#he’s the calm and sensible one

[fluffyblueblanket123]

A fact about my ocs Neal and Christian.

Neal is scared of doctors and hospitals, so much so that he tries to avoid going to the doctor’s office and hospital, even for check ups. Christian is pretty calm and reassures Neal when he’s scared. He also is the one who convinces him to get medicine and medical care.

Christian has also stopped Neal from leaving the hospital after waking up.

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

comrade

what if foul legacy got caught on a vine in the trees and you have a dendro vision so it's like

!!platonic or romantic!!

"were you chasing a lizard again?"

foul legacy looks down at the ground with a sad chirp when your vision lights up as you manipulate the plants, lowering him to the ground. he could have cut himself free, sure, but you can sense the plants' hurt, so he didn't.

"maybe..."

you sigh heavily and flick him on the shoulder. with a twist of your wrist, you conjure up a flower for him, and he watches as the petals expand into something resembling a heart.

he chirrups and makes a purring noise when it climbs over to his hands, looping around his claws. it doesn't wilt despite the abyssal energy radiating off of him.

"don't do it again," you scold, but it's half-hearted, and in that moment he knows you're the one for him.

hello comrade!!! yes extremely good, i like this very much

you mentioning flowers wilting is making me think- when Childe initially arrives in Sumeru (on the run or not), his Foul Legacy makes all the plants and foliage die around him. the Forest Rangers are panicking, thinking it's an enormous case of the Withering, but you're more curious since you can see that the effects are different with the lack Withering Branches and the ever-present Tumors. still, you take your Vision along for the ride just in case (and because Tighnari won't stop nagging you about the dangers of the forest) and you find that you're right, it's not the Withering, it's a creature from the Abyss. no wonder the plants haven't been happy for the past few days! still, you can't help but feel bad when you see the Abyssal monster's body covered in scratches and huddled in a cave, claws wrapped around himself.

luckily you're not afraid- not much can scare you other than the pushy sages at the Akademiya- and when you slowly approach the creature lets out a sad trill, like he didn't want this to happen. he shrinks away from you initially until you hold out your hand, using your Vision to make a flower bloom in your palm before gently guiding the beast's wrist and slipping the blossom into his hand. he squeaks in fear, ready to watch it wilt and decay, but your Vision shines brightly and the flower only flourishes even more. your new Abyssal friend chirps in surprise and delight, the sound bringing a small smile to your face as you stand and brush the dirt off your pants, offering a hand to the horned creature who tilts his head curiously.

"Let's get you cleaned up, shall we?"

[diejager]

Hiii，I really like your story about Ghost x bunny！reader.Can you please do moreee🥺🥺🥺💖🐰

Needy Bunny Cw: heat/mating cycle, breeding kink, rough sex, mating press, doggy style, unprotected sex, PinV, tell me if I missed any.

You clawed at the sheets, hips bucking back, rutting against the heated palm of his scarred and calloused hand, fingers filling you so well. Your bed smelled like him, something familiar you associated with comfort and safety, gorging on his rich and powerful scent. He smelled like blood and gunpowder, itching you sensitive nose, and the soft tone of something woody —an addictive bourbon and calm sandalwood.

You crooned softly, burying your face deeper into his many shirts, mask and blanket, all infused with his aged scent and sweat, masking you in his scent, drowning in the delicious smell of him. You were clouded by a primal need, to be bred and nurse little kits in your stomach, you didn’t have any sensible thought inside your head, all you wanted was to smell like Ghost and bear his kits by becoming his.

When thrown into the throes of your heat - vicious and unforgiving - you became dumb and needy, wandering the halls of the base for Ghost and pawing at him until he brought you to his room. The moment he closed and locked the door, you were naked and kneeling on his bed, face down on his pillow, drooling over the musky cloth and ass up, showing him how wet and needy you were, cunt winking and clit throbbing from the cool air in his room —it helped with the warmth you exhumed from your heat, body burning so much calories to sustain you during it.

You were deaf to Ghost’s degrading words, uncaring by how mean his words were or how rough he was, all that mattered was that he was using you, his fingers straight as they drove in, hitting your g-spot. Slick dripped from his wrist, your sweet cunt oozing it, transparent and salty fluid tasting sugary on his tongue, his mask rolled up his nose to press the flat of his tongue against your twitching nub, swirling around it wile he pumped you with three, thick fingers.

You whined when he pulled out his fingers, tongue pushing into your hole and slurping down your slick, swallowing your sweet cum in gulps. He drank up your little mewls, sound more like a cat than a bunny, his hand roved over your thighs and around the swell of your ass, spanked red from acting like a little whore in front of other men, and grabbed your snowball-like tail, harshly pulling on it to get a reaction out of you. You yipped loudly, back arching and trying to get out of his tight hold on your sensitive tail, the twitching ball stuck between his fingers even as he pressed the round head of his cock against your clenching hole, tip nudging your entrance —teasing you.

“Please-” you wailed, sobbing for relief you knew that only he could give you, something to fill you up and keep you full until this heat passed. “Ghost, please-”

He kept you still, one hand on your hip and the other still tugging at your tail, he drove in with a sharp snap, thrusting his whole length in one, rough go that had you keening, loud, whorish sounds slipping from your tongue as your eyes rolled back, walls squeezing him as you came. He was warm, cock snugly sitting inside of you, he was as heavy as he was thick, the girth covered in veins and the base in trimmed, musky hair.

He took a few experimental thrusts, rough and unsteady, before he bottomed out completely, heavy balls slapping your engorged clit. Ghost set deep and hard pace, his sculpted hips snapping against your sensitive ass, using his grip on you to hold the pace, plunging in, the leaky tip of his uncut cock slamming into your spongy cervix, veins scratching at your clenching walls, frenum piercings, three starting from the base up rubbing you deliciously.

With how high stung you were, body shuddering and cunt spamming with another upcoming climax, it didn’t take you long before you came a second time. Bursting with a cry, legs kicking and trembling beneath you, you bucked your hips against him, pushing him deeper into you. You were squirming so much so that he had to turn you over, manhandling you from your presented position to a mating press, bent in half with your legs hanging from his broad shoulders, taking him again and again - even as you came twice or thrice, coating him in your juice, his navel and balls wet down to his thighs - until he had his fill.

“You want a kit, is that it?” He growled, forearm pressing down on your throat without putting any lethal force, simply to hold you down, to keep you restrained to your nest, “Don’t worry, bunny, I’ll knock you up, yeah? Put a little rabbit in that cunt of yours, breed you nice and deep.”

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @konigsblog @havoc973 @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan

[venmondiese]

A Cure For A Bad Day

Summary: Aemond has one of his worst days ever, nothing seems to go right. At night, at least, he gets the company of his new wife as he bathes.

Based on Ewan Mitchell's and TGC 'Scene Reactions' when he says "When we did that scene, when he had the rain machine going in, the dye on the eyepatch... it just stained the wig"

✧Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader ✧Warnings: MDNI 18+, p in v sex, bath sex, breeding kink, overall very sweet, aemond discovering feelings. ✧Word Count: 5.2k ✧ Ao3 link: here ✧gifs: by myfandomprompts

Aemond is known for many things. He is fierceless, perfectionist, well trained with the sword, and bold. Those things he was proud of. 

And all those things, he was not today.

He trained by morning, and Criston Cole was waiting for him. The sword felt slightly different on his hand, weird, but he just took it that he slept badly and that's why his arm felt numb. 

Now, after losing his eye, he had to learn things differently. He had a considerably big blind spot, and so he learned how to keep it aware of his surroundings as training with the sword. Yet, those things do not have in mind the little rocks on the ground, which he stepped on and twisted his ankle as he tried to defend Ser Criston’s attack.

And with that, he twisted his ankle and slightly cut his hand. 

He was annoyed, but he tried not to pay attention to it. A silly mistake. The rock was on his blind side, how could he notice? It was a rookie mistake, and it burned his cheeks to remember it. 

By the evening, after eating, he decided to ride Vhagar. His girl liked long rides, not so fast but more calm, and prowling around the crownlands skies.

 He did not anticipate the rain. 

For some reason or another, Vhagar was as grumpy as him, and she did not seem to want to go over the clouds in the rain. No, she wanted full on take a bath on the rainfall.

And Aemond had to bear it. But what was worse was when he realised that his eyepatch had dyed his hair. He just picked the worst eyepatch today. 

His hair was slightly silver auburn, and just in some parts. He hated it, and it made his day ten times worse as he realised the eyepatch had been too tight, and it had been suffocating his scar without him realising. 

He had trouble with the sensibility on his left side of his face, and just today he put his eyepatch too tight. It made him furious.

And he decided to make it everyone’s problem. 

He was laying in the bathtub, next to the fire as he had a horrible headache. He came in, demanding a bath as the servants had to rush to get him hot water.

 He took his own clothes off, kicking his boots away, refusing any servants touch as he undoes his own leather jerkin, he unties his breeches, grunting and mumbling in frustration, hating each instance of this day. He thinks a bath will help him to relax even a bit. He just wanted to sleep, and end up with this horrible day. 

His scar itches, and it drives insane. It was as if the itchcame from the deep parts of his cheekbones and it drove him mad. He was at the edge of peeling his own skin to scratch his damn scar. 

Only in his undergarments, he ignores the chilling cold from the chamber, and he walks barefoot as the servants fill the bathtub with hot water. As hot as possible. He walks over the chimney, and throws the eyepatch in, hoping it burns in hell. 

His loose hair, tinted with the dye of the eyepatch. If he only knew who was the mastermind behind it, who decided to spend coins on it; he would kill them. And they better hope this stupid dye can get off with the bath, or head will start rolling. 

The water was hot, but he paid no mind. He liked boiling hot, and he sat against his as he let the attendant boy prepare scents and the oils to put on the water, and to wash him. Aemond didn’t allow him to wash him; yet. He wanted some moments of peace in the hot water, so he remained a good amount of time still.

“Bring me the ointment that Maester Orwyle prepared for my eye” Aemond’s voice is low, yet demanding as the boy gets out, not without bowing to the prince.

He waits, pinching the bridge of his nose as if that would calm his nerves, his headache. He believes it works, so he is focused on it, as he accommodates his legs on the water, trying to be relaxed.

Time is a bit dizzy, and when he hears the door open, he can hear the servants speaking hushedly, as if wanting him not to hear. Good, because he didn’t want to listen to them either. 

He can hear the little taps that the shoes do as the maid leaves the oils for his hair on a near table, and takes his hair on her hands, gently. He doesn’t turn to face her; he just wants the damn dye to get off. 

Hands wash his hair, and if he wants to relax, this is making it impossible. The little tugs and the awful way that scrubs his hair to take the dye off, and the weird caresses on his neck from time to time. 

“You are not doing correctly" he grumbles to the servant with closed eyes as his migraine is persistent. "Learn how to wash a prince's hair" he adds, sharply.

“Apologies” The voice comes as a murmur, a bit strained if even, as the hands go to his neck, and all the way up.

“My prince” He adds sharply, he cannot believe his luck today. “When you address a royal member of the Targaryen House, you use their title. My prince” he says, patronisingly and even angry. 

“Yes, my prince” a little cough at the end, he either thinks the maid is trying to hold back a laugh or embarrassment. Not that he cares, as he has his eye closed and a hand on his temple, his head resting on his hand, that caresses his forehead trying to get that awful headache away

Aemond's face was scrunched up in pain, as his eyes were closed. "Are you new at this? I swear... I am starting to believe that they are just sending me incompetent maids to attend to me..." the young prince groaned.

His body stiffens, as arms go to wrap his neck from behind, and before he can sit up properly, he feels the maid kiss his cheek lovingly as she giggles. “Apologies, my prince…” 

The voice is clear as day, and if his hand was going to fetch the little dagger on the table by his side, it stops. 

He turns his head to his right, seeing your wide smile as you wait for his reaction. He groans, rolling his eyes, which causes you to laugh loudly.

His new wife, she always liked to tease him and cling to him, always hugging him, taking his hand in hers or kissing him all over. He didn’t mind; he always allowed her even at court. But he won’t admit that he likes it too.

“Wife” he greets you as he sighs, and he feels your hand rubbing circles in the back of his neck. 

“I know, I do not know how to wash hair. You’ve made it completely clear”

“I thought you were a servant” he says, looking at her. “You are a highborn lady, you don’t need to know how to.”

“True…” you say, moving some of the wet hair out of his face, and squeezing it so it isn’t dripping. “I heard that my prince had a horrible day, and he was in a bad mood. Servants do talk, you know…” you say looking at him with a smile “Wanna tell me about it?”

Aemond sighs and looks at you, as you take the sponge to wash his body. He sighs as you pour some of the water in his chest and start scrubbing softly.

“"A terrible day... I stepped on a rock, and twisted my ankle and cut my arm in the process... Then i wanted to relax with a ride on Vhagar, but it started to rain, the fucking dye of the eyepatch got all over my hair and eye.. I have the worst migraine now..." his voice is rough, and he seems annoyed at the memory of it. “And I haven’t seen you as much as I’d like”

It wasn’t the worst day he has ever lived. Maybe. When he lost his eye it could be the top one. He won Vhagar, at the cost of his eye. It was an amazing thing, traded for the worst thing that has ever happened to him. He was still living the consequences of it today, as his scar stinged on his skin.

“Not your best day, I see” you say softly, scrubbing his chest. He enjoys it, as he looks at you, leaning back in the bath as you scrub his chest. “I’m sorry to hear it”

“I don’t need pity” 

You chuckle “It is not pity” you say softly, looking at your husband. “What can I do to make you feel better?”

Aemond stays silent. He is not used to someone caring about him like this. Sure, his mother cared for him, and so did Helaena But not like this. 

“Be by my side”

The silence is a bit comforting, as you wash his body. He looks at you deeply, and he cannot help but think how stunning you are. You didn’t find any discomfort in washing him, in caring and tending to him. You never once seem disgusted by his lack of eye, by his empty eye socket, or his ugly scar. Never once you discarded him. 

It was more than often that you placed the ointment prepared by maester Orwyle on his eye, his scar, where his nerves were permanently damaged and they brought discomfort to him. You never once complain.

“You look different” he says, looking at you in the dim lights of the room.

“Different how?” you ask, as you finish brushing his hair, making sure the dye is almost completely getting off his wet hair. He has little curls, which makes you smile like an idiot.

“I do not know. Shining. Radiant. Lovely.” He murmurs, moving one of his wet hands to tickle a strand of hair on your ear. “Different”

“So I usually do not look radiant or lovely…”

“Not what I meant” he groans and you chuckle softly. “You were sick. Now you look much better in… spirits.”

“You look different too” You say looking at him with a smile. Your eyes fall to his chest, and you smile. He notices how you get flustered at the sight of his nakedness. 

“More wounded” he says ironically, leaning back with a sigh. 

“Stronger” you correct him smiling. “More… mhm. I’d say more… Hot”

“You think I am hotter when I'm wounded?”

“Not what I meant” you say chuckling under your breath, “I meant… I like seeing you like this... Leaning back is so... manly, and hot…" 

“Oh, do you?” he asks slightly amused, leaning back still as he looks at you, nodding and smiling. Aemond frowns a bit, and he hisses then you accidentally hit his new wound on his wrist. 

“Sorry, love” you say, kissing his hand, and smiling. “You know, when I was little they cured my wounds like this. With a kiss”

“Did they?” He asks, trying to remain interested even with his headache. 

“Yes. Like this” She says kissing near his wound, a very feather-like kiss. “See? Does it feel better?”

You look at him with an adorable expression, as if you truly think that this would make him feel better. Aemond blinks, as he looks at you. 

It ticks him the wrong way that you care about him. Why would you? Perhaps it is a womanly thing. He wasn’t so sure. Perhaps as his wife, it is your burden, having to make a maimed man feel better. 

The prettiest maiden in court, chained to a maimed man, deformed and always wounded, stuck in the pain of his eye to see beyond. Wasting your best years with him. 

And he cannot decipher why.

“Aemond?” You ask as he trails off. 

“Yeah” he clears his throat, awkwardly, and he moves his legs a bit. “I guess so” 

“Where else does it hurt?” You ask sweetly.

He sometimes hates how kind you can be, he doesn’t know what your upper intentions are, but after all, you are his wife even if he can’t decipher you.

“Well, my eye, obviously…” he says a bit embarrassed “And… my left foot, I guess. And my arm, because I slept on it… and…”

You nod, looking at him as he speaks. He is intimidated, he realises. You make sure to hear all of what he has to say, with your sweet eyes. 

You move to the end of the bathtub, and move to kiss his ankle softly, no complaints, no hesitation. Nothing… odd, about it. Only out of tenderness. You kiss his shoulder, and his left cheekbone, softly, to make sure it doesn’t burn on his skin. He just lets you, because it makes you happy, thinking that it helps.

And he doesn’t realise that it actually helps him, in a way. The smile on your face makes him smile too, and he sighs.

“Better?” 

“Mhm” he hums in agreement, looking at your face. “Better when you're with me, yes” 

He is utterly head over heels for you, even if he isn’t good with feelings. He loves you, even when he seems slightly annoyed by you. 

“And you?”

“And me?” You ask curiously.

“You were sick. Coughing like crazy, and all your body ached.” he says softly, “in confinement, away from me… Do you truly feel better?”

“I am better. Lady Westerling got all of us sick” you say with a slight smirk. “my body still aches a bit, but it’s…” you hesitate a bit, slightly nervous.

“Then join me” he interrupts, moving to try and get you in the bathtub with him. "The hot water will do good to you..."

"It will burn my skin, I hate how hot you take these baths..." you protests, moving his hands off your waist as he tries to pull you in.

"The Blood of the Dragon, wife" he says smugly, smirking. "It is cold, anyways. It is barely warm"

"You like it boiling hot" You say smiling to him, and he presses a kiss on your jaw.

"I do, indeed." He admits "Come on, get in with me"

“Aemond, my nightgown…” you protest, and he rolls his good eye.

“You have others, let it get wet” You seem to give in, as he helps you get in, holding your hand as you enter the bathtub. “It will do good to your aches.” He insists, taking your waist in his hands to place you on his lap.

“I think it is an excuse” you say, blushing a bit as you accomodate on his lap.

“A good one, you must admit” he says looking at you, and he passes his hands all the way up to your back.  “But an innocent one, I must admit” he says, and you tilt your head as if asking him to elaborate “I don’t think I am up for anything, I am too tired for it”

You hum, his still wet hair made him look almost cute. His little curls...

“The dye came off” you say, as he leans to kiss your neck a bit. “I can go to the tailor and ask them to make another eyepatch one for you. More fancy. With real leather. Maybe add some fancy dragon scales in it” 

“Hm. Fine” he says looking up at you, smiling at how delicious you were. He places a kiss on your hand, and he smiles. “What is bothering you?”

You stay still, blinking a bit. “Court. Ladies… at court. They don't seem to like me much. I mean, they like me but I always feel excluded. Like I am doing too much for them to like me”

Aemond looks at you, a bit surprised by it. He places his hands on your waist, and he certainly was thinking about how to comfort you. He wasn’t a court charmer either, so he hummed.

“I thought you had friends.” 

“I do… I guess. They just never seem to think of me when doing things. They do not hate me, no… I am the new one…, and so they just…. Don’t include me”

“I’ll include you” he states nodding. “I’ll bring you with me everywhere. Training, riding Vhagar, in the library, all of it.” He proposes softly. 

“Hm. It would be pleasant.”

You smile softly, your hands, now wet and in the water, move from his abdomen all the way up to his chest.

Your husband was well fit. A prince of the realm, training with the sword since he was little. He practised almost every day, and was very detail-oriented in his field. And that paid off, as he was lean; yet muscular. 

You two were still newlyweds. Maybe three months since you two married, and things were a bit awkward still. You tried to decipher his odd behaviour and he tried the same with yours, starting to know each other personally, yet there was a bond, a silent affection you both shared for the other.

His body felt warm. He had stayed at the bathtub for Gods know how many hours, and he was all wet and shiny. You hand caressed his muscles, going up from his abdomen to where his wispy chest hair were. 

“What is in your mind?”

You hum, and smile “How handsome my husband is” you murmur “How good he is to me…” you add “How much I truly like you…”

Aemond raises his eyebrows, and he looks at you as your hand caress his torso up and down, slowly, as if you were tempting him. 

“Oh?”

You nod softly, and even if he doesn’t know you too well; he knows this face.

You move to kiss his neck, your arms wrapped around his torso as you leave little kisses all over his skin. He chuckles a bit, at your little desperation for the demonstration of love, you were such a physical person for him. 

“Darling, what are you-”

“I just missed you” You say, and he can see in his head the pout you would form if you weren’t so eagerly kissing his neck. 

He chuckles as his hand holds your waist firmly on his lap, and he leans his head back, facing the ceiling as you two spoke. “Very eagerly, I see” 

“You are tired. But let me…” 

Your arms wrapped around him, holding him as you press gentle kisses there, and he smiles, starting to feel the boiling arousal in his abdomen, looking at the ceiling as if it could distract his mind. 

“Very well” 

His arms went to the edges of the bathtub, as he felt the fabric of the nightgown against his chest, and he certainly was starting to enjoy the constant nibbling and wetness of your kisses. 

Aemond lets out a quiet groan, enjoying the gentle bites at his neck, as he feels his neck a little warmer. “You little minx- Did you just give me a hickey?”

Your giggle tells him all, as you move your lips to the start of his clavicle. His good eye closes as he enjoys the way your mouth feels against his sensitive skin. 

“You are simply… delicious” you murmur, your kisses going lower to his chest, before stopping a moment.

“Do not tell me you want to leave a hickey there…” He says, moving his head down to look at you.

As he imagined before, your mouth turns into a pout as you frown; most adorably he must add. 

“Oh, please! Let me try” You ask him “It is a way to show you that I missed you” You add, trying to convince him as he chuckles, making a mocking sound. 

Aemond rolls his eyes as he feels your eager mouth sucking the skin of his chest, as if he was some kind of… not even he knew. It felt strange. Worshiped and feral. That’s how it felt, at least for him.

Once you separate, you look at your work, your thumb moving along the bruised skin with a satisfied smirk. 

“Looks so good on you” you swear, as if it was a matter to be known. 

“If it makes you happy” he says, accommodating on his seat, the water moving along with him. “My turn, then?” 

You shake your head with a giggle “You always make it a mess!”

That he did, and he smiles a bit, seeing the lack of lovemarks of your neck.

It is you who eagerly kiss him, and press your body to his, as if needing him. He isn’t one to complain, as he feels your eager lips pressing against his and your tongue invading his mouth. Rather bold, to his taste. But he likes it.

Your hands on his shoulder make their slow way down, passing temptingly slow from his chest, to his abdomen. He gasps in the kiss, as if he was some kind of maiden, when he feels your hands underwater on his crotch and touching his cock. 

He frowns a bit as he separates, trying to demand an answer. “Wha-” he tries to ask before you shut him up with a kiss, not even letting him speak.

Rather eager, aren’t we… He thinks, but he isn’t one to complain, as your touch is like magic to his dick. In the water is odd, he has to admit, but his member thinks otherwise as he gets aroused from your eagerness.

You smooch him with kisses, and he feels… intimidated, in a good way. You don’t even allow him to breathe without going for another kiss, desperate. Feral.

He has a feral wife, it seems. 

“Darling, what are you…” he asks amused as you break the kiss, just to move your wet skirts all the way up, but he can’t see much of your pussy in the water, which he dislikes a lot. 

“I missed you” you repeat “A lot.” 

“It isn’t as if you were confined in a tower for years. It was barely two days. And I visited you-”

“I need you, husband” you state impatiently, as your knees move to the sides of his hips. “so, if you are tired, I’ll do it” 

He blinks, surprised and taken aback. He is rather amused and aroused, at his bold wife.

“Alright” he says, looking at you as you can do the work alone. 

He isn’t tired for sex, not at all. He can certainly get the energy, maybe not perform as usual, but he’ll do it if you ask. You didn’t even need to ask for it. But seeing you in control is better than that.

You rode him once, for later to admit that it wasn’t your favourite position, because you grew tired quickly. He didn’t mind, but now he thinks he’ll have you riding him at least once a week.

The way your dick enters your body is slow, as you slowly lower yourself on it. He can see your face contoured with pleasure, how you shut your eyes, and your hands grip on his shoulders as you whimper on it, you open your mouth and he leans to kiss your neck a bit, as if wanting to give back the affection you give him.

More than bounce on it, you find it more practical to grind on it. Your hands, that move between his waist and his shoulders, as if you didn’t know where to hold him to help you grind against his cock.

“That’s so good…” you whimper as you grind on his cock. 

The water moves around, the harder you grind, the harder it moves on the bathtub. He is even sure that some of it has overflowed the bathtub, as he looks at your pretty face, as you moan needily. His hand moved to pull down your nightgown, just enough to expose both of your tits in the firm fabric. He pulls it down to expose your shoulders a bit, and it is a sight that only arouses him more.

“It’s so good, baby?” He asks looking up to you, and he leans his head to kiss your nipple, gently. 

He knows you missed him. You are not rough, or a mess on his cock. You are doing it so prettily, so sweetly, he knows that you truly have missed him and his touch. 

“Yeah, so-so good.” You babber a bit, nodding as he kisses your other breast softly. He does not hold you, he has his hand on the back, trying to keep him firm as you ride him. 

His right hand holds your waist, as he notices. Your arms are on his shoulders as you whimper and moan, grinding him, not even minding the water around.

He has to admit, in the bathtub isn’t as comfortable as outside of it. The water doesn’t help to be smoother, if anything, he has the impression it does the contrary. It may be just him, as you don’t say anything against it.

“So eager, baby…” he says amazed, and now he feels like the one worshipping you. He just adores you, he realises, as he sweetly talks you through it “You just needed me, this badly?” He asks, kissing your jaw.

The little nods you give him are enough to get him moving his hips slowly up to meet your little grinds and bounces.

He kisses your breast again, and the other, and the other. He adores you, how the little mewls from your mouth are so arousing for him as you clench your pussy around him. 

“Aemond…” you whine. “Feels.. amazing, so good...” you repeat, as if you couldn't think of anything else, as he looks up to you. 

 He is just surprised you have gotten this far without begging him to take control. They way he’d take your waist and flip you around, to make you hold the other edge of the bathroom, just to take you from behind, again, and again, and again. The water would overflow the bathtub completely, and his seed would be securely in your womb. 

But you don’t ask him, and he doesn’t do it. He likes the sweetness of it. He likes how you look at him needily for both of your lips to meet on a kiss, passionate as your bounces and grind are slightly weaker. 

“My special girl…” he murmurs, kissing you again and again, not minding if they are pecks or if he has the opportunity for his tongue to play with yours. “I love you”

You nod, whimpering and whining as you say it back. I love you, I love you, I love you. Again and again, as if it was some prayer.

“Aemond” you moan into his mouth, 

“I know. Can you feel how good you take me?” He asks softly, kissing your chin, as he holds your waist to help you bounce on his cock. The splash of the water amuses and arouses him, and he groans at the sight of your nightgown fully soaked, glued to your figure.

“Mhm. Yes, yes, Gods, yes” you said, probably numb and already cockdrunk, just enjoying the feeling of his cock so deep inside.

“You want me to fill you, hm? To make you round with my seed, baby?” He asks, looking at you, moving to kiss your neck. 

He is also rambling at this point, as you squeeze him in the perfect way, asking to be filled with cum. He ignores how the water splashes his chest and back, how it is practically soaking the carpet under the bath, and making a mess. He has to remember how wet it might be so you two don’t slide on the floor. 

“Aemond, I… oh, Gods, Aemond!”

You little moans are music to his ears, as he holds your waist to move you down to his cock, to his taste. Not as rough as usual, but certainly desperate enough to want to cum.

“Will you cum for me, darling?” He asks, as he feels your hips grinding more desperately on him, and he throws his head back on the edge as he feels his balls tighten as well. You did wonders on him. “Cum for me and I’ll fill you up as you so much like” he promises, almost feral for you to cum. 

Your release made him moan, loudly, as he held you tight on his cock as he cums as well. He looks lazily at you, panting and whimpering still, which only serves to fuel the last remains of arousal on his abdomen, filling your womb with his cum. He hopes it takes root  and to see you grow pregnant as moons pass by.

“Thank you” you say, breathless against his chest, kissing his cheek sweetly. 

He smiles a bit, by how pleasure drunk you obviously were. He moves you slightly, to pull out from you and accommodate you on his chest, which you take comfort in. “Nothing to be thankful for. I thank you. Having sex is rather… good for when one had a bad day” he says smiling. 

You smile, and look at him, caressing his chest as you remain in this position, calmly breathing as he tries to stop panting. 

“Have I made it better?” You ask, softly, looking up to him.

He chuckles softly, almost amused by how ridiculous the question was.

“Just by having a sight of you, you make my day better” he says. 

Even if he was new to this whole marriage thing, even if sometimes he didn’t know you that well as your ladies-in-waiting and sometimes just allowed you to be even if it bothered him. He didn’t understand you most of the time, but he certainly adored you, very dearly. 

“I can make it even better” you say almost proudly, and he raises his eyebrow, looking at you laying on his chest. The water wasn’t even hot anymore, but more cold than he could bear. 

“Oh, how so?” He asks amused. “Did you claim a dragon? Only that can top the amazing moment that we just-”

“I am with child” you say simply, looking at him with a smile. 

He stops on his tracks, and looks at you as he takes in what you said. He blinks, looking at you, and you smile awkwardly at him. Was he happy? The prospect always puts him in a good mood. But maybe it wasn’t as you thought? One thing was words, and other actions.

You watch his eye as he seems to have hundreds of thought per second, his face slight confused as he frowns a bit, before his lips turn into smile full of disbelief.

“Are you joking?” 

“No... Maester Orwyle informed me this morning” you say softly. “He says that probably our wedding night was fruitful. I don't know. I don't look that pregnant, after these months. We have to figure it out in these days, so we can see when the birth is due... It's funny, because at first we thought it was from the sickness, that I got the worst part… but I just happened to be sick and pregnant”

That's why Maester Orwyle looked at him with a slight smirk as he helped desinfect his arm after training. You probably asked him to keep the secret so you could tell him.

That's why there was something off about you. He couldn't get exactly what, but something was off. It made sense, how nervous you were and how you tried to tell him before, but he was a fool to not notice it.

“Oh, my love…” he says, as he wraps his arms around you, hugging you tightly to him. “Oh… I don’t… I... What can I even say to that?”

He is surprised, and he can’t believe it. You were pregnant. You actually were. His little offspring, growing in your womb right at this moment. Your stomach was not firm by any mean, he couldn't decipher it even if he liked so.

“That is… That is the best thing anyone has ever told me” he admits, chuckling a bit in surprise. “You are going to be a mother. And you are going to make me a father” 

"We are, indeed" You say smiling to him. "In some months, it will be me, you and a weeping babe"

He can feel his nose burn as he smiles, the image on his head as he forces himself not to cry of happiness, a weird chuckle comes out of his mouth.

"You are right" he says looking at you. "So, you are definitely moving to my chambers now, aren't you? No more personal chambers, no more confinement when sick. You are not leaving my side, not you or our little dragon" He states nodding, not for discussion. He can't have you just wandering around without him near to protect both of you.

He smiles, as you giggle. His day certainly got better, all thanks to you. His hands caress your back soothingly, as he is just... happy. He forgets about his horrible day, how his ankle still hurts or how his scar stings on his cheek and forehead as he smiles. What is that compared to the joy of knowing that he will be a father? A father to your children as well?

“Now, how come Lady Westerling got my pregnant wife sick?” he teases you as you roll your eyes. “She is in so much trouble, who does she think she is? Both my wife and my sweet baby? Oh, she is not going to see sunlight ever again-”

“Aemond!” you giggle, but he smooches your cheek with kisses that only makes your giggles grow louder.

[redflagshipwriter]

batmom cass: reveal

masterpost

Oh. Fuck. He was invisible. A flood of genuine fear washed through him. He was discovered again, he was away from any allies, he had to get away-

Danny went intangible out of sheer survival instinct and lurched downwards. Bruce made a punched-out sound and lunged to grab him. He actually got his hand around Danny’s wrist and clenched despite Danny being invisible to human eyes. It was no use. Danny slipped through his grip, the chair, and then the floor.

He caught himself there and paused, hovering in the flooring. He could see the weird joints underneath the kitchen, a dark crawl space with way more spiders than Alfred could possibly know about. One of them reared up and waved its front legs at him in what was either a threat or a greeting. Danny shuddered involuntarily and pulled back a little to give the arachnid personal space.

“Danny?” Cass’s voice was muffled but calm. “Sit in your chair, please.”

She made it sound so sensible.

He blinked rapidly. “Right. Right, okay.” He floated back up through the floor and avoided eye contact as he settled back into place and the visible spectrum. He stole a glance around the room. Cass and Damian looked unaffected. Bruce’s face said the same, but the pulse point was jumping rapidly in his throat. His hand was pressed firmly against his thigh as if to remind him that it was a physical thing that existed.

“This GIW is harmful to you?” Damian asked, sensible and unaffected. He pushed his empty yoghurt away a few inches on the tabletop. “I gather from the acronym that we are dealing with an organization rather than an individual.”

“....Yeah.” Danny gripped his knees under the table and clung to the hint of normalcy. If they were going to act like that hadn’t been weird, then maybe he was okay. “I think they’re government affiliated. They say they are. They, uh.” He cleared his throat. “They’re the Ghost Investigation Ward, but I call them the Guys in White.”

“And they are a problem because?” Damian asked crisply. Cass was watching with the full force of her formidable attention, but it wasn’t a heavy gaze. 

Danny forced himself to stop fidgeting. “Well, I might have died a little.” It came out as a question. “And they’re not sure it’s me- at least, they weren’t, but I guess that they are now.” Oof, that was hard to internalize. Of course they did. Now that they knew about Vlad, they had all the pieces to put it together. His parents had definitely put it together. The look on Mom’s face when she saw him hauling Vlad out of the lab…

He felt cold. Danny rubbed at his thighs as if that would help. 

There hadn’t been another choice. It ate at him a little bit that Danny had thrown his life away for someone he didn’t even like, but what else could he have done? Vlad was Vlad, yeah, but Danny couldn’t have left anyone there. 

Bruce had a look that Danny had never seen on him before. Intense. Focused. Dangerous. Danny instinctively pulled away from it, sitting all the way up in his chair. 

Bruce wiped it away, but the memory still sent Danny’s blood rushing. Ecto gathered in his mouth like saliva, his body readying to fight for his life. He swallowed it down with difficulty. 

“As you said,” Cass interjected. She scooted her chair a little closer to him and laid an arm along his shoulders. “Like Jason.” She rubbed at his upper arm. He leaned into her touch. 

“Like Jason,” Bruce echoed. His tone was hollow.

Danny ducked his head and missed the meaningful look that Cass shot her BatDad. 

“What are their capabilities?” Damian pushed. His dark eyes glittered when Danny looked back at him. “You clearly have invisibility and density shifting. Are they able to counter you?”

“Yeah, something like that.” Danny blinked rapidly to try to force himself to focus. This was… so weird. Someone had found out about him and he wasn’t fighting for his life. Even his friends had found out when he was actively under fire from a ghost. His nervous system didn’t know what to do with this. He cleared his throat. “They have a lot of tech, uh.” He flexed his hands. “From my parents.” He stared at the woodgrain on the table. It was probably real wood and not the heavy duty polymer that the Fenton table was made out of. “They’re not exactly competent, but there’s a lot of them, and they have had some success.”

His stomach lurched. He swallowed hard on bile. He didn’t think about what he’d found when he went after Vlad. He didn’t think about Vlad in his human form, strapped down and incisions pinned open, literal pins holding open his torso and skin layers on his arms. He didn’t think about the quietly despairing hums coming from rows of ghost cores on a shelf, neatly labeled with specimen numbers. 

“Let’s walk.” Cass hustled him up and muscled him down the hall without letting go of her comforting grip. Danny went along with it numbly. But she was kinda right. Moving shook him out of his head. The walls were changing around him, curtains and windows and framed portraits and some of Tim’s photography. They passed a room he had never seen before. Cass pushed the door open, let him look around, and then tugged him down the hall before he’d had time to do more than catalogue the novelty. 

She did that at the next door, too. Oh. An impromptu tour. The novelty of seeing new things started to drag him back to the real world, right now, which was not exactly a fight for his life.

At the third door, Danny managed, “Does anyone play that piano?”

Cass made a mysterious hum. It took her a while to unstick her tongue. “Damian can. Jason, if you ask with big eyes.” 

Danny nodded at this information. Damian did seem like the kind of person who would hone a few classic artistic skills. And Jason was manipulable, good information.

…Not that Danny would need much help there. He felt a little sheepish at how threatened he’d felt earlier when he remembered the sincerity and protectiveness he could sense from both Cass and Jason.  

“What should we do about GIW?” Cass broached the topic, as if she knew that he felt better. She probably did know. “Investigate cautiously? Destroy?” She held up two fingers to count off the ‘destroy the GIW’ options. “Horde of lawyers descend from Wayne Enterprises jet, or Justice League?”

Danny snorted. It turned into a laugh, hysterical and too long. He wiped tears away from his eyes. “Personally, I like the idea of blowing up their base,” he admitted. “But someone should rescue the test subjects first.”

“Oh?”

Cass was so weirdly easy to talk to. He leaned a little harder against her. She wasn’t a big woman, but there was something so solid about her anyway. It must be a Black Bat thing. “I left because I was getting someone out,” he admitted. “They were a lot more captives than I knew about.” He squeezed his free hand to ground himself. “I grabbed as many as I could and tossed them through the portal, but I don’t know if that was everyone or if just being home let them heal up.” 

Hell, maybe someone had come along and eaten all the helpless cores. Danny shied away from the horror of that thought. His intuition had identified the helpless ghost cores as viable ectoplasm, healing and delicious. They were scared at his approach because they sensed him, they knew they were helpless shells to crack open and lick out the sweet marrow–

Ah. Yup. He stopped in his tracks and heaved his snack onto the carpet.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Ok this is very random but how do you think Ghost would deal w an s/o who is still a virgin at a very big girl age 🥴 maybe they’d be seeing each other for a while, and when things heat up and she confesses, how would he deal? Would he be honored and accept being her first or would he reject her altogether bc she is inexperienced?

(Because I’m in my 20s and safe to say on top of everything else in my life except this, I haven’t come across anyone with whom I’d like to be intimate with yet and though I try not to let it get to me, some part of me sometimes feels like a freak or like something is wrong with me)

I hope I did not cross any boundaries or make you uncomfortable by sharing this, if I did I apologize and please feel free to delete this ❤️🕊️

Ghost x FVirgin!Reader Word count: 2,9 k Tags/warnigs: Mild smut, light angst, fluff, comfort, praise & size kink Summary: Reader tells Ghost they’re a virgin while things are about to go down. 

A/N: Oh anon!! No boundaries crossed here at all! Your request (or at least I took it as such and got inspired to write a brief oneshot about it) was very sweet. This of course is my HC but Simon would only and only take pride in being your first. He would get a huge ego boost from this and feel absolutely privileged to hear he's worthy of such trust.  I think he would want to imprint himself in your head as the best man and the best sex partner you will ever have – he would do his all to eradicate even the very thought of wanting to try others after him. Again, an ego thing, but also a desperate wish to please his partner and make them feel safe. This man screams service top to me. I think Simon has a wild side – not mean, just wild, as in he might be into rough sex and certain types of kinky stuff every now and then but only if his partner is willing. He would be very gentle and considerate (passionate as hell though), knowing you're inexperienced, he would make you feel as safe as possible and wait until you were ready and willing to explore things further.  Also, I can't help but be moved by what you told me in this message. I understand where you're coming from with these "is there something wrong with me" thoughts, because gosh, I feel you! And speaking from experience… it's 110 % worth it to wait for the right person to come along! Sex can be awesome, mind-blowing, one of the best things – with the right partner. Not worth it with just whomever, imho. Stay safe and trust yourself! And I hope you like this short drabble I made for Ghost x Virgin!Reader ❤️❤️❤️ much love 😘

Simon Riley was a one of a kind man. 

He put every guy on every dating app to shame, and not just with his size. He was manly, in a word, even if you never knew you wanted such an overly masculine man. At least, not until you met him. 

Simon was not only sturdy and mature – he was armed with calm rage and dark humor. Just one look in his eyes told you he was not the life of the party. Actually, he was Death himself: one of those four horsemen that heralded the Apocalypse.

Perhaps unintelligibly, the same man was also extremely considerate. A true gentleman if there ever was one. He always placed you and your needs first. But underneath the calm, cynical surface you sensed fierce intensity: fire and smoke, something that screamed Danger, high voltage.

And you could not keep away. Quite the opposite, really. The combination of a wildfire and a tornado roaring upon this solid bedrock of a man was simply alluring.

Things had gone a little too far without you meaning them to. You were not a woman of one night stands, actually, you had never had a stand. But Simon changed that, too. Because now you were thinking about sleeping with him. 

After years and years of waiting for someone sensible to come along, you had begun to lose hope, especially when people seemed to fuck left and right while you wanted something real.

A bedrock. 

With that wildfire. Perhaps a tornado thrown in as well.

After weeks and weeks of flirting, the man asked you out, and after weeks and weeks of going out, you came to the conclusion that if someone deserved to be your first, it was Simon Riley. If there was any guy you wished would take you against a wall until you begged for mercy, it was him. At least in your fantasies, which were starting to get out of hand.

In real life, things were not that breezy.

Because what would he say if – no, when – you told him you were a virgin at this age? What if he would be bothered, what if things would get awkward between you two? 

What if he decided you were simply too much trouble than you were worth? 

It seemed like a miracle that the guy was still around, having been left blue-balled date after date. Either he was hellbent on conquering you, or then… Well, you didn't even dare to think about or's and then's and what if's. Especially when your own feelings were getting equally out of hand as those fantasies.

He probably had plenty of experience, and the thought certainly didn't make you feel any better. How would you compare, being not only inexperienced but a whole goddamn virgin? And it would probably hurt on top of everything. This man must be pretty damn big downstairs if 6 '4 feet and large hands were any indication.

Still, all fears flew out the window in record time every time he pulled you into a kiss. Your body molded into his already: the broad shoulders closed in around you, and it only felt thrilling. His warmth, his arms and scent enveloped you like the sweetest prison, and you held onto him as tightly as you could. Not because he wasn't clutching you with the same–if not greater–fervor, but because you wanted to make sure he was real.

And you realized what the allure of Simon Riley was. 

He felt safe.

In fact, he was safe. He represented safety in all its aspects. 

Who would've thought that death and wildfire could feel so good, so reliable?

You wondered if he thought this was some game; that you kept him waiting. The unwritten rule seemed to be that it was ok not to jump into bed on the first date. If anything, it was only a decent move. But what did the rules say about the second, third or fourth date? Not to talk about tenth? 

Things were starting to resemble some prudent high school romance. Well, perhaps not prudent, the way you two practically ground against each other while making out after every date. Without being vocal about it or pressuring you in any way, you could tell he wished for things to go further. Hell, every fiber in this man begged for more. He would soon burn your clothes off simply with that searing gaze alone. 

Watching the door close on that heated stare after at least 15 minutes of wanton, wicked kissing followed by clumsy Good night's and shy, apologetic smiles just wouldn't do anymore. The poor man was left breathless and puzzled in the cold night with nothing but a hard-on and the crumbs you gave him to keep him warm. 

Things were getting ridiculous, criminally so, and you felt pity for those pants trying to keep him in confinement. You felt pity for your own soaked underwear as you climbed to a lonely bed all hot, bothered, and wet.

Which was why this evening would end with you asking him to come inside. 

.  .  .

Lately, his hands have started to roam; they even cup your ass as he moans in your mouth – and hearing that raspy, low sound leave him forces the final decision. It's the final prophecy that tells you he is the one. You should’ve known it was only a matter of time with him.

The man hides his surprise well as you invite him in.

"Thought you'd never ask," he gives you a soft chuckle before stepping over the threshold to not only your apartment but also your life and privacy. 

You barely get out of your shoes before his shadow engulfs you and strong hands lift you in his lap like you weigh nothing at all. You instinctively reach for support by clasping your hands behind his neck. 

"You really know how to torture a man, don't you?" The brown in his eyes is nearly swallowed by warm darkness as he carries you to the bedroom. 

"I'm sorry," you whisper, and he gives a short laugh of gravel.

"Don't be. This has been fun." 

He sets you down next to the bed, and your heart is thumping so bad you fear he can hear it banging against your chest. 

"But it's about time I torture you, right?"

Oh God…

Things happen so fast that it’s hard to tell who undresses who, but somehow, you find yourself standing in your bedroom with nothing but knickers and a bra on while he's taking off his pants. The man has definitely waited for this to happen for god knows how long, and it only makes your stomach lurch.

He thinks you know what you're doing, your brain offers when it should know when it’s time to shut the hell up. You can see the generous bulge this man is packing, and while perhaps compelling to other women, to you, it mainly looks intimidating. Threatening, almost.

He doesn't take his boxers off, seeing you're just standing there like some statue, still in your underwear and almost shaking from thoughts running rampant. 

His form swallows you as he steps closer; wide hands slide up your arms, then draw you against him – against that demanding pulse that gets trapped between you two. Even through the black cloth, you can tell he's thick and big, just like you feared.

The man is blazing, and seems to have grown another foot in height as he towers over you with all that muscle. His shoulders are almost the size of your head, and you already know the hand that runs down your spine is experienced in crushing windpipes. It makes you breathe in shivers, and of course he notices something is wrong.

"Everything good?" He's eager and breathless, the erection pressing against you like a threat. He’s a man who has fashioned a weapon out of himself, so it shouldn't be a surprise that everything in him speaks violence.

"Yes," you try to assure him – a lousy lie only punctuated by the audible gulp that leaves your throat as you try to swallow your nerves back down.

"You afraid…?" 

"Just a little nervous," you tell him, a half confession.

"Mm. That makes two of us." 

He draws down into a kiss, the hands of a soldier and a killer nearly drawing you up from the ground as he pulls you close. You don't really buy his claim of being nervous too: you can feel how he throbs between you, heavy and impatient. 

Hesitantly, you reach to hug him as well, and you feel so small, so insignificant when wrapped around this… giant. The knowledge that you're about to be trapped under all this crushing weight leaves you both faint and needy. 

He’s a good kisser, but as he moves to devour your neck, you start to freeze from the middle.

"Alright… Come here."

He half carries, half lays you down on the bed, then crawls between your legs and changes his tactic a little. Gentle kisses are ghosted down your throat, and soon, he's at your breasts, soft as a whisper. But as he draws the fabric of your bra aside, your nipple is caught inside a hot, wet mouth, and the wildfire surges forth. There’s no way out from under him anytime soon, and you realize the colossal body is already spreading your thighs wide. 

The way he already looks so damn good there between your legs: big, the epitome of raw, masculine power… It's almost sinful that a man like him is here with a virgin. It's a whole new hell how he's kissing you gently as fuck while blazing like a bonfire about to engulf and devour you. You want to wrap your legs around his middle, attach yourself to him in any way you can, but your thighs are weak pudding. 

You feel both lost and found with him. In him.

He sucks and kisses your breasts like they're the only thing he's here for – and it feels good, heavenly, to be honest. But then he starts to travel down.

Shit… You need to tell him – and soon, or else there will be no time to say anything before the last of the shielding fabric is gone.

"Simon…?"

"Mm-hm?" 

He doesn't even stop with the kissing, merely hums on your skin as his mouth reaches your stomach.

"You're my first," you finally force the truth into the night; a soft and desperate fact. It's only the faintest breath, but he halts abruptly like he has been stabbed between the ribs.

Great… 

Here comes the awkward.

He rises. Softly, slowly, like a shadow, just a second away from getting to what's between your legs.

"Is that so?"

His voice is hoarse and dark from arousal. The whole man is intoxicating, and your heart is hammering in your chest, both from hunger and dread.

"Yes…?" 

A broad hand comes to rest on the dip of your waist; gently, like you're some frightened animal about to dart off from under his touch. 

"Love… Are you sure you want to do this?"

Are you? You almost ask, then bite your lip.

He just called you love, something he has never done before. You can see your breasts rising with the breaths you try to calm down with sheer willpower. 

He lets out a small sigh, then crawls beside you and takes you in his arms. The bed sags and wails under his weight before your body is pulled into a delicious bear hug.

"Sweetheart."

His voice is so smooth, so different from the intense, rough smoke that has followed you up until this point that you feel vehement tears burn your eyes. First love, and now, sweetheart…

"There's no need to rush things," he says while keeping you close. Ever the gentleman, but you fear that you've ruined everything.

"We haven't exactly been rushing," you mutter somewhere in the plates of his chest. You both feel and hear how another sigh travels up his throat and is breathed into the crown of your head.

"Now… listen to me, ok? I've wanted you ever since we met. Can't deny it. But the last thing I want is to force you to do something you don’t wanna do."

You squeeze your eyes shut from what he says. Ever since you met… You can remember the lingering gazes, the way his eyes lit up with something hopeful and pure, how it drove away the exhaustion that seemed to have made a home in this big, brooding man. You remember how he stole a few stares up and down your body, too; remember the hunger he never even tried to conceal – not until now.

He is the most enthralling being you have ever seen, a mystery and a force of nature, an indomitable man, and to say that you haven't thought about him that way ever since too would be a lie.

"But I want it," you look up at him slowly, feeling much safer now that he's holding you like this.

I want you.

You realize you're pouting when the warm look in his eyes gains a playful glint as he laughs softly.

"You want it?"

"Yes."

That little twinkle turns into a downright gleam as he looks at you like you're the most adorable thing he has ever seen.

“You want it with me?”

“Yes.”

"How much do you want it?" The charred voice is so soft now: it washes over you in generous waves. His hands keep you in safe custody – and you're the most willing prisoner there ever has been.

"Pretty badly?" You breathe into the air between you and see the corner of his mouth tug.

"Well, in that case…" His hand sweeps down your back and comes to reside on the swell of your hip. "I'm glad I'm here to help."

Pale eyelashes drop to your lips just before he kisses you again. You arch in his arms, like a flower leaning towards sunlight; your mouth, your whole being unfurls under his leadership. He rolls partly on top of you, then moves to kiss you all over as you lie on your back: he kisses your chin and neck, your collarbones and the hollow little crevice between them. The hand on your hip brushes down your thigh, then back up, up, until his fingers meet the folds already soaked through the fabric of your underwear. 

His touch is soft, but gains more weight as he sweeps slowly up, then brushes a thumb over the exact location of your clit.

"Oh–" 

He knows what he's found, even without the evidence of your voiceless shake of a breath. He brushes another stroke over it, and it doesn't matter that you still have your undies on – you can feel his weight, the gentle pressure he applies as he draws a circle to usher another soft moan out of you.

"You like that?"

"Mhm," is the only thing you are able to answer.

"That's it…" he cheers you on with calm assurance. "Gonna make you feel good. And that's a promise."

You catch a hint of ego in that promise, but there's something else, too. A fervent devotion, a bottomless need to please you no matter what. The right man, definitely: not someone who is only after their own satisfaction. You don't exactly need the answer anymore, but you ask the final, burning question nonetheless.

"Simon?"

"Speak your mind, love."

"Are you disappointed…?"

He stops again, a breath away from you. 

"Disappointed?" He sounds quite shocked, almost appalled. "...Disa–"

He huffs, then reaches to cup your face. You raise your eyes to his and see that he's…ardent, and very, very serious.

"Love, I'm honored."

You can only blink at the solemn vow, and he slowly shakes his head.

"Silly little thing…" 

It's something he muses almost to himself before he drags his fingers over your sternum and down your stomach, reverently, like you're a piece of precious porcelain. But the heat in his eyes is back, and your fingers curl to grasp a fistful of sheet as his hand disappears underneath the cloth, when he finally touches you with nothing in between.

You suppose it's his middle finger that sweeps over your clit this time, then slips between your folds without effort. It coaxes your thighs open to give him better access, and access he has: he curls the finger until it almost dips inside. Your lips part with a quiet sigh as your chin climbs toward the ceiling.

"Look at that… All wet and sweet for me already."

The way you expose your neck is like an invitation: he buries his face in your neck, tries to drown in the scent and feel of you while gliding across the wetness down below. He spreads moisture on the tight bud, and you jerk a little from how sensitive it is – he huffs a smile in your ear. It makes you release the sheet and reach out to grasp him by the neck, to make him stay precisely where he is, close like this, so close…

"Do ya even know how bloody sweet you are?"

The last of your wits make a vanishing act as he breathes more praise on your skin. You're languid in his arms, feeling both weightless and heavy, like you're sinking into the mattress, and then his hand moves lower; one thick finger is plunged slowly inside. 

Oh God oh God–

You feel him, all of him, filling and spreading you. And it's not enough… not nearly enough.

"We'll take it nice and slow, alright?" He whispers in your ear, and you tighten around him like on command. "Got all night to make a mess of you. That sound good?"

You can't help it: your lips draw into a smile when thinking about all the things he will do to you, all the sweet things you've always waited to happen. 

"Yes."

[lotussuns]

Just let me do this. G. Satoru

Warnings: shameless smut, penetrative sex, fingering, reader has a pussy, she/her pronouns used, cum play, dirty talk, mostly praise but some degradation as well, some religious undertones? i guess. Some dom/sub undertones

Word Count: 1,5k

Gojo loved playing with your pretty pussy. He loved the texture, the warm and wet feeling on his fingers, he loved the taste, the smell, everything. Most of all though, he loved doing it to satisfy his selfish needs - whether it be after a particularly rough session of fucking, or in the middle of watching a movie, he loved teasing you to the point of tears. He preferred you pliant, soft, needy. Just like you were acting now.

Your body was still shaking after an earth-shattering orgasm, you were trying to catch your breath while Gojo held up a glass of cold water for you.

“Here baby, drink.” He said while bringing it to your lips and soothingly stroking your back. “You did so well for me, baby. Made me feel so good.” He murmured into your damp hair that he brushed back.

You finished your glass in one go, pulling away from him and laying straight on your back to calm the erratic beating of your heart. Fuck did you love him, but Gojo was starting to drive you insane. The marks he left on your body would surely be spotted by your friends tomorrow at the planned get-together, and you’ve had enough of Suguru’s incessant teasing, especially when Satoru was around. Not to mention, you will be walking funny tomorrow if you let your sensible side get lost again and fuck Gojo first thing in the morning. But it was hard thinking clearly while he was on your side, it was as if the spell he cast on you all those years when you met didn’t fade away at all. Not that Gojo’s devotion to you didn’t grow exponentially either.

Your lover’s voice brought you back to earth again, and at first, you didn’t pay enough attention to know what he was saying which caused him to smirk boyishly.

“Did I fuck your brains out, princess? Seems like my dick rearranged your insides so hard I gave you a concussion.” He laughed while manhandling your body into his desired position. You meant to go pee actually, but now it was as good as impossible with how two strong arms circled round your torso and brought your back closer to his muscular chest. God, he was so hot.

“Shut up, don’t piss me off, Toru. I don’t have the energy to kick your ass.” You mumbled ignoring his obscene comments. In response, he started peppering your back with kisses, some small and innocent while others were wet and open-mouthed. That’s Gojo Satoru for you.

His hands started traveling further down your soft tummy, resting on your tights that were still littered with “proof of his uttermost love and devotion.” as he called it. You knew where this was heading immediately after he traced shapes down your soft body, and you didn’t have to wait long until his skilled fingers started playing with your sloppy cunt.

“Satoru.” You said breathlessly, partially hiding your face in the pillows.

In response, one of his hands steadily grabbed your squishy thigh and placed it on his body to give him more access to your needy cunt, securing it there with his hand. “What is it, baby? I just want to play for a little bit.” He whispered into your ear. “You’ll be a good girl and let me, right? You know how I love touching her, just a little bit, okay.” He kissed the shell of your ear.

“She needs to know who she belongs to.” He said before starting his ministrations

Gojo started playfully, not even wanting to get you off, with one finger slowly dipping between your lips. He could feel his warm cum that slowly started to seep back out, even after he fucked it inside you repeatedly. The feelings of your combined releases on his finger made his softened cock twitch and he bit his lip in order to stop the whine that threatened to fall from his lips. He continued tracing his cum soiled fingers up your pussy, mischievously nudging your swollen clit causing you to let out a small moan.

“Good girl.” He praised knowing you got weak in the knees at the pet name. “ I won’t torture you too much this time, I promise, doll.” He said in a hushed tone and you knew fully that he was lying. You could tell by the first letter he was shaping into your overstimulated cunt - G.

After he was satisfied with that, he dipped back into your filled hole and repeated the motion with O, while you were left clenching around nothing. It was incredibly intimate, being claimed that way, with his cum, his name, his touch. And he knew it got you going almost as much as him, he knew you loved it when he took you like this - gently yet with intention.

J was the letter you hated and loved the most. When you felt his skilled fingers slowly move up to your clit to perfectly place the dot on top of it, your whole body shuddered at the direct stimulation. He continued to press on the little nub, tracing small circles into it, not showing an ounce of care for your worn-out body. His movements speed up while he bit and sucked on your neck, losing himself in the feeling and grinding his half-hard cock between your asscheeks.

“Shh, just let it go, baby, let me claim this cunt like she’s begging me to do. She loves being treated like this, like my pretty cumdump.” He praised sweetly. His grip on your thigh tightened and his hips sped up slightly.

“Come on slut. Don’t make it repeat myself. Fucking cum.” He growled into your ear and slapped your clit once before continuing his abuse on your poor button. That was enough to have you gushing, pushing the rest of his cum out of your spent hole while you continued to clench around nothing. Your eyes rolled back into your skull, while your mouth opened slightly into the perfect O shape.

“F-fuck yesss. ” He groaned, biting his lip while looking at you. His cock shot out small droplets of cum, which surprised Gojo, he was expecting to be shooting blanks by now, with how much he came inside you just minutes prior.

“Yes, baby, yess. I’m so proud of you, knew your sensitive pussy would still handle this. I love you, I love you, I love you.” He babbled between kisses while slowing down his movements to help you ride out your orgasm.

“Look what you’re doing to me baby, driving me insane. I can never let go of you, fuck, I cannot live without this, without you by my side. Will kill anyone who ever tries to get between us.” He continued, that last part was a bit uncalled for but Gojo always spoke from his heart after a good nut.

Your blue-eyed prince repeated the movements of his fingers, for the umpteenth time, almost religiously in the way he seemed to worship your cunt like a priest handling the holiest of artifacts. When his fingers met your wet and pulsing entrance he audibly moaned and dipped his finger in to collect your wetness.

“Just one more, princess, one more.” He whispered while kissing you softly in appreciation that you were still letting him do this after your orgasm left you gasping, small tears running down your cheeks.

“Mhm, love you, Toru.” You babbled, so far into subspace not fully understanding what you were saying. Feeling lost in his touch.

He softly pumped his finger thrice for good measure, and finally traced his perfectly manicured finger into the last letter of his last name. He purposefully avoided your clit this time, satisfied with the outcome.

Well partially, he was thinking of eating your pussy out after writing his full name and making you go completely braindead, but he will save it for another time. He was rough on you before, making you finish on his cock so many times both he and you lost count. In his defense, it was impossible to do it any other way, he wanted to devour you whole, show you why he was the closest thing to a god a man could possibly be. He would give you the world if you asked nonchalantly about it, how could he control himself around you in any way? With a goddess like you by his side.

“I’m done now, sweetheart. Thank you so much.” He said as he gently moved you on the bed and kissed the valley between your breasts, his crystal eyes following every move of your chest to make sure you were okay. “Let’s get you cleaned up, you need to pee.” He stated before picking your limp body in his strong embrace.

You left a few kisses on his damp chest, loving the salty taste on your lips. “Yes, I would like that. I love you so much.” You mumbled with your eyes closed, still not fully out of your headspace, knowing he would take care of you like he always does.

[kacievvbbbb]

I just know Crocodile brought on Mihawk because he thought he would be sensible, calm and collected, low maintenance. He thought it was going to be them against the idiocy that is buggy. And it is to a degree.

What he failed to calculate is that Mihawk is just as bad as buggy.

Worse even because at least Buggy can be bullied into doing paperwork. I just know everyday Crocodile is astonished by the absolute commitment Mihawk has to his aesthetic. Walks into his tent just to find that he has somehow converted this circus ass tent into a mid century gothic castle. Somehow carpeted the whole thing end to end is burning more that a 100 candles for “mood lighting”, has a fully open fire pit and a sewing machine in the corner.

Like Crocodiles essentially a mafioso he can appreciate the wanting nice things. Still won’t prepare him for the day Mihawk’s brings him a wine budget, a tailoring budget and an embroidery budget all painstakingly itemized.

Won’t prepare him for having to replace every single wine glass because buggy drank out of one and he can’t break up a set but refuses to use a cup that buggy’s put his mouth on.

He’s starting to think that the real reason the Warlords were disbanded was because they simply could not afford to pay for Mihawk’s upkeep anymore and decided they’d rather pay in cadet lives than see one more wine budget.

He is essentially being held hostage, in his own guild, by the whims of a bored middle aged vampire, and a fucking clown.

[lovinpelova]

babylove | j. fleming

summary; jessie interacts with a younger fan in front of you and you realise how much you want a baby with her. [SMUT]

🎵 baby by me - 50 cent

ever since chelsea won the fa cup against manchester united, jessie had started coming out of her shell a bit more. it wasn't a lot but it was certainly noticeable. she was saying yes to going places she normally wouldn't want to even think about, interacting with fans more often with longer conversations and started telling her stylist to go bolder with her outfits whenever there was an upcoming event.

still high off the recent win, you and jessie couldn't have been in a happier place with your relationship three years down the line, both playing for chelsea after she moved to your childhood club just after she asked you to be her girlfriend meant you moved quite fast with your relationship and had been living together since. you still weren't married but spoke about it often, as well as having children together, so every time jessie even looked at a baby in the crowd of your games you were swooning with how she'd interact.

that brings you to right now, watching on with guro and niamh as she carefully takes a fans child out of their arms and poses for a picture with the baby, deciding to hold onto her for a couple more moments as she started asking her if she enjoyed the game and if she was her favourite player. when she handed the baby back to her parents she noticed her older brother looking up at her in awe and the way he almost had tears in his eyes, laughing as he turned around to show off his 'fleming' chelsea jersey before deciding to take hers off and give it to him.

she calmed him down from crying fairly quickly to not cause a scene or upset him any further, promising him that if he came to your next home game she'd give him her boots and get a 'fleming' jersey for his baby sister. the mother thanked her gratefully over and over again, jessie placing her hand on her shoulder to calm her down as she stated it was no bother before saying goodbye to the boy and his little sister, jogging back to you, guro and niamh with a massive grin on her face.

"this world doesn't deserve you jess."

niamh commented as guro hummed in agreement, yourself too startstruck at how well she managed that whole situation to even comprehend the conversation that was going on in front of you. you knew jessie was good with kids after how you saw her acting with your nephew one day but you didn't know she was that good with kids- and you'd be lying right now if you said you weren't extremely attracted to it.

the thought of having kids with jessie and her being able to act comfortably and sensibly around them was driving you wild, unable to wait until you got home any longer so you could tell her how you felt and see her reaction.

"c'mon, lets get home."

guro dragged you to the changing rooms as she saw you were still zoned out thinking about jessie jessie jessie, still stuck on those thoughts when you got changed and showered, ate quickly before meeting her at your car and kissed her hello, whilst she was driving you both home and when you were relaxing on the couch together. you couldn't get enough of it, replaying the interaction again and again and again and imagining she was acting like that with your kids instead of a fans.

"you okay baby?"

your girlfriend asked as she looked down to see you zoning out again, pausing the movie that was playing on the tv in front of you to gain your attention. she'd noticed how distant you were acting immediately after the game, opting to stand and stare at the ground in your own thoughts instead of join in on the conversation with niamh and guro, taking note of how quiet you were during the ride home too.

"yeah. m'fine. perfect, a-okay. you?"

the canadian scoffed at your emphasis on how you were feeling, tone of voice not matching the description of your emotions as she raised her eyebrows at you in suspicion.

"mhm. sure you are,"

she teased to gain your full attention, internally grinning once your eyes finally met hers.

"what's been goin' on in that pretty little head of yours? you've been spacin' out all night."

you groaned and threw your head back at how observant jessie was, cursing her quiet nature for the only time you've ever wanted her to not be so watchful. knowing she'd already caught you out and it was too late to deny her study of your behaviour, you had no option but to tell her what you were thinking about.

"when you were talking to that kid and his little sister earlier on i found it cute. i was just imagining you talking to our kids like that when we eventually do get married and have our own."

you heard the midfielder hum in acknowledgement of your words, nodding her head alongside it with a small smile protruding at the idea of having children with you.

"but then- i dunno how to put it."

you sighed in exasperation whilst running a hand over your face in embarrassment, jessie reaching to hold your thigh gently with a comforting rub of her thumb.

"no judgement, remember?"

you closed your eyes with a scrunched up expression, still far too embarrassed to even look her in the eye as you thought about how to word it in a way that wouldn't be weird.

"um, i started thinking about you and me- and what you would say to me during sex if you were actually able to get me pregnant."

rushing out the last bit of your sentence, jessie grinned down at you as she finally processed what you meant, immediately knowing you'd just confessed to having a breeding kink.

"yeah? what was i saying babygirl?"

she asked softly whilst leaning into your ear, pressing a kiss under it before leaving a trail of soft and slow pecks down your pulse point to rile you up. the canadian quickly withdrew her lips and looked into your eyes when you turned your head towards hers, nodding her head encouragingly in a silent way of telling you it was okay to say what you were thinking of because you were in a safe space. you took a deep breath to compose yourself from how she'd just affected you, gathering all the ideas you had in your head to make sense of them so they weren't just floating about in seperate fantasies.

"you're using the..."

"strap?"

jessie finished for you, knowing how shy you could get at moments like these. no matter what she was always the more dominant one in these situations, you fell into your shell and jessie came out of hers, it was the perfect balance to have a taste of what the other experienced on a daily basis.

"mhm. and you're saying that you wanna get me pregnant 'n you can't wait to see how i'll look carrying your babies. stuff like that."

your girlfriend immediately knew what you meant by 'stuff like that' and she smirked at it, not letting you grow shy again by standing up quickly and picking you up with her, walking with you in her arms towards your bedroom as she initiated a sloppy kiss. you felt her stop just before the bed to search for something in the bedside drawer until she found it, smiling against your lips when she tossed it on the bed beside you as she crawled on top of you. jessie leaned up to take off her shirt and watched you do the same, trailing her kisses down your neck to leave marks along the swell of your breasts as she unclipped your bra and threw it behind her carelessly, latching her mouth onto your chest to suck pleasurably with the occasional bite to tease.

her left hand began to massage your free breast softly as her right one pulled your thigh around her waist so she could start grinding into you, groaning against the hickeys she'd quickly made when you dug your nails into her back and bicep and softly moaned out her name. jessie pulled away and began moving further down, feeling your hand cup her face and tug her towards your lips as she followed your command to kiss you again before she could even think about going any lower. happy with the way you were moaning into her mouth she pulled down your joggers and underwear alongside her own shorts, leaving you completely bare and herself in underwear as she blindly felt about for the strap beside her.

having to break apart to see where it was, she turned her head to find it and begin putting it on whilst your lips trailed eagerly down her neck, leaving marks in your own wake as payback for the painful ones she left on your chest earlier. the canadian finally put it on right and moved her head towards yours in a heated kiss, one hand grabbing the strap and rubbing the tip over your heat to gather your arousal, playfully slapping your needy clit a couple times to hear you moan her name out or whine as she smirked cockily.

"are you still wanting this?"

the immediate switch made you melt for a moment as she asked for consent one last time, loving how she always ensured you were one-hundred percent in until the last minute.

"so bad jess."

your girlfriend kissed you softly with one hand beside you to support herself, the other guiding her strap into you as you moaned gently at the intrusion, one hand gripping her waist and the other on her shoulder. it didn't take long for her to bottom out inside you, your legs wrapping around her waist as her hand moved to grip your thigh in response when she started moving at your silent prompt. jessie thrusted into you slowly at first, beginning with shallow strokes to get you used to the feeling of it before you whined at not getting enough attention to feel pleasurable anymore, starting to pick up her pace and depth.

"feel good baby?"

she questioned whilst bottoming out, pulling back a second later to push back in as forcefully as possible to earn a moan from you with your head thrown back, nails digging into her skin wherever you could find it.

"need more jess."

"what, you want more than my kids? you not grateful for how i'm about to fuck them into you?"

a pornographic moan left your lips whilst jessie grabbed your chin with one of her hands, tilting your head to look into her eyes so you had no option but to fully take in what she was saying. her hips picked up their pace as she began fucking you roughly, deciding that making love was not how she was going to go about this newly found kink.

"you gonna answer me or just sit there and look pretty whilst i get you pregnant?"

"no! i want your kids jess!"

your legs tightened around her waist to pull her hips in deeper, jessie pushing one leg further away to get a new angle as she began grunting with the sheer force she was exerting onto your core.

"can tell by how tight you're squeezin' me- fuck baby. gonna fuckin' take all my cum aren't you?"

"want you to cum inside me jess."

you begged, biting your lip at the growl jessie let out as you moaned uncontrollably. your girlfriend wasn't the worst at dirty talk, she just was always opting to praise you instead of saying what she wanted to do to you- but this was a whole new territory and it was working way faster to get you off.

"yeah? you want my kids inside you that bad? you feel me here, hm?"

jessie took your hand and placed it on your stomach with her hips pistoning into you, pressing down so you could feel the bulge of her strap as she grinned when you let out a moan at the feeling of her pushing into it.

"feel how deep i am baby?"

"yea- so deep-"

"that's how deep imma cum inside you, yea? make sure you get all my cum- gonna make you a mommy. how's that sound?"

you nodded your head continuously as jessie moved her hand from resting on yours, kissing your collarbone when you kept pushing down on the bulge since you knew she'd want you to, her digits rubbing over your clit to drive you towards your high.

"gonna make you my wife first, gonna look so pretty when i fuck your brains out every night on our honeymoon- then i'm gonna keep fuckin' you every day when we get back so you can't walk. gonna be full of my kids babygirl, wanna get you pregnant so bad."

"fuck jess! i'm cumming baby- please cum inside me!"

"such a pretty mommy."

jessie mumbled thoughtlessly into your neck as you came around her, hips working overtime as she moaned occasionally at the feeling of you coming undone so hard your legs were shaking around her waist. (judging by the way she was grinding into you when your orgasm subsided, she had formed a breeding kink too.) the canadian slowly pulled out of you and kissed you in apology when you whimpered at the loss of contact, tiredly watching her take off the strap and throw it onto the floor to deal with later on before rolling onto her back beside you and welcoming the cuddles you wordlessly requested.

"that was so hot."

you mumbled into her neck as you both chuckled, jessie nodding her head whilst you caught your breath together.

"i think i enjoyed that more than you."

"you better make me your wife and mother of your children by the way."

the canadian kissed your forehead sweetly as she pulled you closer, knowing what she said wasn't a lie, it had just came out in the spur of the moment.

"i wouldn't want anything else."

[abyssruler]

plausible deniability

scaramouche x gn!reader

your boyfriend is nice, your boyfriend is sweet, but your boyfriend is also a serial killer. “relax, it’s just a dead body,” he tells you like he hadn’t just hit a man on the head with a brick hard enough to crack his skull. well, at least he did it to defend you? or — scaramouche kills people and you have the world’s biggest ‘i can fix him’ complex. (modern au)

crack, comedy, a few people die but who cares, scara is soft for one person and one person only and that’s you, “i would kill for you, in fact, i have killed for you.” “honey, did you take your meds today?” - scara and reader

You were never a fan of true crime documentaries, or horror movies, or gory shows, or anything that involved excessive blood spraying and lightless eyes staring into the camera.

So, it would stand to reason that at the first sign of your boyfriend being more than into those kinds of things, you would’ve turned tail and ran as far away as you can, right?

Unfortunately, you’ve always been blind to the color red.

…Figurative red, that is, because the red seeping through your couch and the ones coated on your boyfriend’s hands are definitely visible to you, bright and dripping and most definitely staining your pristine white rugs that you just bought last week. Ah, how are you going to explain that to the laundry lady?

“Scara, honey, what did I say about killing other people?” you ask, voice visibly strained.

He sneers at the face of the dead guy sitting haphazardly on your couch. “I didn’t like the way he was looking at you.”

You sigh.

✧

It wasn’t always like this, with the whole blood viscera happy-murder thing.

Your boyfriend, Scaramouche, had this odd habit of being so immersed in the news, a little smile lighting up his face (which you’d thought was cute at the time and, well, you still do) whenever the reporter gets to the local murders that used to have you shaking in fear on your bed.

He was charming though. A little possessive, but that was a trait you also thought was quite endearing—and, if you’re being honest, you still do. Scaramouche had a vast collection of sharp knives, some small and practically harmless (or as harmless as a knife can be) and others… not so harmless. You didn’t question it because he often cooked for you, your brain chalking it up to him using those knives for it.

It wasn’t until you were walking home alone from university that you discovered his little hobby of, well, killing people who inconvenienced you and him. Mostly people who inconvenienced you though, which was disturbing but also flattering in a crazy sort of way.

“Relax, it’s just a dead body,” he told you like he hadn’t just hit a man on the head with a brick hard enough to crack his skull.

You were cowering on the alley’s wall, eyes wide and knees shaking as you watched your supposedly nice and caring boyfriend wipe away the blood on his hand like it’s a normal occurrence. And when he grinned down at the body, something almost satisfied in his eyes, you realized that he was the cause for all the recent murders popping up in the city.

Now, the thing about this is that you should have run away screaming bloody murder, maybe call the cops or even do the sensible thing like break up with your boyfriend who’s apparently a psycho.

And you would have done it, if he just hadn’t been so… so…

He turned to you with concern shining in his eyes, stepping over the corpse of the man who’d pointed a pocket knife at you and tried to rob you. With hands still slicked with blood, he cradled your face and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “It’s a good thing you weren’t hurt.”

…sweet.

And as he pulled you away from the crime scene, dragging you home and running a hot bath for you both, asking you what you wanted for dinner like he hadn’t just murdered someone in front of you, you finally calmed down and saw the truth of the matter.

Yes, your boyfriend is quite possibly a serial killer, yes, you might just be making the worst decision of your life, and yes, you’re well aware this is because of all the wattpad bad boy stories you consumed when you were young, but you’ll be damned if you let Scaramouche go. He was kind (at least, to you he is), he was charming (when he wanted to be), he was a great cook, he was good with kids and the elderly, he was smart, and finally, he would never cheat on you.

So, while there might be the unfortunate addition of him being a little too happy with the idea of killing someone (have, in fact, killed someone, multiple someones at that), he was also the perfect boyfriend you could ask for. He just needs a little guidance, is all.

The next day, he proudly showed you the severed hand of a man who once made you cry because he groped you.

…Okay, a lot of guidance, but you can manage, you’ve read tons of bad boy turns good after falling in love type of stories. How difficult can it be to have your murderous boyfriend change his ways?

✧

Quite difficult, as it turns out.

A quick google on why people become murderers brought up a lot of questions and concerns for you, and while you’re well aware that google isn’t exactly the most reliable place when it comes to looking for advice, it’s also the only place you can go to without getting arrested for assisted murder—even though you’ve never actually helped Scaramouche when he goes all ham crazy on the general populace.

You sit him down on your couch, which was now free of blood thanks to google’s advice and good ol’ handy-dandy hydrogen peroxide.

Like this, facing each other and holding his hands, it almost seems like an actual, legitimate therapy session, minus the whole licensed psychiatrist thing. But hey, you’ve read tons of articles on the internet, so while you may be lacking in some aspects (namely, the fact that you don’t have any idea what you’re doing and aren’t qualified at all to be your crazy boyfriend’s therapist), you’re confident you can just wing it.

“Baby,” you start. Calling him endearments was an advice you picked up from reddit. A kind user named ballz3000 said that referring to them sweetly using innocent pet names can make them softer and calm their homicidal tendencies. “You know I don’t like it when you bring home dead bodies.”

According to another user named yn-yournuts, being open and communicating your feelings is the first step to establishing a healthy relationship and, consequently, a better mental state.

“It would’ve been difficult hiding the body at daytime,” he grouches, but he still keeps a gentle hold on your hands, which is a good thing. Baby steps, you tell yourself, baby steps—even though those baby steps might as well be called snail steps, wait, snail slithers.

“Then you should’ve waited until it was dark or midnight to kill him,” comes your immediate response—wait, damn it! You’re supposed to encourage him to steer away from murder, not give him advice on how to do it better. Smiling, you attempt to salvage the situation, “But, of course, it would be better to not kill anyone at all.”

It’s too late. He’s already donning a contemplative look on his face that soon turns into a grin, leaning in and briefly slotting his lips against yours.

“Thanks for the suggestion. I’ll be more careful next time, love,” is all he says before getting up and abruptly ending your impromptu therapy session.

And admittedly, there must be something wrong with you too, because instead of being horrified at his words, you giggle to yourself.

This is the first time he called you love!

✧

Alright, so operation therapy failed, it’s now time to charge in like a boar. Straightforwardness is always good according to that one article you found in google made by Hugh G. Bawles.

The two of you were in bed, the lights already turned off, when you took a deep breath and began preparing what you were going to say to him to prevent any more innocent people being killed.

Scara, I don’t like it when you kill people.

Baby, don’t show me anymore dead body parts.

Why did you become a murderer?

Sometimes, I feel like we’re a normal couple, but then you’ll suddenly go and casually bring me a bloody finger as a gift.

But instead of saying any of those, what comes out of your mouth is,

“Darling, I think you’re just confusing your constipation for homicidal urges.”

In hindsight, maybe attempting to start a heart to heart talk in the middle of the night just before a morning class was a bad idea.

You wait a few seconds, then minutes, and when he showed no signs of responding, you turn your head only to find him with his eyes closed and sound asleep.

Fine, you’ll just have to try again tomorrow.

✧

You share exactly one class with Scaramouche and it’s philosophy. Unfortunately, it’s also the class with the worst professor known to mankind.

“Ah, I got a low grade…” you mutter to yourself, looking down at your essay forlornly.

Your boyfriend takes one peak at your paper and immediately scowls. “You spent an entire night writing that.” He turns a glare to the professor currently ignorant of the murderer sitting in his class. “That asshole should’ve given you a perfect score. Maybe I should give him a little visit.”

You calmly take his hand under the table and squeeze it, all too used to him casually alluding to killing other people. “Dear, we talked about this. What do we do when we’re having homicidal thoughts?”

He looks down the table, brows furrowed in a sulking manner. “Don’t do it.”

You beam, proud at him for remembering the one thing you keep reminding him whenever he brings a dead body back to your house.

The blonde twins seated in front of you turn their head in horror after overhearing your conversation.

“What are you looking at?” Scaramouche sneers at the same time you say, “We’re roleplaying.”

“Right…” the long haired twin you distinctly remember was named Aether mumbles before he ushers his sister to ignore the two of you.

Oh well, at least you managed to stop one person from dying today. User tojiscrustysock on twitter always says you should take whatever victories you can, so you’ll consider this a resounding success.

✧

When you open the news next morning, the face of your professor is the first thing you see along with the words, found dead near his home.

You turn to your boyfriend sitting beside you, an innocent look on his face as you look at him with disappointment.

“My hand slipped,” is the flimsy excuse he settles for.

Sighing and utterly out of options, you’re forced to resort to the one thing you didn’t want to do. The worst possible option there is. If there’s going to a therapist and potentially getting arrested kind of worst, there’s this kind of worst—the absolute worst of the worst.

“Scara, I think we need to start doing yoga.”

word count: 1.8k

[pulisicsgirl]

favorite t-shirt - christian pulisic

summary: after an afternoon spent together, the rain forces Christian and Y/N into a startlingly domestic evening, and he’s not quite sure how to handle himself

pairing: Christian Pulisic x reader

word count: 2.3k

warnings/tags: established relationship, new relationship, Christian being the nervous little introvert that he is, tooth-rotting fluff

requested: no

song inspo: “Favorite T-Shirt” by Jake Scott

notes: happy fic-versary!!! Exactly one year ago today, I posted my first fic on this account so I wanted to do just a little something for it. I haven’t written for Christian in a bit but I figure it was only right to go back to my roots with a lilte fluffy piece for him to celebrate the occasion!! ☺️ This is an idea I’ve had for quite some time, so I hope I did it justice! Feedback is always appreciated!! Also, I don’t know what kind of car Christian has, but for the sake of the fic, please pretend it’s some sort of SUV

“You ready?” Christian, looked over at you, eyebrows drawn upward in anticipation of your answer. He leaned slightly into the center console of his car, leaning closer to you as a grin of child-like glee washes over his features. The little crinkles by his eyes made your heart flutter in your chest.

You only nodded in return, lips pursed as you tried (in vain) to hold back your smile. You rested your hand on the handle of the car door, watching as Christian did the same, not breaking eye contact with you as he did so.

“Three…” he began counting, and your heart leapt at the silliness of it all.

“Two..” he continued, and you wiggled in your seat as you prepared yourself to jump out of the car.

“One! Make a run for it!” he shouted, flinging the car door open and leaping from his seat. You followed suit, stepping out into the torrential downpour of rain. It was the kind of rain that made it difficult to see anything more than 20 feet in front of you, and you felt the fabric of your shirt become soaked immediately as the raindrops hit it.

You giggled at the fact that, rather than sprinting to the front door to preserve his own clothes, Christian was waiting for you as you rounded the front of the car, his hand outstretched for you to take. You quickly did so, and the two of you ran up the winding sidewalk toward the front door of his home.

However, you hadn’t accounted for the rain-slicked concrete, and as the two of you rounded the sharp corner, your shoe slid, losing traction and sent you flying to the ground. Thankfully, your momentum carried you into the grass, your landing soft as you hit the ground.

A hearty laugh broke from your lips, the kind that shook your whole body. You only found humor in the fall, no longer able to hold in the glee that seemed to be filling up your entire body after the perfect day you’d had.

Though Christian’s mind had filled with worry as soon as he felt your hand slip from his, he was relieved as he saw you laughing from your spot in the grass.

Ever the sensible one, Christian slipped your phone from your pocket (since you had decided to leave everything else in the car to save it from the rain) and tossed it, along with his phone, wallet, and keys under the shelter of the front porch and ran back out to help you to your feet.

When you had calmed your laughter, you opened your eyes, looking above you to see Christian standing over your body. He had a foot on either side of you as he stared down at you incredulously, an amused smile on his face. He held his hand out for you to take, helping you to your feet.

As you stood before him, Christian pulls your hands, that were still in his, up and over his shoulders so that you would wrap them around his neck. He dropped his arms to wrap them around your waist, pulling your body fully into his as the rain continued to pour around you.

The two of you couldn’t stop smiling as you just stood there, soaked, a bit cold, and taking each other in. You admired his features, and he only seemed more beautiful with the raindrops falling down his cheeks. You reached a hand up to the top of his head, running your fingers through his curls that had grown more prominent as the rain wetted them.

You couldn’t help yourself from cradling his jaw in both of your hands, pulling his face toward you as you connected your lips in a gentle kiss, feeling the cold raindrops splashing on your cheeks as you pressed yourself even closer to him.

Kissing him felt like a breath of fresh air.

The kiss was only broken a shiver ran its way up your spine, the cold rain chilling your bones.

Christian grinned down at you. “Come on,” he spoke, kissing both of your cheeks, your nose, and then your forehead before grabbing your hand. “Let’s get inside.”

The two of you ran to his front door, seeking the warmth of the indoors, and you stumbled quickly to his bathroom. You pulled two towels out of a cabinet, handing one to him as you both attempted to soak up some of the water that had seeped into your clothes.

As you were attempting to squeeze the water out of your hair, Christian mumbled something about getting a change of clothes and left the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

The day had been nothing short of perfect. Christian had let you know the week prior that he had a day off and wanted to take you on a picnic— nothing extravagant, just the two of you, in a scenic area he had discovered not long after moving to Milan, spending time together and getting to catch up. Your relationship with him was fairly new, and Christian jumped at every opportunity he had to just spend some quiet time with you, talking and getting to know you better.

The whole plan had been perfect— that is, until it started sprinkling when you were about 15 minutes from your destination. Christian sighed, swearing up and down that he had double- and triple-checked the forecast for rain. Your reassurance to him that it would probably pass quickly proved to be false when, as Christian parked the car, the rain had only increased in its intensity.

Christian’s sigh of disappointment was unmistakable— his shoulders were slumped as he mumbled an apology for “driving you all the way out here for nothing” and he reached his hand up to the gear shift to drive away.

But you had stopped him with a hand on his bicep, instead crawling over the seats into his trunk. The sound of the rain grew significantly louder when you pulled the handle and opened the door to the trunk, gesturing for Christian to join you as you laid out the blankets that he had packed for the two of you

The next few hours were spent feeding each other bits of the food he had packed, talking about everything from your family, to his transfer over the summer and how he was adjusting, to the ideas you had recently had for new decorations in your apartment. The sound of rain and occasional thunder accompanied your conversation in the background the entire time. It was truly the perfect afternoon with him.

It all left a funny feeling of warmth in your chest, despite the cold, wet clothes you were peeling off of your body now. When you had stripped down to only your underwear, you heard a knock on the door of the bathroom.

You opened it, peeking around the side of the door so that your half-naked body was still shielded from sight, and found Christian standing there in only a pair of sweatpants that hung low on his hips. He had clearly run the towel through his hair, the ends sticking up on various directions. Your tummy couldn’t help but flutter at the sight of him.

He held his hands up to you, holding a neatly folded stack of clothes and quietly muttered “these are for you.”

You took them from him, noting the plaid fabric resting on top of the stack.

“I didn’t have anything else, so I figured you could wear a pair of my boxers until your clothes are dry.”

You felt the heat rise to your face, knowing your cheeks sported the same pink blush that Christian’s currently did.

“Thank you.”

“Um, you can just.. toss your clothes in the washer with mine if you want. I’ll be down in the kitchen.”

With a nod, you retreated back into the bathroom, heart fluttering at how nervous you clearly made him.

You peeled the rest of your clothes from your body, replacing them with the items Christian had left for you. The fabric smelled faintly of him, and you had lost yourself for a moment, with the t-shirt bunched up in your hands, pressed to your nose, as you inhaled the intoxicating scent. It smelled like home.

Minutes later, after tossing your rain-drenched clothes in the washer and starting the load, you found yourself wandering down the hallways of Christian’s home, admiring the picture of his friends and family that lined the walls as you passed.

When you finally entered the kitchen, you found Christian leaning with his back against the countertop, staring at something on his phone screen. He had put on a t-shirt as well, you noticed, and couldn’t help self-indulgently thinking that you would have liked it much better if he hadn’t.

He perked up, looking at you when he heard your soft footsteps entering the room and you watched as he went slightly slack-jawed at the sight of you.

In his mind, his thoughts were running wild. This was the first time Christian had ever seen you in his clothes, and he already knew he’d jump at the opportunity to have you wear them more often in the future. His tummy did a little flip at the sight of the waistband of his sweatpants that you had rolled up a few times so they wouldn’t cover your feet.

He decided in that moment that the one you were wearing would forever be his favorite t-shirt.

He did his best to pull himself together, but he knew immediately by the slight smirk on your face that you had clocked onto his reaction.

“I-I was, uh… I was thinking we could order food or something while we wait for our clothes to dry, and then I can take you home if you want,” he did his best to speak casually, but he couldn’t help the way his eyes kept scanning your body wearing his clothes.

He wasn’t sure what it was, whether it was some weird possessive side of him that was causing him to react this way, but he knew then and there was the most beautiful you had ever looked.

You just hummed a soft, “okay,” as you walked toward him, taking the phone from his hands and placing it on the counter before you tucked yourself under his chin. As he wrapped his arms around your torso, you titled your chin up, placing the softest of kisses at the base of his neck, and Christian prayed that you couldn’t feel the way his heart was pounding in his chest.

“O-Or if you don’t want me to take you home tonight, you’re welcome to stay here, too,” he added, speaking a bit hurriedly, because he didn’t want you to feel like he was kicking you out, either.

“Okay,” you repeated softly.

Okay you’ll stay, or okay you want me to take you home?

Christian couldn’t get his mind or his heart to settle as he overthought every little thing. Your relationship being fairly new, this was the most intimate and domestic scenario the two of you had found yourselves in so far, and he was terrified of overdoing it. Yet he had asked you to spend the night at his (for the first time ever) before he could even think twice about it.

You could practically feel the way his thoughts were running wild from the stiffness in his arms as he held you. So you did what Christian so often did for you when you were stressed.

You noticed weeks ago that, though Christian wasn’t huge on PDA, in the little private moments, he showed affection through touch a lot. Frequently, when you would express to him that you were nervous or stressed, he would seek out some form of skin-to-skin contact to help settle you—often it took the form of him slipping his hand under the hem of your shirt to trace small shapes and patters on the skin of your back.

So, as you felt his racing heart beneath your cheek, you slipped your fingers under his shirt, flattening your palms over his stomach, feeling the ridges of his muscles beneath your hands. Christian’s breath caught in his throat as you did this, causing his chest and stomach to shiver with the shaky breath.

Try as you might, you couldn’t hide the small giggle that escaped your lips, finding Christian’s nervousness incredibly endearing.

“You okay there, sweetheart?” you quirked an eyebrow at him, pressing another short kiss to his jaw to show him you were just playing.

That small gesture (along with your touch under his shirt) did wonders to settle his heart.

He had nothing to worry about, he knew that. It was just you and him, and nothing else in the world mattered at that moment.

He was only able to respond with a smile, tightening his arms around you a little more, keeping you pressed as close as possible. He repeated his actions from your embrace in the rain, kissing each cheek, your nose, and then your forehead before he dropped his head down to press his nose into yours.

You let out a soft hum as he gently brushed his lips over yours, leaving you longing for more. Unsatisfied with the barely-there touch, you kissed him firmly, holding his face to yours by the back of his neck, tugging lightly at the short hairs on his nape.

The kiss was broken by both of you grinning wide, unable to contain the joy you felt that seemed to be spilling over.

“I love you,” you whispered. It wasn’t the first time you had said it, but it still made Christian’s tummy flip all the same.

“I love you, too,” he whispered, just as softly.

And despite the rain that had seemingly ruined his plans for your date, Christian felt that the day couldn’t have been more perfect.

It was perfect because he had spent it with you. And that alone was enough.

“So, what was that you were saying about ordering food?” you broke the brief silence, and Christian couldn’t help but burst into a fit of laughter.

That’s my girl.

tag list: @landoslover @thoseboysinblue @lovelynikol16 @swimmingismywholelife @masonsrem @brasiliangp @neverinadream @lizzypotter14 @notsoattractivearenti @chilwellspulisic @captainpulisic

[fantasylandloser]

Talk

Pairing: Rickyl x reader

Warnings: 18+, this is not proofread, dom!daryl, dom!rick, sub!reader, spanking, bruises, mentions of apocalypse, lots of crying, lmk if there's more,

a/n: this was not supposed to turn out like this but in the middle of my horniness, i did the worst thing I could do and got SAD

********

It had been seven days since the stupid argument where you accused Daryl of always taking Rick’s side. Seven days of you giving them the silent treatment. Seven days of them trying to give you the chance to make it right. 

You’ve done this before, gotten upset and just decided you were done speaking to them until your feelings weren’t hurt anymore. You’d put yourself in a world of trouble every time. It wasn’t always their fault, you’d always been sensitive and the apocalypse didn’t change that, it just made you deal with it differently.  Unhealthily, in Rick’s opinion. That’s why there were rules. 

So when you’d walked into your bedroom you should have expected to see Rick and Daryl there, but you’d forgotten that your week was up and you just opened the floodgates by not checking in with either of them. 

The sight of them makes you flinch a little and you briefly consider walking back out, but Rick must see it in your eyes. “You walk out that door, you’re only gonna make it worse for yourself.” He warns from his position on the edge of your bed. “And honey, it’s already pretty bad.” 

Daryl’s sitting in the chair in your corner, he’s quiet and even though he’s usually easy to calm down. You can see it in his face that he’s just not in the mood. 

You huff considering your options, deal with it now, or make it ten times worse? Deal with it now, or make it ten times worse? Deal with it now, or make it ten times worse? You decide to make it easier on yourself, unbuttoning your jeans and shoving them off your legs you make your way to Rick’s lap, practically throwing yourself over his knee, not quite ready to give up your attitude. 

Usually, if you have a choice, you pick Daryl. He may have rougher hands but he’s gentler and at the first sign of you crying decides you’ve had enough and kisses it better. Rick is an entirely different story. He can be brutal if you’ve driven him in the direction and this is one of his biggest pet peeves from you so you’re sure you have. 

He’s surprised by your action, but so very gently drags a hand down your back and you know it’s to lure you into a false sense of security so that the first hit is a shock. “You don’t wanna talk about it first?” Which is what they usually try to get you to do when you get like this.

‘Nope.” Rick sends Daryl a look. One  that means ‘deal with her’, because as much as you loved to be a brat to Rick, the moment Daryl said something with even a hint of authority in his voice you stepped in line. You could dip your toe in the brat pool, but you aren’t really much of one. You’re sensible and fucking sweet, which is why you get so upset. They know that, you don’t.

“It don’t work like that.” Daryl finally speaks. You scoff a little, which is bold considering your position but you can’t help yourself.

“Here we go again.” You mutter, jabbing at him when you know better. Rick raises his eyebrow and they seem to come to an agreement in silence. 

“Give’er what she wants, then.” Daryl tells Rick, which seems to be all the encouragement he needs because not even a second later his hand comes down on your ass swiftly. It surprises you and it really fucking stings, especially when he keeps going on that same spot and you know it’s to make his hand print as visible as possible. 

You’re biting your lip hard, trying to keep your cries inside of you. You grip your bedspread, trying and failing to brace yourself for the next one. When Rick finally moves to the next spot, you think it'll bring you a little relief but it doesn’t because it 's the top of your thighs and you know he really wants to make it last. 

On a particularly hard one Daryl gets up, so that he can get closer. He’s squatting in front of you when he pulls your lip from behind your teeth. “Let go.” He tells you, and you do on instinct. There's blood on his thumb when he pulls his hand back and you realize you broke the skin on your lips. 

It takes a while for the tears to come but when they do, you manage for the most part to keep them from becoming sobs. Rick stops for a beat, rubbing over the already raised skin. His hand hot from the constant impact. You’re trying to catch your breath, while he stops because you know Rick and you know he can go for longer. 

Daryl grips your tearfilled face, his blue eyes hard, but still filled with that underlying layer of concern. “You done, or does Rick need to keep going?” He offers you the out, but he still sees that look in your eye. The look that tells him something in your brain is still telling you to distance yourself from them. 

“M’done” You mumble, haphazardly wiping your tears with the sleeves of your shirt, which Daryl realizes is Rick’s. Cute. 

“You ready to talk now?” When you nod he lets it slide because you’re still crying and he knows you’re trying to calm your tears before anything. You get embarrassed to cry now that the world is overrun. You feel like your tears should be saved for when you really need them and it’s part of the reason you’re having such a hard time expressing yourself. 

The constant stream of tears doesn’t stop when you pull yourself up to sit beside Rick, tucking your legs under you to ease the pressure on your ass. You know Rick is still pissed slightly because he pulls you into his lap when he sees the action. The denim of his pants causes extra discomfort for your skin. 

“No more ‘week of space bullshit’.” Daryl tells you still squatting on the floor so he can see you better. “Now on’ if you got a problem, you come straight to us.” You nod again, and it’s the last one he’ll let you do. 

“If you want to continue our conversation from last week, now's the time to do so.” Rick says, you can feel his heartbeat slowing down to its regular levels and the angry grip he had on your thigh turning into soothing circles. 

It takes you a second to say something and you have to wipe your tears once again because they still haven’t stopped. “I just feel like-” Your voice catches and you cringe at the whiny sound of your voice, but you can’t clear that lump from your throat. 

You start over, your voice calmer, even though the evidence of you crying is still there. “I feel like my voice goes unheard sometimes…. and it makes me just not want to talk at all.” Another wipe of your tears and a sniffle. You’re  not even making eye contact with Daryl anymore, scared you’re ruining everything by speaking about it. 

“I know it’s a game we play or whatever and,” Your tone goes up a pitch like you’re about to start sobbing and Daryl’s heart stops beating in his chest momentarily. “I like that game a lot, but we can’t play it everyday. It gets-” You cut yourself off when you words start to shake more than what will allow you to be coherent. When you see the way Daryl is looking at you, your heart drops.

“M’sorry, I should have said something.” Then it finally happens, the bucket tips over and you’re sobbing afraid you disappointed them. Rick is in your ear softly telling you it’s okay, rocking you. 

“Ain’t no reason to be sorry.” Daryl tells you, but inside he’s trying to play back encounters, looking to see how this got past him. 

Rick thinks this is good. That you were long overdue to cry like this. He knew what you needed to get you vulnerable enough to do it, to say what you needed and now you’re finally there and they can build on it.

The two of them spend the rest of the night doting on you, rubbing lotion on your bruised ass. Kissing your temple, telling you that you’re so good, so special, so important. When you finally fall asleep, they both just watch you, both of them wrestling with how they can be better for you. To you. 

[daistea]

𝙼𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚞𝚗 𝚡 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚁𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚙 𝙷𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚗𝚜

gn!reader

word count: 3,000 :o !

Mild Spoilers! Sfw-ish

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

What Do The Canaries Think?

Before you can date Mithrun, you must first defeat his five evil exes. (The Canaries.)

Depending on your background, Pattadol may either be suspicious of you or happy that you’re with the Captain. If you have her trust, she’s generally quite supportive. She cares for Mithrun like how a fresh out of highschool over-achieving kid that just got a job at the local dumpy gas station cares for their chain-smoking 40 year old manager that handles all the rude customers. That is, not quite a big brother, but not quite simply a coworker. Pattadol is one of the first to recognize Mithrun’s feelings for you. She generally stays out of his business, though, and is your savior when it comes to dealing with the other Canaries. Defeat her with the power of kindness and sensibility. Or not. She’ll respect Mithrun’s decision no matter what. 

Cithis does not like you, not unless you do something to earn her respect. It’s not personal, she just sees you as a nuisance, a fly buzzing around the Captain's head; except he’s decided to keep the fly as a pet for some reason. She’s the first to notice Mithrun’s feelings and it honestly surprises her. On occasion, she’ll whisper horrible little things about you to Mithrun in an attempt to irritate him— things like “Oh look, they’re smiling so sweetly at someone else. Doesn’t that drive you mad?” Mithrun doesn’t react, simply casting her a glance. “No, it doesn’t,” he says. Cithis gives him a look and his good eye flickers away in thought. “A bit,” he corrects himself. She doesn’t push him too far, though. She will try to establish her dominance over you. Defeat her with the power of stubbornness and determination. 

Fleki doesn’t care. She will make fun of both you and Mithrun and ask a lot of invasive, embarrassing personal questions just for funsies. Mithrun doesn’t mind the questions at all, but if they make you uncomfortable then he’ll tell her to stop. She thinks it's funny to interrupt your alone time and be a third wheel. However, if anyone criticizes you or your relationship, she’s one of the first to defend you. Defeat her with the power of a sense of humor and maybe drugs or an interesting toy to distract her. 

Lycion does not like you. It is personal. He’s simply protective and jealous. It’ll take him a while to warm up to the idea of you and the Captain being together, no matter what you do. Just give him time. He won’t go so far as to try and break you up, but you’ll notice him sometimes watching you coolly, his face calm but his eyes analytical, observing your every move. Beneath that stare, you feel like a rabbit being stalked by a wolf. Once he warms up to you, he joins Fleki in asking invasive questions. You almost wish he still disliked you… Defeat him with the power of patience and a thick skin. 

Otta doesn’t care either. If you’re part of a short-lived race, she’ll have slight affection for you and be the most understanding about your relationship with Mithrun— if you die years before Mithrun, Otta is the one who supports and pities him, rather than just being confused as to why he falls apart afterwards like the others are. If you’re long-lived, she doesn’t care about your relationship as much, it isn’t nearly as interesting to her then. Otta does not need to be defeated.

 You’ve defeated the Canaries! What awaits you now?

Mithrun has been in relationships before, but not in the last forty-ish years. Not since The Incident. Before The Incident he was quite charming, a little careless, and kind of a bad boyfriend. He had so many red flags. He hid them well, though, and nobody really got close enough for him to feel comfortable dropping his facade, so the red flags generally stayed hidden. Toxic bf Mithrun was real. 

He’s been in relationships. He’s slept with people. He thinks he knows what to do and for the first time in forever, he considers doing those things again. With you. The feeling may be a bit dim and uncomfortable for him, something that must be cultivated, but post-ending Mithrun isn’t about to ignore it. 

Pre-ending Mithrun is a bit more stubborn, though. Most think he doesn’t feel anything, but he does. He feels empathy for dungeon lords, he can be surprised, he can be irritated, he can be desperate when it comes to his goals. Most emotions are dimmed, though, and it would take him a while to recognize what’s happening when he starts falling in love. And when he does recognize it, it kind of irritates him. It’s a distraction. It’s useless to him. But he doesn’t really do anything about it, if you want to cozy up to him then go ahead, just don’t get your hopes up. He will react physically, though, such as tensing when you touch him, grabbing you to pull you out of the way of danger, sometimes his stomach churns when you smile… He has no desire to question those things. 

Can you romance pre-ending Mithrun? Yes and no. Don’t expect much. Are your feelings requited? Yes and no. Don’t expect much. Can you get physical? Sometimes. Don’t expect much. 

Post-ending Mithrun is more willing to explore these feelings. The demon is dead, he’s… trying to live. He honestly planned to simply waste away once the demon was defeated— and that wouldn’t have even been satisfying, either, because killing the demon wasn’t his true desire. Now, he’s working on his view of himself and his existence. His desires aren’t going to just magically reappear in him, it will take a lot of work and patience. When a desire for you starts to grow, he closely examines it, curious. What is it about you that attracts him? It starts out in a cavalier manner, this new desire is simply there and he’s not going to do much about it. Then it starts to fester. Mithrun starts noticing more things about you, little stuff that he never would’ve bothered to see before. He starts taking note of how he physically reacts to your touch and presence. He may not have the desire to do things like eat or sleep, but he still experiences the physical repercussions of those things— collapsing from exhaustion, a growling stomach. It’s the same with your touch. A skip of his heart, heat in his stomach, his gaze lingering on you whenever you’re near.

The desire grows and becomes undeniable. That’s when Mithrun starts to get a bit more emotional, a bit more desperate, a bit possessive. When he develops a desire for something, he digs his claws in and refuses to let go. 

It gets to the point where he just inserts himself into your life. He does it subtly and casually, without any passion or performance or drama. He’s just… there one day. How did his clothes get in your drawer? Don’t worry about it.

Mithrun thinks he knows what to do in a relationship since he was in a few before the dungeon. Except, he was a selfish, emotionally-closed off boyfriend. Fortunately, he doesn’t really have the desire to take the steps he used to take in relationships. He knows he should probably take you on dates, flirt with you, do the whole confession thing… 

He does not do those things. 

Not normally, at least. Mithrun simply figures that if you wanted a typical relationship, you wouldn’t be interested in a person like him. So he’s going to just do what he wants. 

What does he want, though? He doesn’t really want much of anything but you and maybe a few other little desires he’s cultivated. But in order to have you, he has to do things. What things? It suddenly hits him that no matter how much experience he had with relationships before the dungeon, things are different now and he’s basically starting over in that area. 

Mithrun decides to just simply do what feels right. 

His method of flirtation? Staring at you. Subtly touching you. Grabbing your wrist or waist and suddenly teleporting you both somewhere more private even though he knows you hate it when he teleports you without warning. 

Dates with Mithrun? Doing errands together. Him inviting you to his house and listening to you talk. 

A confession? No. You can ask Mithrun what you are, if you want, and he’ll say, “We’re in a relationship. Did you not notice?” He doesn’t even flinch. How long have you been dating? Neither of you really know. 

If you never ask what you two are, he’s never going to say anything unless the situation calls for it. You might find out randomly one day when he’s talking to a merchant and says, “I’ll buy this for my partner.”

"Who's your partner?" You ask.

Mithrun simply looks at you. He's thinking something but you can't quite tell what yet. Finally, he raises a brow, "You. Obviously."

Obviously.

Imagine that you have no clue you’ve been dating for years and one day he just slips a ring on your finger and tells you that the wedding is next weekend. 

Mithrun doesn’t have as many red flags as he used to, but there’s still a few. He can be a bit unsupportive sometimes. He can be apathetic. And possessive. 

His possessiveness is subtle and only really kicks in once he’s deeply in love. You’re only in Melini temporarily and have to return home? Oops your boat was destroyed, there’s chairs stuck in walls and planks hanging from the ceiling. You got another boat? Oops that one’s been mysteriously destroyed too. Another boat? Oops—

“Are you destroying my boats?” You ask. Mithrun doesn’t even glance up from his book when he answers, “Yep.” 

“Stop doing that.”

He finally looks up, his face blank as he meets your eyes. “No.”

He’ll stop if you insist but he’s going to be grumpy about it.

Mithrun trusts you, his possessiveness doesn’t come from a place of insecurity. He’s just finally found a desire, another reason to keep living, and he’s not going to let go of that. 

Yet, he's never really outwardly jealous. He doesn't make a scene. He doesn't start fights. But the person flirting with you feels this presence... like eyes on the back of their neck... like danger lurking from the shadows... They turn around and Mithrun is just standing there with his arms crossed.

He likes to teleport people away from you. Pattadol has asked him to stop because it's scaring the people of Melini. He just does it more subtly then.

Generally, a relationship with Mithrun is understated. Your connection runs deep but is unspoken. He says I Love You through soft touches, through the way he opens the door for you, by the way he stares, how he lingers, how he starts taking better care of himself so as to not worry you, how he gives you his cloak when you’re cold, how he gets a bit unhinged if you're hurt in the dungeon. Little things.

Domestic Headcanons

Mithrun actually has bad depth perception due to being blind in one eye. He’s learned how to deal with it, but on occasion you’ll playfully toss something at him and he’ll miss catching it by a longshot. You apologize profusely, but he doesn’t really mind. It is what it is. 

His sense of direction is worse. But he carries himself with such confidence and authority that people often ask him for directions. You’re usually leading the way when you go out.

Mithrun post-canon actually cooks a bit more than one would realize. His food isn’t good at first, but Senshi teaches him a bit and he gets better! Cooking together with you, or cooking for you, is one of his preferred activities. 

He’s very clean and tends to keep his house spotless. This also surprises people since they assume he would have no desire to clean. They’re right, he doesn’t have that desire, but he’s been trained to keep his surroundings clean. It’s just a habit, something he does robotically, automatically. 

FUN FACT: HIS EARS TWITCH. What’s left of them is still quite soft and he will, on occasion, let you touch them. They tend to twitch when he’s annoyed, droop when he’s sad, and perk up when he’s interested or curious, like all elf ears. If you blow on them, they’ll flicker like a cat’s, but he’ll usually pull away and give you a Look if you do that. 

Mithrun sleeps like a burrito. You don’t share blankets in bed, you need your own. Even in hot weather, he’s still wrapped up. 

He also tends to wake up late in the morning. 

He likes it when you play with his hair. If you don’t brush it for him, it won't get done and will start to tangle. On hot days, it’s good to pull his hair back into a little stubby ponytail to keep it off his neck.

Mithrun is a cuddler, surprisingly. He doesn’t like anyone else touching him, but he chooses to touch you. He likes wrapping his arms around your waist from behind, tangling your fingers together, and pulling you into his lap or sitting on yours.

If you’re smaller and lighter than him, he will not hesitate to manhandle you in certain situations. He’ll throw you over his shoulder, pick you up and set you down elsewhere, and carry you if you ask. You’re in front of the kitchen drawer he needs into? You’re getting lifted up without warning and set down outside the perimeters of the kitchen. He’s quite strong for an elf! 

If you’re the bigger one, feel free to manhandle him! He’s used to it. 

He teleports around the house. And his steps are light. It’s not his intention to scare you, though, that’s just what he does. 

The Canaries are in your house often. Fleki likes to sleep on your couch. Lycion likes to eat your food. Mithrun kicks them out eventually.  

He doesn’t really care about introducing you to his family, but once his brother finds out that he’s in a relationship, he wants to meet you! He has many stories to tell you about Mithrun's childhood.

There’s a chance that Mithrun has never met his biological father. He actually doesn’t care about that and has no desire to meet him. I headcanon that he doesn’t have a good relationship with his mother or her husband. While he’s generally let go of the resentment over being sent to the Canaries, he still doesn’t really want to interact with them. 

Modern Au Headcanons

He uses three in one shampoo, conditioner, and body wash. He used to have a hair care routine before the Trauma, but now it's more efficient to use the three in one. 

He isn’t allowed to drive. He’s your passenger princess. 

Mithrun would play bass. This information was given to me through a prophetic dream, soooo...

He was probably raised playing something fancy like harp, violin, or piano. But he never kept up with it. 

Mithrun can ballroom dance! Does he enjoy it? Not at all. But he can and will if you ask. 

He prefers cats. 

Mithrun drinks seven Red Bulls a day. Fleki sometimes pours Nyquil into his can and Mithrun proceeds to see The Hat Man. 

On occasion, he’ll smoke a cigarette. But he doesn’t like how it makes his clothes smell, so it’s rare. 

Hoodies, baggy jackets, jeans, and slip on dad-shoes are all that’s in his closet. 

You’re invited to his apartment… You walk in, and the living room is empty save for one folding chair with a television in front of it. Still, it’s spotless, clean, and smells of Windex. 

His fridge is empty aside from energy drinks— they do not give him energy— and bowls of ramen he never finished eating. 

Once he starts recovering from the Trauma, his fridge looks better and he cooks more often. 

Mithrun’s preferred video game of choice is Fallout New Vegas. Don’t ask me why, I just know. 

He also likes Legend of Zelda! His consoles and devices are old and he’s never caught up on new releases. 

His phone screen is insanely cracked but he never gets around to fixing it. 

He doesn’t answer phone calls. Even from his brother or the Canaries. He just doesn’t feel like it. Text him if you want his attention. 

Zero social media presence. However, if he wants to stalk someone— you— he has Cithis use one of her many burner/catfish accounts so she can do it and tell him the tea. 

He goes to the gym at two in the morning because he can’t sleep. 

No therapist, no antidepressants, just raw dogging life. 

He is weirdly good at Jeopardy. 

The Canaries meet every Saturday at a dingy bar near his apartment! Mithrun’s tolerance is low, though, so he doesn’t drink much. (Before the Trauma, he would regularly get white girl wasted.)

If he does drink too much, he just falls asleep. 

They also have monthly game nights! Mithrun is an absolute menace at Catan. The rest of the table is screaming, making deals, arguing with each other, but Mithrun sits there quietly, strategizing… The Canaries don’t actually care who wins, they just want Mithrun to lose. 

The Canaries will sometimes drag him to concerts, parties, or music festivals. He brings ear plugs and his Kindle. (You’re on stage, singing your hit song. The crowd is going wild, girls are screaming your name, begging for your attention. But then you see him… He’s not paying attention, he’s not looking for your approval. He’s just reading Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice in the middle of the crowd, his hair in a messy bun, his converse black. This guy is different… This guy is deep… You invite him backstage afterward. He insults your music, thinking it's for preps. His friends forced him to come and he'd rather be in his room, listening to mcr and reading books. Your infatuation with this quirky senior citizen only grows.)

My Relationship Playlist for Mithrun

Never Love an Anchor - The Crane Wives

Runner - Tennis

Metaphor - The Crane Wives

Feel Better - Penelope Scott 

Absence - Rio Romeo

Pearl Diver - Mitski

The Perfect Pair - beabadoobee

The Only Exception - Paramore

From Eden - Hozier

High and Dry - Radiohead

We’ll Never Have Sex - Leith Ross

How I’d Kill - Cowboy Malfoy

Curses - The Crane Wives

✧˖°

[odoraful]

𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐍𝐈𝐔𝐌 𝐩.𝟏

zayne's last dream has left him shaken and he hopes to meet you again to reconcile his fears

content: dawnbreaker!zayne x reader; a direct continuation from zayne’s anecdote 'still in the dark'; 917 words a/n: spoilers for ‘still in dark’ so if you haven’t read it yet be warned! read part 2 here reading bgm ♫ Prologue V - The Weight of History's Presence

Though it had been days since that last dream, the shocked expression on your face has since haunted Zayne. 

You aren’t Dr. Zayne. Who are you?

He’d been afraid to fall back asleep again since. Those dreams he once coveted so much, desperately hoping for your warm embrace, now became a source of fear for him. In every fleeting moment you shared, he thought he’d done everything right. He played the role of that smart and reliable partner just for you. 

It had all been perfect until that last dream. 

The days from then on stretched endlessly like taffy. Zayne filled in his time doing anything he could to silence his fears. He thought often about activities Georgie would have enjoyed and made himself plans with the young boy in mind. Trying new sweets at the dessert shop, reading beside the jasmine flower field in the plaza, watching the sun set from his apartment window. Detective Ivan seemed to have kept his promise, and the public whispers of Dawnbreaker fizzled away, leaving Zayne free to carry out his duties in complete anonymity. He’d sometimes finish his day off with a visit to Georgie and his mother’s graves. During the night, he’d stay awake for as long as his body could handle until he was overcome with fatigue, passing out wherever he sat.

He found that no dreams would come if he slept this way. 

The impracticality of this type of living did not faze Zayne until he stared at his own reflection in the mirror one day. He had heavy bags under his eyes and a pallor to his face that made him almost unrecognisable to himself. He gripped the edge of the sink, a sudden nausea making his head spin.

It was foolish to continue like this. He needed to see you again. 

Perhaps he should try and talk to you without the guise of this doctor. If the dream had allowed you to speak out, then surely it would give him the same ability. He would explain himself to you, prove that he was the person you loved. These dreams he had since he was a child had shaped his entire worldview. He moulded himself to be yours. Surely, with your presence in these dreams also, they must mean something to you too. 

Yes, that would be the most sensible course of action. 

For the first time in a while, Zayne gave himself a proper night routine. Though, the flavourless nutritional liquid he downed for dinner did little to quell the anxiety in his stomach, and washing his face with cool water could not banish the heat from his cheeks. 

His mind was filled with rehearsals of what he would say to you as he laid in bed. In his periphery, he made out the dim, red glow the numbers of his alarm clock casted across the dark room. Zayne read in a medical fact sheet that it took a person around fifteen to twenty minutes to fall asleep. Turning to look at the clock, the numbers that read 23:18 dazzled his vision. 

He closed his eyes, the afterimage of the red numbers remaining behind his eyelids. His final thoughts were a plea to the stars above to let him visit you again, before he let his subconscious pull him deeper.

Zayne did not know how he arrived here, but he now stood on a gravel path beneath archways of curling shrubbery. The greenery was well manicured with small white flowers. As he inhaled, he was surprised to find the light scent of jasmine in the air. A small piece of familiarity that calmed his senses.

Stepping out from the shade and onto grass, he realised the dream was set in a garden. Benches were scattered around to provide viewing seats for the flowers, which, Zayne noticed, seemed to only be variations of different types of white flowers. Close by, there was a river dotted with clusters of lily pads and white petals that gently drifted along the surface. A bridge over the river led to a green roofed pavilion suspended atop the water. Zayne was so accustomed to his own drab and dark world that it almost hurt his eyes to gaze around this idyllic scene. The sound of indistinct chatter surrounded him, however, there were no signs of other people around no matter where he turned, save for one person he spotted standing on the grass.

Zayne exhaled a shaky breath.

A pale blue dress that stood out against the flowering white buds flitted around your legs, though his own clothes did not rustle against any breeze. Sunlight illuminated your skin, though he could not feel any warmth from its rays. His dreams had strange ways of carefully crafting his desires. You had an expectant expression on your face, glancing about in search of somebody. Zayne’s feet felt like dragging weights as he forced himself to walk, fighting off his fear of closing the distance. 

Your expression turned to delight when you saw him approaching. You waved at him, grinning. Something twisted inside him. How long had it been since he’d seen that smile? 

He put up a hand hesitantly in greeting. 

You began to walk, almost skipping towards him. Zayne almost backed away, startled by your enthusiasm. 

Only metres apart now, you suddenly froze, eyes going wide. Zayne didn’t move a muscle, feeling his own body lock up. The background chatter dissipated, as you opened your mouth to speak. The world turned silent as if in anticipation for the words you were about to say. 

“It’s- it’s you again.” 

[wileys-russo]

i thought of a PERFECT lessi fic. so r is a teacher and one of her students have a cute crush on her. lessi notices the little gifts she’s getting and gets jealous

school yard crush II a.russo

"-alright that's the bell and i will see you all tomorrow. make sure to be sensible and smart when walking home or by the road please year three!" you called out after your students as they filed out one by one, chattering happily that the day was finally over.

"miss?" you looked down to see one of your boys was requesting your attention, hiding something behind his back. "yes ben?" you gave it to him as he shuffled from foot to foot. "this is for you bye!" he handed you a folded piece of paper and raced off out of the room causing you to laugh.

watching to make sure all of them made it out safely you returned to your desk, having some homework to mark before you could head home hopefully before five.

taking a seat you opened the letter, a smile growing on your face as the boy had scrawled a poem using the letters of your name to compliment you. "so cute." you chuckled, taking a photo of it and tucking it away in your desk.

"lessi? you home?" you called out a few hours later as you let yourself in, not having seen her car in the driveway. dumping your bag on the counter you noticed a heart shaped note stuck to the fridge indicating your fiancé had headed to the market to grab a few things.

unsure when she'd left or when she'd return you headed off to shower, ready to wash off the day and get comfortable to continue the marking you'd not yet finished.

stepping out of the bathroom and into your bedroom you could hear music and smell the inevitable scent of the blondes cooking signaling she was home. changing into her arsenal travel top and a pair of shorts you made your way toward the source of the alluring scent.

"hello you." she saw you before you reached her, stirring something in a pan as she sent you a beaming smile. "hi baby." you kissed her gently in greeting before clinging to her tightly, feeling an immediate sense of calm settle over you as the two of you shared an embrace.

"you smell lovely." the striker mumbled as she rubbed your back and kissed your cheek, the two of you stepping away from one another. "it's this new body wash, it's caramel scented." you yawned, rounding the bench and settling yourself on a stool.

"when did you get that?" alessia asked curiously, moving to chop some carrots as she kept a watchful eye over what was already on the stove. "one of the kids at school gave it to me, i tried to give it back but he started to cry and i felt too guilty." you admitted with a sheepish smile.

"mm teachers pet? every class needs one." alessia laughed, sweeping the carrot off the board and into the pan. "no i think he has a crush, it's quite sweet really." you chuckled, alessia's smile disappearing at that. "should you be encouraging that?" she questioned with a small frown.

"i'm not encouraging it!" you chuckled as your fiancé simply hummed. "alessia russo are you jealous of an eight year old?" you teased with a grin, the blonde sending you a glare over her shoulder. "no." she grumbled with a frown.

"my love i mention that my name's gonna change once i get married like every five minutes. i'm not leaving you for him less." you laughed at the question.

"i'd also be marrying you in prison if you did." alessia retorted as you clicked your tongue in agreement. "look its harmless babe. i'm sure his parents got the body wash anyway, you know very well they have no issues trying to bribe me to pay their kids a little extra attention. and you have no issues eating the chocolates that follow!" you smiled standing up and moving to hug her from behind, poking her very ticklish sides as she squealed and grabbed your hands in hers.

"he did write me a little poem today though. you know you could take some tips from this kid i don't see any love letters from you!" you teased, placing a few gentle kisses to her neck. "i leave you notes in your lunch all the time!" alessia protested with a huff.

"yeah that say things like 'property of future mrs russo' or 'reminder that you have the best fiance in the world'." you laughed with a roll of your eyes. "they make you smile do they not?" alessia raised an eyebrow as you had to agree.

"then you're welcome."

"mm so romantic." you smiled, the blonde pecking your lips before you removed yourself, grabbing your phone and waving her over to read the poem from today.

"i guess that's a little bit sweet." alessia admitted with a sigh, stealing another kiss and returning back to the stove.

"what's cookin good lookin?" you questioned as you slid your laptop out of your bag, placing it down in front of you and moving your bag to the floor.

"beef ragu." you could have moaned at the answer, instead sighing happily as alessia chuckled at your obvious excitement.

"if food is the way to the heart you could have asked me to marry you the first night you cooked for me and i'd have said yes." you grinned, flashing your wedding ring at her as she sent you a wink.

~

"come on come on come on, i want butts in chairs within thirty seconds or we'll do extra math all afternoon instead!" you warned playfully as your class took their time dawdling in from their morning break. though at that threat they sprinted in and hurried to sit down making you laugh.

"it's quiet reading time to calm down a bit, everyone go and grab a book please!" you encouraged, gesturing toward the bookshelf on the back wall.

"why did you get us to sit down if we had to get up again to get a book miss?" one of the girls called out with a groan. "because i can! now off you go." you waved, taking a seat at your desk. focused on the paper in front of you you jumped slightly as you glanced up and found a pair of eyes much closer than you thought.

"these are for you miss." ben thrust out a handful of flowers and weeds, messily tied together with a hair tie as dirt showered down on your desk making you wince. "did you pick these out of the garden buddy?" you asked to which he nodded with an eager grin.

"okay. i think we need to have a little chat." you smiled, standing to your feet and gesturing for him to follow you outside. "3C my listening ears are on, so keep reading and no silly business or its times tables for all!" you warned seriously before stepping out of the classroom and partially closing the door.

"how come you brought me those flowers ben?" you started gently as the two of you sat down on the bench outside your classroom. "because my dad gets my mum flowers." he answered matter of factly as you bit back a smile.

"okay. so you got them for me because..." you encouraged for him to finish your sentence. "you're really pretty, like my mum." he again answered confidently. "now ben that is very sweet, but you know you and me aren't like your mum and dad." you started softly.

"i'm your teacher, so we have a special relationship but not like the one your mum and dad have. i am always here if you're feeling sad or upset or confused or angry or if you just need to chat, and i'll always do my best to help you. but i already have a fiancé, and i love her like your dad loves your mum." you continued, the boys face falling slightly but nodding along.

"and she gave me this ring which means that we promise to only love each other like your dad loves your mum. one day when you're ready and a lot older, you'll find someone like that too! but you have to stop getting me things okay? its very thoughtful but i want you to only think of me like a teacher or a friend, okay?" you finished as ben nodded.

"now you and olivia are pretty good friends right?" you diverted as he confirmed. "so why don't you go and give her the flowers? because you can give best friends things like that too to make them smile! just not teachers." you clarified as the boy let out a small oh and nodded quickly.

"alright. thank you for listening! back inside you go." the smile returning to his face as he raced inside you let out a sigh, taking a moment to collect yourself and return, clapping a pattern and grinning as all your students clapped back.

~

"only me!" you perked up as your fiancés voice rang through your shared home, a thump as she tripped over on the way in making you grin as she hurried to the kitchen.

"welcome home clumsy." you greeted her as the blonde returned and wasted no time flopping her taller form down on top of you. "how was dinner?" you asked, running your hands through her hair, alessia having gone out with a few of her team mates after training.

"it was lovely. missed you though!" she pouted as you kissed it away, having declined her invitation in favor of lesson planning. "brought you some leftovers. have you eaten?" she pushed herself up to hover over you as you shook your head with a guilty smile.

"baby it's nearly nine thirty! no more work, i'm banning it." your fiancé scowled, closing your laptop expertly with her foot and hauling you up to your feet. "those are for you too." she kissed your cheek and nodded to a bunch of flowers on the counter as she moved to heat you up some food.

"oh lessi, they're gorgeous. thank you!" you smiled softly in appreciation as she placed a bowl into the microwave. "are these just because i told you about ben today?" you teased, having called the striker during your lunch break to fill her in on your conversation.

"no! they're just because i love you." alessia defended, moving to press her body into yours and bury her face in your neck as you hummed with a chuckle, the taller girls lips beginning to mark a trail down the column of your throat as she pushed you a little harder into the counter.

"maybe it had a tiny bit to do with it...but just a tiny bit!"

[meowsgirldrawing]

Part 2 to my MC (Obey Me NightBringer) angst post: (Since so many people wanted part 2’s idea)

You can hear a pin drop, even though they stood on what was mostly carpet flooring.

All the brothers had vaguely dissimilar reactions to Solomon’s words. Or at least the ones he started up with once he crossed the hallway and joined the others with Mammon in the next room. They heard his words, but their questions, their concerns got coiled up with the silence that followed.

Lucifer had a deep frown, eyes hiding his deciphering mind as he stood arms crossed tightly with one another. If MC were there, they’d be able to see how his chest is a tad slower in rise and falling, as if taking each shaky breath is hard to do and cover at the same time.

Mammon stood beside Solomon, perhaps the only one sensible to make sure he still talks without letting their emotions interfere. He’s not protecting him per-say, just making sure his younger brothers know to keep themselves in check and wring the sorcerer later. Yet he’s not too far off himself. Only one person and Lucifer could tell he’s one string away from shifting into his demon form. So consider his stance as a two way message.

Leviathan is the only one sitting, or still is. Curled in a ball, he’s staring wide eyed at the human. His skin tingles and he’s shifted in his demon form already, but it’s mostly a way to ground himself ironically. He’s not a defensive less weirdo, he’s a demon! A lord! He can handle this!…Handle hearing what’s happened to MC-his Henry…right?

That’s where Asmodeus comes into play, his eye catching the transformation and immediately places himself at Leviathan’s shoulder. His fingers, polished nails he just redone with MC and Satan yesterday night just before retiring to bed, crease into his brother’s hoodie with a gentle rub. It’s ok. Everything will be alright. Solomon will just tell them what they need to do and they’ll all be fine! They’ll get their sweet MC back, all nice and healthy and happy! Besides, they just can’t leave without him trying that new club.. they have something to look forward to, with him, with his brothers…right?-Right! He ignores how his throat constricts at the very opposite ideas blinking through this head, and focuses on the only other human he’s made a pact with.

Satan is silent, a calculating glint in his eye. He stands nearly just as still as Lucifer, on the side with the twins, claws gripping his hips, If MC was here, they’d probably joke how he looks like an angry dad about to give the lecture of a lifetime. What Soloman said… it doesn’t make sense. MC was in the house before night fell. He’s knows for a damn fact, he’s the one who walked them home himself. He offered to walk with them after the meeting, despite Mammons complaints and Belphie’s pouts, as he had to check his personal library for something ideally for a project. They had fun, pet and fed the stays on the way, stopped by a quick ice cream joint, and ended their walk by ending up in his room to study. His last look at them was them rubbing their eyes, careful of the still drying nails from Asmo dropping in unexpectedly, and sending them both a sleepy goodnight and see ya later as they set off for bed. It was late when they went to bed. Something’s not adding up..

Oh..But if you thought the older brothers were bad...

Beel is the only thing keeping Belphie calm on the outside. His hand an anchor over his shoulder, arm curled around his back in a gentle but firm grip. The twins listen to Soloman with an intensity that can burn Devildom itself to the ground.

Belphie's relationship may be shaky, maybe be sometimes tense as they try to move on from the past. But by his not- father does the Avatar of Sloth want to rein hell on whoever dares touch the human that helped him mend back into his brothers' lives. Into Beel's life. He may look pouty, may look bored. But anyone that knows Belphie knows a plan is forming behind his eye. They will find MC. And the fuckers who came up with such a funny prank.

Beel feels..lost in this type of situation. One day he's having dessert with the human who teases him about his weird choices in ice cream, one he quickly and smoothly throws it back at them with their odd choice in cake flavors. Before the two ultimately breaking into giggles as the human baps at his back and he's swallowing down his bite with a grin. The next day, next morning...gone. Silence at their open chair, vacant and untouched like it was before they came to devildom. It's not right, they should be here. Should be there with him and his brothers. Diavolo..what happened to them??

"That can't be possible.." Satan immediatly dismisses, a dower in his tone. His nose crickles at the idea.

MC? Lost in time? But they weren't near anything like that! And MC can't even cast spells, much less accidentally do such a thing.

Lucifer can't help but agree. "Since MC arrived, the House of Lamentation has been put under a strict spell to ward off curses or shifty matters that can harm MC." He scrutinizes at Soloman, the man himself staring back with a raised brow as if really? "Theres no way something snuck past it's defenses long enough to get to MC. I'd be able to tell."

"You'd probably would have, but this...force. It's unworldly." Soloman's fingers play at his chin, " I've been looking all over Devildom but as soon as I wandered towards this house, I felt something overwhelming. Especially around where MC's room resides." His eyes flick up, stern and a 'I know what I'm talking about' tone dosed in them.

"Something, or rather someone, took MC and threw them into the past. Your past, right after the Celestial War if I have my readings right." He gets out as Mammon shifts beside him.

Just..after the Celestial War? Wait...Oh shit-

Mammon's head shoots to Lucifer, "That means-"

Lucifer already knows, "MC is possibly with our past selves."

As if that sentence alone can strike the biggest blow on the brothers, then next one is the killer. Levi can barely breathe, same for his brothers- Asmo's nails unintentially dig into his shoulder but he could care less- as Soloman shakes his head. "They are with your past selves."

Things calm down, a meeting is made with Diavolo and the rest of their searching group, and it's decided ironically that the Sorceror himself will go. As much as they don't want to, most agree he's the best candidate. Simon and Luke are already a big no. Angels randomly staying in devildom for a long, undisclosed time? Following around whatever MC is covering as? It would be a sore thumb, obviously fishy. Nevermind if they could protect MC or not.

Yeah Luke pouted big time on that one, but after a hug from Beel, he calmed down some. Now he's just holding onto his jacket as the others discuss ideas in front of the two.

Most, like Diavolo, Raphael, Mephistopheles, as well as Thirteen all have jobs to attend to, some especially in need to keep stable for the sake of Devildom or the Celestial Realm. Barbatos would have gone, the idea given by Diavolo, if not for his counter of the other Barbatos able to sense him right away if he came to MC's aid.

Similar reasons for the brothers, as much as they detest it. It would not be good for anyone involved if any of the brothers were to be seen by their other selves. More trouble than needed just to rescue MC from a certainly unusual but equally terrifying fate.

Soloman's past self was never around much in the beginning anyway, so the chances of meeting him are much, much slimmer. Besides, Soloman is crafty, calculating in his every move, and cares well enough for MC as the rest to put their safety as first priority. So, yeah, they can trust him enough.

"Better bring them back in one piece, Sorcerer, otherwise I'll have that soul faster than you can breathe anything coherent." A light threat from Thirteen, eyes as slit as a cat's, her fingers drumming on her hips.

Light castaways from Soloman's hand, he smiles as he starts the spell by Barbatos's help. "Like I'd do anything else."

Lucifer's eyes narrow, "Of course." It comes right off as sarcastic.

With that, and a few additional words from the future King asking for both him and MC to come back safe, Soloman is off. Disappearing into a flash of light, leaving no trace like he was never there.

Bonus---

The next few weeks are....tense to say the least.

Each of the brothers had mixed feelings on the whole thing as whole.

Lucifer sticks to his usual routine. Keeping his brothers safe and in line, helping in Diavolo's plans for the school, and all around just trying to douse the flames of chaos from MC's unexpected disappearance. He shows as fine and stern as usual Lucifer goes by, but the very few, Mammon and Diavolo mainly, know it's merely a front the majority of the time. His days feel longer, colder, while his nights are double. Every night before bed, he stalks the House of Lamentation, checking on each and every one of it's inhabitants, and as he rears to MC's room, it's uncanny vibe of no owner, back to the way it was before they dropped into Devildom, he sees no one but the usual, sleeping face of one or multiple of his brothers. The only sight that warms his silent yearning. Even if for just the night.

In the daytime however, people can tell theres a new...edge to him now. Working together with Diavolo and Barbatos, the two help Lucifer without question on finding who the hell decided to send the human they all have inclination towards. MC help bring Lucifer and his brothers back together, MC has gone above and beyond for a program Diavolo honestly some little doubts about himself and washed them away even after being dropped in unexpectedly. And for Barbatos, the two themselves aren't sure, but they can tell it's not just because it's his duty as his Master's right hand man to help out with. So they search, and while Lucifer usually has doubts on his brothers' help on any matter that could affect the standing of the program, for once he doesn't hold their leashes and hopes they do as they please. They will find the miserable pest, he's sure of it.

The Mammon outside the House of Lamentation is scarily different from the one inside. The outside one is loud, money-grubbing, and just as troublemaking as he always is. Gambling and dealing with witches as he always has, the Avatar of Greed shows no difference despite the obvious missing human every student and teacher of RAD occasionally sees attached at his side. No whispering at the back of class, no loud shouts of nonsense at the lunch table they claimed as their own, no equal calls of their name as one tries to catch up with the other in the halls afterschool. Not even at the clubs, the missing human who'd usually be on his lap or at his side as he gambles away with a spikey grin. Nor dancing along with him as he would twirl or be twirled despite his flustered acts. Its like MC never existed and he's as what he once was. Yet, if people looked close enough, they'd see something shifting in his much more observant eyes, taking in his surroundings more often with a pitch of rage that hides behind his blues. He's still searching, still trying to find the lowly fucker who thought taking his greatest treasure was the best fucking plan in the world. They are sure to show soon, he damn well knows it.

As his daytime is a mock show of indifference, the house is quiet and chaotic in the not so fun ways. He tries to keep his brothers together, but all of them can see he's close to loosing it at times. No one teases, or judges, or even glances twice as they watch him go to the human's room instead of his for bed. Curled in their blankets or simply leaning on the headboard, eyes not as bright and blue as they should be. No one likes a quiet Mammon, but no one knows what to do either, so they let the older brother do as he will.

Leviathan..oh man. He's gotten better since the first few weeks of hell for them, but he's not his usual self either. He clings more to his room like usual, watching MC's favorite animes they've clicked to on their nights of choosing, suddenly getting reasons why they've enjoyed some of them. Most have happy endings. Most end with characters having either fond or bright smiles stretched across each of their faces. He can't watch the best friend scenes though sometimes, it hurts too much and makes him hug the stuffed snake squish-mellow they gave him. On the opposite end of the silent sobs into said pillow or staring into nothing with such vacant eyes as tears stream down his cheeks, making them look red and irritated at breakfast in the morning- which he barely comes to anymore, Mammon has to drop off his plate- The Grand Admiral of Hell is at play. Using his known skills as a strategist, he expands the search for the one that brought this hell upon him and his family. Interrogations, warnings towards suspects he has on a special list of powerful people, the true show of a snake ready to strike at every ready moment and everything around it can be a target. And if anyone questions, "Why do this all for a human anyway?" He always has a good answer, people would just simply need to drown for him to let it be known. Because they're his and his brothers' human.

If people think Lucifer is terrifying, just wait till you see his wrath, or well the person who was born from it anyway. Satan may have a charming smile, a easy flow of his words, a spark to his eyes that can make even the strongest swoon. Yet it's his greatest tool as he looks for the person responsible. Similar to Mammon, he's just less loud. He goes through each and every connection, spanning their connections and slinking through them all. And if any show signs of deception or as if they have something to share, he's lucky to finally use Lucifer's basement key at last. While most of his nights, some leading into the day, he's cool amongst his brothers. Possibly the most composed looking of them all besides Lucifer. Sure he talks a little less, his words may come off short or a bit tense here and there. But his cool facade is well put together. He actually helps Lucifer with the student council stuff, or at least lays off him to make it easier. MC was able to help mend their relationship into something better, something that makes him secretly enjoy Lucifer as an older brother as much as he'd deny it. Yeah they aren't the bestest of friends or brothers, and their relationship shift is still new, shaky, but it's better than it's ever been. And he won't use this as an opportunity to break it, no. MC trusts him to be smart and do the right thing, and he will. He just hopes his past self will have enough sense to listen to them, cause if he remembers his past correctly, the beginning of his life..He knows they are in a world of new challenges with that version of him alone. He just has to trust them like they do him, until they meet again. And they will if he has any words to say about it.

Asmo...he's..ok. He's used to putting on masks, putting up a pretty face and smiling to whoever wants it. But if anyone knows Asmo, the real one, he's a fucking mess. He goes to parties and night clubs, giggling and laughing with his fellow demons, but when he's alone. Sitting in the cold area him and MC usually occupy on their late night escapades together, he's silent, tapping the rim of his drink with a bored and colorless expression. A few of his friends stop every now and then and he throws up a smile and sweet rings of "Darling" or "Dear" left and right. But he tends to leave earlier than he usually does, ignoring the small pleas of his friends asking him to mingle longer. He merely says things like, "My dear big brother Lucifer might track me down if I don't." or "My human needs their favorite demon, but don't worry, I'll see you all later <3!" and as soon as the music leaves his ears, the doors slamming shut behind him, he's back to a world of greys instead of pink and flowery. There's admittedly a few nights Lucifer has actually had to track him down, finding him drunk off his ass in the corner of clubs, a wide smile despite the obvious ruins of his mascara greeting his older brother with such fake enthusiasm that has Lucifer frowning knowingly. Those nights he ends up either curled up on his big brother's bed, an easy way for Lucifer to keep an eye on him or tucked into his own sheets as he watches Lucifer grab the pain killers and cup of water from Mammon's hands before burying his heated face into the pillow MC's borrows on their sleepovers. Depends on how wasted he is honestly. It's one of the reasons why Mammon's keeping a bigger eye on him especially. Leaving with him to the clubs or shops he wants despite also wanting to work his charm in the search for the culprit. Which, despite his insistence, all his older brothers tell him to let them handle it. Sure, he has ways to help, but who knows what the person is capable of. So he reluctantly agrees. Somewhat. He's looking himself. Any person who isn't MC, his brothers, or their inner circle of friends is a suspect and Asmo is more than a pretty face afterall. He just has to use his charm a little here and there, he's sure, and the person will drop to their knees quick enough for him to find them. If not, he's always got his claws nails as backup. He's always enjoyed red as a nice shade <3.

Good news, Beel isn't as hungry as before. Bad news, he's not eating as much as he really should. It took about a week and a half to notice, but the moment Mammon set down the plate infront of Beel, and he looks at it and goes "I'm not hungry." is when everyone got concerned. Like. Terrified. He feels some bit of hunger, yes, but eating anything, all when MC could be going through hell with their past versions (especially the version of him who didn't have as much of a leash on his hunger as he does now) it makes any bit of hunger go away instantly at the thought of MC in trouble. At the thought that someone or he could be...Just the idea makes him want to vomit. His brothers, pointingly Belphie and Mammon, all try to get him to eat and while he does some, it's not nearly as much as he used to. Satan leaves him extra snacks while passing by him after his bookstore run, Leviathan drags him to movie nights, suddenly having a near buffet style snack pile in the middle of the two. One that Leviathan barely touches but Beel is too focused on the story to notice honestly. Asmo doesn't seem to do too much, but he certainly has taken up doing more baking around the kitchen, always texting Beel first who 50/100 feels conflicted on agreeing or not. Lucifer has once threatened to chain him to the table until he eats but relents when Beel just stares down at the plate before glancing to the vacant seat at his side. Eyes holding an internal battle inside. Belphie, to Beel's surprise, dragged a whole ass bag of mid-night treats to their room, and set it on his dresser. Telling him point blank, MC wouldn't want him, especially him of all people, to starve himself. Besides, how will he protect MC when they're back if he's too weak from low nourishment? While Belphie hates poking at the protective side of Beel, the side that has always put his twin in the most complicated feelings/situations, it's the side that wins over and makes him grab one of his favorite treats. Sure, he may not be scrounging the low lives of Devildom, or sending fleets of his contacts from all around in search of the culplit, but he's making damn sure the moment they find him, they'll wish they never looked in their human's direction ever. And that's the only thing besides the support from his patched together again family that helps him through the colder nights. And the cheeseburger pillow MC gave him that he holds tight to his chest every night.

Belphies....not the best. Not Asmo not best or Mammon, but, let's just say Lucifer is getting flashbacks to when he threatened to end an entire species in mourning of his sister. Yeah, that not best. The things that cicles through the youngest's head is unrelenting words he used to spout constantly when he first came to devildom, his unrelenting grief over loosing his sister and times in the Celestial Realm, and above all, his absolute hate for humankind. The way he was before was nothing like Satan, no, but he defiantly was nowhere near a ray of sunshine either. I mean, he isn't now half the time, but at least he has more common sense and pushed past all the negative hate to see that humans weren't the reason his sister was gone. They may have been a factor in the catalyst, but they were nowhere near at fault. Hell, one just loved his sister without even knowing she was an angel to begin with. And she loved him back, and while Belphie (Despite his own simple love for humans) couldn't understand the type of love she shared with the mortal. Now, he does. Now he's willing to do whatever it takes to get that unexpected human back, no he's willing to act like a sleepy Avatar of Sloth during the day, and stalks the dreams of the sleeping at night. As he checks his brothers dream, lately nightmares he tries to soothes silently with dreams of similar times, as he watches over his twins and bats away every bad thought or image that strikes his way, he's searching and planning. He conjures every dark nightmare he can, every fear, every gut retching image that could make even the Demon King himself wince in disgust. And as for MC themselves, they cloud his mind every waking moment he has allowed to think to himself. He's seen first-hand that it'll take more than just claws and teeth to take that human down for good, and as much as it makes his own gut clench with disgust and self-loathing at himself, enough to sound like Levi's twin instead, he just uses it as reassurance that whatever his past self throws at them, they can handle it. And if not, surely his brothers will for them.