#i have an idea with the nail polish i mentioned a bit ago

[iceicewifey]

so many friends posting writing lately … makes me wanna get over my fear and try something ;^;

[delirious-donna]

Demon In The Mirror [Sebastian Michaelis]

an: this is a rework of an old fic for a different character/fandom. I liked this fic idea and lovely Sebby really fit it, or at least I think so! I've been hyperfixated on the world's best butler so this scratched an itch for me.

pairing: Sebastian Michaelis x female reader

warnings: canon Sebastian, mirror sex, rough touching, praise, light degradation, biting, mark marking, dirty talk, pussy fingering, overstimulation, unprotected sex, mentions of blood (tiny)

Masterlist

A mirror–polished and unassuming as it stood in the corner of the room. It never lied, never hid the truth behind a veil of deceit. All it could do was reflect what it hungrily absorbed.

Truth laid bare for all who peered into its depths. The reflection of not only your physical reactions–the jerk of your limbs, soft quiver of your stomach–but your emotions poured into the surface and were somehow magnified back. Magic, perhaps?

On its own, the mirror was a beautiful thing, decoratively ornate and standing on claw feet. You gazed into it every morning to peruse your outfit and ensure your hair was coiffed exactly as intended. However, when you added what was showing on the calm surface at this moment, the mirror became a truly magnificent beast.

Two bodies entwined in a lover’s embrace.

Every detail was laid bare in exquisite detail, and this outcome was entirely your doing. Slender fingers with midnight nails flexed deliberately into your jaw, testing the strength you had long known against the delicate frame of your mortal body. The angle forced you to stare straight ahead, to witness what was happening to you in such clarity it stole the little air remaining from your lungs.

“You wanted this, did you not?” He lilted with an air of amusement that curled your toes. “I believe you were rather forthright with your desires this evening, at least you were once I coaxed them out of you.”

Sebastian Michaelis, the head butler and right-hand man to your father was a demon. As the eldest daughter in the family and well into your twenties, you were an anomaly to your father. He would have married you off years ago if it weren’t for your ability to chase away every suitor that called. The only person who had been able to get close to you was Sebastian if you could even call him a person. Except, you liked that he wasn’t human—humans were boring.

You cared not for whatever mysterious and demonic bond had been formed between him and your father. All that mattered was that he saw the real you beneath the prickly exterior you presented to the world. It had taken many months of flirtatious glances, heated whispers promising you all manner of carnal pleasure and touches that only grew in intimacy, but you considered Sebastian to be your lover for close to half a year now.

The only problem… he treated you with kid gloves.

“Sebastian… You know, it would be okay if you held me a bit tighter. If you wish to, that is.”

That was what had started it all, the words that led to this path of twisted pleasure. 

You recalled the delicate touch of white-gloved fingers, how they curled around your biceps to draw you into his lap. His carefully fastened tie and top buttons were messily undone by your hasty fingers and his midnight hair was just the tiniest bit dishevelled from where you had brushed through it.

The demon gently pawing at you was more than capable of tearing people apart with his hands, the white of his gloves rarely soiled by the crimson remnants of the deaths he bestowed, and yet he held you as if you were fine china. Didn’t he know that the times you bore witness to his feats of strength had resulted in ruined undergarments beneath your gown? He was a sight to behold, tall and lithe with a presence that demanded respect despite being a servant by occupation. What you wouldn’t give for him to direct some of that power and strength towards you, on those intimate late-night visits to your quarters.

“But, my dear, you are so soft. I wouldn’t wish to hurt you.” The sentiment was huffed into the sweet crook of your neck, his warm breath fanning across your skin whilst he smeared lazy, wet kisses to your jaw and the pulse hammering beneath the surface. It sounded almost bemused, and that irritated you.

You were no porcelain doll only to be taken out when it suited and arranged delicately upon pristine sheets. You were no silly girl. You were a woman, goddammit, and you wished above all else to be treated as such. Apparently, your expression gave away your frustration, either that or Sebastion was simply well-tuned to the emotions swirling in your complex mind.

“Have I said something wrong, darling girl?”

With today’s gown laid neatly atop your dresser, the petticoats beneath bunched around your thighs and hips, you sat back on your haunches to glower at him. His finger idled with the lace fastens of your bodice, doing little to stop you from moving away from his embrace.

A petulant huff passed your lips, arms folded across your chest, and his easy smile dimmed in response. It should have been your first warning, but ire had a way of dulling your senses to danger. 

“I will remind you that I am not made of glass, nor will I break if you…” The remaining words of your tirade seemed to become stuck in the back of your throat as your gaze met with Sebastian’s. The subtle carmine of his irises caught fire, glowing coals of ember that spoke of something… unknown? Worryingly unknown.

Maybe you had misspoken, your tone a little more harsh than you intended but it was too late to remedy. Your shoulders sagged, your body deflating rapidly from the hot air that filled you only moments ago. 

The room charged with electricity, you could feel it press atop your head like a physical manifestation of a weight trying to crush you against your bedspread. Something was most assuredly wrong and it wouldn’t be long before you found out the consequences of your little outburst.

“If I what?” he hissed from between gritted teeth, white and gleaming.

Your eyes snapped to his face, and the stark lines of displeasure traced his cheekbones and brow. No longer were you gazing into the face of Sebastian, your lover, this was the demon that lurked beneath. The one you longed for and were going to suffer his wrath no matter if you tried to back peddle or not.

He sat up straight with a start, forcing you further back and almost tumbling you right out of his lap. A palm anchored around your wrist, tightening against the fragile tendons until they nearly popped and wrenching you forward until you were nose to nose. His breathing was harsh, your own picking up pace to match it perfectly. For a moment you thought he would speak but after many moments of staring back and forth, he pushed back and looked towards the periphery. 

With a precision no man or demon should have, he caught the fingertip of his virginal white gloves between his teeth and slowly pulled each one free in turn. You squirmed watching him reveal his hands, the intricate design that you always did your best to ignore caught your attention but it was quickly stolen away.

That same hand shot forward to wrap around your hair, yanking on the length in one swift motion until your roots tugged painfully and your throat bared in front of his eyes. The breathless whine you expressed sounded truly pathetic, only matched by the arousal pooling in your underwear.

“Hm, so you won’t break if I do this?”

Sebastian reared back and bit around the slender column of your throat, not enough to break the skin but it hurt—it hurt bad enough to spark tears in your eyes. The sweep of his hot, wet tongue licked across the mark he made, tracing the indents his teeth had created along with a low grunt that sounded from the depths of his chest.

Cool, nimble fingers reached into the front of your bodice, teasing against your heated flesh before rending the garment clean in two. The noise of expensive fabric ripping thundered in the room and you gasped at the sudden chill covering your naked breasts. 

It was hard to navigate the sudden flip in his demeanour, although you had all but asked for it. You braced your trembling hands over the lapels of his double-breasted jacket in an attempt to find grounding and solace, but there was none to be found. It appeared that your demon lover was bowing to your whims, you should be pleased, and yet there was a beat of trepidation in your heart. What had you let yourself in for?

As if sensing your wayward conviction, Sebastian moved with alarming ease to the edge of the bed. It was evident that your added weight meant nothing to him, and that alone made you moan into the shell of his ear.

He placed you down in a puffy cloud of your petticoats and stood to shrug out of his jacket and waistcoat but annoyingly left his shirt in place. It didn’t stop you from ogling him openly, knowing what lay beneath even if it was rare to spend the night with him completely nude.

A finger and thumb pinched into the fat of your cheeks, lifting your gaze from the blatant lust-filled staring to meet his eyes that had mellowed to a sparkling fuschia. He was so pretty, so devastatingly pretty that you clung to his wrist, blinking up at him with heat-filled cheeks.

“You will direct your eyes up here, and wherever I instruct, is that clear?”

Only when he was satisfied he had captured your attention and you had given your clear understanding did he release the grip of his fingers, settling beside you. He patted his lap in invitation and you were crawling before he could even raise a sleek black eyebrow.

Smooth palms decorated your sides, pausing to grope your breasts. Sebastian exhaled a laugh when the excess spill from your breasts squished between his splayed fingers, pebbled nipples grazing the hearts of his palms. You whined and rocked against the bulge beneath his tailored trousers, only feeding the frenzy of his wandering hands and how roughly he was exploring your smooth skin. It was a perfect storm of demonic lust and ardent excitement, the result of which resided in the pit of your stomach. You were drooling between your thighs, flushed by the thought of it and you knew he’d tease you when he discovered how wet you were.

“A needy little thing, aren’t you? Darling, surely you aren’t this desperate for my cock?” His hand was beneath the plumes of petticoats, zeroing in on your soaked panties before you could blink. Sebastian tsked whilst his finger stroked the sizeable wet stain that traced the length of your slit. “Deary me, you’re already soaked. One might think that this side of me excites you.”

Without warning, he bounced you from his knee, your feet found the plush rug by your bed but your balance was not to be trusted and you were thankful for the firm hands at your waist keeping you steady. That was until those ruthless hands were twisted in your petticoats and tugging them down your legs to pool around your twisting feet, followed by the sudden removal of the final piece of clothing.

You tried to shield your modesty–an arm slung across your breasts and a hand cupping your sex whilst stepping out of your panties when suddenly you were dwarfed by Sebastian’s taller frame. He appeared even taller than usual, though you weren’t sure if it was an illusion aided by the long shadows cast by the candles on your bedside.

A mere flick of his wrist and your hand dislodged from protecting your decency. He stepped right into your personal space to force his hand exactly where yours had once been and began to dig deeper. Your nails scrambled against the stiff white starch of his shirt, blinking up at him much too fast whilst he took no care to spread you apart with his fingers.

“A-ah, Sebastian!”

Again, he tsked you and clicked his tongue against his teeth in admonishment when a slick covered finger rose into your vision, sparking a fresh wave of heat in every inch of your body.

“Clean it off like a good girl,” he cooed, his voice dripping in honeyed sweetness that you did not trust.

This was not something you had participated in before, but you were determined to meet the challenge in his eyes and earn a sliver of praise that would bow your spine. The taste was surprisingly sweet, a little heavy on your tastebuds but you sucked the long digit between your lips and twirled your tongue around and around to better understand why Sebastian so loved to lay between your thighs and indulge.

He patted your head affectionately, lowering his hand to caress your cheek and smirked when you turned your face to press a kiss to his palm. Unknown to you his attention had snared on the standing mirror in the far corner of your bedroom, eyeing it with first curiosity and then wicked amusement.

You were uncertain why he was interested in the mirror, leaving you by the bed naked and vulnerable, to examine the gold-gilded frame and moving it with ease towards you. What on Earth..?

“What are you–?”

Sebastian cut you off, turning you roughly and sitting with you on full display for the mirror. It made you uncomfortable to see yourself this exposed, you barely looked at yourself in this state whilst bathing or dressing so to see the thick strands of lust hanging from your parted lips was jarring. A sensation writhed in your chest, a mixture of embarrassment mingling with a little pride. Your demon that stared from over your shoulder was here of his own free will, no contract or binding bid him to your side and that was an empowering thought.

He chuckled, pressing a chaste kiss to your flushed cheek. “I am merely doing what you asked of me. You wished me to hold you tighter and be used like a pretty whore for the night, so I am doing just that.”

“I didn’t say that!”

“Ah, but you may as well have, my darling. Your body speaks far more readily than your mouth and I can hear it loud and clear.”

Before he had finished speaking, his thumb found your eager little pearl, stroking around and around in maddening circles without touching it directly. Sebastian shuffled beneath you and you felt the blunt tip of his cock trace along your cunt for the first time that night. 

A thread of power pulled through the length of your spine, straightening it and you knew deep down that it was his doing. Your eyes flickered to his blazing ones, biting your lip enough to cause blood to bead. A heated kiss cleaned the offending crimson from your plump bottom lip. The scene was like nothing you could ever dream of. No book or play could conjure such images. It was enough for sweat to roll from your temples and he hadn’t even slipped inside yet.

“Can you see what I see?” He cooed, stroking the curve of your jaw with his thumb.

You weren’t sure you did. Sure, you were a carnal feast for the eyes but wouldn’t any woman be in this position? Evidently, he disliked your silent uncertainty.

“A strong woman who stood against her family and chose to take a demon as a lover instead of marrying into dazzling wealth.”

Your chin rose as the words hit home, the cool ferocity of his tone enough to make you clench around nothing but air and the promise of what was to come.

“You are mine. No one else could hope to take you from me. I speak these words now and I will die by them. Mine. Do you understand?”

Nodding weakly, you watched his features twist in the reflection of the mirror. The desperate hunger and possession stoked the fires of the demon. It was at that moment that he pushed the bulging tip into your leaking cunt, pushing deeper past the tight ring of muscles with an exalted sigh of triumph. Sebastian held you still, fingers gripping the meat at your waist to prevent you from trying to run from the stretch you were sure to be experiencing.

It only took one forceful rut of his hips to sheath himself halfway, forcing your silken walls apart, to accept him as you always did. The remaining air from your lungs expired from the sudden pressure and overwhelming feeling of fullness.

Steady hands braced on the inside of your knees to prevent you from closing your thighs and it only made your whimpers sound all the more desperate. You were met with a warning growl directed into your ear, fiery pain following from the sharp teeth that tore at your shoulder until the marks were clear in the watery image in the mirror.

You blinked through tears, struggling in the clutches of a beast you had never mated with before. This was different, and you knew that when he stroked himself to the hilt in your cunt, he felt bigger, wider even, and the tip of his cock knocked painfully at your cervix.

It was near impossible to keep your eyes open, not when they were filled with unspilled tears and your head and heart were pounding from the lack of movement. Scrunching your eyes closed was natural when all you wanted to do was roll your hips and surrender to the build of friction but you couldn’t.

“Watch.” He demanded, wetting two fingers in his mouth and smacking them against your jumping clit as punishment for daring to close your eyes. “This is what you wanted and you’ll see just how rough I can be.”

Here you were. Nude and being used for pleasure. Wrapped in a strong embrace that forced you to witness what you had brought about. Expert fingers pinched at your tender nipples and rolled the taut buds between finger and thumb whilst the other hand abused your puffy clit.

Your body trembled as another orgasm neared–you had no idea what number this one was and it certainly wasn’t the first.

“Oh. Oh, fuck.”

The words tumbled out in velvet tones, eliciting a dark chuckle from Sebastian. He delighted when you cussed, knowing that your usual etiquette was entirely lost and your decency stolen away by how he fucked your pliant body.

With every new wave of pleasure, you understood more and more about the monster holding you tight and you didn’t believe you could love him any more than you did right now. He could destroy you without so much as breaking a sweat and yet he chose to hold you like this. Yes, it was rougher than ever before but you knew there was still a gentleness to his ministrations.

This demon had found a mortal interesting enough that for the first time in his long existence, he had no desire to ever see his contract fulfilled. 

His pistoning hips stopped; twitching cockhead buried against your cervix and the pulsing veins that ran the length of his thick shaft throbbed for release. He had assaulted the softy tissue buried behind your clit for long enough, it was time for him to find release too.

You were witnessing the birth of a million stars–a fucking cosmos--behind your eyelids as Sebastian massaged your insides in slow, deliberate circles. Every time you found the reflection in the mirror and met his potent stare, it made you whimper and rut even harder against him.

He was close, you could feel it with every laboured breath at the nape of your marked neck.

“What a picture you make, my dear, one I would love to hang in my room. You are all blissed out and ready for me to spill. Should I cum inside or paint your pretty stomach?”

Your head fell to his shoulder, and for the first time, he let you take your eyes off the show in front of you. Instead, he narrated it to you and that was almost worse. The seductive silky smooth tone of his words heated your blood beyond the boiling point.

“Oh my... look at this thick creamy ring around my cock… I could watch your pretty pussy drool over me all day.”

With a final shove of his hips, jets of heat coated your walls and you were spared from the embarrassment of begging for him to cum inside you. Sebastian grunted into your neck, the sensation of his hot mouth on your skin and the continued lazy pumps deep in your cunt tripped you over the cliff edge and into freefall.

Boneless, panting and mind blank except for the pleasure, your dazed eyes lifted to stare at the mirror.

Hair as black as a starless sky fell over your shoulder, strong arms clinging to your midriff and a mixture of viscous arousal dripped from between your trembling thighs.

Flushed and shivering, you bit your lip at the sight—your demon in the mirror.

[undeadboyfriendsupportgroup]

Throwing in some headcanons for the season 1 Archive gang

(As always, these are just silly goofy fun, not meant to invalidate anyone's characterization of the archive folks, we're in season 3 so if any of these contradict with canon, it's probably bc of that or memory failing us/personal preference sooooo, lesgo)

cw: alcohol (very lightly mentioned) and spiders

Jon:

-Jon tends to wander when drunk, it's a good idea to keep an eye on him. He's gotten lost in campus during his college days but always comes back unharmed (somehow).

-He thought his grandmother made up grass allergies to keep him from getting into dangerous places as a kid but his family has a genetic grass allergy, nothing fatal but recently cut grass does make him v itchy when it touches bare skin.

-He uses pen grips, i think he's developing arthritis so he owns some comfortable rubber ones. There are a few bite marks on em, but if you confront him he will gaslight you

-Jon's bones also crack very easily, when he gets up you can hear it. It gets worse throughout the seasons

-Jon uses transparent nail polish. He started doing it to avoid nail biting but started the habit of chipping it off. In college he wore colored nail polish but he ditched bc he doesn't consider it v professional on himself.

-He's a responsible sunscreen user, he applies it whenever he needs to be outside but he uses a regular drugstore one since i don't think he believes in skincare being a thing. IN THE SAME VEIN: he doesn't think that body wash works, he only believes in soap.

-He had a bowlcut as a kid.

-He gets shorter by 1 inch per season.

-Jon, even though very good with tech, prefers to do things on paper because he likes the feeling. He prefers pencils over pens, but uses pens because they are more professional

-Jon would love smash burgers, i'm not giving more context.

Sasha:

-Sash started training a couple years ago to improve her posture (she tended to go shrimp while doing deskwork) and now she could crush a lemon with a single hand. She and Tim go to the gym sometimes and she can lift way more than him

-To counteract the smash burger hc above, she would love Shake Shack.

-She's scored pretty high on IQ tests every time she has to take them but she doesn't believe in their validity.

-She used to go spelunking on internet forums a lot.

-I think she would have enjoyed well planned ARGs and things that involved solving mysteries before it became her full-time job to deal with horrors.

-Sasha owns comfy shoes she wears in the office. Wearing heels during a whole workday isn't worth it and she knows this.

-Shes a bit of a stationary fan, she would have all of the really nice highlighters and notebooks

-She chews her lips pretty often, especially when she wears nice chap sticks

-She likes furbies.

Tim:

-He hates furbies and dolls, truth be told it is more fear than hatred.

-He's been on commercials as a kid at least once. Somewhere on youtube there's a bubblegum commercial with a preteen Tim on it and Jon found it while looking for background info about nearly everyone in the archives in season 2.

-Tim has a small collection of fucked up Rubik cubes. He has a knack for solving them, the more alien-looking, the better. He finds solving puzzles stimulating but also gets fed up with them easily. Having something to do with his hands helps him think.

-He's an excellent draftsman, took an art course pre college and he indulges in it every now and then. He has no issues with people looking through his sketchbooks and all of the building facade sketches he has there. He's the kinda guy to sketch random people he sees in public and all of the archives gang has been drawn by him before

-He would love cockatiels, but he doesn't own any animals. He birdwatches quite a bit and has books/a special sketchbook just for birds/landscapes. He also purple columbine flowers, even though he is really bad with plants. He's foraged before but he ended up in emergency care bc he fucked with something he shouldn't have XD

-Tim got his tongue pierced some time ago, it suits him well.

-Will absolutely WRECK you in karaoke and then act like he isn't that good after (he was a theater kid)

-He's the most seasoned traveler among everyone in the archives. Tim's ideal vacay would be going around the world

-He would have enjoyed streaming games as a hobby (am i bringing up Mike LeBeau? probably. In a different world we would have Tim playing The Sims 2 with all of the mods on Twitch). He's also had pink hair before!!

Martin:

-He's a bit of a polyglot to me (so far The Eye makes you understand other languages but it doesn't give you proficency over them! That's all his own talent)

-Mart's worked at a blu-ray rental before the Institute. He came out of that job decently well-versed in 80's-90's movies. He's the opposite of a film snob and probably loves The Princess Bride and other bangers

-Martin's the kind of person that would cut an apple for you but he'd eat a tangerine with the rind on without hesitating. After you have a fight with him he brings you cut fruits and crackers

-He also writes prose and has finished nanowrimo during company time.

-Martin wears graphic tees under shirts under sweaters at work, but for very nerdy and obscure things

-Martin does the little dinosaur hand things often when he is walking, heh

-He's kept house spiders in glass jars with little holes and fed them bugs. Many of those spiders gave birth inside those jars. He's moved places a couple times as a kid so he's probably responsible of scaring a landlord or two by greeting them with a roomful of spider jars (and it was deserved).

-Martin owns tea pets!! He shares a cuppa with them every now n then

[forthehpfanboys]

Messy Situation

Pair: Newt Scamander x Reader; he/him.

Summary: Newt gets a call from a friend at the Ministry of Magic about his travel ban.

Warnings: mentions of SMUT, probably not good, pining Newt-

Smut Prompts 61 and 70: “This might be crossing the line between friends and lovers, don’t you think?” and “I prefer to see you shuddering and whimpering beneath me.”

~DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE~

-

Newt tried to ignore the sting of his bottom lip being trapped between his teeth, but he favored it over the thumping of his heart in his chest. He could only focus on one at a time, anyway, his thoughts whizzing past his conscious without his control.

Sure, when he was called into the Ministry of Magic, he was surprised and a little bit more nervous than usual. He was once again asking for his travel ban to be removed for the third time this week, but that wasn’t why he was nervous. He was nervous because he was meeting with his brother's boss, whom he had managed to catch feelings for and was one of his closest friends.

So, when he was finally let into your office by your secretary and was told to take a seat, he didn’t hesitate. He placed his briefcase on his lap to feebly hide his bouncing leg. He ran his calloused hand along the roughly polished wood. His nails picked away at the chipping shine, trying to slow his thoughts before you came in.

Unfortunately, he didn’t have enough time. All too soon, the door to your office was opening and your expensive cologne was filling his senses. He swallowed thickly when your slow footsteps echoed in the room and the loud bang of the door shutting behind you made him jump.

“Good evening, Mr. Scamander. I hope I didn’t inconvenience you with calling you in so abruptly.” Your voice was laced with sugar as you finally came around to the front of his vision. You leaned against the front of the desk and Newt spent his time trying to look at you respectfully and formulate a response.

“O-oh, no.” Newt fought the urge to shrink under your intense gaze. “You didn’t. I needed to get o-out of the office anyway.” He shifted in his seat, looking down at the case shly.

“I’m just teasing, mate, relax. How’s the book coming along?” You laughed a little bit, crossing your arms over your chest as you spoke. He let out a weak laugh, his hands ringing together while a heat rang up to his cheeks. You loved messing with him, he had the best reactions of anyone you knew. 

“As well as it can with the travel ban.” Newt rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze landing on your black polished shoes before meeting your soft eyes. “Which is why-”

“Which is why you are here, I know.” As you spoke, you walked around to the other side of the desk and raised a piece of parchment. On that parchment, was a stamp across it in bold red ink that Newt couldn’t make out, but it had his heart dropping to his stomach.. “I had to go over Theseasus’ head, not that it was difficult and got it approved. You should’ve been approved forever ago. You’re a hero.” You shrugged, flashing him a smile.

Newt couldn’t stop himself from grinning at the floor. He set his case down next to him, carefully as always, and smiled before rushing over and shaking your hand quickly.

“Thank you, (Y/n)! You seriously don’t know how much this means to me!” He went on a ramble while shaking your hand enthusiastically. You wanted to make a joke about your arm falling off if he kept it up, but before you could, he was pulling away, rambling about how he needed to hurry off to America to see how Frank the thunderbird is doing.

“Whoa, whoa, Newt, bud, wait a second!” You laughed, standing up and walking over to him. “I gotta make sure the board knows, so you're gonna be stuck here for a bit.” You smiled, grabbing his chin and turning him to you. You let out a laugh when Newt’s usually soft pink cheeks tinted a dark red.

“O-oh, right, yeah.” He was growing all soft- he’d gotten embarrassed about being a giant dork in front of you. The brunette wizard set his case down awkwardly, his palms growing sweaty from the attention. It was easy to tell he favored you as something more than a friend- and his brother confirmed the obvious crush he had.

“Aw, darling, don’t be shy. It’s ok! I have an idea for what we can do to pass some time, yeah? Let me give the paper to my secretary, I’ll be right back.” You gave him a wink before slowly going back to your desk. Soon enough, the paper was floating out the door in the shape of a paper airplane and you were able to give Newt your full attention again and that was when you noticed he was bright red in the face. “You ok?”

He nodded, slowly backing up as you advanced toward him. Soon enough, his back was bumping into a wall, his head turning to look back at the structure instead of at you.

“Use your words, darkling.” You smiled, trying to duck down into his peripheral while stepping closer. Newt swallowed, nearly choking on his breath, when one of your hands landed on his hip.

“This might be crossing the line between friends and lovers, don’t you think?” Newt was stammering again, his hands pressed flat against the wall. His body was growing hotter the closer you pressed yourself against him. He chewed on his lip, his eyes now looking over your shoulder. 

“It does, but I know you're ok with that.” You grabbed his chin again, moving closer to his now open lips. He was trying to figure out how you knew, but before he could ask, you were speaking again. “Besides, I prefer to see you shuddering and whimpering under me, don’t you agree, Darling?” Your breath fanned across his lips as you spoke in a hushed whisper that sent shivers down Newt’s spine and before he could even think, he was nodding his head quickly.

The tension in his shoulders relaxed when you finally pressed your lips against his.

[plush-rabbit]

Obey Me! Heavy Thoughts for the Dateables

Warnings: Mentions of Death

A/N: Reasons for heaviness may vary! I was in a mood so I kinda scribbled this out in days,, uh yeah!! A little all over the place and ye!!

-

Barbatos:

His eyes and hands ache, his mouth dry no matter the amount of water he intakes. His temples thud with a dull pounding, one that echoes lightly and steadily. It’s been a rather rough day for Barbatos. Woken up late, and with an already bad feeling about the day. His eyes glow, a bright green light that fades as soon as it comes. His head is heavy and he can feel the effects of the power creep against him, but there is no time for rest, he has duties that he must attend to. He picks himself up and blinks once and then twice, as if willing the pain to go away and he is off. He is steady as he works, precise as if there is not a growing pain that makes itself known the more that he goes on and the longer that the day continues. He was allowed the day off, had concern expressed over him with a steady hand on his back slowly leading him to his bedroom but he declined. It was a simple headache, a simple bad day that must be powered through. There was no use for such worry over something so simple.

It’s a heavy day and he’s had them before but they don’t lessen with each blow- they still hit as heavy as ever. He walks quietly, his demon form exposing himself, his wing-like horns piercing into him, the bones of the appendages pulled taut. His tail swings widely, curved as it sways along, narrowly missing each statue and piece of item that decorates the hall. He cleans dutifully, each piece of furniture polished and dusted, the headache only growing more and more, pounding against his head. His hands grip a cleaning feather duster, the wood splintering in his hand, his jaw tightening and eyes narrowing. The brick wall touches against his gloved palm, the indent and grooves of it press against the fabric, marring it with imperfections, the hand that holds the duster loosens, the feathers brushing against his pant leg. His vision grows spolthy and he casts a glance towards the end of the hallway, paintings move and peer from the frame, watching as the butler walks away. His steps echo in the castle, and he knows that he’s taking time off for such a simple feeling, guilt builds in his body, his legs becoming heavy with lead, and yet, he can’t stop himself. He was given permission, was encouraged and he had looked the other way, but he needs it now.

He hides himself in a corner of the castle, door locked and lights off and he’s nervous. He isn’t allowed to use his power freely and he isn’t going to; he’s simply going to take a peek. Something has come over the butler, something so terrible and nerve wracking and he has no idea how to calm it, how to force his tail to stop swinging so rapidly- he feels irritated. A final look is given to the door- there are no shadows underneath and he takes a deep breath, the smell of parchment and cotton in the air. Time flashes before his eyes, glowing brightly, his hair slowly creeping, longer and longer as milliseconds go by. Everything passes by in a mere blink of the eye and when he returns, his hair receding back to its usual length, his eyes slowly dimming, he sits on a chair. His head is in his hands, his eyes closed and nails softened by gloves scratch into his scalp.

It’s a dip of himself, just a slight little thing that went wrong; and yet, he can’t shake off the feeling. Nearby, he can hear footsteps, they come in eager and almost unsure. Shadows form under his door and he can hear muffled voices, his name being spoken is a constant and there is worry evident in both of the voices. His brows furrow and he rises, his shoulders slacked and exhaustion heavy in his eyes. One of the shadows disappear, footsteps echoing in the distance and the handle to the room turns slowly, his name called once more in a whisper. Through the small gap from the doorway, he sees your face, hesitation graced among your features until they fall and in its place, concern takes over. You close the door quietly behind you, his name whispered under your breath as you rush towards him. You cup his face in our hands, pulling yourself close to him. You hold him as if he is porcelain and he simply bows his head, eyes closing, and his tongue is bitten between his teeth. In a sudden movement, he goes to hold you.

Your hands move from his face to wrapping your arms around him. He leans into your touch, his tail wrapping around your waist and tightening his hold on you, the bones of his horns, pressed against your plush cheek. Barbatos tells you how silly it all is, to feel this bad over a simple bad day, his voice trailing off into a hoarse whisper, and you don’t want to imagine the poor demon crying at the thought of such a heavy day. You hold him, comfort him and edge yourself closer until you reach a couch. He rests nearly above you, his leg swung over yours, and face still buried against your shoulder. Your fingers thread through his hair, curling strands of it around your index as you listen to his woes, his grip tight and voice delicate. In your arms is a demon, beautiful and powerful, but in your arms, he is exquisite and frail, never once lifting his head no matter the times his name is whispered. His hands ghost over your body, the gloves soft against your skin and slowly, he removes them, letting the warmth of his hands curve over your neck as he rests near your collarbone. He begs for you to hold him, just a little bit longer, just until he feel like he can stand and you do so, promising to sit and hold him, ending the words with a kiss against the crown of his head.

Diavolo:

The soon-to-be king is lonely. He grew up being respected but without a friend. He grew with a father who had lost someone he loved and he grew without a mother’s touch. As much as Diavolo can try, he will have limited friends. He is someone that people watch their tone with, they watch their words and avoid playful teasing. Deep in his bones, he knows that he is lonely, that the friends he does have still hold some type of fear towards him, they still respect him. It’s a long day in the castle. It’s quiet, there are minimal sounds and the portrait of his father stands behind his desk, looming over his shoulder and he can never tell if his expression is remorseful or something akin to a scolding look. The prince sits alone with a heavy heart in a room that feels far too large for him to be in.

As a young boy, he has learned to hold himself high. He has grown up knowing that he will be a king. He wants to do great things. He wants to bring people together for reasons that he doesn’t quite want to admit but also because he is so desperate for attention, for any sign of love and acceptance. He is a caged bird, trapped between bars, watching as others gaze upon him, watching relationships form in front of him without reaching towards him. It isn’t healthy for him to let these thoughts dwell but in an empty room, he can’t find the will to push them away. His face is buried in his hands, eyes closed until colors and inorganic shapes dance behind his closed eyes and he sits still for a long time, the unblinking eyes of his father boring into him. Golden eyes brimmed with hope are dimmed, staring at the papers on the desk. He’s already done, finished long ago and yet, he can’t force himself to rise and leave the room that is slowly constricting around him.

There’s a bitter taste in his mouth, something that makes him sick to his stomach when his D.D.D. remains unbothered, the screen faced down, not a single sound erupting from it. He learned long ago to never expect much from it. But now you’re here. You are a human, that is it. You hold no true power other than the pacts that you have made and yet you make him wait with bated breath for every message of yours. It’s unhealthy to put so much of his happiness in your hands but he can’t help it. You are the first to not fear him for his title. You are the first to hold his hand and lean against him. You are the first that he has ever had the pleasure to grow so close to and yet you are human. You are compassionate and you do not fear him in any type of way, you include him and laugh with him. You both share inside jokes and he isn’t alone with you. He stands from the desk, his bones aching and he sets out.

He goes to visit you, a bag of sweets in his hand- a cheap excuse to come and visit you even though you have told him that he can visit whenever he wants to. His smile is bright, stretched wide as he holds the bag in front of him, already making himself comfortable on your bed. He can breathe a little bit lighter, his smile now more tired than forced, and his heart still heavy. The weight on his shoulders has shifted into something more troublesome. When your hands cup his face, his smile wavers and he leans into your touch. He confesses to you that he has been lonely and it isn’t like his other confessions- this one isn’t made in a passing comment, this one is said out loud in a somber tone, his hand encasing yours, his eyes brimming with tears and voice in a hoarse whisper and he can’t find the words to describe just how lonely it is for him- how lonely it was before you came into his life.

Diavolo is large beside you on the bed and he is somber, looking much older than he usually does and you wonder for a brief moment just how lonely he was, how it must have felt for him to realize that he won’t have a true connection. You move to sit beside him, cradling his body and pushing him towards you, his head on your chest and hands held together. You rub your thumb over his knuckles, the scars soft under your touch, and when you kiss the top of his head, he holds your hand tighter. He can be a king, he can be a prince or a lord, but he is still someone who craves a relationship, to be included and to have a friend. He rests on your bed, his body warmed by yours and his hand held. He is soothed by your heartbeat, your ever loving touch and his thoughts are silenced when you begin to whisper to him promises that you’ll be beside him while legs entangle themselves with yours. Resting on you, he is comforted, held and told sweet things, and soon with a heavy heart, he moves to hold you above him. You lean down and peck against his lips, his smile tired and eyes still holding wisdom and knowledge that you’ll never know of and he keeps you by him throughout the night, memorizing each and every scar that your body offers, his lips hot against your body.

Simeon:

As an angel, Simeon has to avoid temptations wherever they fall. He’s seen what it can cause- the destruction and death that it could lead to and he has no time for that, not when Luke is under his care. You, however, do not make it easy to sway from such temptation. He doesn’t know what will happen in the coming future and the thought terrifies him. He knows that human life spans are so short, so insufferably short and unexpected, and even if you do live for long, he’ll see you die and the odds of you becoming an angel are something that he has no clue in. You come to him so eager and full of life, so ready to hold him in your arms and he won’t ever be ready for the day that you lay in a bed, too weak to move your arms and hold him again. While he won’t ever do the unspeakable- at least that’s what he tells himself- you unknowingly add to his pressures.

For now, he doesn’t think about that. He thinks about you now. He thinks about your smile and your usage of kaomojis. You still have life and that’s all that matters to him. He thinks about the fun memories that he can make in the meantime with you. His D.D.D. will buzz with new messages, new reports and various other things that come in and he’ll have to face it eventually but it’s all too much. It’s too much, too soon. He has to speak to you one day of his duties, confess upon his knees and tell you that he does it because- well, because he has to. He is an angel, who is he to disobey, to find his voice when it’s suddenly convenient for him. His wings weigh him down, heavy and lined with gold, shimmering under the light of God, and he is supposed to be holy and yet, he cannot touch you without his gloves. He’s afraid he’ll stain you and your being. He’ll taint everything precious about you with just a simple touch.

However, he still seeks you out. Late at night, he’ll search for you, a ripple of itchiness that shoots across his back, tingles that ache as his wings beg to be released. He finds you and curls up to you, so tense and terrified and you’re there to comfort him. He rests beside you, hand in hand, wickedness and love combined, something so sweet that it makes his eyes water and mouth thick with honey. His hands are gloved, not daring to touch anything that he shouldn’t unless it burns his skin. He stares at your wall, littered with pictures of you and the family that you’ve made along the way, you're smiling with a smile that stretches so wide he’s blinded by it. You’ve allowed him in your room, in your sanctuary because he came to you. He’s beside you, a small, golden cross rubbed between his forefinger and thumb, and he can feel his heart race.

Sweat beads against his forehead, his back aching as his mouth dries. The flesh of the son is heavy on his tongue, the blood thick and bitter as it soaks anything sweet in him. His hand tightens and he can feel his hand tightens round yours. He has to be careful- he can’t hurt you. He won’t forgive himself if he ever did. His tongue is between his teeth and in a picture of yours, your tongue is stuck out, hugged between your lips and his vision becomes blurry, fire in his eyes as he stares. He must show the emotion- whatever it is- on his face, read like an open book. You call his name, your hand above his, and he doesn’t register it, he can’t. You call him again, tugging on his hand and pulling away the golden cross. His eyes are wide and you can see the angel in his eyes, the years and the time, the war and the love that he has seen. The cross marks itself in the palm of your hand, and he snaps at you. It’s nothing cruel, but his words are sharp and loud.

You flinch at his words but you offer a tender smile. Your hand opens and the cross itself is tight in your hand. He hadn’t meant to snap. Tears fill his eyes and scorch his cheeks and he’s on his knees, the floor under him cold and solid. Apologies fill the room and he can feel your eyes on him. It’s a heavy day where he cannot feel anything but the weight of everything on his shoulders. You embrace him in your arms, pulling him close to your chest. Unlike the floor, you are soft and warm, holding him as he buries himself in the crook of your neck, feeling your heartbeat like a lullaby to him. Your lips press against his forehead, lips pressed to his skin and hair and he leans to you. His hands tighten around you, pulling himself closer to you; forgiveness has never felt so delicate and repent has never felt so fragile. He cries silently, holding you close to him, letting his tears trace against your skin. Your hands curve against his back, fingertips fluttering between his shoulder blades and pressing lightly between. He wonders briefly if you know where his wings rest, where the hurting hurts the most. You touch lightly around, barely ghosting against the muscles, and he holds himself closer to you. His eyes are fresh with tears, the heaviness in his body slowly lifting as he leans into you, and he breathes in deeply, filling his lungs with you. The Celestial Realm is far above, shining in golden light and the sweet air of holiness. Your room is casted in the soft, orange glow of the lamp, the room smelling of apples and jasmine, and here, the tired angel feels safe to lay his weight against you and close his eyes.

Solomon:

Despite being an accomplished sorcerer, Solomon isn’t immune to emotions; he is still human despite being immortal. He is older than you can comprehend, dates and times have been long forgotten by him and the people that he held so close no longer have faces. He is human and he misses the people that he has grown close to. He is immortal, a life that is coveted and always seeking to figure out it’s secrets and yet to him, the life is nothing but cursed. It’s the same routine with each lifetime; it’s people that he grows close to, people whose hands he holds and people who hug him so tight that he can feel their breath on his neck, people with hands that soon grow limp in his.

He does his best to never let his emotions show; he rather not deal with the endless questions of his well being because while he’s fine, he really isn’t. He bottles his emotions and hides them far away and it stays like that. For a while, he can be young, laughing and making references to the world that he lives in now. Other times, he lays in bed, the sun that has been rising is a friend and an enemy to him, the people who age before his eyes are something that he envies. Around you, it’s much different. He knows you’ll die sooner than he would like and he’ll be left alone. You made your way into his heart. You hold a special place within him and he worries for the day when he’ll forget your face and the way your hands feel against his neck, and the taste of your lips that are so sweet and soft.

Glyphs and notes are strewn across his room, the sorcerer at work as he tries to figure something out- something to just keep you safe as much as he can, to ensure that you won’t meet an early fate. It’s desperate and selfish of him but he knows he won’t be able to stand the silence once you’re gone. He’s unlike himself, silent and eyes too focused to see what is going on around him. You have no idea what he’s doing, just happy to be beside him, to see him at work. You stare at him for far too long, your own notes of spells and potions resting beside you, now forgotten as you choose to focus on your partner. He stands still, eyes fluttering about, and then he moves rapidly. He seeks and searches, erases and scribbles notes crudely in a journal. He is a work of art- beautiful to look at, imperfections and lines adorning his skin and you worry for the day that he’ll collapse.

His eyes will meet yours, a tired smile on his lips and he holds a hand up- five more minutes. A promise that has long turned repetitive but you know how important his work is, how he strives for perfection in his spells. He talks aloud to himself, the spell book in hand- the corners of the pages frayed and various notes and inches of extra paper peeking past the pages. The book fits perfectly in his hand, his face flushed and eyes tired as they stare at a potted plant, the leaves brown and nipped. He mutters under his breath, his eyes glowing for a brief second, his hair lifting as if static were the cause, and you can feel the magic in the air. You glance at the plant, the leaves curling in on themselves before falling off, replacing themselves with new leaves. You stand straighter, excited, assuming that’s what he wanted and when you look at him, he lets out an exasperated chuckle. His chuckle turns to laughter and his laughter turns into frustration, a string of curses chased in different languages echoes in the room. You call his name and he turns to you, cheeks nipped with red and eyes fresh with tears.

Your name is whispered under his breath and you frown, rushing over to him where he holds you tight, his face hidden in the soft curve of your neck. Solomon does not let go of you, he keeps you close, crying into your neck, his hands tightening and he doesn’t speak. Tears burn hot against your skin, his lips moving, words silent and when you hum his name, he only shakes his head, his lips going still. Soon, you both sit on the bed, his body leaning against you for support. He holds your hand, his fingers playing with each of yours, fingertips pressed against his lips in gentle kisses. Solomon confesses to you that he worries for the day that you’ll pass, his eyes closing when he feels your body tense beside him. He doesn’t think he could handle it if you were to leave him. He craves your touch and he hates to admit it, but without you, he is lost. You hold him in your arms, moving until you rest against the headboard, while his head rests on your chest. You hold his hand and tell him that no matter the time that has passed, you’ll still be with him. You hold him in your arms, his tears wetting your shirt as his whimpers are muffled by you, and he knows he’ll miss you but for now, he’ll be comforted by your hugs and the press of your lips on the top of his head. He’ll wish and pray that this isn’t some dream and that when he awakens, you’ll still be there.

[obae-me]

Upside Down CH-1

Author’s Note: Hi, yes, hello, welcome to the fic series that no one asked for! Do I have other things I need to finish? Yes! But has this been the only thing on my mind for the past four days? Also yes! For some reason I was incapable of writing anything else! Thanks, brain, for this out of the blue obsession! 

Tags: Reverse AU

Word Count: 4587

                                                      Next Chapter

Hell Away From Hell

Wrong. You didn’t do anything wrong. It was a mistake. It had to be. Although, with every clink of your restraints, your reality was becoming ever clearer. The chains rattled, echoing down the hall like a set of twisted wind chimes. Ones that sung of your dismal fortune. The demon ahead of you yanked the lead attached to your cuffs, sending you stumbling forward. You bit your lip to keep from cursing. Steading your body, you took their less-than-subtle message and picked up the pace. Keeping your eyes glued towards your destination, your stomach sank to your knees. Why? Why had you been brought to the castle? You hadn’t done anything wrong. Well, not anything to warrant being escorted by the palace guards in chains. And as they led you silently inside, past the polished halls and gaudy antiques, your fate pounded just fervently in your mind as your heart was in your chest. 

They were going to present you in front of the prince. 

It was torture in and of itself just making it to the throne room. The worst part about it all was your rampant imagination. You could only imagine what type of horrific techniques the prince was aware of. Halting in front of the large double doors, the demon behind you moved to open the entrance. Holding it open, the guard tugging you along guided you in. You managed to take only a few steps inside the room before you were practically thrown inside, your body tumbling over the ground. Both the guards smirked at you, flashing their pointed fangs in their conceited gestures before shutting the door, leaving you alone inside. 

“MC.” All the air inside your lungs had conveniently escaped. Lifting your chest off the ground, you tightened your lips as you met his gaze. Those glistening emerald eyes pierced right through you. Quickly, you lowered your eyes, attempting to show as much respect as you could to gain his favor. 

“M-my lord.” 

The melodic note that left his throat was a mix between a laugh and a coo. “Now, now, none of that groveling. I had you brought here to ask you a favor!” You could hear him stand to his feet, and you watched his shoes approach, clicking against the marbled tile. Then, you felt the smooth skin of his hand caress your right horn. The sudden sensitive feeling had your tail rapidly twitch and tuck under your leg. He pushed your horns back, raising your chin so you could look up at him. His dark hair drifted down across his forehead, curling around his horns that curved above his head like a broken halo, his face soft and inviting, and yet your gut wouldn’t let you believe it. “Please, from now on, just call me Simeon.” 

Simeon hummed as he lifted his tea cup to his lips. He had been hospitable enough, but you still couldn’t shake this feeling of unease. Plus...what he had brought you in to ask you was...well, something short of insanity. You continued to rub your wrists where your constraints had been. And as much as the prince of hell apologized for his guard’s brutish behavior, you had a feeling it was purposeful. A message of sorts. Even now, as he had his little servant bring in sweets and tea as sickly sweet as it could get, it all tasted bitter to your tongue. “So let me get this straight,” you started. “You want me to be a member of this…” 

The prince tilted his head, eyes practically shining. “Restoration program.” 

You cleared your throat after the little scone this blonde demon had given you made your throat run dry. “R-right. And I’m assuming I don’t have a choice in the matter?” 

His voice was soft, but the light reflecting off his horns and his fangs suggested another answer. “We all have choices, MC.” 

Swallowing your nervousness, you lowered your head again. “But, with all due respect, sir...why? Why a restoration program?” 

Another voice chuckled behind your figure. “Because, why not?” You strained your neck, getting a view at the newcomer behind you. White hair, a mischievous smile, and something unknown swimming at the back of those dark eyes. Not only that, but the figure was wearing clothes as pure as clouds, with a certain glow to him. 

Simeon stood, hand out to greet this person as if they were an old friend-and for all you knew, they might’ve been. “Solomon, how good to see you.” 

The new guest-now known to you as Solomon-beamed. “Likewise. You’re looking well.” He turned, giving you a once-over to take you in before nodding. “And you are MC, yes?” 

Glaring, already feeling your skin about to burn, you leaned away from him. “And you’re an angel.” Your distrustful attitude let him frown for just a moment, but whether it was just his angelic nature or his personality, that smile was right back on his face. 

“Yes, well, the plan requires an angel, so Simeon personally asked me for my hand in this matter.” 

The both of them could tell that you were unbelievably confused, so Simeon gestured for the angel to take a seat at the table. “Luke.” The prince gestured to his small servant, the one who had not only brought you sweets but had taken the liberty to be staring you down the entire time. Finally, he turned his attention away from you. “Please do me a favor and get our new guest some refreshments.” The lesser demon squinted at you, nearly growled at the angel, and then took his leave with rapid little steps. Simeon laughed quietly to himself. “Don’t worry about him, he’s not used to others quite yet. But, MC.” With your name mentioned, you straightened your posture. “I’ve been planning this for quite some time. It’s been a desire of mine to bring the three realms closer together.” You couldn’t help but wonder why, what purpose it served, but you kept your mouth shut. “And while I’ve started to make decent progress fixing the old wounds between the Devildom and Celestial Realm, most of my kingdom and Solomon’s people refuse to make connections with the humans.” 

Mortals...even just the mention managed to leave a heavy pit in your stomach. “If I may speak.” You waited for the prince’s go-ahead before speaking your mind. “What would be the point of connecting with the humans? They serve little purpose. They’re either so corrupt they destroy their own kind or they think they’re so pure they isolate themselves or get themselves killed in the name of their twisted justice.” Speaking so passionately against the idea, you didn’t realize your nails had grown into talons, leaving marks in the wooden table. You took a breath, reclaiming your typical form. “They can’t even do themselves any good, what makes you think they’d be good for our realms?” 

Solomon, an expression of understanding mixed with pity, bounced a little in his seat. “That’s the question, isn’t it?” He turned his head to Simeon, who was nodding at you with a bit of approval. 

“That’s what this plan is all about. Testing them, observing them. We’ll be watching these humans, and at the end of this project, we’ll be able to determine if they’re ready and worthy of being brought together with us.” The ruler crossed one leg over the other, his tone making it sound as it was as simple as eating pie. 

Setting down the fork to your pastry, you felt a sense of dread wash over you. “And by we you mean?” 

“Why, you and Solomon of course! A demon and an angel, both working together to restore the bond between the human world and ours! The Demonic and Angelic Restoration program! Or D.A.R. -dare- for short.” If it weren’t for the horns, you’d almost think this demon was an angel with the way he eagerly talked about restoring bonds and bettering the nature of the realms. But, then you felt nauseous. 

“What...what exactly do you need me to do to help with this...program? And why me?” 

It was actually the angel that spoke up. “I’m sure you’re aware of the Morningstars?” 

It was such a silly question, you ended up scoffing. “Who doesn’t down here? Those brothers are filled with so much corruption and chaos they end up fueling about half the lesser demons down here...why?” 

They both straight up ignored your question and instead asked you some of their own. Simeon leaned forward, looking at you intently. “It took me quite a bit of time to find you MC. Most people don’t know you exist, and those that do hardly know your name. You simply are known to most as Isolation. Is it true that you’ve never made a pact with a human? Rumor is that you even refuse to subsist off their sins. And you’ve never taken a soul? That’s typically unheard of nowadays.”  

Shifting in your seat, you gave it to them straight. “It’s true. I do whatever I can to avoid contact. Haven’t even seen a human in the past millennia. Haven’t talked to one in about twice that time.” 

Clapping his hands together, Simeon let out an amazed sigh. “Perfect. You will be able to have a fresh eye! A clean slate. An unbiased--well, mostly unbiased opinion. You won’t be tempted to corrupt them, you’ll give me honest answers.” 

“Plus,” the angel agreed, “if you have the strength and willpower to live without human sustenance and influence for this long, you probably will have the patience to keep from killing them. If anyone could manage to live with the Morningstars, it would be you, from what I’ve heard.” 

You were grateful you had put down your drink a while ago. Your breath caught in your throat. “Wait, excuse me, what did you say? Live...with the…” 

“Mr. Morningstar!” A laugh, a handshake, even a pat on the shoulder, it nearly made you ill watching the upcoming king of the Devildom greet a human like this so casually. You couldn’t help but sneak glances at this mortal...one of the Morningstars, the eldest. The one who fueled the most demons without even knowing about it. People down in the Devildom called him by Pride. A human world CEO-whatever that meant. He was powerful, influential, not to mention ridiculously rich. And he’d do whatever it took to keep his status, even at the misfortune of plenty of other people. His suit and posture told you pretty much all you needed to know about him. A fancy well tailored pitch black suit, a striking red tie with a subtle but regal diamond design, diamond cufflinks, the works. It was as if dust and winkles knew to avoid him entirely. His hair was as dark as his suit, save for the ends which were greying. He didn’t seem that old, so you wondered if it was intentional or simply stress. You thought you heard someone say that once, that humans could get grey hair from stress. Did they all possess capabilities to change their hair based on their emotions? That human lady you saw outside the building with the blue hair must’ve been feeling something intense. 

“Mr-” The human you had come to see was cut off. 

“Please, you know to call me Simeon by now!” 

The mortal cleared his throat. “Simeon…” The human glanced at you, and raised his chin as he took Simeon by the shoulders and brought him away from you. If you had been a human, it would’ve been a decent tactic to keep you out of earshot. Unfortunately, you could still hear everything they were saying. “I know you have good standing with the company, and I’m pleased to know you respect and trust me with such a task, but...this is far from business.” You could feel his eyes on you. “I have to respectfully decline your request. I don’t think I can allow them to live with us for a year. You know my family.” 

“It would only be for a year, and I know you have plenty of room in that house of yours!” Simeon laughed a bit and then lowered his voice. You could feel the alluring pull of his influence flood the space. The human stiffened, his intuition picking up on a shift in the room. “Besides, Lucifer. You know I wouldn’t ask for a favor like this without some proper and well deserved remuneration. Listen...I happen to have something on the head of that business owner that’s been butting heads with your company. Wouldn’t it be nice to have them completely out of the picture? Not only is that increasing your profit, but if they happen to...I don’t know, completely go bankrupt, that little building of theirs on the corner of Main is some prime real estate.” Reaching into his pocket, Simeon pulled out a small...plastic...rectangle of sorts, with metal on one end. “I got everything right here.” Smiling, one hand firmly against Lucifer’s upper back, he looked him right in the eyes and whispered something you knew would have this human caught. “You can’t let them bother you like this. You need to show them and everyone else who you are, and that you’re not to be messed with.” 

It took the mortal a moment of internal struggle. Decline the offer and figure things out himself without assistance? Or swallow the smallest bit of ego for self satisfaction? Either way, this mortal was past helping. Already drowning in pride. Eventually, he gripped the object, tucking it into a pocket beneath his suit jacket. Despite being handed assistance, he still found a way to be demanding. “Alright, but no more than a year, and if I feel like anything is going awry, I’m sending them away. Is it really too unreasonable to just set them up on their own? Surely for you it’s no problem.” 

Backing up slightly after his incentive worked, Simeon shook his head. “I would feel endlessly guilty leaving alone, desolate, isolated, after what happened. Poor thing...they haven’t even said a word to me in days.” That last part wasn’t a lie. You’d nearly refused to say anything to him since being dragged to the human world. Prince or no prince. “My poor cousin, suddenly losing all their family like that. It’s tragic, isn’t it? Losing people you love?” 

Lucifer, with his arms folded, let his hand tightly grip the fabric of one of his sleeves. His eyes lowered the slightest touch, his jaw tightening. “It...is...I know it all too well.” You caught a hint of some emotion from the mortal. 

“Then you know that what would be best for them right now is company. Trust me, I wouldn’t have brought them to you if I didn’t think it would help. Besides, this is a win for all parties involved, right?” Simeon gestured to the gift Lucifer had tucked away, and the last string of resistance had been snipped. 

Sighing, the human looked at the luxurious watch on his wrist. “I’ll take them home. Let my brothers know what’s happening. Is it too much to assume they’ll be better behaved with a guest in the house?” 

Laughing once more, the prince shrugged. If only Lucifer knew who he was in the presence of. “You’ll all just have to find out!” Patting the other man on the shoulder, Simeon then came over to you with his arms outstretched. “It’s all settled, MC!” He pulled you into a hug, taking the time to speak quietly to you. “Remember to keep your identity a secret. I’ll be checking up on you and Solomon once a month for a report. Keep them safe. Play nice.” He pulled apart, coming around behind you and settling his hands on your shoulders. “And remember, what Mr. Morningstar is doing is unbelievably nice, so make sure to thank him and keep yourself out of trouble.” 

You broke your vow of silence out of irritation. “I’m not a child you’re sending away to school. I know how to keep my own head on my shoulders.” You attempted to brush his hands off but the grip was tightened. Swallowing your frustration, you kept yourself from grimacing, looking at the fabled Lucifer Morningstar. “Thank you...for letting me live with you.” 

For a human, he had a tenacity for picking up on things. He noticed your lie, giving you a stare down of his own before grabbing his phone. You only recently figured out what those devices were. Simeon had made sure he gifted you one of your own, since apparently it was the main source of communication in this realm. Too strange, but you picked it up fairly quickly. Lucifer just raised his head and pressed his cell against his ear. “Just make sure you refrain from being as irksome as my brothers.” The line he was dialing picked up. “Yes, have a driver prepare to come pick me up. And someone please contact my brothers for me so they know I’m bringing home a...guest.” 

It was going to be a long year…

The...metal contraption rumbled, making your head feel light. Without magic to get around, they had to use...these things. The movement slowed till it came to a stop. Looking out the pane of glass, you peered forward to see what the issue was. A big red circular light shone a bright crimson in front of the lane. Was it a threat? If so, why was the world seemingly filled with them? Then the eye turned green and the long carriage rumbled back to life. It was completely different than the last time you had been here. 

“Before you even step foot in my home, we need to set some ground rules.” Even just the sound of his voice almost physically rubbed you the wrong way. You bit the inside of your cheek. Play nice, the prince had said. How long could you keep your patience around these mortals? You looked up at him, feeling him stare you down to the corrupt depths of your soul. “Since you’re going to be living with us for so long, you’re going to have to follow the same rules I give my brothers? Understand?” 

Was this all worth it? Would having your soul be torn to shreds be that bad? “Yes.” 

He nodded, then decided his attention would be better focused towards whatever he had on that electronic device of his. He gave you orders without even looking at you. No wonder all the lesser demons who fawned after him were so pretentious. “No parties. No pets. You can stay up however long you want, but you must be back at the house no later than midnight. You can have your own room but you must keep it clean, don’t expect me to hire a maid for you. You’re responsible for looking after yourself. I might be providing a roof over your head, but anything you need is up to you. You break anything, you’re responsible for replacing it. Just use the basic level of common sense and we should have no trouble. Hopefully the year will be over before we—oh excuse me.” Without another word he picked another call, his third one since you’d been blackmailed into this ride. You just gave a gentle sigh and stared out the window. Just a few days ago you’d still existed in your botherless existence. A personal utopia of your own making. Now you were in this...hell away from hell, the scent of smog and exhaust still burning the inside of your nose. 

The rest of the ride was spent with you trying to think of ways to escape this fate, but finding none in sight. You didn’t need to fully see the building to get this overwhelming wave of impurity. The tempting allure of sin. Practically a demon buffet. These morons were just screaming to be killed or worse, eaten. Even just approaching the gate to the driveway, you could see remnants of spirits, demons without full forms clawing at the fence. Wisps of black sinking into their sidewalk. But not even those, you could smell the presence of other lesser demons...but more dangerous ones. Outside the gate were small crowds, not too many, but enough to safely conceal their presence. Photographers, journalists, fans, wherever they were, they were eager to get in. And amongst the rabble stood demons pretending to be mortals in an attempt to sink their fangs into one of the Morningstars. You slunk down in your seat, trying to conceal your presence, but you were sure they’d be able to feel you. The car slipped past all of them, approaching the first set of gates. Whoever was patrolling the vehicle pressed their fingers against a small pad attached to a pillar by the gate. It waited for a moment, then made an affirming noise before the gate swung open. The cries of mortal and hidden demons alike pleading for the smallest sliver of attention from this human made you feel sick. 

Despite having nearly ignored you the whole time, Lucifer scoffed. “You’ll get used to it.” The curved metal fence shut behind you, and the sound of the crowd slowly faded as you pulled up in front of the massive house. If anything, it reminded you a little of home. It was an old fashioned looking house, but fanciful nonetheless. With dark stone, piercing towers, arched windows, and an overall gothic aesthetic. You managed to take a moment to breathe. At least there was one silver lining. Lucifer stepped out of the idle vehicle first, paying you no mind as he approached the steps to the door. Slightly panicking, you tried simply pushing the door before noticing the small handle. Pulling it unlocked it, and you rapidly exited, feeling the motion sickness fade with your feet on the ground. You followed the mortal to the door, and was slightly pleased when he put his phone away to open the door, leaving it open for you. Lucifer shut the door, a small high pitched noise ringing through your ears. You turned and watched him mess with a little panel near the door. “Our security is top of the market. I make sure the code is changed every day, so if you’re not inside by midnight, I hope you enjoy camping.” 

You were about to speak up about that, but both of you were bombarded with noise. A noise you would later learn to get used to. “Oi! Lucifer!” A bundle of energy came racing down the stairs. Wild hair, dark skin, rings on nearly every finger, you recognized this individual without having to ask his name. You could feel the influence. Greed. Demons almost loved this brother more than Pride, because from what you’d heard, he’d make deals impulsively with demons without knowing their true intentions. As long as money or something expensive was in front of him, he’d jump for anything. It had gotten him in more than enough trouble, and it made him too much of a prime target. At least Lucifer knew how to look over his shoulder. The second brother confronted the eldest. He didn’t even glance at you. “Hey, I need some cash! For some reason my card keeps declining...you can spot me right?” 

Lucifer didn’t even hesitate. “No.” 

“Eh? Why not?! I did that thing the other day for you, remember?” 

“Hm?” Lucifer tilted his head, taking the time to recall-or pretending to. ��Which thing would that be? Would it have been before or after you stole and immediately maxed out my card?” Lowering his eyes, the older one gave off a menacing smile. 

Mammon took a step back, muttering. “O-oh you found about that, huh?” 

The smile turned into a full on yell. “Of course I found out! I got a call from the bank as soon as they saw the purchase! What exactly do you need a golden tiger statue for, Mammon? Seriously, you’re absolutely ridiculous! I returned it by the way, and in the meantime I cancelled all your cards.” Mammon went to open his mouth in anger but didn’t have the chance to say anything. “You can try to find some extra work to pay off all the bills you’ve left me with. And if I think you’re ready, I’ll reopen your accounts in two months.” The effort of shouting sent Pride’s eye twitching. He lifted a hand to press against his forehead, the blood draining from his face. You shifted ever so slightly in your spot and he groaned. “Right, you’re here. Mammon, this is MC.” 

Eyebrows raised, he jumped a little when he finally spotted you were in the room. “Wait, wait, wait, that whole thing with someone staying with us for a year wasn’t a joke?” 

“No.” Although the slight warble to his voice seemed that that fact was just now settling in. “It wasn’t. And since you’ve so kindly volunteered yourself, you can take their bags and show them to their room.” He simply turned. No welcome, no tour, no warmth in those cold eyes of his. 

“Hey! Come back here!” Yet the younger sibling showed no signs of chasing after him. “Lucifer!” His older brother just quickly headed up the stairs and disappeared into the house. Was it really going to require a full year of observation? Just from what you were seeing right now, you wanted nothing to do with humans. Nothing. Mammon ran a hand through his hair, one of his strands getting stuck in one of his rings, but he tugged it out without noticing, like it was a daily occurrence. “I can’t believe this.” You could watch as the anger started to swell within him. “Screw this, I’m out of here!” You were ready for him to leave, to give into his emotions. He had wrapped his hand around the door handle before he stopped. Pausing, he just tutted to himself before shoving his hands in his jacket-pockets, looking in your direction but not fully at you. “You want the guest room we have upstairs or down?” Loud, brash, rude in some ways, but there was a weird sort of innocence about him. You simply shrugged. He nodded, grasping one of your bags suddenly, gesturing you to follow. “I’ll give you the downstairs one. Most of our rooms are on the second floor, so it’s a bit quieter down here, plus it stays cooler.” He led you past the entrance hall and back into the rest of the house. “Plus, it’s easier to sneak out from here, but you didn’t hear that from me. I’m guessing Lucifer gave you the whole rule spiel?” 

You restrained the urge to roll your eyes. “Yeah.” 

He hissed in air through his teeth. “Sucks, man, are you sure you want to stay here?” 

The pain around your wrists was still too prominent. Etched into your skin was a mark, a line of runes and symbols around your wrists. Who knew demons could give temporary pacts to other demons? Simeon ensured you a small fraction of his power, just in case you ran into trouble. But in exchange he had a hold on you, able to summon you to him whenever he needed you. It was your chain keeping you imprisoned here. There was no running. There was no hiding. “I didn’t have a choice.”

[moonlightlullaby]

no celebrations?

summary: Corpse and reader celebrate his birthday in the most chill way. Based on this lovely request (ty again for sending it!) 

pairing: corpse husband x gn! reader

category: fluff

warnings: food ingestion; alcohol ingestion; loads of physical touch (let me know if I forgot to mention anything)

A/N: Hello (: This is such a lovely concept, I just couldn’t wait to get started hehe Also, I got a bit carried away and just went with it, so I’m really sorry if that’s not what you’d pictured. I do hope you enjoy it tho <3 Take care!

word count: 2.4k

Masterlist

Walking into our shared bedroom, I catch the sight of Corpse exiting the bathroom. As our eyes lock, my lips curl up tiredly and a long sigh I didn’t even know I’ve been holding finally frees itself. He sits on the edge of our bed and extends his hand to me. When I take it, he pulls me so I stand in the space between his legs.

“How was the day?” he asks with both of his hands on my waist. 

I hum, quirking a brow and tilting my head a bit “At least tomorrow - you know, the most unspecial, completely ordinary day of the year -” this earns a giggle from my boyfriend “is Sunday and I can just ignore all of that” I wave my hand in the direction of the adjacent room, where my laptop - filled with texts, assignments, spreadsheets and appointed Zoom calls - is. 

At my words, Corpse wraps his arms around my figure, pulls my body even closer to him and plants a kiss on my stomach through my shirt. My hands, in turn, caress his upper back and soft hair. 

Coming in contact with the string of his eyepatch in the process, I lean back slightly, which causes him to shoot up at me with a small frown and pouty lips. He sits still, though, as I carefully remove his eyepatch, and, while his eyes are still closed, I give each of his lids a peck. He smiles and tilts his head up to meet my lips in a long, tender and effortless kiss. Oh finally.

The idea of quarantining together was welcomed as a blessing by both of us. It meant more time spent together after all. However, with my school and work demands and Corpse’s irregular schedule, we still barely see each other throughout the day in spite of being a few feet apart from one another. And when bedtime rolls in, we’re both so exhausted all we can do is mumble words that could be counted in the fingers of one hand before drifting off. This, of course, when my boyfriend doesn’t stay up until dawn working. Don’t get me wrong, I’m his number 1 fan and admire his passion and all the hard work he puts in everything he sets his mind to, but I’m also not going to lie and say I don’t miss his warmth at night. Hence I want to devote this Sunday to him.

After a while, I break the silence “I’ll be right back.”

I let go of his hold and take my turn to use the bathroom. After doing my night routine, brushing my teeth and getting into my cozy pajamas, I walk back in the dark room and lie down, settling myself back in Corpse’s hug like two puzzle pieces matching together.

~~~~~

The excitement for a new day - not any day, no, but August 8th - washes over me as soon as I open my eyes and get a glimpse of the sleepy boy next to me. 

A couple of minutes go by as I contemplate on getting up, torn between prolonging our cuddling for some more and doing something to show Corpse my appreciation for him. The latter wins and I, cautious not to wake him up, slowly unwrap my arms from him and step out of the bed. Drawing the curtains to make sure the summer daylight doesn’t disturb his peaceful state of mind, I make my way out of the room and to the kitchen. 

Wondering what to make for breakfast, I take a good look around until my eyes catch the plethora of fruits we’ve bought a few days ago. Fruit salad it is. 

Corpse has, for as long as we’ve known each other, made it very clear he isn’t too fond of his anniversary and similar celebrations - and, even if he hadn’t explained it to me, it’s rather evident how uncomfortable they make him. This year, his friends’ and especially his fans’ hype for the date - although unintentionally - has added an extra layer of unease to it all, to which I don’t intend to contribute.

Even though I don’t want to make matters worse and would never overstep his boundaries like this (because, thankfully, I’m not Betty Cooper and he isn’t Jughead Jones), I still want to celebrate Corpse. I want to celebrate his birth and his existence, which I’m immensely grateful for. He’s both the best friend I can confide in blindly and the lover I want to share my lifetime with. He sticks to his truth and dreams higher than I could ever imagine. He turns the darkness in the world and in his mind into light with his words and with his laugh. Having him in my life is one of the best things to ever happen to me and seeing him fly makes me more proud than I can put into words. 

There’s a lot to toast to, so the solution is a celebration that is so smooth and so chill - the smoothest and most chill possible - that it doesn’t even feel like one. Just log off and enjoy a laid back day together.

As I chop a kiwi and make a mental list of fun and uncomplicated things we can do that don’t require much time and many skills, in walks Corpse, in an old white tee which is one too many sizes bigger than him and in his black sweatpants. He rubs his eyes and lets a raspy “good morning”.

“Mornin- wow! They really weren’t lying when they said when you hit 24, hotness knocks at your door”

He chuckles and shakes his head “No one’s said that”

“Well, then consider yourself the muse of a new proverb, baby”

He scrunches up his nose in response before grabbing the cup of orange juice I’d placed on the counter and taking a gulp. 

“Thank you” he turns my face and gives me an orange-flavoured kiss, neither of us having ever really cared about morning breath. 

“For calling you hot? Oh save it to when I’m done with the list of cheesy compliments I have for you” I take a grape and before I can get it in my mouth, he steals it, with wrinkles on the corner of his eyes.

“Then we’d be here for eternity!” he’s not wrong.

Corpse helps me put the fresh fruits in bowls and, with them and our juice cup in hand, we head to the balcony. Sitting next to each other, we calmly eat, take in the light blue sky and the cars and passersby changing the scenery ahead of us. Conversation flows naturally.

As we empty our bowls - after stealing many bits from each other -, I twist in my seat and face him “Hey, Corpse, do you see this?” I point to the very prominent and familiar dark circles under my eyes. “Wanna help me get rid of them?” I ask, knowing damn well it’d take a lifetime for them to actually go away and not giving up regardless.

~~~~~

The bathroom is filled with chatter and laughter and the sink, with hair clips, scrunchies, a sharpie, bowls, hair products and a towel. Corpse hisses as our cool homemade face mask comes in contact with his skin. His curly hair is pushed back and held by a blue hairband and I apply the mask to his face, making sure not to leave any spots uncovered. Well, that’s what I’m trying to do, which becomes an unnecessarily challenging task when my lovely partner can’t be still for more than two seconds. 

He kept switching between dancing to Soulmate, by Mac Miller, and mouthing its lyrics. Now that I got him - after a small threat that I wouldn’t hesitate putting this weird mix we made in his pretty mouth - to keep his lips together, the (adorable, admittedly) swaying, however, continues. He stops momentarily, only to shuffle things around right after.

Something cold touches my skin, making it my turn to let out a hiss this time. The sound is accompanied by a small jump, caused by the surprise. Corpse chuckles and, when I glance at the spot on my arm the cold thing came in contact with, I realize it’s just the sharpie. All he does is give me a mischievous smile.

While I keep massaging his face and covering it with the mask, Corpse litters my body with his drawings. Smiley faces, lightning bolts, hearts, clouds... his repertoire is vast and any exposed skin he can find becomes his canvas. Each line causing me to giggle and shudder a little. With him focused on his creations, it’s 10 times easier for me to complete my task. 

“Alright, my turn” he states, smiling, and I’m quick to grab the sharpie. 

As he adjusts a matching hairband on my head, I put a dainty heart on his neck. And, as he takes the bowl in his hands, I swiftly plant a kiss on top of the drawing. At this, he sighs in content and my chest gets warmer.

I soon understand how hard it was for him to stay still as Stay comes on and all I want to do is have a little karaoke session and dance. Corpse entertains himself with my struggle and, because it’s his birthday, I’ll let it slide. So, to make the whole process easier, instead of focusing on the song, I focus on the gorgeous face in front of me. A beautiful face to a beautiful soul. 

One of the various perks of sharing an apartment with Corpse is I get to see this face in all ways: sleepy, completely clean - no makeup, no mask -, all wrinkled in the morning, red when he’s embarrassed or when he laughs too hard… His laughter. Its sound pulls me from my trance “You’re staring, y/n” 

“Well, at least I wasn’t moving around, Corpse” I reply with squinted eyes and nudge his side playfully. 

We begin collecting the things scattered across the sink and storing them in the cabinet, and the song comes to an end, giving way to Dang!

“How long do we keep these on?” 

I hum at the question and check the playlist on shuffle on my phone “How does 5 minutes and 2 seconds sound?” 

Facing him, his grin mirrors mine and he spins me around. We laugh and allow ourselves to be as goofy as possible, jamming and moving our limbs around with a green paste on our faces.

~~~~~

After washing off the masks in the shower and painting our nails - so we’re both rocking the black nail polish look -, we’ve set our minds to - finally - finish the puzzle we started two months ago. It’s a 90’s anime setting inspired composition and we’d gotten about 40% of it done before our schedules got more hectic and the game, well, pushed aside. For weeks, the pieces sat on the ground of our living room and silently judged us every time either of us stepped to the side, as we crossed the room, in order not to crush them.

Sitting around the puzzle with comfy clothes, we team up against it and indulge in the wine Corpse’s got us and the hawaiian pizza I’ve ordered. 

As the picture comes more and more to life, moments of comfortable silence and of chattery - when we talk about anything from our shopping list and gossip about our neighbours’ lives to parallel universes and the matrix - follow one another. A different playlist on shuffle is our background noise. 

Time flies and the sun’s already hidden when it clicks to us that there are only 5 pieces left. Each piece is fitted in the whole with a giddier feeling than the previous. Corpse picks the last one - deep blue with purple and black specks - and turns to me with an excited smile and an eager gaze that I’m sure are mirrored on my face. I nod encouragingly. He places it in the puzzle and celebratory sounds fill the room.

Corpse stretches his arms and pulls me in a hug, but, since we’re both kneeling and because of the distance between us, we end up falling and lying on the ground in rather uncomfortable positions. 

“Come on, puzzle, that was easy breezy! Gotta step up your game if you really wanna challenge this duo right here!”

“Oh for sure!” Corpse squeaks as we laugh at our nonsensical brag.

After a moment while we catch our breath, he rubs my back and speaks, pulling my attention to him “Not that I’m not loving this position, but what if we watched some Drag Race?”

Is this man real? If I couldn’t feel his heart beating under me or his arms around my figure, I’d be sure he’s just a figment of my imagination. “But it’s your b- don’t you wanna choose something you like more? Li-” 

“Nope,” he boops my nose “Drag Race, or maybe Love Island, would be great right now.” And people still dare say the perfect man doesn’t exist!

“You’re such a dream!” I give him a quick peck before continuing “Ok, so I put on the show and you get more wine…?” He hums in approval and stands up. Our eyes briefly jump from each other to the puzzle and back to each other, then we simply nod. A silent agreement to leave the puzzle here. We’re both too lazy to put all the pieces back in the box and too proud of our achievement to let it go just yet; besides, everything’s been sitting here for about two months, what are a few more hours?

He steps to the side, gets our glasses and makes his way to the kitchen. I lie on the couch and scan Netflix for Drag Race. Corpse comes back, placing the glasses next to the couch, and gently lies down on top of me. He nests his head on my chest and we both hum contently.  

While RuPaul announces what the winner’s prize will be, I play with his hair, letting my fingers knead his curls. His right hand flies up to meet mine and I bring our intertwined hands to my lips, peppering his knuckles with kisses. The gesture is cut by a loud laugh that escapes my lips as miss Vanjie Mateo’s iconic moment replays on the screen. 

“Hey,” Corpse’s voice makes me look right back at him “I love you. You know that, right?”

My heart melts at his words and at the way he’s looking at me right now. I nod with a smile.

“I love you too, birthday boy.”

[il-ballo-della-vita-maneskin]

okokok but one with ethan dating a girl like jade from victorious that summer be awesome lol

oof, i had so much fun writing this!🖤 if you have any other ideas, send them in hun

the reader is not specified as woman, but they wear a ball gown and probably some other things that are considered feminine

warnings: it’s been a hot minute since i watched this show, so i apologize if i got something wrong. as for other warnings (there are so many, wow), expect reader being a psychiatric case, of course: mention of vampires, ghost summoning, scissors, probably a disturbing scenario (what comes after ↓) so please don’t read it if blood, dead bodies, creepy ballrooms and being a vampire trigger you. the writing style in the scenario reads like a badly written horror fanfiction, lol. and i think there is one swear word.

~

- first of lemme say

- Jade is one my fav characters ever

- so, thank you for requesting

- though I needed to think a bit about this to try to make it different than this request

- but what I will do is just write the reader as very gothic and sarcastic

- so, let’s start

- Ethan is usually considered really cute and shy, but I bet he would ask you to do him makeup

- so, you would sit next to him, take his face in your fingers with (his) black nail polish and put him on the eyeliner in the fanciest, the most vampire style there is to exist

- then you would go out and probably make people run across the street, lol

- he would watch horror movies with you

- imagine it’s really late and you two are binging some scary movies

- then there is a jump scare

- so, of course, you take the opportunity to grab his leg or something

- he screams and pulls you closer, to protect you or for protection, there is no way to know (but knowing you were most certainly a vampire slayer or a vampire in your past life it’s probably the latter)

- and you start laughing at him

- with wide eyes and his heart still beating rapidly, he tells you he will never again watch a horror movie with you

- but he does

- gets you black roses (at least every other day)

- sometimes he gets really confused by your sarcasm and thinks you’re being serious and as much as it’s awfully annoying when coming from other people, it’s somehow adorable when it’s him

- his biggest goal would be to scare you

- he would be constantly creeping up at you, turning off the lights or screaming out of nowhere

- it’s safe to say he never managed, but he is getting a little better, you will give him that

- he is the only person who would listen for hours to you rambling about summoning ghosts and go with you to scissors shopping and despite being terrified, he would try to learn something about those and similar topics to impress you

- he would start preparing for Halloween far too early to make them as special as possible to you

- and every 31st October, after you had a incredible and horrific night, you would smile him your rare genuine smile, hug him and tell him you love him (remember what I have just said, cuz that teeth rotting bullshit is never coming out of my mouth again (though it does, but shh))

- this would maybe not be possible in this world and I’ll maybe make some of you concerned for my well being, but I’m including it and that’s final ↓

- you are wearing a ball gown, heavy and once white, but now covered in blood stains that changed color to the one of rust a long time ago

- night is still young, but the ballroom is empty, no guests in sight

- your heels make a clicking sound as you go down the massive stairway

- from the shadows of the room only illuminated by candles, steps a man wearing a white suit to match your gown, a stony expression on his face and hair in a simple low bun

- his lips scratch in a tight smile as he offers you his gloved hand

- you take it and allow him to pull you closer

- you step onto the ballroom and music starts (✨magically✨) playing

- he spins you and leads your bodies in perfect sync, your heels digging into the bodies spread around the room and a grin wide on your face as you dance your damned dance in the haunting moonlight, il ballo della vita

i hope this is not too weird and that y’all liked it. wish you wonderful morning, afternoon, evening or night💕

Love, Ri✨

P.S. i’ll try to post requested match ups tonight

P.S.S. this is slowly turning into an ethan stan account and i’m here for it

[milqueandsugar]

🏵 Where the sun meets the Sea 🏵

Warnings: Mentions of death/drowning , Mentions of kidnapping

PT: III

| Something In The Water |

The journey to the ocean wasn’t a particularly long one, made even shorter by the Piglins fascination on the story told not twenty minuets ago. He had heard tales of mermaids before, sirens more often. Hell his favourite books at the moment were about the adventures of a mermaid in a war torn world. But the idea of them being real always seemed to escape him. He shouldn’t be much surprised, seeing as he closest companion is immortal, and his tenant is an enderman hybrid. He guessed the thought never crossed his mind, in his defense most of the stories he had been told of mermaids were from sea crazed or drunk sailors, sometimes even both. 

Pulled from his thoughts by a grunt from Steve he became more aware of his surroundings. They had quite quickly reached the cliff side over hanging the ocean. Not the best place to fish but he didn’t have a lot of time to be fishing, he had merchants to be rip off, and more totems to gather. His movements were smooth as he fixed the hook to the rod and speared a bit of fish onto the end of it. He wasn’t very good at fishing, but being good friends with Phil he knew enough to hurt himself. Most likely. 

He was quick to cast the line into the water, watching the tackle sway with the gentle tides of the ocean. In and out, in and out, in and out. It would have been real relaxing, even the voices had quieted down a bit, but he soon grew bored of the repetitive motion. Soon enough his eyes drifted from the bobber to the rocks the water lapped around, splashing up and polishing them a dark grey. Technoblade was quick to spot a few snails making their way across the surfaces of the rocks beneath foot, a few making their way to the small tide pool like grove further under the cliff face. It was a beautiful scene, if it hadn’t been for such grey gloomy weather. 

A quick tug was enough to draw his eyes back to the tackle, which had now been pulled under the surface of the water. In the foamy waters it was easy to see the dark grey, nearly back body of the fish among the lighter rocks. It was big too, what ever it was, certainly on or two of these would be enough to hold Steve over until they got back to the cabin. Reeling in the fish was less pleasant then expected, by no means was the fish stronger then him, the piglin was certain he could pull the fish out of the ocean with his own two hands given the chance. But the handle of the reel was not made for four fingers, let alone four fingers that were made of nail. 

As quickly as it came the fish had gotten away, as the tugging suddenly stopped and all he could do was watch as the shadowy figure of the fish swam away. A few frustrated curses slipped past his lips as he slowly reeled the hook back in, having to take several moments repositioning his hands. Quickly however he realized that this pole was not made for him, and no matter how much he practiced with the tool it was unlikely to work.

He wasn't left alone long however as a rather gruff voice caught his attention. "Oi! Wadda ya doin' out 'ere? Rather far from the village o' blood god." Letting out a confused ' heh ' he turned quickly the piglins eyes quickly focused on the two men not to far behind him. Dressed in thick, warm coats and large seal skin boats Techno was quick to recognize the dress. They were fishermen.

Giving a curt not the piglin rose to his hooves, catching the attention of Steve who followed suit. "I thought fishermen didn't come to these coasts anymore" he thought aloud, his ears twitching as one of the men, one with a rather thick beard, laughed. "Don't tell me you're listenin' ta town rumours now? Say ya lookin' inta fishin' ?" The man questioned gesturing with a gloved hand to the fishing pole in the piglins hand.

"Not for long hopefully, the fishers all out" Techno blade explained, relaxing as he grew to realize these men were certainly no threat. " Course they are! With that beast of yours it's no surprise" the thinner man chuckled, scratching at his stubble ridden chin in thought. "Say, for a coin we'd be 'appy 'elp ya catch a few" he offered with a shrug of his shoulders.

Knowing full well he wouldn't be able to catch half the fish these gentlemen would be able to he let out a defeated sigh. Dragging his hand down the length of his face he nodded along. "I'll bite. A gold coin each."

The men clearly perked up a bit, a small grin on the first mans face as he nodded along. "We'll be sure ta make sure it's worth it! Come with us, we'll show you the good spots to fish" He hummed. His hopes of leaving the sea men to their work was soon crushed as they began to lead him off. Blood god or not he wasn’t a very social man, and it showed as he awkwardly began to clamber after the two, tugging at the reins of Steve’s harness as he walked. 

Technoblade wasn’t entirely sure why he was even following the men, he was awkward sure but the an certainly knew how to make an exit. As usual his poor choices seemed to follow his curiosity. Certainly the fishermen would know of the sea witch or siren, they seemed to think of the idea as a joke. But joke or not a story is a story, and he wouldn’t have much to do that day as Phil was making dinner. Letting out a sharp breath his ears perked as a splashing caught his attention. Casting a glance down the cliff side into the water nothing but the tide seemed to be moving. 

 A head of them was a hill, whatever was making that noise had to be over it, meaning what ever was making the noise had to be large. The fishermen seemed to connect the same dots as he did as the bearded one turned to the other.

 “Someone else out ‘ere?”

 “No one besides Scotty” 

“Whatever he’s got must be big, eh?” 

The bearded man let out a little chuckle, the two picking up pace as they made their way up the hill. Technoblade didn’t put to much effort into catching up, knowing he wouldn’t lose them, and Steve didn’t look like he would be speeding up either. It wasn’t long until they disappeared over the crest of the hill, Technoblade wouldn’t have taken any notice if a holler hadn’t quickly followed. 

“Scotty what the hell ‘re ya doin’?!”

[yunhoez]

Swell

♄ pairings: suna x reader (in their 20s)

♄ genre: romance, angst, bestfriends to lovers (if u keep one eye open)

♄ warnings: cussing, smoking, suna & atsumu aren't volleyball players okay (don't yell at me), sfw for now

♄ wc: 2.4k

♄ a/n: okay so this is based on a script I wrote (it’s gonna be a film soon hehe), but considering I have to keep it short I wanted to continue it on as a fic! thank you to @chifuyuzu, @arumiee, @psmugglerr, and Mal♡ for encouraging me to do this and reading it <3 I hope y’all enjoy!

♄ songs - Swell by Lunar Vacation, I Don't Know You by The Marias

_______________________________________________

The low humming of the car and soft music coming from the radio sends you into a trance as you look out at the familiar streets of your hometown. Your head pressed against the seat feels heavy with the thought of being back in the place you ran away from. Your gaze trails to the two in the front seat, the streetlights hitting them enough for you to make out their features you’ve seemed to forget. Ava hums to the song on the radio lightly, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel. Atsumu’s eyes are fixed on the road before he turns toward Ava and rubs her back slightly. She shoots him a small smile before returning her gaze to the road. The aching feeling in your heart swells, making your stomach churn.

“It’s weird.” You say, breaking the peaceful silence that once graced the car.

“Hm?” Ava hums, looking at you through the rearview mirror.

“Nothing ever seems to change here.” You state, staring back out at the window with a blank expression, catching a glimpse of the houses you’d pass on the way to school.

Ava shakes her head, although you tried to mask your emotions, she could tell that you were irritated. Atsumu laughs looking out of the passenger seat window, noticing the park he used to practice volleyball at.

“It really hasn’t been that long since we’ve been here, Y/N.”

“I know, but you’d think things would at least feel different.” You throw your head back in frustration, letting out a loud sigh. Ava laughs, turning her blinker on before she begins to turn into yet another familiar street.

“I don’t know, I like that things are the same here. It feels like home, ya know? Knowing that there will always be a place that feels familiar is kinda comforting.”

Your gaze settles onto Ava with a mischievous grin. You scoot into the middle seat, leaning in between your two friends. Atsumu looks over at you and giggles, looking up at Ava to stare at her with you. Ava takes her eyes off the road for a second to see you two, she rolls her eyes.

“What?” She deadpans.

“That was the cheesiest shit I’ve ever heard you say.” Your laugh fills the car, making Atsumu join in and eliciting a small huff from Ava.

“Shut up! Is it so bad I actually like my hometown?”

“Yes.” Both you and Atsumu state at the same time, further irritating Ava as she swerves slightly making the both of you slide in your seats.

“Crazy how I can just drop you two off on the side of the road and leave.”

“Not like we don’t know the way around here.” Atsumu says, poking at Ava’s cheek.

“Looks like you’re walking to the studio then.” Ava stops the car in the middle of the road, Atsumu looks at her with a puzzled look. She leans over to open his car door, you stare at the two in amusement waiting to see what happens.

“Babe, it’s another 10 miles!” Atsumu exclaims, shutting the door.

“Atsumu, just shut up or walk before these cars come.” You state, looking behind you and see the car lights coming from a small distance.

“Why do I have to shut up when this one started it?”

“Huh?! What did I do?”

Ava rolls her eyes, picking at her nail polish as the two of you bicker over nothing. She puts the car in drive and slams on the breaks causing the two of you to fall over.

“What the hell, Ava?” You ask from the middle of the driver and passenger seat. “I could’ve died?” Ava stifles a laugh before putting the car in park. She looks at Atsumu pouting in his seat, rubbing his forehead and refusing to make eye contact with her. Ava lets out a loud laugh, wiping at the corner of her eyes. You giggle to yourself as you lift yourself up, moving towards the right side of the car to take your seat. You notice Ava placing a kiss on Atsumu’s forehead and the fond touches the two share. A small smile appears on your face seeing them interact, their love radiating off of them like the sun on a hot day. It felt so nice to be around them, but the heat in your heart was beginning to sting. Was it jealousy? No. Anger? No. Longing… Maybe.

“Geez, ya nearly gave me a concussion!”

“Serves you right.”

Ava puts the car in drive, cruising along the dimly lighted streets. Atsumu continues to mutter to himself about how his head hurts.

“I felt my brain rattle.”

“Crazy because there’s nothing in there.”

They continue talking as you look out the window, blocking out their conversation with your own thoughts. Why did I come back here? Surely, I could’ve made up some excuse and made it up to them another time. I don’t think I’m ready to see-

“Anyways, Y/N, do ya really hate it here that much?” Atsumu breaks your train of thought.

“S’not that I hate it.” You mutter, head resting on your hand. “It’s just a weird feeling coming back to a place that doesn’t change. Like everything’s frozen in time… it freaks me out.” Scarlett peaks at you through the rearview mirror, once again, observing your facial expression. Always the mysterious one, aren’t ya? She thought.

“If you ask me, I think it’s nice having a place that doesn’t change. Somewhere you know you can be comfortable and find some sort of peace.” You stare at her for a second, before returning your gaze to the window.

“I guess you’re right.”

“Wow, you’re actually agreeing with me for once?”

“I mean I’m not opposed to the idea of it, I just don’t like getting too comfortable…”

“Fair enough.” Ava sighs, glancing over at Atsumu who nods knowingly at her as he puts his window down. Your window begins to roll down causing you to look at Ava in confusion. “Fresh air will do ya good.”

You rest your arms on the car window, slightly leaning your head onto them as you peek out of the window. The cool autumn breeze tickles your face, as you soak in the darkness of the night. It was a new moon, the only light coming from the sky was the twinkling stars and planets. You look up to the sky and catch a glimpse of a shooting star. It’s been a while since I’ve seen one of those. You thought. I wonder if he still does this.

“Nice being able to see the stars, ain’t it?” Atsumu says, half way out of the car window.

“Yeah…” You smile, a giggle leaving your mouth as he sways in the wind dramatically. “One break from Ava and you’ll fly out!”

“Oi, don’t give her any ideas!”

Ava laughs, turning into the corner store you all used to visit everyday. Atsumu sits back into his seat, handing Ava a wad of cash from his wallet.

“Any requests?”

“Starbursts, make sure ya get the one with all the reds!”

“Alright, Y/N?”

“Oh! And one of those fancy lookin’ waters! Ya know, with the cool designs and shit?” Atsumu interrupts. Ava sends him a teasing glare and he smirks. She turns towards you, your attention fixed on the store that seemed to remain the same. The beige building had the same lettering and advertisements as it did when you were in high school. The railings had a fresh coat of paint on them, but still looked scuffed from all the times you and your friends would sit on them. It was just how you left it. How annoying.

“Oi, Y/N! Getcha’ head out of the clouds, Ava’s askin’ ya something”

“Sorry, what’s up?”

“You want anything?”

“I’m okay, thanks.”

“Twizzlers? Got it.”

Ava exits the car and runs into the shop. Atsumu lifts off his seat slightly, digging into his pockets and pulling out a pack of Seven Stars cigarettes. He plucks one out and lights it, puffing the smoke out of the window. The scent envelops her, giving her a sense of both warmth and pain from the memories it holds.

“Thought you quit.”

“I did. This is for nostalgic reasons.” He smiles, inhaling the smoke and releasing it out of the window in a swift movement.

“Right, you and Rin…” You trail off mid sentence. Atsumu looks up at you through the rearview mirror, just as Ava did, and takes another drag.

“Mhm, this was our go to place for a while.” His eyes flicker from you to the inside of the store. He relaxes back into his seat, looking over at Ava with the biggest grin on his face. She’s looking intensely at two bottles of water and making small talk with the cashier. You smile to yourself, pulling your knees to your chest as you remember the times you all used to meet up here and spend hours talking about nothing.

“When was the last time you two spoke?”

“I can’t remember.”

Atsumu nods, knowing the answer. He flicks the bud of the cigarette out of the window, turning slightly to see you staring at the ground. He flicks your forehead softly, earning a yelp from you. He laughs.

“He’s still here, ya know?”

You look up from the ground, but stay silent for a few moments before he speaks up again.

“He never wanted to leave.”

“Sounds like him.” You let go of your legs, opening the car door and stepping out. You stretch a bit before shutting the door behind you. “You think he’ll be at the show?”

“I don’t think he’d miss getting the chance to see you again.”

You let out an annoyed sigh, walking up to the door and exchanging a couple words with Ava before she exits. The cashier greets you just how he did when you were sixteen and the layout of the store is the same as it was 4 years ago. Nothing’s changed here… so why do I feel so out of place?

“What did you do?” Ava sighs, rummaging through the bag of snacks she just bought.

“Huh? I didn’t do anything!” Atsumu exclaims, hands held up in surrender as if he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t have.

“Sure, you didn’t. I’m assuming you mentioned Rintarou.”

“Hm? Rintarou? I don’t even know who that is.”

Ava scoffs, throwing the bag of Starbursts at him. He turns to her in shock, dramatically falling into his seat and gripping at the spot the candy hit him. She giggles, taking a bite out of a twizzler and lifting her leg onto her seat.

“What is she getting anyways?” Atsumu mutters, obnoxiously chewing on his candy.

“Lollipops.” Ava shrugs.

_____________________________________________

The smell of cinnamon and the bright lights of the studio overwhelm your senses in the most pleasant way possible. People you’ve never seen before walk past you, admiring the works of art your best friend, Rei, has displayed. Quiet chatter is heard over the music playing from a record player in the corner, occasionally Atsumu’s loud voice is heard saying “Yeah! Rei’s my best friend, she did all of this, ya know? I was her inspiration for most.” You giggle to yourself, hearing a small “Ow” when Ava elbows him in the rib. You observe the people around you, keeping an eye out for a certain brown haired boy. He’s not here. Your thought is interrupted by Rei’s sweet voice and a small shot glass held in front of your face.

“You look like you need this.” Rei giggles. You laugh lightly, grabbing the glass and clinking it with Rei’s before downing it with her.

“Strawberry?”

“Just like old times.” She smiles. You give her an annoyed look, causing her to roll her eyes and sling her arm over your shoulders. “Shut up, you know it’s our tradition.”

They part for a second then hook their arms together as they walk around the studio, Rei pointing out her favorite pieces and explaining them to you as you admire how ecstatic she is. The two of you stop at the last few pieces of her exhibit, the wall filled with pictures she’s taken over the years.

“I’m so proud of you.” You state, leaning your head onto her shoulder.

“Being vulnerable counts for something, doesn’t it?” She smiles, patting your head lightly.

Rei looks over at the entrance of the studio and waves to a couple people. You lift your head up and let go of her arm, as she smiles at you.

“I’ll be back!” She exclaims, running over and greeting them as she takes them on a tour of her art studio.

You debate whether to roam around the studio or stick to this exhibit, when something catches your eye. You stand closer to the photos, noticing how they date back to 2015. A couple photos in the timeline up to the present catch your eye. Ava, Atsumu, Rei, You, and Suna were in nearly every single one of them. You feel tears prick your eyes at how simple those times were, annoyed at the feeling of nostalgia seeping into your mind.

“Well this fucking sucks.” You whisper to yourself.

“I know, I look terrible in that picture.” A familiar voice states. A tall, lanky man stands beside you. His messy brown hair framing his face perfectly, as he gazes at the photos. You glance at him slightly, realizing who it is and avert your gaze back to the photos. “Seriously, who let me wear that?” He asks, looking over towards you and stifling a laugh at your reaction.

You turn your face to the other side, hoping he hasn’t recognized you. How could he? It’s been what? 3 years? I’ve changed my hair since then, there’s no possible way he’ll know it’s me. Suna lets out a laugh, making your heart ache. You turn to where he was standing and he wasn’t there. You furrow your brows and sigh with relief, but a hint of disappointment. You return your attention to the photos, only to be met with Suna’s chest. You hold your breath and remain still, as he bends down to meet your gaze. His golden eyes peering at you with a mischievous grin on his face, one that you remember all too well.

“Long time no see, angel.”

[whump-a-la-mode]

Would you continue the villain nausea whumpee? To show how he is after he is removed from the chair? Do they set him free since he won’t be violent anymore ?

I loved the idea of Villain being set free, and ran with it a bit! I hope you enjoy! Thank you so much for the ask!!

This is a continuation from here, and, once again, the story below is below a read-more to prevent any accidental viewing of content that could trigger emetophobia very badly. I would hate for anyone to see it as they scroll past.

However, this time, the first scene is shown, as it contains no potentially triggering content.

CW//Emetophobia, graphic description of vomit, self-hatred, medical malpractice, low self esteem, hatred of former friends, Stockholm syndrome, whumpee liking whumper, minor eye whump mention, nausea

The auditorium crackled with the feedback of a thousand microphones, shoved towards the stage, frequencies battling and screeching against one another in chaotic choir. From a mass of bodies, of cameras and clattering boom mics, the wire spheres emerged in their dozens, all pointed centrally.

All pointed at the stage, and the podium that lived upon it, glistening in freshly-polished hardwood and media attention.

Behind the platform stood a figure, as equally basking in fame, and equally as glimmering. Upon their face, perfect white teeth glowed as freshly-fallen snow, pressed together in a wide grin.

In Hero’s eyes, it was pride that shone. The pride that came with accomplishment, with recognition, with glory, with perfect hair and thousand-dollar suits and the attention of the world, all upon their face. Their words.

“Thank you, everyone, for being here.” With a greeting alone, the world tucked back in hushed quiet. “Now, we will have plenty of time for questions later, but I wanted to start off with what has surely found itself on every headline this morning.”

A pause. The expected clamor erupted from the horde of media, incoherent shouting and stomping. A rioting crowd.

“Now, now.” It was a practiced ritual, between lion and tamer. “I will be taking all of your questions at the end, but let an old guy speak a little, first.”

Laughter queued.

“Well, then. I’m sure you’ve all seen the headlines-- you guys especially, you wrote them! But, for everyone at home, yes, the rumors are true. A villain is now loose in the city.”

A practiced gasp.

“And it’s a good thing! You see, for years, now, our in-house villainous psychology research has been working on a technique that they have dubbed Reaction-Based Morality Rehabilitation. Now, I’ll let you in on a little secret.”

The hero leaned forward, hand cupping the microphone, playful smile clear upon their face.

“They gave me this paper, and it was like, 100 pages long. And I didn’t know half the words in it.” They backed up, smile remaining. “But, trust me when I say, those guys in R&D? They’re amazing. They know exactly what they’re doing, even if I don’t.

But, I won’t leave you hanging. I do understand the just of the procedure, even if I’m not so sure on the jargon.

It’s a very simple solution to a very complicated problem. I am a firm believer in the fact that people are not born as villains. We are all born as heroes. Some of us, through unfortunate means, however, turn rotten. Through this technique, however, me and Organization believe to have found a way to separate the villain from the person inside.

By using innovative methods of therapy, our psychologists are able to help villains reject their evil ways, all the way at the center of their neurology! We have heard many concerns about the possibility of relapses, of a villain turning sides upon their release. Yet, with this technique, changing sides is not a conscious choice. It is as much a thought process as it is a carefully embedded instinct.

Of course.” They straightened momentarily. “That does not mean we are simply allowing once of those who have harmed you return to our beautiful city unsupervised. We ensure you, multiple surveillance methods have been put in place. This is only a trial run.

We at Organization wish to think each and every one for your cooperation and participating in the beta test of this revolutionary new technique. If this run receives positive results, you can all think of villainy as a thing of the past!”

From the crowd emerged a cheer. A cheer for glory, for fame, for progress!

For the destruction of a foe.

For unquestioned success. A villain defeated!

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

Villain’s fingers brushed over the top of the kitchen’s oak-stained counter, kicking up enough dust to suffocate, even as their tightly pursed lips protected them from such.

This was a house.

Their fatigued, half-haunted gaze turned to move over the surrounding interior. The kitchen was fully-featured, oak accented with shimmering, mottled granite. Not that anyone had bothered to clean in the place. Beyond the room and its attached dining area, a step lower, a carpeted area was positioned, furnished in felt couches and a television.

But this was not a home.

With a scratching nail to their neck, the villain moved forward numbly, to the base of the stairs and up them. Beneath their skin, the tracking chip was an awful feeling. Buried just deep beneath that it could not be seen, yet shallow to the point that its presence was unyielding and unignorable. A constant itch, embedded between twitching folds of muscle.

Maybe they could take it out. Maybe with the right kitchen utensil-

Halfway up the stairs, they dropped, keeled over themself with sickly pea soup filling in the space behind their eyes. In an instant, their mind retreated desperately from the thought, or any semblance of it, even as their stomach heaved with the residual ghost of it.

The tracking chip was fine and they didn’t care about it and they wanted it to stay there forever because it wasn’t coming out.

Legs now taking on an appearance that ever so slightly more resembled gelatin, the villain leaned upon the railing, ascending with a considerable additional difficulty up the stairs. In the very brief tour they had been given, their bedroom had been identified as the dark spruce door at the hall’s end.

Moving to it was a struggle on its own, insides still twitching and squelching with the remnants of acute nausea. Yet, their agony was only internal. They made it, and, all the way, kept their mind empty. Thoughts clear.

Not thinking of anything that could make them fall.

The bedroom was a bedroom. A dust-coated vanity. A small attached restroom. A nightstand. A bed.

At the very least, the quilts had some color to them.

Struggling in an attempt not to clutch their own stomach-- an action that they had learned, time and time again, only made the organ flip-- Villain shuffled to the piece of furniture that had been designed for use when they slept. Dust coughed from beneath the covers as they lifted them, crawling under.

Laying down helped, at least in some slight way that may or may not have been a placebo. It meant they could close their eyes. Make unwise thoughts that much less likely to happen.

For a moment, Villain succeeded in blackness. A blank mind. A world unmarred by the horrible jolts within their brain, the firings of neurons, the innate jostling of their frontal cortex.

Yet, it only lasted a moment.

With a jerk, they curled to a fetal position, legs bent and tucked beneath arms. Their body struggled as though weeping, though they had long ago learned not to cry. It was terribly difficult to produce tears, after all, when the metal drew their eyes to unbroken wakefulness.

This was a nightmare. They were certain of it.

That had been their first thought, of course, when the news of their liberation had been shared with them-- after it had been shared with the wider public. Things did not reach their cell very quickly. They had believed it to be a dream, for there was no other possible explanation.

Villains did not deserve freedom. They knew that. Violent little scumbags.

When they had been driven to the house, that was when the orinique connotations in their mind had flipped-- when dream turned to nightmare.

It was their home. Such had been stated clearly, so many times. Upon a thousand channels of media syndication. They had been given the keys, had stared at them for an agonizing moment. Watched them dangle between their fingers.

Hero had practically had to shove them through the doors, and even so, their attempts at escape ceased only after the fourth time they had been reprimanded for them.

Somewhere, something mechanical twitched. Moved. Buzzed. One of the cameras. They knew they were here, obvious, blocky, black eyes. At the very least, they provided some semblance of comfort.

Of home.

Of safety.

Oh, how desperately Villain wanted to go home. Everything had made so much sense there! Was so fantastically, wonderfully simple! If they were placed in their cell, they stayed in their cell. If offered food, they ate. When seated in their chair, they watched.

It was so easy. So invariable. Strict and stringently controlled, as the life of any vile beast who called themself a villain should be. Not a chance they could make a mistake, that they could do anything wrong. Only the slightest opportunities for their mind to slip, their thoughts to wander, to go somewhere bad.

Somewhere that would send them to their hands and knees, heaving and retching.

Food came often, with how difficult it was to keep it down. They’d counted once. Certainly the chefs must have become tired after preparing thirteens meals in a single day. Yet, in the end, they had only managed to fully digest one.

Especially since that was only the day on which they had counted-- it certainly wasn’t notable.

Now, there were no chefs. No cells. No chairs. No screens to watch. Order was gone, and chaos reigned.

Terrible, bloody chaos.

The house was far too large. So many times, Villain had begged for a schedule. For orders. For what they were meant to do-- when to get up, when to go to sleep, what to do inbetween.

Yet, the answers always came the same: A shrug, and four terrible words. “Whatever you want to.”

That which they wanted was not that which should be carried out! They were a villain! A terrible, retched thing! A monster! A devil! Their thoughts deserved no attention, their wants deserved only the click of the IV.

The sickness.

Somehow, despite the inherent maleficence that it most certainly carried with it, an idea manged to work its way through the folds of their brain. A thought. A plan.

A good one. One that did not incite their stomach to heaving.

Certainly, if they laid here, in this bed, then their freedom could not lead to the harm of anyone else. The world would remain safe, regardless of their liberty. And, when the cameras at last noticed, the heroes would be forced to return. To bring them back to the cell and the chair. To return them to where they belonged.

It was perfect-- though that wasn’t to say that anything they created could possibly be good.

Thus, they put the plan into action. Beneath the chains that were covers, upon the chair that was a bed, Villain waited.

Their plan worked for perhaps an hour.

An hour. Then the door was kicked in. This time, that which seized their chest had nothing to do with nausea, nothing to do with conditioning. Everything to do with terror.

Even their wildest dreams, their most optimistic ambitions, did not expect that the heroes would have come so soon. If they had, they would have knocked.

They curled tighter into their fetal position, fingers gripping skin until both turned white. Desperation and willpower, even together, could not stop their mind from tracking the noises as they moved through the house. Through the kitchen. The living room. Up the stairs. To the hallway outside.

Certainly, they would have noticed the lack of dust on the bedroom’s doorknob.

Perhaps it was a member of the public, come to take their righteous revenge. Such would certainly be deserved. Or, perhaps, a wayward hero, disliking the arrangement that had been made. Having decided to take the matter to their own hands. They deserved that, as well.

But, when the voice came, Villain knew that their hopes were as far as could be from the truth.

“Villain?”

Blank mind. Don’t think. Blank mind. Don’t think. Blank mind don’t think.

Beneath the blanket, they twitched.

“Oh, thank goodness.” Footsteps dashed to the bedside. Hands upon them. There was such a wholehearted relief to the voice, an unimaginable burden relieved.

Yet, such was impossible, as villains did not have hearts.

“We were so worried, so, so worried. You have no idea! Come on, come on.”

A hand, to the top of the blanket.

“There’s about a thousand cameras in here, buddy, so we need to get going. Everyone at base has been so nervous, all day. Ever since we heard... My car’s just outside, we need to go, quick.”

Villain’s only solace was torn away.

“Buddy? What’s wrong?” The voice was practically a whisper. “It’s me. It’s-

Supervillain.”

A blank mind, filled with thoughts.

The initial strike of nausea was enough to make them wail, even as they had no ability to. They hardly remembered getting to their hands and knees, hardly remembered as they began to heave. No. They registered only the horrid, green-and-brown mess that exploded upon the pale white bedspread.

Again, again, a thousand exhausting times, the heaving struck them, until chunky vomit was spilling off the side of the bed, ruining the antique carpeting. It only ceased to spill when their insides were well and truly empty.

That was when they were picked up.

It was a caring, warm hold, tucking them close to the chest of a vile demon. Yet, they had not the slightest ounce of energy to resist. Any muscles not exhausted by fatigue went back to work, heaving and coughing, even as nothing more emerged.

“I’m sorry.” With a broken voice, Supervillain spoke. “I’m so, so sorry. Let’s go back to base, okay? Everything’s going to be okay, I promise, I promise, buddy.”

No.

With evil like this in the world, nothing was even going to be okay again.

[yandere-daydreams]

Hello! It would be so lovely if you could write something where Beelzebub manipulates the reader into letting him feed on her. So often times he begs for just a little taste of her blood because human blood is like a junk food feast for him. And gradually his ‘little tastes’ get worse over time and maybe the brothers start to notice all the bite marks on her. That would be so lovely! Tysm for your writing it’s so good 🥺💗

You say ‘manipulating’, but he’s so sweet, he probably would even notice he’s doing it. Beelzebub is one of the few Yanderes I can see never really aiming to hurt his Darling, out of the Obey Me cast, at least… that’s not to say he doesn’t, though.

Title: Bittersweet.

TW: Bruises, Blood, Mentions of Death, Mentions of Violence, and Emotional Manipulation.

~

Satan once told you that demons used to draw strength from human blood.

Used to, he’d said, they used to. It was a warning by way of explanation, a word of caution that came in the form of an impromptu history lesson. Lucifer had used it as a threat, when you’d first arrived, saying he’d throw you to a flock of desperate, lesser creatures if you proved to be less valuable than he’d hoped, and once or twice, you’d heard Leviathan mumble something similar under his breath when you were close to beating him at one of his games, Asmodeus muttering how you should be glad he hadn’t drained you dry yet, when you accidentally spilled his favorite vile of nail polish. It was clearly an outdated practice, if it’d ever really a practice at all, but it served its purpose, intentional or not, and you were able to make it into a piece of reasoning you could use, one you could cut and mold and shape until it fit into the slot you needed it to. Until you could use it to explain why other demons were so quick to bear their claws when you tried to speak to them, until you could shrug off Mammon’s protectiveness and Belphegor’s poorly concealed bloodlust.

Until you could explain why Beelzebub was like that, when he was alone with you.

Instinct, you told yourself, a reflex he just happened to hold on to. He didn’t want to hurt you, he’d never want to hurt you, but if you let yourself, you’d start to believe that he might. In his lap, like this, with his hands on your hips and your form nearly eclipsed by his, you were able to see how a bystander might make that mistake, might assume he was aiming to rip your throat out when his teeth got so close to your jugular vein when he was so careless with where he bit down. It wasn’t his fault the rest of the house was empty, that he’d just so happened to come to your room when the two of you wouldn’t be interrupted, and you couldn’t blame him for how violent the results of his minor lapses in judgment looked, to anyone who only saw the blood and the indents rather than the love behind them. They looked worse than they felt, or, you assumed they looked worse than they felt. They hurt, sure, but they couldn’t have hurt as much as they were supposed to.

Nothing could hurt that much, you were sure.

Besides, even if did, you didn’t know if you’d have the heart to tell him. He’d always been the nicest one, out of the brothers, and it was apparent in everything he did. Even in the quiet anxiety of an empty home, it’d only taken you a few minutes to relax against him, to rest your head and listen to a heartbeat slower than any human being’s should ever be. He wasn’t human, though, and it was easy to let him wrap you in his arms and pull you closer, closer, and as close as you could be, until your posture was a little too straight and there was a little too much pressure on your spine and there was no doubt in your mind that you’d be sore, when he let you go. “You smell really good,” He muttered, absentmindedly, his voice low, but not aggressive. Gruff, but lacking the edge that would’ve made it hostile. “You always do, when the others are away.”

“You’re the only one who can tell the difference.” The words were instilled with a playful jeer, but you didn’t move to push him away, nor did you try to pull back as he tugged you against him, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. “It’s only because you’re so clingy.”

“It’s only because you’re so sweet, when they’re not around.” Another retort with an unnecessary addition, but one so tender, you could hardly bring yourself to think of him as jealous, or possessive, or anything but too honest for his own good. You only hummed as his lips brushed over your collarbone, his teeth barely dancing around the idea of biting down. “I like it, I really like it. It makes me hungry.”

You were a little slower to respond, this time, if only by the fraction of a second. If Beelzebub noticed, you couldn’t tell, the only signs of his impatience coming in the form of a prick, a flash of pain, the sensation of hot breath on your skin. “Everything makes you hungry.”

“This is different.” It must’ve been the hundredth time you heard him say that, and yet, it didn’t feel different from his usual state of near-starvation, his usual unignorable, insurmountable cravings. It was something that nagged at you, a mild dread that formed a tight ball in the back of your throat as his hands drifted, one soon splayed over your lower back and the other trailing upward, nimble fingers entangling themselves in your hair, urging you to lean against him. A prick turned into a pinch, a flash to a small spark, and this time, the pain lingered, seeped in, rooted itself into your flesh and refused to lessen, even after Beelzebub had moved on. You didn’t have to look to know there would be a bruise, something blackened and ugly to remind you where he’d been, but he didn’t seem to mind the pitchy noise of discomfort that slipped past your pursed lips. If anything, it only spurred him on, as he found his next target just above the rise of your chest. “I’ve never wanted something, like this, like I want you. I’ve never been this hungry before.” The thought was interrupted by an airy laugh, a fleeting kiss to your cheek as he straightened his back. “I’ve never felt like I could let everyone else starve, if it just means I get to eat.”

His grip tightened, growing oppressive as he dragged himself to his full height, tilting your head to the side and nipping at the space underneath your ear. It was uncomfortable, it was awkward, rigid knots of tension forming the longer he kept you in such a stilted position. It was more of an impulse than anything, the abrupt awareness that he could snap your neck with a flick of his wrist, but before you could stop yourself, you were scrambling to push at his chest, to put just enough space between you and him to get Beelzebub’s attention, to force him to loosen his hold on your hair and let you shy away, even if he was quick to take you by the arm, instead, catching you before you could get too far. Before you could run, like any scared rabbit so close to the jaws of a wolf should. “Please,” You gasped, suddenly overwhelmed, suddenly panicked, suddenly terrified. “Please, I just--- I don’t know if--”

“Take your time,” He encouraged, all the careless fondness drained from his expression, replaced with something concerned, something so, so close to sympathetic. “Breath, (Y/n). You look like you’re about to pass out.”

You could’ve. You might’ve, if his hold on your wrist wasn’t starting to get so crushing. “I don’t know if I can keep doing this,” You managed, your tone frantic, the sentiment bordering on incoherent. “I’m sorry, Beel, but… it hurts. Your brothers are worried, and the marks are always visible, and I’m not sure if I can handle it anymore. I don’t want to turn you down, but--”

“But, you don’t like me anymore.”

Instantly, you deflated, and Beelzebub wasn’t much better. You could feel his stare burning into you, cold and prying, glazed over with some dark mixture of offence and hurt and pain. The effect was immediate, it was excruciating, like a dagger to your heart that just wouldn’t stop twisting. You moved to soothe him, but Beelzebub was already forcing a smile, jagged and wavering and tortuous. So much worse than anything he could ever do to you. “It’s fine, I promise. I know I can get ahead of myself, Lucifer always says that I can be... that I can be self-centered, when I’m not paying attention.” Another laugh, this one anything but careless. Something fractured and broke inside your rib cage, and you wondered if you’d ever forgive yourself. “I'm almost as bad as Mammon, sometimes.”

“Beel, please.” It was still a plea, still an act of fear, but now, you just wanted him to stop. To stop talking, to stop making you feel so awful. To stop making you feel like you’re at fault, when he’s always the one that goes a little too far. “I’m sorry, I just---”

“No, it’s alright. If anything, I should be the one apologizing.” He paused, kissing your temple, but gesture was barely half-hearted. Really, it made you feel more pitied than comforted. “You probably got tired of me months ago, I was just too selfish to--”

This time, you were the one to interrupt him, to throw yourself against his chest with so much determination, you could hear his back collide with the headboard as he wrapped his arms around your torso, the embrace nearly seccond-nature. You didn’t have to say anything, not when you were holding onto him so tightly, when you were the one who wouldn’t to let go, this time. He didn’t have to speak, either. His grin was genuine, now, overjoyed and so, so forgiving as it pressed against the side of your neck. It eas enough to make you forget your guilt, it was enough to make you not care about the bitemarks or the blood or any of it, not if it made Beelzebub happy.

And for a second, it was enough to block out the pain, as he finally bit down.

[fairytsuk1]

i was all over her (a)

part of the autumn experiences collection.

pairing: yandere!tomura shigaraki x reader

genre: angst

words: 2.5k

summary: you never learn.

prompt: visitor

warnings: noncon mentions/intentions, stalking, pervertedness, this is a yandere fic

    The rain was quickly soaking through his cotton shirt, chilling Tomura to the bone with a grumble threatening to work it’s way up his throat. He hadn’t brought an umbrella in protest of Kurogiri’s suggestion, he was sure it wouldn’t rain as he walked his normal path. But, he was wrong, it was fucking downpouring and his chuck-taylors were hardly holding up.

    Your frog umbrella flashed in and out of the streetlights, the rhythmic step of rain boots clicking and splashing in the puddles that littered the sidewalk. Brown, muddy water rushed in the crook of the street so fast he was briefly reminded of the times he and his family used to look at fish in the nearby rivers. That was a long time ago, no need to make room for old broken memories that would soon cease to exist as he aged further in life.

    What he wanted, was you. Your cute little feet stuffed into rainboots far too big for you, they were a gift from your father. That man was too flippant of your desires and needs that he didn’t even know his own child’s shoe size, a sorry excuse for a man if he were to be honest. The umbrella was a gift from your sister, adamant on you having something to keep you sheltered in this shitty ass neighborhood. You didn’t deserve to live here, he could imagine you in a perfectly manicured house with polished nails and frilly sundresses. The sun would sparkle on your skin and you’d smell flowery with a twinge of cinnamon, leaving men desperate and eager to flip up your skirt with the intent to breed you. You’d look so good, he mused. Cum filling your cunt as you squealed underneath him, pleading for more from your dearest, Tomura.

“Mmph!”

    Your shoe caught onto a crack in the sidewalk, nearly sending you face first into the mess that was the gravelly street. He imagined you’d make such lovely whimpers and moans as he rammed his cock into you, greedily taking you from behind...or maybe the front? He’d like to cum inside you to mark you and maybe, if he was really desperate, your mouth.

    He was working himself up, your apartment was near and the excitement was practically eating him alive with the thought that he’d be able to have you if he was just patient. It would be far too easy for you to get away and cause a scene if he grabbed you by the hair and tugged you into his arms, though, would anyone come for you? Your sister was right, this rough place that you called home was no home at all, they didn’t care about your wellbeing. They didn’t even care about basic necessities, like moving the trash bins so it would be easier for you to keep clean. They were selfish and it made him sick to think of them hurting you, taking you, and doing whatever these fucking creeps could think of. They didn’t care about you like he did.

    “Hey! You live in this apartment?”

    Shigaraki ducks into a nearby alleyway, back crashing against the wall as he shakes water out of his face like a wet dog. Soft pants fall from his chapped lips as water dribbles down his ears and neck. There’s a tightness in his pants and his heart is racing, a usual occurrence when he followed you home.

“Hm? Oh...yes, I do! It’s nice to meet you!” You tell him your name, why would you even think that would be a good idea? “Is there something wrong? I’m new to the area!”

     The man chuckles and your stalkers red eyes peer out from behind the wall, noting your neighbors large frame practically swallowing you up. He almost couldn’t see you considering this man was huddling you into the corner and looking down at you like a piece of meat.

    “You’re new? No shit, I’ve never seen a pretty thing like you before.”

    You can’t even help yourself, cheeks lifting as you pull your keys out of your pocket. Must be the neglect from your parents, you’ll let just anyone in between your legs huh?

     No.

    He can’t think like that, you’re different. You wouldn’t, you can hardly touch yourself correctly. He’d form you into the perfect girl, perfect housewife who made him meals and let him bend you over any countertop.

“Ah, well thank you sir.”

    You’ve got manners too, he likes that. He wants to hear his name-not Shigaraki-but Tomura as it rolls off your tongue, it’d be syrupy and sweet just like you.

    Clunky boots step into your apartment and a creaky door is locked closed, bet that makes you feel safe huh? Like no one’s gonna hurt you? Well, under his eye they won’t. But the only thing it won’t stop is Shigaraki; climbing the white rickety stairs to follow and a copy of your key to match.

    Waiting takes a long time, but it’s worth it to keep this little habit up. The water drips from his hair to his chin and neck, leaving a trail that would no doubt make him smell as disgusting as he felt. His hand reaches up to insert the key before the bulbous man from before is grunting out words that he couldn’t care to listen to. Though, the dude is utterly unrelenting and questions him, “what the hell are you doing?”

“What?”

    “Are you...who the fuck are you? I thought she was single.”

    Shigaraki scans him, unimpressed with the way he’d come to confront him when the two of them had the same goal in mind.

“It’s none of your business.”

     The man reaches for his wrist, looking small in the meat of his palm as Shigaraki lets him play hero for the time being.

     “I’m calling a hero! I have a cousin who works with Endeavor, you know! Stay here!”

“Let go of me.”

     The grip is starting to hurt but the man keeps squeezing, even adding a bit more strength when the wiry man expresses resistance. Doesn’t matter, he’ll just get rid of him while he can. Can’t go around harassing women if you’re just a pile of dust, right?

    Isn’t that what you do, Tomura? Stalk and harass future fucktoys? Or rather...as you like to call them, potential housewives?

    Sometimes, he might blanch when those thoughts resurface, bothering him and making him feel ashamed of who he is. How could someone like him, a successor to fucking All for One feel shame? That frustration or perhaps disturbance due to the intrusive thoughts lets his anger unleash, cracking like whips in the form of crumbling the man to dust. His wife beater, something he was sure he was (though he doubted anyone would want to marry this fuck), crumbled on top of the ashes and grew soaked under the downpour.

“I told you to let go of me. Now look at you.”

    What once used to be a living, breathing person, is now kicked to the drain below. Fingers itching the delicate skin near his jaw, he enters the apartment. He feels hungry, but not for food. He just wants to eat you right up. Yeah, that sounds right. Take you all for himself.

    You’d discarded the boots in the alcove near your door, the frogs smiling with pink cheeks as Shigaraki’s childish shoes squash them in his path of destruction. You lie drowsily in bed, pink fluffy pajamas comforting your soft skin and a duvet pulled up to your nose. You’d normally be asleep if it weren’t for the constant nagging in your gut. It felt as though something had gone horribly wrong. The anxiety causes you to lay still in your bed as if something was watching your every breath.

    It was eerily similar to the way you’d cower from your closet at night with the idea planted in your head that monsters were coming to eat you. This was only different in the way that you didn’t know what monster was coming. Not only that, you had no idea what he would do to you.

    You’d call yourself crazy during times like these, but you’d been right when the door to your bedroom opens.

    “I know you’re awake. You always sleep on your back, not your side.”

    It’s quiet and still. There’s tension thickening in the air like gravy on the stove and you briefly wonder if this was another bout of sleep paralysis. You thought you’d been in this position before, someone or something watching you. It had never felt like this, you’d never felt so terrified in your life.

    “Not up for talking, huh? A bit ungrateful considering I helped rid your little ‘home’ of that greasy pig next door.”

    The footsteps grow closer and against all instincts to play dead or even just move away, you sit up and face the man. His red eyes stare down at you, face bony and cracked...he looked like something straight out of a nightmare. Most people you knew were delicate and kind; they looked like regular people. Shigaraki though...you thought that Shigaraki might eat you alive and tear you apart limb by limp. A whimper exits your mouth as you sit paralyzed whilst he simply gets closer and closer.

    His eyes trace the neckline of your sleeping shirt, a scoop neck that showed the smattering of beauty marks adorning your skin. You were so beautiful, he grinned and planted his bottom at the edge of your bed. You shook, the water logged clothes easily soaking through to you and making your heart sink deeper in your chest. You held a confused look, like a deer in headlights or maybe a puppy with twitching ears.

“I’m...I’m sorry…”

    “Why are you apologizing? Aren’t I the one who broke in?”

    Cry for me. You’d look so good and I’d commit it to memory, you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

    “You’re such a pushover, how’d you let this happen? Hm?”

     The tears build at your lash line until finally falling in fat droplets down your cheeks. Your hands turn to fists like a child as you rub your eyes, no defenses in place other than to cry like a submissive brat. Your breaths were uneven as you attempted to wipe away tears until a quick hand caught your wrist, pinky lifted.

    “Look at me, when you cry. Gets me off,” he giggles before leaning so close your lips could almost touch, “did you know that? Everytime you sobbed in your pillow, I had a hard time choosing whether or not I should cuddle you or jerk off.”

    A broken wail escapes you as your body finally makes the move to get away, your feet kick in the tangled sheets and you attempt to wrangle your wrist away from him, thrashing and beating on his chest desperately. He almost felt a bit sad, sure, he was a bit mean with the teasing. But...you had to have known that someday someone was going to come for you like this, right?

     It’s easy to intercept your punches, holding both wrists at your head as he leaned over you. His hair framed the two of you, leaving you completely caged in this man. His lithe body scooched up yours, hips resting at yours for a moment.

     “I’m gonna make you mine, well, more like you already are mine. Tomura Shigaraki's little wife. Okay? So you’re gonna come with me to the base without complaints, yeah?”

     A brave scream tore through your mouth as you arched your back, trying for a second escape attempt. His left hand detached from your arm to grab your throat, cries quickly dying out as you thrashed wildly.

     “If my pinky touches this vein right here, you’ll turn into a pile of dirt. If that happens, I’ll move onto someone else. So come on; do you really want to be the cause of someone’s future suffering? Give up, daddy taught you better than to fight.”

“How…?”

     He laughed heartily, your throat clenching under his grip before he loosened to let you get a whoosh of air.

     “Seriously? It’s so obvious you’re a daddy’s girl, take the stupid little gifts, listen to his every command, and wait for the day he decides to acknowledge you. It’s practically...practically predictable! You’re predictable and sad.”

     His words feel like venom as you cry, the lack of oxygen making fuzzy black spots dot your vision. He might kill you in this moment, your lungs squeezed and he finally let go. You sputtered, body confused with it’s sudden freedom as you looked up at him with glassy eyes and snot dripping down past your lips to your chin.

     “You look tired, I’ll take you home okay?”

     You’re dazed, you almost don’t recognize the way he peels back the covers and grazes his hands up your thighs, exposing every inch of skin as if you were a present meant to be savoured.

“I’m a virgin! Please don’t…”

     A look flashes in his eyes as he peers at you from his lashes.

     “Perfect, just makes you even sweeter.”

     You hadn’t thought you could cry more, but every word that came out of his predatory lips made a new wave of heartache resurface, was this really who you were? A weak girl who could let herself be lifted into the arms of a man she didn’t know, fingers digging into the plump flesh of her bottom as she weakly clung on?

      A memory flashes in your mind as you let yourself be taken care of...well no, be kidnapped from your bedroom. It was the one with the high school boys, the way they’d flipped up your skirt and prodded at your weakest, most sensitive places. You’d cried for them to stop, told your father what the sickening boys had done to you. They’d practically defiled you, maybe would have gone so far to take you in that empty classroom had you not kicked one of them square in the shin.

     Your father’s words ring in your ears.

     “Well, you must have done something for that to happen. Don’t wear such short skirts next time.”

     A hand comes to caress the top of your head. Tomura’s, he had you right where he wanted you. Vulnerable and weak to his advances, you were tired too. This was just going to make things easier.

     The rain has slowed to a drizzle, you shivered in his arms and prayed to God for forgiveness as you buried yourself closer to him, the warmth comforting and soothing for your soul. Your bare feet swung limply as he kept you pressed to his front, walking on a seemingly practiced path. He was all over you.

      If he could apologize, Tomura didn’t think he would. He had to be all over you. Consume your soul like the evillest of demons.

      “Cheer up, maybe if you’d been a bit more vigilant, this would have never happened.”

     Your bottom lip trembled, maybe love was not destined for you. After all, you must have been asking for this.

     “And by the way...you know I love you right?”

     You’d heard it a million times before.

[plantdad-dante]

Book #49 - Good Omens by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman

(third? forth? time read, first actual end-to-end read of the English text, current copy has miraculously evaded all my attempts to follow fan tradition and drop it in the bath, douse it in iced tea or dripple nail polish onto it)

A post told in fun facts.

- I have held two book presentations in my life. Both books were either written or co-written by Terry Pratchett. Both presentations, years apart and judged by different teachers, have been described as "I can see you're enthusiastic about it, but maybe try to be more coherent next time".

One of these books was, indeed, Good Omens.

(I specifically remember trying to stir up excitement about it by mentioning there was a TV adaptation for Amazon Prime in the works. To this day I have no idea if any of my classmates ended up watching it and remembering "Hey, didn't the Weird Kid(TM) from Lit Class say this was gonna be good, like, two years ago?")

- The iced tea thing is kinda funny, actually, bc I held a glass of the stuff in the same hand as the book and then absentmindedly tilted the hand in the direction of the book, so the tea spilled out and I basically thought "Oh shit, the book is fucked now", but then I checked and there was nothing.

Well, except a puddle of iced tea on the floor...

- This is a book I can Always read. There is no state of mind, no circumstance of life, no Mountain or Valley of Depression that can keep me from reading Good Omens and feeling the radiant and quiet and hopeful joy eminating from it. Rarely does a book leave me with such a simple, uncomplicated sense of love and contentment, and maybe that one post I saw years back was right, maybe we all did need a story that just has a happy ending, without terms and conditions attached to it.

- Like a bunch of people, my sense of what day of the week it currently is has proven... shaky, over the last year(s). So it came as a nice surprise to me that , apparently, I finished this book on a Sunday.

- Finally, in the time I read this book I also managed to momentarily break my executive dysfunction - byebye reading slump - and I managed to clean up my flat a bit. This is pretty unimportant and maybe even unconnected from the book, but I am proud of having accomplished something, so there.

[127-mile]

HE WAS A SKATER BOY. she said see you later boy.

PAIRING: Skater Sicheng x female reader | Skater Shotaro x female reader.

GENRE: Skateboard, best friends | Fluff, angst.

WARNINGS: Mention of past injuries, strong language, accident, blood, violence, hospital, Jaehyun is a massive asshole, Yuta saves the day.

PLOT: You didn't think that by accompanying your best friend on his first day of work at the local skateboard store you would end up watching skaters fight during an illegal race.

WORD COUNT: +4.1k.

A/N: This is part of the sports collab hosted by @lucas-wongs | this is also inspired by sk8 the infinity that you do not need to know to read.

"Can you come with me?"

You frown when you hear Shotaro's voice, and when you turn your head, you find him in the doorframe, his arms crossed against his chest. Shotaro doesn't live here, and last you heard he didn't have a spare key to enter your apartment.

"I want to ask you how you got in, but I'm not sure I want to hear your answer," you mumble as you get up from your desk chair, stretching your arms above your head. "and why do you want me to come? It's your first day on the job, you don't need a chaperone."

He pouts, letting his arms fall to his sides. "I am stressed, this is my first job!" he says, like it's obvious, and you roll your eyes. "Please?"

"If I come, you better pay for the pizza for the next movie night, okay?" he nods, suddenly regaining his smile, and you grab your jacket. "If your boss, or your coworkers laugh at you because you needed me, I don't want to hear you complain."

"Do you think they're going to laugh at me?" he asks in a small voice, and you heave a sigh, you should have turned your tongue seven times in your mouth before speaking.

"If they laugh at you, it'll be my job, as your best friend, to beat them up, okay?" he laughs softly, and you push him out of the doorframe to exit your room. "Okay, I really need to know, how did you get into the apartment?"

He shrugs his shoulders. "You didn't close the balcony door, so I walked in through there." you found another reason to look for a new apartment.

"Come on, let's go or you'll be late." you put on your shoes, and you leave the apartment after taking the time to close the balcony door, you don't want a stranger to suddenly want to visit your apartment after seeing Shotaro do it.

Shotaro retrieves his skateboard outside the apartment complex, and also his backpack that he left in plain sight. "You have to stop trusting everyone, Shotaro, someday someone is going to steal your things."

"You live in the most peaceful and secure part of town, I have nothing to fear." that's what he believes.

The shop where Shotaro was hired is only ten minutes from your apartment, and when you approach it, you stop walking, thrusting your hands into the pockets of your jacket. "Can you go on your own, or do I have to go inside with you?"

He lowers his head, and he plays with the hem of his sweatshirt. "Can you come in with me, and pretend you want to buy something, so I don't look silly?"

If you knew this is the way your day would be, you wouldn't have asked your boss to give you a day off. Having to deal with unpleasant customers is certainly better than having to pretend to buy something from a store where nothing interests you.

"It's going to cost you a lot Shotaro, and it's only for today, okay?" he nods, and he walks over to the bay window.

"You don't have to be afraid, there is no one in the shop." it's true, on the other side of the glass, you can't see anyone. Which is no wonder, even though the store opened over six years ago, the customers aren't regular, so you wonder how it stays open.

You push open the door, and a doorbell rings, and your gaze lands on the counter almost immediately. "Hello?" a young man has his arms resting on the counter, and his face nestled in between. His breathing is slow and regular. He is sleeping.

Shotaro closes the door behind him, and walks over to the counter. "Excuse me?" he asks in a small voice, and when the man doesn't react, he gently pushes his shoulder. "Excuse me? I'm Shotaro, I'm the new employee."

"What is happening?" the young man asks in a hoarse voice full of sleep, raising his head. He rubs his eyes, yawning at length. "Can I help you?"

Shotaro is moving from leg to leg, clearly nervous. "I am Shotaro, I just got hired."

The young man gets up from his stool which scrapes against the tiles, and he shakes Shotaro's hand. "Oh yeah, the boss told me he found someone else. But from what you can see, we don't really have any clients today, so I don't know what I'm going to do with you."

Shotaro takes a deep breath, and he straightens up a bit. He wants to be confident in front of his colleague. "I can do the cleaning, whatever you don't want to do, I love skateboarding, so being here is enough, even if I'm not doing anything." he basically says he doesn't mind being paid for doing nothing. Understandable.

From where you stand, a little back, you can see the shadow of a smile on the young man's face. "Do you skate?" Shotaro nods. "I was afraid the boss hired someone who didn't know anything about skateboards, so welcome, I'm Sicheng!"

"Pleased to meet you." Shotaro says, and Sicheng finally seems to notice your presence, since you meet his gaze.

"Do you need anything?"

You open your mouth, but no sound comes out, luckily, Shotaro comes to your aid. "I was a little afraid to come, so I asked her to come with me." Sicheng hums, but he doesn't comment.

"You want to stay?" he asks you, and you shrug your shoulders.

"Yeah."

And that's how you started to spend your days off, and your weekends in the skateboard shop.

When you see Shotaro talking with clients, advise them about a skateboard, you tell yourself that he was born to do that, he is a natural. You can't remember the last time you saw him smile so much, and you wonder if his jaw hurts at the end of the day. You like to see your best friend like this.

As for Sicheng, he is interesting.

There are days when he barely speaks, when he answers your questions with grunts that make you laugh, and there are days when it's impossible to silence him. He's nice, he's caring with Shotaro, he always makes sure he feels good and comfortable with a client. And he doesn't hesitate to kick some of them out for asking silly questions.

You still don't know much about skateboarding, but you could spend hours watching Sicheng build a skateboard from start to finish.

A bit like today.

You are sitting on a wooden table where skateboard wheels are strewn about, sketches of boards are balled up on the floor, and on the shelves, and Sicheng is leaning over a workbench, figuring out why the board's wheels stop rolling.

"The wheels are round, they shouldn't stop rolling, don't you think so?" you ask by grabbing one of the sketches that you smooth out. It's an extravagant model, and you remember the client who asked for it. Red hair, red nail polish, the tattoo of a rose, and a bright smile.

"Do you think I don't know?" he mumbles, and you laugh softly, it's so easy to annoy him when he is working. Maybe that's the only reason you don't get bored to death when you're locked in the back room with him.

And to be honest, he is not ugly to look at.

"Maybe there's gravel stuck in the bearings?"

Sicheng sits up, and he turns to you with a frown. "How do you know about the bearings?"

You stick your tongue out. "I listen to you when you speak, Sicheng."

He smiles softly, and goes back to his work. Out of the corner of your eye, you see him picking up some sort of toothbrush to clean between the bearings, and as you predicted, some gravel falls on the workbench. "See? I should be paid for this."

"We have five clients a month, do you really think I can give you money for a simple advice?" he asks with a sigh, and you shrug your shoulders.

"The shop is still open, so your boss has enough money for that, and to pay you and Shotaro."

"I can pay you in gratitude, if you want." you chuckle, it is not with gratitude that you are going to pay your rent, but you accept. Next time you won't give him advice.

"I wanted to ask you, are you and Shotaro free tonight?" he asks, sitting down on the workbench before taking the board on his lap to spin the wheels.

"I am free, and as far as Shotaro is concerned, I have no idea." you answer by tilting your head. "Why?"

"You don't live together?" he narrows his eyes.

"No? Why would I be living with him?"

Sicheng is biting his lower lip, but rather than answering your current question, he prefers to answer your previous one. "I'm participating in a race tonight, and I trust you enough to get you there now."

"What does trust have to do with a race?" you ask. "Is this an illegal race?"

Sicheng is watching you like it's the most obvious thing. "Duh! Have you ever heard of skateboard races?" you shake your head. "They're organized by a rich man who we don't know anything about except his nickname. There's nothing to win, but it's fun to go there. You can meet some pretty cool people."

"I'll come, if I don't risk ending up in jail." Sicheng laughs, swinging his head back, but he bumps into the wall, which makes you laugh heartily. "How do you stand on a skateboard if you bump into a wall so easily?"

This time it's his turn to stick your tongue out. "I'll ask Shotaro."

You get off the table, and you go back to the shop where Shotaro is. He's sitting on the counter, watching a documentary about Tony Hawk on the television. "I see you are working very hard, it's nice to see."

He jumps, but he smiles when his gaze meets yours. "There's nothing to do, and Sicheng doesn't like me to be in the back of the store when he's working." and he is right, because Shotaro asks so many questions that Sicheng has trouble concentrating. The last time he cut his palm deep enough that you had to drive him to the emergency room for stitches.

"Sicheng asked if we would like to accompany him to a race tonight." you say, and Shotaro pauses the documentary.

"A skate race?" you nod your head. "Oh my god yes!"

You roll your eyes, Shotaro is adorable when he's excited, because he almost vibrates. "It's illegal, so we risk ending up in jail, don't smile too much."

"Watching an illegal race, and ending up in jail? That would take two things off my list of things to do before I die."

"See, the kid knows how to live!" you hear the back door shut behind Sicheng, and he rests his chin on your shoulder. "You'll see, we'll have fun!"

The way to the start line of the race is an adventure in itself. The car cannot drive on the steep road, and anyway, it is too crowded for you to be able to drive without taking the risk of running over someone.

"Do you do this regularly?" you ask, taking a deep breath, to avoid showing Sicheng that you are out of breath and that you regret having accepted his invitation.

Shotaro on the other hand looks like a child in a Christmas village. He looks at everything with wide, interested eyes, and a blinding smile. If you could, you would pinch his cheeks.

"Every weekend, sometimes twice a week, it depends on the organizer." he responds by shrugging his shoulders, tightening his fingers on the edge of his skateboard so that his knuckles turn white.

"And have you ever met him? The organizer?" Sicheng shakes his head.

"Never, he comes very rarely, but he has set up cameras everywhere so he can watch the skateboarders." you don't know if it's smart, or creepy.

When you get to the end of the trail, you fold your arms across your chest looking around. There are a lot of people, like a lot. You see hair of all colors, people of all ages, and it's nice.

"Sicheng!" the young man turns and his smile disappears when his gaze falls on a skateboarder. "I didn't think you would come, I heard you were way too busy taking care of an empty store."

Sicheng sighs. "Jaehyun, what are you doing here? I thought you couldn't skate anymore." Jaehyun's gaze falls on you, then on Shotaro before sliding down on the board he has just placed on the ground.

"Oh, did you bring some friends? That's good. Do you skate?" he asks Shotaro who nods vigorously. "Do you want to participate in the race?"

Sicheng opens his mouth to say something, but Shotaro is faster than him to answer. "I don't know, can I?" Jaehyun nods, smirking. "Oh my god, yes!"

"You're new here, so I'll race you, don't worry, I'm nice on the track." he winks at you, and turns on his heel before disappearing into the crowd.

You turn to Shotaro. "Are you crazy? You've never skated on this kind of road, you're going to get hurt!"

It is Sicheng's turn to speak. "You can't race him, he's a savage, he's going to send you into the background from the start to make sure he'll win!"

Shotaro shrugs his shoulders. "It's a good opportunity to try it out on the road, isn't it? And why would he do that, he's going to be in trouble if he hurts me on purpose."

Sicheng sighs. "You don't understand Shotaro. If he hurts you on purpose there won't be any consequences for him. It's an illegal race, so if something happens, if you need to be sent to the hospital , you will be the one in trouble, they won't give a shit if you mention Jaehyun."

"Oh." you put your arm on Shotaro's shoulder, who looks up at you.

"It's okay, Shotaro, you can train on a normal road, Sicheng must have places he likes to go, right?" Sicheng nods.

"I'm going to go for a walk, see if I don't see someone from the skate park." Shotaro whispers, and it's his turn to disappear into the crowd. Maybe you should hold him back, but you don't want to force him to stay if he's angry.

"Who is this Jaehyun?" you ask Sicheng who is approaching you so that he can speak without having to yell above the hubub.

"Jaehyun started skateboarding when he was very young, we actually met like that. It's just that he takes racing way too seriously, and he won't hesitate to push someone from the side of the road if that can allow him a victory. He is not afraid of anything, except defeat. He had an accident a few months ago, and we all thought it was the end of his career, but from what I just saw, it wasn't true."

It's not reassuring, you think, biting the inside of your cheek. "Have you ever raced against him?"

Sicheng laughs coldly. "Yeah. All I remember from the race is waking up in a hospital bed with my elbow and collarbone broken."

You understand why he told Shotaro not to race against him, and you are grateful to him for that.

"Come on, I'll show you around."

To avoid getting lost in the crowd, Sicheng takes your hand in his, and he intertwines your fingers. His hand is warm, and it's pretty nice.

He shows you the places where he fell, where he split his cheek, where he broke his wrist and the fingers of his left hand, and each time you can't help but laugh at the dramatic way he tells his stories. "You'll end up falling apart if you keep racing."

"I know it, my friends all tell me, but it's all I've got. It's the only thing I know how to do, where I'm good at." it’s something you don’t believe. You spent enough time with him to know that he is an artist, and that he wielded the tools like no one else. He has so much more than just his skateboard.

"You're wrong, you're-" you're cut off when a crackling sounds through the speakers is heard, and you turn your head towards Sicheng.

“We have the first participants in tonight's race! Jaehyun, a regular we never thought would ever come back, and a new kid, Shotaro!”

"Shit!" Sicheng exclaims, and he starts to run. At first you are frozen in place, but suddenly fingers are circling your wrist and you are pulled by Sicheng. "Come on, we have to stop him!"

Unfortunately with the people it's hard to navigate through the crowds, and before you even get to the starting track, a whistle blows, and the two boys set off.

"Stop the race!" Sicheng says to the young woman holding the whistle, and she shakes her head.

"No can do, sorry."

Your heart is beating so hard in your chest, that you wonder if it will fall at your feet, and Sicheng is not better. He is unable to stand still as he looks at one of the many screens that show the different places Shotaro will skate by.

You dig your fingernails into the palms of your hands without even realizing it, it's only when Sicheng gasps that you lower your gaze. You broke the skin, and blood is covering the tips of your fingernails. "It's going to be fine, calm down." he says, holding one of your hands.

"What is he doing?" someone exclaims with a mixture of surprise and indignation.

You look at the screen, and your eyes widen. Jaehyun and Shotaro are side by side, and Jaehyun is trying to knock him off his skateboard. "We have to do something."

When you don't get a response, you turn around, and you notice that Sicheng has disappeared. You stand on your tiptoes, and you see him running on the track before hopping on his skateboard.

Suddenly, what you feared is happening.

Shotaro loses his balance, and he falls off his skateboard. A fall is nothing, he could get away with a few bruises, but unfortunately at full speed it's a different story.

Shotaro tries to catch himself, but the way his wrist twists makes you nauseous. His wrist should not be bent like this. His head bangs against the asphalt, and your mouth opens with a silent scream. You have to help him, but for that you need your legs to obey you.

You shake your head, and when you regain the mobility of your legs, you start to run. You don't know if Sicheng saw the accident, all you know is you have to find Shotaro, and get him to the hospital as soon as possible.

When you get to Shotaro, he's still on the ground, unconscious. Sicheng and Jaehyun ​are a meter or two away.

"You bastard!" Sicheng says, and Jaehyun does nothing but laugh. He must have tripped, because his skateboard is nowhere to be seen.

"This is how it works, Sicheng!" Jaehyun responds with a smirk. "And why are you reacting like that anyway, you did it too, a few times if I remember correctly."

"Not at full speed, and in a bend! It's way too dangerous! You could have killed him!" Sicheng walks up to Jaehyun, and you don't need to see his face to know that he looks threatening, and that he's ready to hit Jaehyun, to make him pay for hurting Shotaro.

If he does, he will be in trouble, and you don't want that.

"Sicheng, we have to take him to the hospital!" Sicheng seems to notice your presence, as he turns his back on Jaehyun. A very bad idea, if you ask me, since Jaehyun grabs Sicheng's skateboard, and lifts it up high, probably about to knock it down on the back of Sicheng's head.

"Behind you!" you scream, and Sicheng falls to his knees, in time to dodge the blow that would certainly have caused massive damage.

"You're going to pay for this Jaehyun, and I promise you'll never get on a skateboard again!" Sicheng growls, and he joins you on all fours to avoid getting hit once more. He knows Jaehyun, he knows he'll try to knock him out at the first opportunity.

"He's bleeding Sicheng, and the car is so far away." you whisper when he's close enough to hear you, your hand resting on Shotaro's cheek. Blood is flowing from his wound to the head, and a tear rolls down your cheek.

"We can't call the ambulances, because everyone will be arrested, including us." then this is not an option. You have to find something else.

"My car is parked right there, I can go get it for you if you want. I'm also going to ask people to open the gates down the track so you don't have to endure the crowds."

You turn your head to the red haired boy who asked Sicheng for the weird skateboard the week before the race. "Please, that would help us tremendously!" you answer, and he disappears.

As promised, he comes back quickly, and he stops the car in front of you. "I'll help you put him in the car." he tells Sicheng who needs a minute to react, but when he does, he puts Shotaro in the backseat, and he sits with him, his head on his knees.

"We'll owe you one." you say, getting behind the wheel.

You drive off the racetrack without a hitch, and after that, it's just a matter of luck. All the lights are green, and there is no one on the road. Perfect.

You stop the car in front of the main door of the hospital, and you go out in a hurry. "I need help!" you say, and two nurses follow you outside. "He fell off his skateboard, hit his head and hasn't regained consciousness since. It's been 15 minutes."

Then it's a total blur.

Shotaro was taken away by several nurses, and you were forbidden to follow them.

It's been over two hours, and you're still sitting in the waiting room, your head resting on Sicheng's shoulder.

"I'm so sorry." he says in a whisper, and you look up at him. "I shouldn't have invited you. I should have known that Jaehyun would be there, and that he would seek to harm me without attacking me directly."

You shrug your shoulders. "You couldn't have known, especially after his accident. You just wanted to please Shotaro by inviting him."

Silence falls, and when the door opens on one of the nurses who took care of Shotaro, you get up from your chair, immediately imitated by Sicheng. "How is he?"

"He is fine." she says with a comforting smile. "The blow to the head was strong, but for some incredible reason he doesn't have a concussion. His wrist is broken, and he's going to have a few bruises. He is going to be just fine, and should be able to leave the hospital tomorrow after one last check up."

A weight slips off your shoulders, and before you know what's going on, Sicheng hugs you for a long, and strong embrace that you didn't know you needed. "Oh thank god."

Shotaro won't be in a race anytime soon, but he'll be getting back on his skateboard before his wrist is even healed.

[elderbwrry]

Girls' Night

tags: the knights of ren, All Women Knights of Ren, Girl's night, Girl's Knight, haha please like me, Fluff and Humor, Adversarial Kylux, Very much a WIP, Kylux, although fair warning it might not be that relationshippy

Read it on ao3

Summary: Hux is surprised by what the Knights of Ren get up to in their free time - it's strangely humanising. Unfortunately, Ren is still being the Lord of all Assholes. Hux needs a way to get back at him. It gives him an idea.

Hux marched down the corridor in the Finalizer's quarters deck, the section dedicated to command personnel. The immaculately tiled and polished floors glinted as he whipped past them. He was walking a little faster than usual, he noticed with distaste, but it wasn't surprising; this was his last task before he could officially count his shift as “over” and, instead of standing stiffly on the bridge checking reports, he could settle down to checking them in the comfort of his quarters. His sofa beckoned, along with another three hours of beloved admin, then five necessary hours of sleep before his next shift.

Moments ticked by as he had to pause and wait for a security door to open, and he felt his frustration manifesting itself in his brow. He was currently delaying himself by heading approximately six minutes out of the way of his own quarters, all to give Ren little more than a telling off. This wasn't the first time the glorified poser had caused him this kind of issue – trust Ren to get in the way, he excelled at it – but it was the first time Hux was personally carrying the message round to his quarters that he needed to file a report for the mission he returned from over a week ago.

Hux had tried the usual ways of getting hold of Ren; on his return to the ship, Hux had informed him a report was due; an automated reminder had been sent; a follow-up reminder had been sent; Hux sent a reminder himself. Today, when his agenda noted that Ren still remained unresponsive, Hux hailed him over internal comms. No reply. He called Mitaka in, intending to send him to Ren's quarters, but the poor man had paled at the knight's very name. So, Hux had dismissed him, and undertaken to deliver the message himself.

Hux didn't bother to wonder the reason why Ren wasn't completing the report – undoubtedly it was because he was irresponsible, disrespectful, possibly illiterate – he only amused himself to wonder what foolish excuse would be employed this time. “Meditation,” Hux's mind supplied in a mocking approximation of Ren's voice without that ostentatious helmet, “important Force matters,” “training,” “I was just really tired and forgot :(”

He was just shaking his head disapprovingly at the imagined pout as he drew up outside the door itself. He pressed the button to request entry, pushing it harder than necessary until his thumb joint hurt, as if somehow that would convey through the automated, equalized buzz sound how annoyed he was with Ren taking up his time like this.

The door puffed open, and Hux's mouth was already opened to give Ren a piece of his mind when he realised that the person in front of him was not, in fact, Ren. Instead, stood before him was a woman nearly a head shorter than himself, her long, black hair piled on her head in a decidedly non-regulation messy bun, drawn away from her face, on which was slathered some kind of light pink paste. She was wrapped in a fluffy, pink dressing gown, under which appeared to be heart patterned pink pyjamas.

Hux's planned rebuke of Ren fell away into an, “Uh.” Usually, he had time to prepare himself for any kind of non-work-related interactions, but he had planned to go into this with a clipped, righteous annoyance and come out of it with a self-indulgent bit of riling Ren up, and now that Ren was not available for that, he had nothing.

“Yes?” she said, about as neutrally as Hux supposed anyone would, when called upon while attired as she was.

“I must have the wrong quarters,” was what he managed to reply.

“These aren't mine,” she explained, pointing behind her, around a corner which Hux couldn't see, “You looking for Kylo?”

“Yes,” Hux said stiffly, “is Ren here?”

The woman leaned back inside the door, around the corner Hux still couldn't see. “Kyle!” she called, “visitor.”

“He's not getting up, wet nails!” someone called back, another female sounding voice.

Just what was happening in there? How many women were there, and what were they doing in Ren's quarters, of all places, clad in such unofficial wear? Hux shuddered to think. Was he also going to have to remind Ren of the rules against fraternisation with inferior officers? That was sure to be a fun conversation of Ren not giving a kriff and Hux being able to do little but barb his words and maybe mention the situation to Snoke. Odd, though – Hux had never thought Ren had showed any preference for women... or perhaps that had just been wishful thinking.

The woman before him remained still for a moment, her brown eyes glazing over just slightly in a way which made Hux think she wasn't entirely mentally present. Then the look was gone as soon as it had come, and she frowned, annoyed. “He wants you to leave,” she informed him, “but he wasn't very nice about it, so you're coming in.” She turned and retreated back inside, beckoning casually for him to follow.

After a moment, once Hux's brain had caught up – Ren had just communicated with the woman through the Force, and now he was being invited in against those wishes. He slipped through the door, letting it puff closed behind him.

The first fact of the place was that Ren's quarters were larger than Hux's. Hux had known this, of course – he'd scoffed over the confirmation for the allocation when Ren had first transferred over, perfectly happy to take moderately sized quarters himself – but, as he walked down the grandly inlaid corridor from the entrance antechamber to what was presumably a living space, it contributed to the sense of an impending mystery as to what, exactly, he was about to discover. He hoped it was nothing too debauched.

“You're that General, aren't you?” the woman a step in front of him asked over her shoulder. “Hanks? Hugs?”

“Hux,” he corrected. He disliked intensely when people got his name wrong. He was the General of the ship they were all currently hurtling through space on, he was the General Starkiller – how could she not know who he was? “Who are you?”

“Ushar,” she replied easily. No rank, no designation of any sort, no actual deference to him as a General; all things Hux made a mental note of for later, when he could check the ship manifest.

“Might I ask what you're...”

Hux had begun to speak with an acerbic self-confidence – it was his ship, and he demanded to know what was happening on it – but it all became clear when Ushar opened the door to the central living area and the situation was revealed. It was the second time Hux had been caused to falter in his words in the last five minutes, and he didn't appreciate it. “What is this?” he asked, minorly horrified, as he took in the scene before him.

Ushar shrugged. “Girls' night.”

The room looked like some kind of stereotypical, tacky imitation of a Zeltronian spa had taken over. There were tall glasses of something bubbly scattered around, half-drunk, the bottle chilling in a bucket of ice on the coffee table, which was scattered with cosmetic items. A holo-romance was playing off to the side. Boxes of chocolates fountained forth crunched up wrappers. There were four women – two humans, a zabrak and a twi'lek – lounging around in the pit of cushions the room had been turned into. The cushions were allpink to match the identical pink bath robes and headbands and fluffy slippers the room's inhabitants were sporting. And, at the centre of it all; Ren.

“You...” Hux started, under his breath just enough that no-one would take notice of the stammering. He had certainly not expected this. “I...”

Ren, clad too in pink fluffy bath robe, seemingly with nothingunder it this time, finally took notice that Ushar had led Hux in, as he sat up quickly and angrily, removing slices of some green vegetable from over his eyes. The woman who had been painting his toenails – black, possibly the only thing that could reconcile the Ren Hux was used to with this strange, pink perversion before him – protested, but he ignored her, instead hurrying to his feet and wading his way out of the pillows.

“I told you to make him leave,” Ren growled at Ushar, but the effect was considerably diminished thanks to his appearance. The bathrobe he wore was the short, fun kind of style which only came to his knees; the pink headband kept all his hair back from his face gave him a kooky sort of bird's nest; his face was slathered with a light green version of what Ushar had on, all except for comical spaces around his eyes and lips.

Ushar glared at him. “You shouldn't have ordered me like that, then,” she said, going over to sit next to the zabraki woman, shuffling in closer than was strictly platonic and picking up one of the glasses. “I'm not some stormtrooper.”

“You're ruining the night,” Ren brandished the vegetable slice at her. It wobbled.

“You'reruining the night!” the woman Ushar was sat next to shot back. “He's here after you!”

“Yeah, Kyle,” the twi'lek said from the sofa in a tone that was very much mocking, but still friendly, popping a chocolate in her mouth. Who were these people, that they could speak to Kylo Ren like this and get away with it?

Ren turned back to Hux, glowering. The face paste made him look like a clown. The outside finally reflects the inside, Hux thought to himself while wondering if Ren had waxed his legs or if they were just like that naturally, and had to force himself not to laugh. He obviously didn't mask his expressions quite as well as he should have, however, because Ren seemed to sense that Hux was amusing himself at his expense. Seizing Hux's upper arm in a grip to rival that of a hangar-bay droid, Ren manhandled Hux back to the door of the room, away from the group.

“Unhand me, you oaf,” Hux admonished, shaking Ren off him and lowering his tone a little so as not to disturb the ladies, who, in their disregard of Ren's plumped-up edginess, had endeared themselves to him.

“Why are you here?” Ren demanded before he'd even finished speaking, also at subdued pitch.

“Why are you here?” Hux returned, hissingly. “Who are these people? Why are you not completing the mission report which you have had no fewer than five requests for? Why the hells are your quarters this gods-awful colour?”

Ren took a moment to glare at Hux.

Hux interpreted this as having the upper hand. “Well?”

“I'm not completing any more of your stupid kriffing reports,” he said as if it were obvious. “I told you that already.”

Hux cycled through his memory quickly. He remembered Ren slamming down the last report onto his desk and threatening something similar, but he'd disregarded it, because reports were Necessary, and it was not a possibility for anyone to simply not do them.

“You will do the report,” Hux replied.

“No.”

“You'll do it now.”

Ren snorted. “No.”

Hux bristled. “Ren, I have been forced to come down here – well out of my way – to extract this report from you, only to find you sitting around like some... pampered princess, when I could be-”

“Good point actually, let's return to it. What are you doing down here?” Ren frowned and crossed his arms, but his lips curled cruelly, ready, Hux was sure, to make some insult about his doing such menial work.

“That brings me to the next matter,” Hux plucked the opportunity of throwing in this additional argument, squaring up. “You have intimidated my administrative staff to the point where it is necessary that I waste my time in a way which is thoroughly unacceptable to me.”

Ren widened his eyes in mock sympathy. “Did you forget how to use a comm?”

This only pissed Hux off more, because something about the movement was ridiculously attractive. He wasn't sure whether it was the slight shrug which emphasised Ren's muscular arms, the fact that the pink really brought out the rich shade of his hair, or even the cruelty behind the act itself, but it could not stand.

“I'm quite familiar with the comms system,” he spat, “it seems that you are the one having trouble, since you failed to reply to my hails. As my co-commander,” (Hux had practised in his bathroom mirror not grimacing as he said this) “you are expected to answer your comms when I call. It is highly unprofessional of you to shirk your duty like this.”

Ren momentarily pursed his lips. His next words were caustic. “I don't intend to waste my life away at work like you do, slaving over a tablet until I look like the living dead. At least I know how to relax.”

Hux's eye twitched. “I know how to relax.” An imagined image of himself on his icy blue sofa in his black and red robe, his cat to one side, his data-pad in hand, appeared in his mind. That was relaxing.

“No you don't,” Ren scoffed. “You should see the bags under your eyes. You look more drawn out than all the Starkiller blueprints put together.”

Mentally, Hux's self-image adjusted so that his porcelain skin turned grey, the lines of his face more prominent, the room dark until only he was visible by the harsh light of the data-pad. It could not have been more different than his current surroundings of pink and fluffiness and companionship and soft lighting.

“Get out of my head, Ren,” he said, putting the warping of his imagined scene down to some Force meddling.

“I'm not in your head,” Ren replied, “you're just sad and lonely and jealous that you have to go do a report while I have a nice night with my knights – my friends. You,” he pointed sassily, “could never have this,” he pointed back to the ladies. “Now kriff off, I'm not doing the report. Maybe you should do it yourself, since you have such a boner for that kind of thing.” The door far behind Hux puffed open, presumably manipulated by the Force.

“I expect the report before the end of my shift tomorrow,” Hux said, voice dangerous and low. How dare Ren speak to him like that. How dare he judge what Hux did to relax, while he was being a layabout with these random, cool ladies... doing... fun things like... painting nails and getting tipsy... and watching holo-dramas... and... he wasn't jealous.

“Leave,” Kylo told him.

Hux narrowed his eyes. “You will regret this, Ren.” He turned on his heel and marched from the room, commenting to himself once more as the door puffed closed behind him, “You will regret this.”

[line break]

Kylo watched Hux retreat from the room, waiting until the door had closed to turn and make his way back to his knights. He flopped himself back down onto the floor, jostling Ap'lek's sofa cushions in the process.

“Ah kriff,” he complained as he saw his black-smudged toes stretched out in front of him, “he made me ruin my nail paint.”

“I'm not doing them again,” Trudgen said, tossing the little black bottle at him, shifting around to watch the holo and grabbing a chocolate. “You shoulda been more careful when you got up instead of rushing off to be a bitch.”

Kylo sighed over-dramatically and called out, “Cardo!” She and Kuruk were in the kitchen, probably making an unsightly mess of the place, but Kylo knew only she would be willing to finish the paint for him. Of course, he would have to take the chance that the stuff would end up even more smudged than it already was, and, now he was thinking about it, he would probably be better off just dipping his entire feet in nail polish.

A chocolate wrapper hit the side of his head. He turned to see Ushar had thrown it. “Just do it yourself,” she told him, “it's not like it's hard.”

But he wanted to feel spoiled, that was the whole point of this spa evening anyway. He called Cardo's name again, whinier this time.

“What?!” came the shouted reply, “We're making mug muffins!”

Vicrul frowned, straightening up a little where her arm was thrown around Ushar's shoulders. “In the microwave?”

“Yeah!”

“Huh,” Vicrul shrugged, settling back down again. “Good luck cleaning that.”

Kylo groaned, letting his head fall back onto the sofa cushion behind him. First Hux was on him about a report, then none of his knights would do his nails for him, now Cardo was splattering his lovely microwave with chocolate batter. This was all Hux's fault. Kylo wasn't sure how yet, but it was.

He opened his eyes to see Ap'lek looking down at him, where his head rested by her left elbow. “What's this about a report then?” she asked flatly. Kylo just groaned again and re-closed his eyes.

“You can't be procrastinating this stuff again,” Ushar nagged him over the sound of footsteps, accompanied by a smell of chocolate, and a thunk-clink of a tray with spoons being set down on the table as the cooks brought the muffins through. “Your job is important, here, Kylo. Snoke wants you to do well.”

“To hell with Snoke,” Kylo mumbled, hoping the crusty fart wasn't spying on his thoughts as they spoke. Paperwork was a fate worse than a fate worse than all the Sith hells combined.

“Then we want you to do well,” she continued.

“Plus we blew up so much shit on that mission,” Vicrul added, and Kylo opened his eyes to glare at her as she accepted a mug from Kuruk.

“You have to tell the General about that some time, why not put it in a report? You'd save him lots of time, probably. I bet he'd be so appreciative.”

Kylo accepted a mug proffered by Kuruk and waved it about a bit. “Since when do we care about saving Hux time? I meant what I said, he loves paperwork so much he probably,” he picked up a spoon and stabbed it into the fluffy top of the muffin, watching steam come out as he tried to pick a suitably ridiculous image of Hux. “He probably sleeps with all the files strewn over his bed and like,” he made a face, “rubs them on his body, gets all cozy with them at night. I don't know.”

“I'm pretty sure he does paperwork on his data-pad,” Ap'lek said, and she was right, though Kylo resented that she'd killed his roll.

“Just do the kriffing report, Kyle.” Trudgen hadn't pulled her attention away from the holo enough to face him as she'd said it, but apparently had been paying enough attention to comment, “Anything to stop him showing up and interrupting us. Girls' night is a no-business zone.”

Cardo chose that moment to vault over the back of the sofa and land heavily on the cushions. “Ooh, General Hux came over?” she asked cheerfully. Her hands were, predictably, still coated in chocolate powder. “I can't believe I missed him, I want to see if his hair is gelled that solid from close up.” She grabbed her mug and dug into the muffin.

“The General shouts too much,” Kuruk said, sitting cross legged on a cushion by the coffee table. “He should check his blood pressure, it can't be good for him.”

“Hey, a bit like you!” Cardo added, “You must call me through next time. He's cute.”

Kylo opened his mouth – partly to gape at what had just been said, and partly because the muffin was too hot and he hadn't had the impulse control to prevent eating a large spoonful. “Hey!” he started a few times, mouth full and burning. Finally, he was able to swallow. “He is not cute, and there will be no,” he wobbled his mug and spoon in a no-fingered version of quotation marks, “next time.”

“Then do the report,” Ushar shot back.

Kylo made a loud complaint noise.

“He's not gonna do it because he wants the General to come over again,” Ap'lek teased, and, to Kylo's horror, all his knights laughed. Traitors. He didn't want Hux to come over again.

“I don't,” he replied vehemently, “I want him to kriff off and stop annoying me.”

“I think that's against his job description,” Kuruk said, prompting further laughs.

“You should just do it,” Ushar said, getting to her feet after a moment more.

“Hey, where you going?” Vicrul asked sadly, not letting go of Ushar's hand.

“Babe, I gotta peel my face.”

“Wait, let me come with, it's really satisfying.”

The two disappeared off, and Kylo had to add 'his knights screwing in his bathroom' to his list of sub-par things to happen this evening. He wasn't going to do the report. He couldn't be bothered, he didn't want to, he hated writing things and making them sound 'formal'. No, tonight he was going to finish his mug muffin, paint his nails and fall asleep with his knights in front of a trashy holo-romance. Hux would get the hell in eventually and do the report himself. Give it a few more days, and Kylo was sure Hux would drop the issue.