrong.”

Confusion briefly overcomes the frost but it’s not enough. You flinch with every syllable, as if her words still burn; like your flesh is a step away from igniting and she’s dousing you in lighter fluid. A battlefield sprawls before her, all of her own making, and each word is a precarious mark upon the earth, hidden with landmines Wednesday tries to sidestep.

Wednesday thinks this might be part of her destiny that Goody forgot to mention – truth be told, self-loathing is akin to starvation; the hunger pains force you to eat yourself from the inside out until nothing remains. Perhaps that’s the most tragic intricacy of her fate, to commit atrocities for the sake of others' preservation, and to suffer all the more for it. Now, trying to find the medium between the two banks entirely on her willingness to push aside everything she’s ever thought to know about herself.

As Wednesday gazes upon you; you with the sunrise in your eyes and the red candle wax burning lips, she clings to the notion that it isn’t the dying that scares her, but the insurmountable loneliness that follows in the wake of your departure. It is hollow and damning because you are attempting to leave, in more ways than one, and she is running out of options that will force you to stay.

Longing breaches through the whisper of her words, “You were too much, in all the soft ways I desire to detest. Too good, too simple; too easy to love. And so, I wanted-” Wednesday’s breath falters, fingers folding to tear at the lines of each palm. “I wanted to make you pay, for forcing these ugly emotions upon me. I never wished to feel the juvenile propensity to need you, in all the foul ways weaker beings fall victim to. Yet, it is those feelings that beg of me to forfeit this charade, because, for however seldom I say it, I do love you.”

Finally, Wednesday reaches for your hand, knuckles scraping along the stone to slot her fingers between your own. “I’m in love with you, and it is all-consuming, vile, and entirely effortless. I may not know how it will end, but I believe there exists a place out there built just for the two of us; one that is otherworldly, and beautiful, and so, so alive. Destiny be damned.”

Wednesday watches as your eyes crawl the length of her face, an unreadable expression marring the expanse of your features. A shudder partly pulls your body away from her, a heavy exhale escaping your lips. She can’t tell whether her words were well received as you hunch your knees under your chin, cradling your elbows around the edges of your calves. Just as she goes to continue, desperation clinging to the fraying ends of her sanity, your free palm craters the ground beneath you.

Long forgotten wraiths spiral into view and confusion tears her form upwards onto her feet, unwittingly losing the grip she has on you. They begin to chase her and the ground beneath her feet zooms out of focus as she tries to get away. They’re faster, upon Wednesday in mere seconds, and then she’s falling, falling, falling, and for a long moment nothing comes up to catch her.

Yet again, the scenery of the throne room changes and she stumbles to her knees in a foreign land.

Grass bunches up between her fingers, wet and coarse, and a graveyard looms before her. Each tombstone lining the distance is marked with a name, cementing every loss she’s ever faced; not just of people, but places and emotions too. A beat passes before you appear at her side, steps away from an open casket set six feet in the ground. When she shuffles up to unsteady feet, the body within it looks suspiciously like you.

Your voice carries on the wind, circling her as you murmur, “What if you’re wrong?”

There’s a slew of answers on the tip of Wednesday’s tongue, but most fall short, never quite encompassing what she truly wants to say. One, though, rises above the rest, so simple it makes her want to scoff. Instead, she pushes the sound down, and in the midst of the words that follow, a part of her realizes that she’s finally learning; understanding. There are things in the world that you need not fight, nor feelings that are too childish to accept. Some things are just simple; easy.

“But what if I’m right?”

Out of the corner of her eye, Wednesday sees you sway slightly in place, her words – honest at last – completely sinking in. With a noticeable limp stuttering your footsteps, you gradually move in front of her. The tips of your dress shoes scratch along the edges of her own boots as you eliminate every ounce of Wednesday’s personal space, your arm rising up in her peripheral vision. Hesitation faults the movement, and she recognizes the doubt for what it is: a fear she never meant to place within you; of her reaction, of her motives, of her.

With time, she promises to herself to put all of her wrongs right, but for now, she gently latches onto your wrist, bringing your hand down to rest on the underside of her jaw. Your eyes flash with recognition before your forehead descends upon hers, a shaky breath exhaling against her lips that sounds like an okay. Suddenly boneless, your body sags, shoulders loosening as your other arm reaches around the small of her back, tugging her into you.

You hold onto Wednesday tighter than she ever had the audacity to covet her desires and she cannot deny the sense of home that follows.

Without fear, her feet lift up, gaining a slight height advantage to place a lingering kiss atop your head, but a figure drifts into focus before her eyes can close. The beast faintly shimmers behind the tombstone with your name on it that fades, a neutral expression on it’s face. It watches Wednesday closely, eyes of coal simmering into ash as it takes in your figure so entwined with her own. Your heart still resides in it’s palm, but even from here, Wednesday can gauge how loosely it’s grip is. A nod of a head and a quirk of lips beckons her, once last time, to take in another truth.

Love has many faces, and seldom are they seen clearly.

Your heart finds its way back to its home as the beast settles, slowly descending in height, and it’s features melt into a vaguely familiar countenance. It is you, but aged, with laugh lines marking the corners of your eyes, and a nostalgic smile at the cusp of your lips. And it is an echo, of both your and her future, teetering on the edge of a forever that will soon be fully earned.

( – there are places in wednesday that the light doesn’t touch and she can’t help but to put you in all of them.

but then you learn to become the light, and all the dark places shine.)

#jenna ortega x reader #wednesday addams imagines #wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams x you #wednesday x reader #jenna ortega #wednesday addams

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mikichko · 21 days

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invisible red line pairing: john price x transmasc!reader cw: not a totally neutral reader as it's modeled after someone, pure fluff :) a/n: xavi (@buttdumplin) was one of the first people I met when I first joined this fandom and he's easily become one of my close friends. it's a little crazy to think that posting about some men would introduce me to one of my favorite people here. this piece is a gift to xavi as a way to thank him for the incredible friendship and kinship we share. xavito, yo se que nada que yo hago o escribo podrá encapsular todo el cariño y agradecimiento que yo tengo hacia ti. pero espero que con esta escritura sientas un poquito del cariño y amor que tu amistad me trae a mi 💕

Nothing else makes the world feel the way it does when John has his hands on you. Hand in hand, on the small of your back, on your hip pulling you to him, or on your chin tilting you up to meet his lips. He can’t name it, can’t quite place his fingers on the why, only knows there’s a comfort it provides. The noise of the world dampens with you in his arms, the flat of his palms on you. There are no threats to prepare for, no problems that need solving. It’s all tranquil here with you.

It’s what has him questioning his beliefs, pondering the idea of fate. John’s not a religious man. Not one to let others reap the glory of his hard work. It’s why he despises fate, it undermines him. He sneers at the mere idea of a predetermined life, one with a path set for him to follow. Like a mindless drone tethered to a track, no choice in which way it bends and curves into.

No, John Price has made every decision with intent. Has meticulously picked every single block used to build up his life. Molded the ones that had been damaged by incompetence and betrayals into solid rock for his foundation. He’s taken every step intentionally, navigated the turbulent waters to land himself right where he’s wanted. The stars had done nothing for him, he’d clawed his way there himself.

And yet, here’s an anomaly he hadn’t accounted for. A soft sweet boy to temper out his rough edges. To run his hands over John’s brows and try to smooth out the wrinkles brought on by years of worry. Who pressed kisses to his cheek like they were something precious to him. Like John is worth something.

When he’s at the receiving end of such care John has to wonder who sent him such a sweet thing.

He knows he hasn’t earned it. Knows his hands have dripped blood, some of which had been wrongly spilled. Liquid sin staining the ivory of his hands before returning to the dirt. Hands like his should not be near his sweet boy. Should not be sullying his skin.

But years of restraint, bound to militaristic standards, years of depriving himself have made him hungry. He can’t help but chase selfishly for your touch, to bury his nose into you and breathe deeply, have his senses overwhelmed by you. Let himself be pressed so close to you it makes you squeal. He bats away your hands when you protest that you’ll hurt him, just pulls you closer onto him.

It’s pressed closely to you, your head laying on his chest, your warmth seeping into him and the cushions of the couch, that he thinks about fate again. He entertains the idea of the stars for once. Wondered for a split second if it was fate that he’d meet you or if he somehow clawed that to him as well.

- ooooo fancy flashback -

He thinks the universe is fucking with him when he spots you. Bitterness rising in the back of his throat as he watches from down the aisle. The laughter of the boys still rings in the back of his head, trading joyous stories of families with each other. It’s the one thing he’d neglected in this life. Any semblance of a family forgotten, problems needed solving and John made the sacrifice. For the greater good, he tells himself, it had to be done.

It’s what he mutters to himself whenever he remembers the chill of his flat back home. What he repeats when he wakes up to the chill of the air creeping up underneath his sheets, the bed empty next to him.

It’s cruel for the universe to tempt him here. With a boy he just knows is a match for him, hidden away in a city in some landlocked piece of America. Kept secret from him by oceans, borders, and the vastness of America. Yet, here you are within reach. He tightens his hand on the handle of the six pack, the least offensive one he could find, and just watches.

You're oblivious to the turmoil he’s in. Unaware of the silent battle that rages within him as his body fights to step towards you but his mind keeps him locked in place. All while you compare shaving cream brands for god’s sake. It’d be ridiculous if John hadn’t been starving for someone like you. If his mouth hadn’t dried, if his brain was still working the way it should.

His feet only move when you float into the next aisle, mind, and body intent on keeping his eyes on you. He still keeps his distance, fiddling with the containers on his end of the aisle. The unfamiliarity of the products throws him for a moment, what the hell is sofrito? You thrive in it, grabbing what he assumes are your essentials seeing how you pick them while barely glancing at them.

The casualness of your shopping is what gives him his opening. Your fingers grasp the long neck of a glass bottle, pulling it to you with ease. But, for whatever reason, it slips through your fingers and hurtles through the floor. John’s body moves on autopilot, the same it did when Soap had hurtled a knife towards an insubordinate officer. Soap had thrown it as a fear tactic, path angled to avoid harm. But he knows the bottle will absolutely shatter, shards cutting through the fabric of your pants, piercing skin, and staining the fabric with your own crimson life. He can’t have that.

He catches it before it makes contact with the ground, hand hovering a few centimeters above the ground before he straightens himself.

“Careful with glass sweetheart. Can’t have pretty things like you damaged.”

Your widened eyes blink before your face transforms in front of him. Your beautifully surprised expression morphs into a scowl, hand adjusting the grip on the basket.

“I’m not a girl.”

John can only raise an eyebrow at you, eyes running over you without permission. He’s well aware.

“Didn’t take you for one lad.”

He lets it sit out in the open for a moment to gauge your response. You merely blink, the scowl easing a bit, the creases between your eyebrows dropping from three to one. Not what you were expecting. Well, you weren’t either, soft face hiding a rather fiery attitude from the looks of it. Someone had definitely put you here for him.

He offers you the bottle, “Trying to tell me that lads can’t be sweet too? Can’t be pretty?”

It’s been years but he’s been around his boys enough. Kept his wit about him, clearly something that’ll help him win your favor. Likes the way his questions make your lips press inward, like you’re fighting a smile. He lets his eyes roam over you again.

You lick your lips before responding, “Sorry. Just force of habit.”

John hums, “Nothing to be sorry for love. Like the boys who stand their ground.”

He sees you sway a little, shuffle backward just a little as you try to work out the meaning of his words. Your little inhale tells him you’re enjoying the attention. But you’re still fiddling with the basket, curling and uncurling your fingers on the handles. He doesn’t prod for a response, lets his eyes drift to the contents of your basket. It’s not the what that catches his attention, emboldens him a little more, but just how much of each item there is. He’s no expert but the mere fact you’ve got a basket tells John you’re not shopping for two. The lack of a band on your finger and objections to his comments fill in the rest of the gaps for him.

He can’t help himself, “Feel like I owe you something as an apology, for making you feel there was any need for clarification.”

He watches the silent battle you have, gnawing on your lip as you mull over his proposition. Your eyes flick down to the pack in his hand, “If that’s what you’re offering to share I think I’ll pass.”

He grins back at you, hip cocking a bit while he looks down at you, “Can always take you somewhere acceptable for your more refined palette.”

You huff out a laugh, your basket finally landing in the ownership of your left hand. “Sorry sir, I’m not one for too many outings. More of a homebody.” You smile politely before your turn and start moving away from him.

He tries not to dwell too much on the energy that shoots up his spine at your use of sir. Doesn’t even think twice before he follows behind you.

“Bit of a homebody myself love. Just a bit further from mine at the moment.”

“That why you have that pack of piss in your hands?”

He shrugs at your back, “Not too familiar with these plains, makes it difficult to find good liquor.”

You snort at that, “Guess you need a local to show you where to find the good stuff.”

He comes to a stop right behind you, grinning at you as you turn to face him again, “That a yes to my offer then?”

Your shrug, attempt nonchalance, “We’ll see how movie night goes.”

Somehow he doesn’t fuck it up. He sees you once, investigated thoroughly by the black void that greets him at the door. He sees you again, a third time, and more. He beds you, marks you, and finally claims you as his own. You had him claimed since the beginning.

- ooooo back to the present -

He tightens his grip on you just a little, pressing a kiss to your forehead. The prickly sensation causes you to stir, eyes blinking slowly as you gain awareness of where you are. He hooks his fingers into the fabric to secure you to him.

“Everything okay?” You mumble out sleepily.

He gives you another kiss, you hum happily against his chest.

“Got you in my arms sweetheart, everything's perfect.”

#.mine #.price #.cod #kept the little “fancy time skip” because they made xavi laugh #i had a really fun time with this #also i know this is an hour late i am so so so so so so sorry #john price x male reader #john price x trans reader #price x male reader #price x trans reader

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horrorsuntold · 2 years

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yeah color guard abigail real

she got interested in middle school and her parents begrudgingly helped her get started, assuming the interested would fade (they would have much rather her do something more well known—not to mention that, at the time color guard was primarily known for it's context in bands, which is not considered the most graceful or feminine thing). the interest didn't fade, and the summer in between middle and high school was spent trying to get sunnyvale high school to add a color guard, which, considering the family's status, wasn't that hard. as such, abigail was the founder and captain of the group throughout high school (which, also as class president, makes homecoming very stressful for her), while also participating in other guard groups and doing solo work, too. probably the first year it was kind of thrown together, likely even using old cheer or band uniforms rather than having their own thing.

she continues through college, and once she starts teaching at shadyside she tries really hard to get a guard group started there, probably putting in her own donations to get it started.

#ancestral blood stains a daughter's ivory hand (about)

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roanofarcc · 2 months

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AN UNFAMILIAR PATH

pairing. trevor lefkowtiz x ghost-bride!reader

summary. (requested). You and Trevor take a walk and he starts to break down your walls piece by piece.

warnings. dead!reader, mentions of murder & blood, fem!reader, mentions of domestic violence, reader is insecure, mention of bodily wounds.

a/n. ghost-bride!reader has a lot of lore & I probably should have made her an OC but I'm having too much fun now. Thank you all for the requests you've been sending in <3 they are so lovely and I'm working through them!

word count. 1.8k || masterlist

The spring sunlight shimmered across the Woodstone property, illuminating everything in a glow so warm you felt it on your skin before you plunged into the woods. The warm air followed, but the shadows of the trees painted everything a darker shade. You stood out among them, dressed in white and unmissable. Beside you walked Trevor, whistling lightly in tune with the light breeze that howled through the branches.

Despite your ghostly luck of not getting the tulle of your dress stuck on any fallen branches or thorny weeds, you had forgotten how uneven the path grew the deeper into the woods you ventured. Your wedding heels had not been the most practical and you probably would have opted for a different pair if you had known you’d be stuck in them forever. As you stumbled over sizable holes some animal had dug in the dirt along the pathway, you huffed and bit back a series of curses on your tongue.

Beside you, Trevor stopped as you regathered your skirt in your hands, but the world was a bit foggy underneath the wedding veil that perpetually sat over your face. The ivory and stained crimson material, a cruel and visceral reminder of your death blocked out others from seeing your face, which you preferred, but it also worsened your vision.

“Do you want to turn around?” Trevor asked.

You shook your head. You liked yours and his walks. They had come to be an enjoyable pastime. After your attempt to push away his friendliness, you had made the bold choice to let him in more than you had anyone since your death. He was the only person in Woodstone who you had revealed your face to, showing off the gory wounds that had resulted in your untimely death on your wedding day. Since then, the two of you had a better understanding of one another; you still were reserved, scared to open up too much, but with Trevor, you felt an ease and a lightness that consumed you curiously.

“It’s too bad I didn’t die in hiking boots,” you sighed.

Trevor chuckled glancing down at his own attire that wasn’t the most suitable for the outdoors. “And I wished I died with pants on. But beggars can’t be choosers I guess.” He glanced at the path ahead, unsure. “We could circle back to the pond? Might be a little easier to walk.”

Once again, you shook your head. “Sam said the path was a little rougher this way, but prettier.” You dropped your hold on your skirt and reached for your veil instead. With a breath, you pulled back the fabric and flipped it so it sat over the top and down the back of your head. The world cleared up a bit, no longer stained by lace or blood. The light breeze felt nice, but it was hard to notice that above Trevor’s eyes that burned into your face and made your skin feel hot. “I don’t want to trip,” you said as if you needed an explanation for exposing your face.

Self-conciseness rattled around your head. The topic of our face and your murder were sensitive, twisted up in awful knots inside of you. And while Trevor had been nothing but kind when you had trusted him with the sight of your face, you still knew it was unsightly.

“Cool, cool, cool, yeah,” he said before clearing his throat and gesturing forward. “Shall we?”

Continuing, you tried to focus on the woods around you. Sam had been right; since springtime had bloomed, the slightly overgrown and unkept path was beautiful with fresh flowers and blossoms of plants you didn’t even know the name of. Animals chased each other across tree branches and the budding leaves were bathed in sunlight that poked down from spaces between the limbs. As the scenery occupied your thoughts, so did the weight of your veil on the back of your mind. Even though the fabric was light, it felt heavy against the back of your head. You couldn’t remember the last time you had gone so long without it covering your face. Even when you were alone, the security of it kept you level-headed and acted as a wall between yourself and the rest of the world. It was difficult to explain, but it made you feel both safe and wounded.

“Whoa, hey! Look at that!” Trevor said suddenly, startling you out of your thoughts as he pointed to a small, nearly dried-up stream. It looked like a scene out of a movie. The slow trickle of water snaked down the thin stream, lined with wildflowers and weeds. Beside it was a fallen tree trunk. Trevor happily stepped across the grass and to the fallen trunk, taking a seat with a grin as he kicked out his feet until they were touching the stream’s bank.

You joined him, sitting under a small break of thick tree limbs where the bright blue sky looked down upon the two of you.

“You were right,” he said, gazing around. “Who knew the woods were cool?” His eyes settled on you as you two were close, your knees knocking.

The little, uncomfortable voice in the back of your mind ruined the blissful atmosphere. He could see you clearly, and closely. It felt as if you weren’t doing him any kindness, making him look at you like that.

Dipping your head, you averted your gaze and tugged on the fabric of your veil. “Sorry,” you said.

“Sorry? For what?” You said nothing, pulling the veil back down over your face before you folded your hands in your lap. Trevor furrowed his brows, not taking his eyes off of you. “Hey, come on. This place is beautiful. You gotta take it all in, without this.” He tugged lightly on the corner of your veil, but he made no attempt to move it, that was something only you did.

“Yes, and I’m not exactly adding to that. You should be able to enjoy it too.”

You studied the stream but Trevor’s gaze was heavy on you. It pricked your skin. “You can’t be serious,” he said after a beat. You sighed, tiredly. It was more than a self-consciousness or pity for yourself. You didn’t pity yourself at all, really. To you, the matter of your horror-movie-like appearance was a fact, an unfortunate one that your fiance had made true. The sight of your death had been gruesome and left your relatives shrieking as they raced out of the room after the news of your death broke. Your own murderer had placed the veil to cover up their crime not because they were ashamed but because of the damage they did. You thought your fiance did that on purpose, made you unmarriable in life and death because he was some sick man.

“I enjoy you,” he said, grabbing your shoulder gently but with enough force to get you to look at him. His fingers dug into your skin softly, not as your fiance had held you down when he killed you. His fingers had been harsh, digging nails into your shoulder as your back was pressed against the floorboards.

The sight flooded your brain quickly and you jerked back, nearly toppling off of the log with uneven breaths.

“I’m sorry,” Trevor rushed out, panicked as he hovered his hand over your arm, caught between being ready to grab you if you fell back but not wanting to freak you out anymore. “Shit, I’m really sorry, I didn’t-”

You cut him off with a wave of your hand. “No. It’s my fault. I can’t…” you trailed off for a moment, brushing your hands over the skirt of your dress in an attempt to calm down. “I’m too jumpy, sometimes.”

He frowned, lowering his hand back down onto the scratchy surface of the log, making no further attempts to touch you. “God, your fiance was a real asshole, huh?” Trevor grumbled.

“That’s a bit of an understatement, but yes.” There was a long list of names you had for him, but you had also loved him at one point, which was the worst part of it all.

“At least he’s probably in hell, right?”

You smiled sadly. That was a nice thought. “I hope so. That’s the least he could have done, gone to hell. I don’t even know if he was arrested after he…he killed me.”

“He had to of been. You can’t just murder someone and get away with it.”

You shrugged. “His family was rich. Rich-rich. They paid for the whole wedding and spared no expense. It was beautiful, what little I saw. Even this dress, they paid for. Maybe they thought with a good wife he’d straight out.” But he never did. Sometimes you thought you were changing him for the better, making him softer and kinder. But other times you saw it, something ticking underneath his skin ready to explode. “I don’t know if I could have changed him, but I’d like to think I would have been a good wife.” You would have been a good lots of things if you had the chance. There were a million things you had wanted to do, places to explore, and adventures to tackle. Being married was a small part of what you wanted. What you had really longed for was a partnership, someone who understood you and you understood them. A friend who loved you unconditionally.

Trevor looked slightly at a loss for words. His eyes twinkled in the sunlight warmly. “I’ve never heard you talk so much about it, about your wedding.” Because you never had, not aloud to anyone. The ghosts that had been in the house at the time of your death had told their little bits and pieces from that day, but they knew how uncomfortable it made you and how awful the memories probably were. But not everything about that day was awful. You were happy up until the very moment he arrived instead of your best friend who was supposed to lead you to the aisle.

“You’re easy to talk to,” you said with a soft smile.

“So are you.”

You chuckled under your breath, brushing off his words. “I think you’re the first person in the house to say that.” You weren’t easy to talk to or look at, but that didn’t seem to bother Trevor the way you thought it should have.

He smiled, mirroring your own. “Well, they don’t know what they’re missing.”

When you two resumed your walk back down along the path, you flipped back your veil again, a little bit braver. Trevor snuck glances in your direction, flashing you a toothy grin when you caught him. Side by side you made your back toward the house, feeling the weight of the veil on the back of your head not weighing you down as much as it had only moments ago.

Tagged list. @youngdumbamericanteen

#trevor lefkowitz x reader #trevor lefkowitz x you #trevor lefkowitz #cbs ghosts #cbs ghosts fanfiction

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dollwrites · 1 year

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‘𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐨 𝐰𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 — 𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐮𝐦𝐢 𝐳𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐲𝐜𝐤

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ smut ( minors dni ), dub con, fem!bride!reader, kidnapping / forced domestication, loss of virginity, mentions of murder, blood and threats against reader, objectification / mild degradation, size kink, forced breeding kink / creampie, all characters featured are 18+

𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ do not repost or translate. please reblog && leave feedback. thanks for reading < 3

𝗻𝗼𝘄 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴 ∣ sex doll by nathan james

your instructions were all very clear, and very specific, but you found yourself struck speechless when he appeared. lightning scattered webs of silver across the night sky, thunder shook the entire mansion, and then he was standing there, on the balcony, just outside the crystal doors. your breath caught in your throat as he stares inside, dark eyes zeroed in on you, and one hand reaches for the latch. a gust of wind catches the unlocked glass and flings it inwards towards you, banging against the wall— the hinges creak, but hold. you flinch, startled, and stumble back, but he’s inside and across the room to stand before you in the blink of an eye, without so much as time to allow a droplet of rain from his inky tendrils to fall beforehand.

“I recognize you.”

he must; the pearly white chiffon of your gown was tattered and stained a muted rust— dried blood. what had become of your veil or your shoes were unbeknownst to you, forgotten when you hid underneath the altar and clamped a hand over your mouth to not alert the mass murderer of your presence whilst he slaughtered the entire wedding party.

of course, he’d been privy all along, and simply bent over to peek inside at you once he was finished. black eyes were devoid of any remorse, but he didn’t try to reach and pull you out, or kill you. he simply stared for a moment or two, probably listening to the sound of you sobbing and begging him not to hurt you, and then straightened without so much as a whisper, and left.

it wasn’t until after you’d crawled out and witnessed the carnage that you’d been taken.

you hardly hear it— the savage thumping of your nervous heart much too loud in your ears, as is the way you suck in a desperate gulp. “I— I—“ think, dammit. but, where had your thoughts gone? had they, along with your ability to breathe, been stolen?

“Who left you in here?” the assassin’s expression wasn’t soft, but it was understanding. as if he knew that someone as meek as you would have trouble being this close to him. yet, still expectant of answer. “You didn’t make it to my bedroom by yourself.”

“Your f—father.” you don’t recognize your voice when it leaves your lips, it’s much too soft a whisper. then again, there was no need for you to be any louder than that; he was so close that you could smell the fresh rain in his hair. “He says…” the words Silva used were embarrassing and horrible, but you were told to recite them verbatim. and so you do. “He says that since you didn’t finish the job, he kept your compensation. The only payment you’re allowed is…” your voice was starting to shake.

“You.” Illumi finishes for you, staring down with an unreadable, abysmal gaze, and his head slowly tilts, as if he’s starting to understand, or, perhaps, ponder the possibilities. “Hm.”

you’re relieved for some reason, when he turns away and struts to the other side of the room. you feel like you can breathe for a moment while his back is turned.

but only for a single moment.

because that oxygen is wrenched away from you the second he peels out of his wet shirt, allowing it to fall in a damp heap on the floor. “W— what are you—“ your cheeks were hot, but you felt as though your feet were frozen solid to the floor, unable to move even an inch, you watched him undress. your eyes grazed over the dips in his abdomen when he turns, partially, to face you. each pad of muscle is blanketed artfully in ivory flesh with ribbons of rain dribbling from the raven tips that cascade over his shoulders and tickle his belly. “What are you doing?”

“Undressing.” he said, incredibly simply. you could see that much. but, you were more concerned that he was doing it right in front of you. his hands fall to his waistband, and he makes short work of it, allowing his trousers to join the other garments. this is when you look away, when he’s stark naked. you want to hide behind both hands, but you’re much too in shock to command your muscles to move. “You’ll be expected to get used to my naked body if you’re going to be my pet.” you feel a tight, cold grip around your wrist and the need to jerk back overwhelms you, but he’s stronger and holds you there. when did he cross the room to come back to you? it didn’t matter; it seemed like when Illumi moved, he did so on clouds. he was silent and quick. guiding your trembling fingers to his abdomen, he presses your palm flat. you can feel the solid muscle that’s been built over years of harsh training beneath his skin.

“P—pet…” you whisper, hopelessly.

“If you prefer bride, I can call you that.” Illumi offers, flippant, and drags your hand down to his sex. the suddenness in which he forces your fingers to envelop the girth of his soft cock elicits a whimpered protest, one that has him twitching against your fingers. “It makes no difference to me. Property is property.” for a while, Illumi allows your fist to rest there, giving you time to familiarize with the sensation of him in your palm. he didn’t even force you to watch— not minding that you kept your eyes closed tight and your chin tucked into your chest. “How should I have you first?” inquiring aloud, Illumi takes hold of your fingers and glides them up the length of his cock, pressing the tips against the sensitive slit, and snorts through his nose in approval, before pushing your hand back down to his base, guiding you into a steady, stroking rhythm that had him hardening against your palm. “Should I put you on your knees and have you worship my cock? Etch prayers into it with your tongue?”

your cheeks were even hotter now, teeth sinking into your plush, lower lip as you shied away from his words. you knew he was watching your reaction, and he must’ve read it instantly. “I’d have to teach you, I suppose,” he replies, as if mildly disappointed, “and I’m in no mood to tutor right now. he lets out a soft sigh, releasing your hand, “it would be easier to put you on your back.” your hand slows to a stop, eyes opening wide when you realize his intentions, and his now rock hard cock throbs in your fist. both of his hands came up to frame your face now, tilting it up, forcing you to stare into his obsidian gaze. “I didn’t tell you to stop stroking.” he croons, and the atmosphere around you felt like it weighed a ton, bearing down on your shoulders. you were locked in his stare, with his lips moving inches away from yours, but you found the will to pump him again, your couplet trembling. “It would be very stupid for you to disobey me,” he purrs, and takes a daunting step closer, forcing you to back up. and another, and then another. “I’m glad you know that, at least.”

he had grown in your hand, and now his cock was thick and solid, and it took both hands to wrap around him. Illumi took a final step towards you, and when you stumbled back this time, the backs of your knees hit the foot of the bed and bent; you clamored backwards on to it. there was a split second where you worried that Illumi’s cock would slip from your hands, but he was right there, climbing atop the mattress and atop you, before you had time to think. his hands never even slipped from your cheeks, until his knees pried a gap between your legs that he could fit into.

“Hold your legs open.”

grateful that you could stop stroking, your hands fled to grab on to your thighs, spreading them apart with shame written over your features. you couldn’t look at him any longer, and turn your head against the pillow.

Illumi blinks, one brow quirking, before flipping the skirt of your gown up on to your belly, exposing your panties. you were embarrassed to admit that you could feel the wet patch that had grown against the cotton even before he pressed the cold pads of his first, two fingers against it. you whimper, and writhe. “Wet already?” he asks, rubbing against the fabric until you tremble and start to inch up the mattress, desperate to get away from the sensation, but one hand grabs your ankle and jerks you back down to him in a swift, rough motion. your dress scrunches up around your waist. “Stay put.”

you know better than to fight against it, even when he wrenches your panties down, but your heart is revving like an engine, your breath hard to catch. you’re so afraid that this man, this murderer, is going to damage your body simply because he can. that he’ll hurt you in the most intimate ways possible, and there would be no one to save you from his cruelty.

“Look at it.”

you could feel the broad, pink tip, prodding against your virgin netherlips and you gasp for air, but turn your head slowly back towards him. you didn’t want to look. you didn’t want to see your assault happen. but you do because you don’t have another choice. “P—please…”

Illumi doesn’t push himself inside just yet. holding tight at the base of his cock, his hips only hardly jut forward, applying enough pressure for your folds to spread. then, he starts in a nonchalant, but certain voice. “I’m going to fuck your little pussy deep, and hard.” you didn’t even realize you were shaking your head, but you stared at his size, nervously. you couldn’t imagine that thing fitting in your body, but he continues, as if solidifying his threats. “You’ll feel every, single inch. You can scream as loud as you want, cry as much as you want, but you keep your legs wide and accept me. Keep your eyes open and watch me fuck you. If you don’t, your stay here will shorten tremendously. Nod if you understand.”

you can’t look up at his face, eyes glued to the manhood ready to split you in half, and you swallow hard around the lump in your throat, before you give him half a nod. you can do this, you tried to tell yourself. it’ll only hurt for a second.

when he forces it inside, you lose your breath completely, yelping when, inch by inch, the thick cock disappears. there’s a sharp, sudden pressure in your depths, and you know this must be the severing of your innocence. “If you get any blood on my sheets, I’ll wrap them around your neck and squeeze.” he mutters, low and threatening. you knew he wasn’t lying.

you mewl, and your nails sink into your own, fleshy thighs to grip tighter. you don’t want to break any of his rules. Illumi moans, for the first time, when he’s completely nested to the hilt, one hand reaching for your neck. he doesn’t squeeze, thankfully, but he grips it to pin you against the bed, while the other gropes your breast through the ivory bust. he’s still staring, watching how you flinch and whine as you struggle to accommodate him. “You’re a tight, little thing.” he doesn’t sound particularly happy or disappointed by the fact, but he punctuates the statement with a strong rock of his hips, slamming himself home. your back arches, and you cry out, mouth hanging slack, at just how much force was behind each slow, deep thrust.

he hadn’t been bluffing.

you could feel every, thick inch as your walls stretch and spasm around him, flittering wildly against the pulsing veins that bulge and scrape against your sensitivity. his bulbous tip pummels knotted nerves relentlessly until you feel tears well up in your eyes. whether it’s pain or pleasure, you can’t tell the difference.

Illumi starts to look, and sound, more human with each thrust— his lids sag low, his jaw works, and he snorts through his nose. you could even see a faint twinkle of perspiration against his temple. he’s hunched forward, hovering above, pressing his forehead to yours. his wet hair draping over you like a black curtain, engulfing you in his scent, making it hard to see anything except what he wanted you to. which was him, decimating you. “You look pathetic, bleary eyed and whiny,” he started, his breath in warm puffs against the cold tears on your cheeks. each word seems is separated by the sensation of him pounding into you, the sound of his body slapping against yours, and your own slick squelching hideously. “But you’re still taking it.” he almost sounds… impressed? “Your little pussy is stretched to her limit, but she’s still milking me. Who could’ve known? Behind those tears, there’s a cock-starved, little fuck doll?”

it was humiliating, degrading, but for some reason— you only clenched around him tighter. you only felt yourself get wetter when his hand careens upwards to grasp your face, keeping it steady as he bullied your guts. your mouth hung open, and just as you’d been given permission to, you let out a lilting shriek. your legs were starting to shake. but, you could also tell that something was building inside of Illumi, too.

it didn’t take a genius to figure out what it was.

realizing he had no intentions of pulling out, you squirm, and your hands fall between your bodies to press against his taut abdomen, whimpering a breathy, “Please— don’t— not… inside…”

but Illumi didn’t stop. he didn’t pull out. he rammed into you just as hard, and your breasts jiggle against the sagging neckline of your dress. you croak, hoarse, and stare up at him, squinting against his cruelty. “You’re my bride, aren’t you?” he croons, dark eyes expecting ( and receiving ) a submissive, yet reluctant nod. “Then act like it. Beg me to breed you.”

sniffling, your nails barely scrape at his flesh, and you gurgle a soft and pathetic, wet eyes full of protest, “P—please… breed me… Cum in me�� please, Illumi—“

Illumi groans in approval, a wicked smile spreading across his tiers when he comes undone. both of his hands wrap around your throat now, and he buries himself as deep as he can force to pump you full of his warm release. even as you snub and squirm and gurgle, you can feel how full you are of him, and it’s a sickening feeling.

he’s released you a few moments later, favoring his side of the massive bed, and you remain on your back, legs open and quivering, core feeling hollowed out and sore, for a while before he murmurs, “You’ll need to tend to my wet clothes, and do away with that tattered dress, before you can rest.”

blinking, you take a couple of breaths before slowly closing your legs. the muscles are aching, and you have to do everything at a snail’s pace, including pulling yourself off the mattress. when your feet hit the cold, hard floor, your knees want to buckle. you’re wobbly at best, one hand gripping your lower belly as you let out a whispered cry discomfort. the bridal gown hangs askew on your body, now stained with more than just blood and sweat, and you stumble, awkward on your own, two legs, over to the pile of wet clothes. gathering them all up, you hug them close to your chest and turn to look at him, meek and bashful. how hopeless you must appear to him in this moment. “What do I… what do I do with them?”

Illumi looks at you, unblinking, and runs his fingers through his hair as he props up on his elbow. he’s shameless in the way he’s splayed, nude across the bed, his soft cock draped over his thigh. “The butler will meet you at the door, he’ll show you the laundry and where to bathe and dress.” he tilts his head, watching you stumble, still disoriented and uncertain, towards the door. you can’t really see it in the dark, but there’s a faint fondness in the depth of his eyes. “Hurry back, too.”

curious, you nibble on your lower lip and push the door open. just as he’d said, a tall man clad in a crisp suit is waiting on the other side. there’s a glimmer of distaste for how filthy you are as he sees you, but it’s gone in an instant as he grabs hold of your elbow, none too gentle. you look over your shoulder at Illumi, and blurt out before the man can drag you away, “Aren’t you worried I might r— run away or something?”

the worst part about Illumi’s smile is that his eyes turned icy and diabolical when his lips curved upwards; the two counterparts didn’t match. “And go to whom?” he asks, taunting, before adding simply because he could: “I killed everyone that knew or cared about you already, remember?”

#illumi #illumi zoldyck #illumi x reader #illumi x you #illumi smut #illumi zoldyck x reader #illumi zoldyck x you #illumi zoldyck smut #hunter x hunter #hunter x hunter x reader #hunter x hunter x you #hunter x hunter smut #hxh #hxh x reader #hxh x you #hxh smut

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irishmammonagenda · 6 months

Note

Hi girl!!!

I have this idea running around in my head for so long. Can you write the demon bros with little sister reader (around the teenage year)? Hear me out. She's the 8th of the family which means she's the youngest. The brothers must be overprotective of her and they would love her so much. Lucifer would have a soft spot for her. She and Mammon would be partners in crime. Then Satan will help her with her study and Asmo will love to help her do her hair. That's it 😁

Btw I love your writing...

hihi! yeah ofc i can! <3

as per usual I had no idea where this was going🧍‍♂️

but this was super fun to write as well

grma for the ask! <3

[Amazing Title]-Obey Me Brothers + Little Sister! Reader

Summary: The brothers except MC's their wee sister ig, chaos ensues. Word Count: 3.8k+ Warnings: Mentions of Death, Female Reader (she/her pronouns used) MC changes her hair length and colour when she feels like it, also she has a crush on some rando idek,

dividers by @cafekitsune

Lucifer was sick to his stomach. Long broken wings attempted to flap, ivory feathers turning black. Wounds open and bleeding. Shooting through stormy skies like a dying star.

His eyes burnt, the speed of his fall making it almost impossible to take in a breath. His lungs burnt. His heart hurt. He hadn´t understood death until Cain took the Rock to Abel, until Father took the scepter to Lilith.

Was he going to die?

He was falling.

As he tore through the sky at a damned pace, he caught a glimpse of warm bronze skin, unusually cold, stained with blood as red as the long crimson hair of his sister.

Despite the pain, despite the strain in his broken, burnt wings, he used the last of his willpower, the last of his strength, to get to the young girl.

He wrapped his hands around her, pulling her close to his chest, attempting to shield her from the fall.

"Luci?-" Lilith chokes out weakly, skin greying, holding onto her brother like a lifeline, one that was getting further away, as her grip slowly loosened. "Luci...I-im scared..."

"D-...don't be..." Lucifer manages to choke out. He could see some sembelance of land now. Some sembelance of an end to the torture of just....falling. "I'll protect you, L-Lilith."

He held on tight to her as he braced for impact, not registering that his little sister had died in his arms, that six wings became two.

He lost conciousness for a moment, hardly lucid, coming to moments later. The ringing in his ears didn't stop.

He coughed up dirt. Dust cleared to reveal two demons, as he looked around he saw crimson everywhere. Filthy fuil dearg coated the crater he'd created. Lucifer scrambled up, staring at the mangled form of what used to be his sister. Not noticing a pair of his wings at his feet. They didn't matter.

He screamed. Gently cradling the corpse, looking up at the Demon Prince with eyes filled with firey fearg, "Save her! Bring her back! Help her..!" He shouts, anger fading to desperation.

The prince regards him with a sort of impassivity, after backs and forths and emotions unravelling, the Demons agree to revive his precious sister as a human, provided Lucifer swears his loyalty, makes a vow with a heavy heart.

"I Lucifer Morningstar....swear absolute loyalty to Lord Diavolo, Prince of Hell."

"Very good."

With a snap of the Demon Butler's finger, his sister disappeared, a screech erupted, but it wasn't from Lucifer. Turning behind him, the disgraced angel saw one of the wings he had barely registered splitting from him---too focused on the pain of losing his sister than the pain of losing his wings,-- the now black mass of feathers morphed and grew like bubbling tar, emitting screeches.

The creature that formed of it, pale of skin, blond of hair, its face contorted in a pain Lucifer felt was a part of him. The demon races, screeching with a fury unbridled. Destruction followed it.

The Demon Prince and Butler watch on with intrigue whilst Lucifer tries to keep from breaking down a second time. The sound of whistling through the air alerts him of his other brothers falling. He looks up, hoping to see where they landed.

Somewhere amongst the vast Devildom. He had to find them. He couldn't handle another death, another loss. Despite his disgrace, his deportation from the only home he'd ever known, he prays to Father one last time, that his brothers were alive.

"There's no need. I will attend to the fallen angels now." The butler says serenely, both him and the Demon Prince disappearing within a moment's notice. Although the latter was more hesitant.

The creature of his wing is still screeching, like a coyote on the prowl, but inherently more sinister. It bites and screams, eyes filled with a murderous rage, one it directs towards Lucifer, as it comes charging at him like a bull of the plaza de toros.

Lucifer takes a step back, His foot hitting something soft and quishy. He pauses, the thing cries. The wails of a newborn cutting through the thick air like a knife, the creature of his wing stops screeching, tilting its head and staring down at the ground.

Lucifer gently picks you up. Cradling you in his arms. He looks to both you and the Creature of Wrath, both so inherently different, both his.

He looks into your eyes for a moment, such a tiny demon, more suited to be an angel, so unlike the pure cantankerousness of the older of the two creatures of his wings.

Lucifer, in the throws of his grief, made two vows that day, the first an oath of absolute loyalty to the Demon Prince, the second, a móid to always protect you.

You tapped your pen against the desk, biting the inside of your cheek as you stared down at your textbook. Shoulder length black hair tied in a low ponytail so it wasn't pouring over your face as you worked. You sighed in defeat, set your pen down and looked up at your two older brothers who were sitting opposite you, and planning out what looks to be another failed prank.

Satan and Belphie had their heads together, murmuring rather animatedly amongst eachother. You snorted, leaning over the table, your sudden movement catches their attention as you stare up at them, your head tilted.

"What about a whoopie cushion?" You ask softly, Belphie makes a face.

"We are not using...human...pranks, we're demons." He snorts, "We have more class than that."

You pout, Satan pinches him from under the table. His green eyes looking dotingly at you, like he would a cat. Coincidentally, he pats your head, ruffling your hair. "I think a simple human world prank could be entertaining to try." He says, giving Belphie a look, the Seventh Born raises his hands lazily in defeat, before leisurely sliding over the table to sit beside you, you quickly flipped to a blank page in your notebook, lest your older brother see the doodles you'd absentmindedly scribbled of you and your crush, a demon from your Devildom History Class.

Satan writes 'Whoopie Cushion' in cursive on their blueprint plans, tongue sticking out ever so slightly, before going back to his own homework. Belphie leans his head on your shoulder, dozing off.

"How did Fear Gorta come to fruition as an entity in the Human Realm?" You read off of your paper, Satan looks up from his essay for seductive speechcraft--a class which you were too young to take--he blinks for a moment, before setting his fountain pen down, and taking up the seat on the other side of you.

Belphie looks over at you tiredly, stretching his arms.

"Need any help?"

They glare at each other playfully, you nod.

Satan takes the textbook from you for a moment, reading the question aloud again.

"Fear Gorta are said to rise from Féar Gortach....sometimes they're just people who died of starvation near Sídhe hills." Satan begins to explain, watching as you nod along.

"They were said to go around with a bowl for begging or almsgiving...travelling, knocking on doors, asking for food." Belphie interjects lazily, head still on your shoulder. "They could hardly keep the bowl from dropping, because they were so weak."

You nod, writing it down, you'd always had trouble simplifying long texts down to their key parts, something Lucifer had assured you would come with time. It was a good thing you had your brothers. They were always willing to help you with homework.

"But what about that has to do with the Fear Gorta coming to fruition in the Human Realm?" You ask, feeling a little dumb.

Satan clears his throat, "Well, some Devildom and Human Scholara believe that the Fear Gorta is what brought the Famine to Ireland. Supposedly, just before the Great Famine, he emerged after a battle of the Fae near Cnoc Meadha."

You scribble that down, your tongue sticking out slightly, an idiosyncrasy developed from your older brother.

Belphie hums, eyes closed, and breathing so even you thought he was asleep. "Mhm, but others believe he's a personification of An Gorta Mór, or the Great Famine himself. That the people of Ireland made him up during the 1840s as a way of coping with and explaining the potato blight."

Upon seeing your confused face, Satan chuckles, "Essentially, the Fear Gorta is an example of how Human suffering can cause mythological beings to be thought up, and how with enough Human Manifestation, they can truly become something that exists."

As if to emphasize, Satan takes a random pen and a scrap piece of paper, drawing little doodles with the summarising he and Belphie had just did.

"Thanks Satan! Thanks Belphie!" You grin, taking the scrap piece of paper, using it to help you jot down the rest of your notes, finally understanding, you begin to answer the question, making a mental note to not let Mammon see the drawings that Satan drew, ever.

It takes a total of ten minutes of pens scratching against paper, Belphie's soft snores, and the dull drill of your own thoughts before you set your pen down, and look up grinning at Satan.

"So...about the prank you're planning..."

The next morning, all decked out in your RAD uniform, you sit on a poof and stare at your reflection in the luxurious vanity. You had decided on long hair, a dark pink so deep it was almost red. That was one of the búntáistí of having the Avatars of Lust and Wrath as brothers, you knew all the best spells for hair, and boy did you exploit that fact.

Short hair? No problem. Long hair? Alright then. Curly? Straight? Wavy? Ask and you shall receive.

Not to mention, Asmo would style your hair, no matter the length, shade or texture, and he would always make it look gorgeous Which was exactly what he was doing now, a gentle comb being ran down your hair, before your brother begins to braid strands in an intercate half-up, half-down pattern.

It's always relaxing when your 5th oldest brother does your hair, always conscious of not hurting you, you let your mind wander.

And wander your mind does, twisting and turning while travelling through the crevices of your brain, eventually coming to a stop at its destination, which just so happened to be the demon in your Devildom History class. They made you feel giddy, with their shoulder length, layered turquoise hair and purposely messy black eye shadow in place of the usual clean cut liquid eyeliner.

"Something on your mind, hon?" Asmo asks concerned as he puts a soft, black bow in your hair, you had been unfocused for a while now.

"Its nothing!" You say a little too defensively, your older brother gives you a knowing look, perfectly threaded eyebrows raising ever so slightly before he gasps and grins excitedly, holding back a squeal.

"Oh!~ And just who is this nothing, honey?~" He asks, you cover your face in your hands and groan, mortification dripping over you as Asmo finishes up on your hair.

Once your hair is done, you rush out, so as not to give the Avatar of annoying you lust any more ammo to tease you with.

Unluckily for you, Asmo was very environmentally friendly, and could make his own ammo.

Your mortification however, is not as short-lived as you'd hoped it would be.

Upon entering the dining room, you make a beeline for Mammon, your partner in crime, and sit beside your 2nd oldest brother, who laughs at you.

"Ye look like yer goin' to a Feis!" He laughs, slapping his knees ad doubled over, you pout and Lucifer, who sat directly diagonal to Mammon at the head of the table slapped him up the back of the head, leaving the avatar of greed choking and spluttering on his own spit.

"S-sorry MC..." He says in between coughs, "Ya look lovely..." He gives you an awkward side hug before resuming his activity of choking to death. You turn to the rest of your brothers as they trickle in, Levi was having an anime marathon, and for the sake of the Devildom seas, and the House of Lamentation not flooding for the nth time, he was allowed to stay in his room, provided he ate something of nutritional value, which meant that some time in the next few hours Lucifer would come into the 3rd born's room with a bowl of freshly cut fruit and force the otaku to eat it.

He was such a mother hen.

Speaking of Lucifer....

"MC," Lucifer drawls, catching your attention. "I received your bi-weekly report last night, you did well in all subjects, though I've noticed your History scores have gone down..." Your eldest brother sets his fork down fully and leans in a little closer to you, only a little bit of concern and a whole lot of care in his eyes, no judgement whatsoever. "Are you not understanding the course material? Would you like me to help you with your work? Or we could get you a tutor."

Asmo leans in to your conversation, eye glittering mischievously, he had taken a little longer to come down to breakfast than he usually did. You were sure he eliminated all of the options and knew exactly what demon you were crushing on.

"Now now Luci!~" He interjects, earning a soft glare from Lucifer, "I'm sure it's nothing to worry about, MC's just a little bit....distracted..." He puts his hands on your shoulders.

Lucifer's eyes widen ever so slightly, Belphie and Satan exchange knowing glances, Beel blinks slowly, were you having trouble focusing in class?

Mammon discreetly opens his DDD under the table, if you were having trouble focusing, he knew a few guys who sold some pretty good remedies for that.

You groan, quickly scarfing down the rest of your breakfast before grabbing Mammon and running out the door, your older brother yelling in confusion.

6 other brothers watch you leave, before turning to Asmo.

Belphie is the first to speak, "Alright, who is it?"

"Who's what?" Beel tilts his head, Belphie turns to him with a smile.

"MC has a crush on someone in her History class."

"Oh, okay." Beel turns to Asmo, "Who is it?"

You and Mammon arrive at RAD unusually early, on account of you essentially fleeing the breakfast table like an escaped convict and dragging your brother with you.

Mammon wasn't annoyed at all, despite his outward act, in actuality, he was delighted. You had picked him to drag out of a chair and run with you?! That meant he must be your favourite big brother! His chest puffs out with pride as you both chatter whilst he walks you to your form class. What type of favourite big brother would he be if he let his little sister walk down the scary hallways of school alone?!

"And then Satan said-" You stop uncerimonously when you catch sight of who's at the other end of the corridor, a blush coating your cheeks, barely noticeable on your skin, hardly even there, but Mammon still picked up on it.

"Hey, twerp, what's up wi' ye?" He asks, examining the hallway, taking notice of the only other demon there.

With a baggy dark denim jacket adorned in pins pulled over their RAD uniform, headphones snapped over their ears, messy turquoise hair cascading down their tanned face. The demon is young--Mammon notices--they look around the same age as you, maybe slightly older.

As they get closer and spot MC, they grin, silver braces shining in the light of the RAD hallway. "Hiya MC! You´re in early!" The demon calls out to you, Mammon notes how you swallow thickly before waving shyly at the demon in question as they approach the pair of you.

The demon goes to rub their eyes, but upon remembering the messy yet purposeful placement of black eyeshadow acting as eyeliner, they stop and pout for just a moment before looking at MC and grinning, eyes as grey as stone flickering to Mammon for just a moment, the demon looks to you and raises one of their thick, dark eyebrows.

"This one of your brothers, MC?" They ask, gaze flickering between you and your brother like a faulty lightbulb.

"O-oh uh...yes! Mammon this is C-Caelus....Caelus this is Mammon..." You introduce them.

"Oh, please, call me Cael, everyone does!" They smile politely at Mammon reaching out to shake his hand, Mammon, bites the inside of his cheek to stop his jaw from dropping. You had a....crush on Cael didn't you?"

"Oh aye." Is all he can manage to say.

Cael nods, before turning completely to face you, they eyelashes fluttering ever so slightly, "So, how come you're in early today?..Nice hair by the way!" They run a hand through their dark turquoise hair, messing it up with their long fingers.

"Oh uh thanks Cael!" You bite your lip, trying to figure out what to say next. "I was thinking of getting in early and studying for the test next week...." You lie, though it did sound like a good idea. No way were you explaining the fiasco that was Breakfast.

Mammon watches like a crow, stopping himself from cooing. You were so adorable! His favourite little dickhead's first crush! They grow up so fast!

He cringes internally, thinking, 'What the actual fuck, I sound like Asmo.'

After another moment, he interupts your conversation to tell you that he needs to go, you nod and say goodbye, before continuing to talk to Cael and trying to keep your blushing under control.

Mammon tredges to the courtyard before whistling.

"Hiya Éan!" He coos to the crow that lands perched on his shoulders, the bird looks unamusedly at him, its been a year and the avian was still judging him for the name choice! "Oh stop yer yappin'...." At the unimpressed look Éan gives him, his eyelid twitches. "Well, I know yer gurnin' internally...don't think I'm dim."

Éan caws.

"Look, I need ye ta do somethin' for me, so I do." Mammon groans at the crows shaking of its head. "I'm not askin' ye to assassinate anyone! I just need ye to keep an eye on this one wee demon in m'sister's class..."

Éan blinks, before leaning in closer to Mammon, he pets its head, it leans into the touch.

"Right so listen up, their name's Caelus...but people call 'em Cael...I need ye to keep an eye on them and give me a report back in a day or so, we clear?"

Éan lets out a quiet caw.

"Great!"

After a long day of RAD, you waled into the attic, where Satan and Belphie were unboxing whoopie cushions. Or rather Satan was unboxing whoopie cushions and Belphie was watching him lazily.

"Hi MC." Belphie smiles at you before gesturing to sit beside him, so you do.

"I thought you said my human world pranks were stupid." You look at Belphie.

"I've decided that since I'm such a good role model, I'll give it a go."

You deadpan, about to say something before a bellowing laugh erupts from Satan.

"You? A good role model?" The 4th born wipes a tear from his eye. "What's next? Lucifer breaking up with Lord Diavolo?"

"I don't think they're dating Satie…" You butt in.

Belphie smirks, "Then why are they so gay?"

"He is the Avatar of Pride, I guess." You shrug.

And with that, Satan picks up the whoopie cushion and the three of you begin your descent down the staircase to Lucifer's office. With you making small talk to distract them from Asmo's words in the morning.

You reach Lucifer's office, but now you need to draw him out. Satan walks in.

"Hello Lucifer."

"Your prank's not going to work." Lucifer puts his pen down.

Satan puts a hand over his heart in mock offence. "No, I saw a cat on the streets walking home and I want to adopt it." He says, not even lying.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because you don't need one."

Satan feels wrath bubble up inside him, before he makes a risky move, knowing he needs Lucifer out of his office so you can place the whoopie cushion. "Well if I don't need a cat then you don't need your paperwork!"

He reaches forward and grabs the official documents on Lucifer's desk then bolts.

Lucifer jolts up out of his seat and races after him, out of the office.

That's your cue, quick as a thief on the hunt, you run into your eldest brother's office, and place the whoopie cushion down on his seat, you did it!

"Are you having fun, MC?" Lucifer asks, you jump. Turning around you see a slightly disheveled Lucifer staring at you, eyebrow raised and holding slightly crinkled papers. You back away.

"I wasn't doing anything!" You lie obviously.

"Hmm. Sure….now as for your punishment….I've already strung Satan up in the enterance hall, and I'm certain Belphie has gone somewhere to sleep, when he wakes up he will be appropriately disciplined of course…." He moves closer to you. "Now as for you….." Lucifer clicks his fingers and a desk and chair appear, the waves of magic pushing you into it.

You're going to sit there until I've finished my work. No DDD."

You groan, but don't complain, if it was anyone else out of your brothers, Lucifer would have strung them up like he did with Satan.

An hour goes by, though it seems like several to you, as you're bored out of your mind. Lucifer sets his pen down and stares at you.

"Now, tell me about this Caelus."

You stiffen, knowing better than to lie to your eldest, and strictest brother. "They uh-they're a demon in my class…"

Lucifer raises an eyebrow, prompting you to continue, "And what's this I'm hearing about you having a crush on them?"

"Asmo!" You gurn, covering your face in your hands.

"Asmo and Mammon, actually." Lucifer's lips twitch upwards. "Do you have anything to day for yourself?"

"I won't do drugs."

"MC."

"Okay fine! They're a good demon, I promise! I don't even know if I wanna ask them out yet!"

Lucifer's eyes soften, seeing you now, sitting at a desk, complaining about love…he can't help but be reminded of a different person in a different realm long ago, long passed.

"I trust you, but be careful, okay?"

You nod, something churns in Lucifer's stomach as he looks at you, gracefully moving over to you, and pulling you into a soft hug, arms wrapping around you protectively, as if shielding you from the elements.

"And if ever, you need any help whatsoever, come to me? You understand?"

You nod.

"Say it."

"I understand Luci."

Lucifer smiles, ruffling your hair. "I will always protect you MC."

AND WE'RE DONE!!! this was honetly fun to write, i had no idea where i was going with this and i'm sorry if it doesn't make any sense 🧍‍♂️

fuil (pronounced 'full') means blood, móid (maw-d-ge) means vow or promise, 'to make a vow' would translate to 'móid a thabhairt' (maw-d-ge ah how-ert-ch)

éan (pronounced 'ane') means bird. idk i thought it was funny

#obey me imagines #obey me shall we date #obey me x reader #obey me headcanons #omswd #obey me mc #obey me mammon #obey me lucifer #obey me satan #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me fluff #obey me platonic #obey me lilith #obey me brothers

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helluvapoison · 6 months

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Hi!!! For the injury promts, could i ask for prompt 6+dialogue 17 with Lucifer? Im down so bad for this man-

you make it easy

warning: blood, violence, ooc(?), angsty and dramatic

Stars, he should’ve accepted your offer when you asked to join him on this morning’s errands. He was a fool to think his good mood would last.

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

Believe it or not, there was a time when Lucifer noticed everything. The sky is brighter than it was yesterday, he would say to no one, he simply noticed. Nowadays it was harder, a struggle to live outside his own mind. There was a passing thought every now and again. Hey, that lamp is new or Charlie’s nails match Maggie’s. But even those came at the worst times and he never pointed them out when he should, be it in the middle of an argument or entirely different conversation. Determined, he kept trying. More than that, he tried to see his world through his daughter’s eyes, to see that there could be good in the strangest places.

It was hard when the looming cloud of misery and evil followed him every time he tried to leave the hotel. The only time it didn’t was when he was accompanied by you. Charlie, as good natured and pure as she somehow was, was biased. Lilith’s doing, of course. His ex-wife made it seem like Lucifer’s decision was a gift and not the curse that it really was. But you… you were magical. You held an umbrella he couldn’t see that kept him safe from the endless troubles he made with his own two hands. While he knew he had every capability to protect himself physically, the inner workings of his mind was an entirely different story. Besides, it was, admittedly, nice to have someone else do it simply because.

You didn’t want anything from him. You just thought he was worth the effort.

If only he could think the same for himself. Not even two blocks into town did the thick clouds gather into a storm above his crown. It whipped and raged in his mind, hissing what he already knew. He wasn’t. God was punishing him for a reason and that reason stared him in the face every waking moment in Hell. Piles of bodies, gallons of blood, drugs, sex, etc. Not an hour could go by without seeing it all. So who could blame him when he lost sight of Charlie’s dream in the fog of guilt and self pity? How was he supposed to notice anything other than the deplorable sinners and their heinous ways?

He rounded the first corner he could, gasping and clutching at his vest. Whistle leaning against the cool bricks, a shadow stretched toward him. He saw. He saw the demon, he saw the jagged knife and he saw the intent in their eyes. Going against the King of Hell was a suicide mission but Lucifer saw exactly what they wanted from him. Retribution.

In all but a moment it was over. Red blood splattered on the alley wall opposite to him, merely adding to the number of stains it had worn over the centuries. Golden blood though? WItnessing that was a treat indeed. Through the tear in Lucifer’s ivory suit he could see it dribbling down his arm. As his eyes traveled over his attire he could see it was also blighted by the demon’s blood. That took precedence over his own injury but at the time he was grateful for the distraction. The news would lap up a scandal with the Morningstar name on it–

He needed to leave.

Lucifer attempted to summon his wings but they refused to budge. The sky was unsafe to them. It felt as if a thousand eyes were judging him from above. Fuck the news— Heaven was judging him.

He needed to hide.

The man slammed the end of his cane against the ground, instantly conjuring a portal that dropped him unceremoniously into your room.

A guttural growl ripped from his throat as he took in his surroundings of your belongings, “No! No, you stupid–!”

“Lucifer?”

You performed magic once again; turning gold into ice and freezing him in place with his back to you. He begged the wall for answers. What should he say? What should he do? Why the fuck did his magic bring him here when he just wanted to–

“Is that– Fuck! You’re bleeding!” You gasped

“Am I? I hadn’t noticed! Funny story, I didn’t mean to intrude– you know me, a gentleman should always knock– so I’ll just get out of your hair.”

As he spoke you’d scrambled over and stole any chance he had of absconding out of there. His voice got smaller and smaller until it was nonexistent. You reached not for his arm but for his coat, pulling it back to reveal a bigger patch of gold seeping through his vest.

“Oh that can’t be good.” He muttered, more annoyed than anything.

“Ok, uh, fuck. Fuck. You stay here and I’ll get—”

The second he felt you withdraw he whipped around and snatched your wrist like a lifeline. Your chest puffed with a smaller, quieter gasp as you drank in his appearance. Covered in more blood than just his own, he looked utterly panicked. Less than few had seen the king this way.

“No! No, I-I-I can’t have anyone see,” Daring to look down at himself, he foolishly thought maybe the gorey reminder wouldn't be there. And like a fool he winced when it was, “this. Please don’t tell anyone— Especially not Charlie.”

There wasn’t an ounce of hesitation in you, just a firm nod that filled him with relief.

“You’ll do everything I say then.” You bartered, though it wasn’t much of an option.

Lucifer’s heart threatened to plummet to his stomach. He tried desperately to blink away the fog of doubt that lingered. You wouldn’t blackmail him… would you?

“I… Yes? W-Well, what do you want?”

“I don’t want anything—! Er. I mean, I guess I want you to listen and be still while I clean you up? I’ll probably have to burn this before Al sniffs it out. And Nifty’s been going through my shit again so it’ll take me a minute to find…”

You began talking to yourself and Lucifer tuned your voice to background noise when he heard all he needed to. Of course you wouldn’t blackmail him, he felt horrible he even doubted that!

The word ridiculous came to mind as he looked up to try and spot that invisible umbrella you always seemed to be holding for him. While Lucifer searched the air, you got to work. He was malleable for your gentle hands, allowing you to strip his upper half and discard the evidence in the fireplace of your room (he didn’t complain, you’ve seen his suit collection) You diligently cleaned both cuts with utmost care, surpassing what he deemed acceptable and ignoring him when he said exactly that. Only when his skin was porcelain again did you bandage them with a nearly depleted first aid kit you kept under your bed.

“Here, it might be big on you but it beats freezing. The sixth floor has a vendetta against working heaters so it gets chilly here. That's why I keep the fireplace on all night.” You rambled as you pulled one of your own shirts over Lucifer’s head. He noted it was one of your favorites as he had seen you wear it often. Sometimes days in a row! He was more than honored; he was on cloud nine! If this is how you felt when you wore it, he’d never take it off.

“Thank you.” Lucifer said softly. For everything, he didn’t add.

“Anytime,” You replied dutifully. Then casually killed him with, “You can have my bed, by the way. I’ll take the sofa.”

“That-That’s much too generous. You’ve already done so much, I—“

“If it were me, would you let me leave?”

His eyebrows nearly shot up and off his head. The very thought of you bruised and bleeding in his room had flames licking the back of his throat. He needed to expel the smoke through a sigh, covering it up with a fist to his mouth, mumbling,

“You know I wouldn’t.”

“My sentiments exactly. So get your royal ass in the bed… Your majesty.” You bowed low and perfectly, keeping eye contact with him all throughout your bit.

A minuscule laugh escaped him and you beamed seeing your efforts were not in vain.

“Fine. Well… we could, ah, both fit in your bed. If you wanted! I-I’m just looking at it a-and that sofa is not an adequate sleeping area for you. Much too small.” He squinted at your couch disapprovingly, pursing his lips as he pretended his heart wasn’t about to leap out of his chest.

You stood to your full height, seemingly considering the offer, “Only if you’re sure I wouldn’t hurt you.”

Already pulling back the covers for both of you, he scoffed and actually tried to shoo your worries away with a wave of his hand.

“Hurt me? No one can hurt— Oh. Hm. You caught me on a bad day, I can’t say what I normally do.” Lucifer tucked his hooves under the blankets as he spoke, waiting for your cue of laughter that never came.

The bed dipped beside him, much closer than he was anticipating. Your forehead melted against the top of his fluffy, blonde hair. He watched your hands twitch, longing to embrace him but too cautious for your own good. If he wasn’t such a coward he would close the distance himself.

“I didn’t know you could get hurt.” You sighed heavily, finally releasing what had troubled you since you saw him.

Lucifer’s brows dipped in concern but he kept his eyes trained on the burning fireplace across the way, “Anyone can get hurt down here.”

“That shouldn’t be possible. You’re the king.”

“You’re going to give me a big head, darling. Being a king doesn’t exempt me from pain. There’s quite a few ex-kings down here that could tell you that,” He attempted to laugh. Subconsciously his hand landed over his bandaged side, rubbing the soft fabric of your well-loved shirt. “I’ll be alright. Besides it wasn’t an angelic weapon so it wasn’t a serious assassination atte—“

“What?” You reeled back with wide eyes, kneeling beside him and gripping his shoulders lightly, silently begging him to focus, “Wha-What do you mean!? People have tried to kill you before!?”

He stared at you like you asked him why the sky was red. He didn’t understand your panic but he knew he didn’t like it.

“Well… yes? Yours truly isn’t only hated by Heaven. There’s plenty of people down here that pray for the royals' downfall, Hellborn and sinners.” Lucifer tilted his head, confusion had his brows furrowing, “But they can’t kill me.”

“But-But you said it probably wasn’t serious? How do you know? Who did this to you; what did they look like? I-I’ll go find them and—“

“Good golly, breathe! Just let it go, it doesn't matter.”

Your eyes flashed red to let him know the fire of your fury you was blazing. But your eyes glassed over as well, pupils shrinking and jumping across his face like you were memorizing every detail. You held him so gently, like he was going to disappear if you let go.

“Yes it does! It matters to me because you matter to me, Lucifer!”

You were scared.

“I-I—“ He was dizzy with euphoric disbelief. You could tell him every day that you cared about him and he would become breathless every damn time. “I killed them.” He managed to choke out.

You didn’t immediately relax like he had hoped you would. Exhaling through your nose you nodded once that hit him with another magical wave of pride, solidifying his choice and making him sit slightly straighter.

“Good.” Your voice dropped dangerously for a moment. He was presented with the terrifying reminder that you are a sinner, you’re down here for a reason. He couldn’t linger on the fact when the red wisped away from your eyes and returned to the lovely shade he remembered and adored. “That’s why you didn’t want Charlie to know.”

“Anyone,” He corrected softly before his voice turned almost bitter, “No one can know. It might give people the wrong impression if their king did the opposite of what his daughter’s hotel represented. Not-Not that I care what they think but… I don’t want to let her down. Again.”

You practically pulled him in your lap, tucking your chin against his shoulder and sighing heavily. Your warm breath tickled his skin and sent every hair he had standing at attention.

“Your secret’s safe with me.” You promised.

“How.. is it so easy for you to say that?”

“I dunno.” You said all too honestly, pulling back slightly to rest your forehead on his, “Some people make it easy.”

Content with that answer, for once his mind quieted and stilled. He melted against you until he was safely tangled in your embrace.

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel imagine #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer morningstar imagine #poiboiwrites #hazbin hotel headcanon #lucifer morningstar headcanon

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theshinazugawaslut · 9 days

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Sanemi with a demon best friend (future wife) that likes to bite him out of cuteness aggression (its not like she bites him until he bleeds just pure ngom)

a/n: there will absolutely be a FULL story of demon!reader x slayer!sanemi but this is just a little drabble so that I can get into the feels for it. Demon reader is described to have red eyes.

The day his world went colorless was the day his mother's blood splattered across his face.

The only color he could clearly remember was red.

Scarlet. Crimson. Rose. Carmine. Amaranth.

Deep, vicious, bloody red.

It was also the color of your eyes, the very first thing he noticed about you: red, red, red, redredredred eyes.

Shimmering, ruby-red like a swirling vortex of hellflame.

Warm. Human.

He wouldn’t have been able to tell you were a demon if you hadn’t opened your eyes.

He had been walking through the meadows, right after a particularly bloody mission; rivulets of cherry-colored demon blood stained his frosty hair.

It had been snowing that day, he remembered it vividly.

It was a wonderfully cold night, so cold that there were no clouds in the sky, just endless stars so far away that he wanted to run until he could reach them and stretch his fingers out far enough to feel them burn his skin, tendons, muscles, blood, bones, soul—

The grass beneath his zori crunched, the sound of ice crackling and sparkling clear amongst the quiet sounds of winter. There were few flowers in the meadows, plum blossoms from trees frozen over and falling into his hair.

His lilac eyes had followed the path of a particularly dull blossom, and he watched it land on… you.

He remembered immediately running over; a girl curled up on the snow, he thought you were dead, but he froze when he saw your face.

You were gorgeous. All delicate and soft; long lashes rested on plump cheeks, hair messy and filled with snow. Your feet were bare, and when two of his thick, rough fingers pressed gently against your throat to feel the hollow, distant beat of your heart, your eyes fluttered open.

He saw red.

So beautiful it made his heart swirl, and then it made him stop dead in his tracks.

Demon.

You were a demon, and all he felt was a strange warmth.

He couldn't sense anything off you. No bloodlust. No searing hatred. No sinister intent.

You just stared at him as you sat up, doe-eyed, and your eyes flitted about his large, looming form.

The thick, meaty silhouette of his neck, then the long, calloused fingers gripping his sword, the strength of his scarred abdomen, and the beefy arms straining through the fabric of his haori. Following up to his ivory, blood-soaked hair and bloodshot, lavender eyes.

And all you did was curl up on yourself, clawed fingers hugging the skin of your own arms tightly as you braced yourself for his sword.

But it never came.

When you'd opened your eyes, he was walking away.

— — — — — — — — — — — —

Sanemi hadn't known why he couldn't do it.

Maybe because he couldn't imagine such a gentle face tearing into human flesh.

Maybe because your eyes were so red and warm and he felt like he was drowning.

Maybe because you looked like how he imagined home would.

He'd promised himself at seventeen, when Masachika died, that he'd tear his broken teeth into the neck of every demon even if his head was ripped off his shoulders. Till his dying breath.

And he couldn't.

All because you looked an awful lot like the girl he adored when he was too little to know what love really was, the girl who put poppies as red as her eyes in his hair.

"Tch, right after that fuckin' Kamado incident this morning, too," he sneers to himself.

— — — — — — — — — — — —

Then, Sanemi found himself in a... strange situation.

Every mission he was sent on, he never completed.

Because you'd butcher every demon for him instead.

He'd be speeding ahead to slice a demon's neck, katana gripped tight and firm in his hands but you've already used your claws to rip the blonde-headed demon apart.

He's tried everything to throw you off his trail.

It never works.

You're protecting him, he realises after three weeks, or maybe repaying him for not killing you.

"Okay, that's fuckin' enough," he snarls one night; his blade hasn't touched demon skin in weeks and he storms over to the tree which you're hiding behind, dragging you out. "I'm gonna fuckin' kill you."

You just stare up at him innocently.

"It ain't funny, 'kay? Stop- stop followin' me around, or- or at least stop tryna fuckin' help me," he snaps. "Or I'll really wrangle you to death."

More staring with your lovely red eyes as he holds you by the hair.

"Hello? I know you're fuckin' smart, you follow me even if I wipe my scent clean from everywhere, even if I travel during the stupid dumb fucking day," he huffs, glowering expectantly, removing his hand to point a finger at you.

You stare.

Then you bite his finger.

#sanemi shinazugawa #sanemi #anime and manga #sanemi x you #kny #husband sanemi #sanemi x reader #sanemi headcanons #kny sanemi #demon reader #will be expanded

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