#my feet are frozen my throat hurts

[kebriones]

Me: yay cold! Finally!

Also me: I'm so cold and sleepy

[sukunasteeth]

Stitches

Sukuna has never made you wait for him.

He was always on time, always there before you, and if circumstances arose where-in he couldn't be, you always knew an hour before. You were never left to wonder or worry.

If Sukuna says he'll be there, he's there.

So when you wake up to his cold and empty bed, after hours of waiting for him to return home from work, you want to assume the best case scenario.

He's just working late, you assure yourself when your eyes find the clock on the nightstand and it tells you that it's two o'clock in the morning. Maybe he was so entranced in whatever he was tending to that he had forgotten to call you and tell you he'd be late. It had never happened before, but there was a first time for everything.

You try not to trip over your own two feet on your way to the bathroom, ignoring the dread that immediately darkens your thoughts upon checking your phone for the hundredth time that night.  

No call. No text... Did he tell you in person earlier in the day and you had simply forgotten?

What if he's hurt?

You round the corner of the hallway.

What if he's in trouble?

You're so lost in your thoughts that you don't even register seeing the bathroom light peeking out from under the door.

You push it open.

What if he's-

Standing over the sink, dripping in blood, and using a fishing line to sew up an enormous gash splitting into his side?

You're frozen in the doorway. 

Faced with the unfortunate answer to the questions that had been progressively plaguing you the entirety of the night. Shock grips your throat and has a cold sweat breaking out over your skin.

You haven't seen him so roughed up since the two of you were in high school. Sukuna, always hungry for a test of strength, had often walked you home with a bloody nose or a ripped open pair of knuckles, but this would be the first time you've seen him look like he just rolled out of a fight club ring. 

He's taken off his suit jacket and his usually pristine white button down has been torn to shreds. The pieces that are left of it have adhered to the deepest of his wounds, soaked in crimson. He's holding up the hem of his shirt with his teeth, glaring down at a particularly large slice in his torso as he feeds a needle into the skin and puts himself back together again. One of his eyes is swollen and there's a small cut to the side of it. You can tell that he'll have a black eye come morning. Sukuna must see you in the corner of it, because he suddenly turns to look at you. The edge of his shirt falls out of his mouth, but Sukuna doesn't seem to notice, too surprised by your presence.

The two of you take each other in. Silently appraising the situation.

Before you can react, his surprise is already morphing into a resigned, disappointed sigh.

"Aw shit."

"What the HELL?!" You don't recognize the voice that escapes you in your panic. Raspy from the sleep still coating your throat, disjointed as your tonsils remember themselves and yet forget how to operate in your shock. You're across the room in a flash, nearly tripping headfirst into him in your haste. "What happened?! Y-You're hurt. Why are you hurt? Jesus, that looks so bad- oh my god. 'Kuna-"

"Shhh," He's hushing you. You're close enough for him to reach out with his free hand and pull you even closer, he doesn't seem to notice the streak of fresh blood he leaves behind on your wrist. "It's not as bad as it looks."

"You're covered in blood!" You whisper in horror, you search his eyes for even an ounce of alarm, and find only his usual nonchalance lounging there. As though this was nothing out of the ordinary.

He even looks down at himself like he wants to refute you, but when he picks up the collar of his shirt, finding the shredded pieces of what remained of it, he seems to think better. 

"Little bastards didn't do half bad, actually." He mutters to himself. He almost sounds... impressed. "Any deeper and it could have really been a pain in my ass."

"What happened?" You ask again, desperate.

"Just some kids waiting outside of the office." He rubs at the back of his head, and you notice another small cut there over a raised bump that seems to be swelling at the base of his skull. It must be tender, because he grimaces when he grazes it. You do too, just from watching him. "Trying to make some pocket money off of me and Uraume. They should have at least waited until we were both alone." When he pulls his hand away from his head, there's fresh blood glistening on his fingertips. He sucks his teeth. "Amateurs."

You take a deep, steadying breath- willing your heartbeat to slow.

You were the one who decided to fall for a man constantly looking for a good fight. At this point, you had only yourself to be disappointed with.

Without another word you turn your back to him and head straight for the shower. You needed him to wash off. You wouldn't be able to tell which parts of him needed attention in the mess that was currently coating his skin and you were already preparing mentally to tend to him. You spin the dial to ‘hot’ and turn back to him, trying your best to glare. You didn't think it was working very well. Especially because he's smiling softly at you.

"Get in." You command, pointing to the tub.

Sukuna scoffs softly, turning back to his needle and fishing line.

"It's fine.” He brushes you off. “I'm just going to rinse the cuts as I go-"

"Sukuna." You don't mean for it to come out as demanding as it does. Sukuna was hurt. You wanted to be gentle with him, but you can't help how overwhelmed you are at the sight of him battered to such a degree.

He slowly lifts his head like he was giving you time to think about the way you had just spoken to him before he meets your eyes again. You're too roused to take it back. "Get. In."

You can tell in his momentary silence that he doesn't recognize this shade of frustration on you. He's watching you like he's trying to take in every detail of it. Engrave it into his brain. Part of you is reminded in that moment that it wasn't Sukuna's anger you were in risk of pushing, but rather his excitement.

He folds up the fishing line and loops it around the sewing needle, placing it onto the counter without turning to look at it.

Your unrelenting stance falters a bit as he crosses the room after you, unbuttoning his dress shirt as he goes. His eyes never leave yours, testing your will.

When he makes it to you, he's brimming with pride. His belt clinks when he unloops the first notch. 

"Yes ma'am." He purrs.

...

An hour later, he's as clean as he can be and sitting on the closed lid of the toilet seat. You're perched in his lap, having already finished stitching shut the larger wounds that needed it. Now you're down to the last small cut left, which is on his cheek. It didn't require much attention, it was a tiny graze compared to the rest of the gashes you had tended to.

You can feel Sukuna watching you with a smitten little smile, like you had just spent the past hour silently telling him how much you adored him with your gentle but stern touches.

It ticks you off.

"Stop looking at me like that." You mutter, pressing the last of the steri-strips against his skin.

He doesn't even pretend to stop. You refuse to meet his gaze as you do a final examination of your handiwork. Finally, with him properly patched up and without a single drop of fresh blood in sight, the pain in your heart eases. He was okay. 

"...Why didn't you have Uraume help you with this before you came home?" You pretend to reassess one of the gauze strips on his bicep, but it's really just an excuse to nervously pick at the cotton while you're underneath his gaze.

There were plenty of people at the office who knew how to deal with wounds to this severity, professional medics that could have sewed him up twice as fast and sent him home just as clean as when he had arrived. So why did he wait so long for help?

Sukuna hums and his bandaged knuckles glide up and down the outsides of your thighs. "Maybe I like watching you play nurse."

"Kuna~" You groan hopelessly, letting your head thunk against his shoulder. "Quit teasing. I'm mad at you." You announce.

It only serves to widen his grin, which you can feel pressed against your hair as he kisses your forehead.

"But you're so cute when you want to be mad at me." He mocks your tone of voice and chuckles when you press your thumb into the bandage on his bicep in an attempt to punish him-just a bit.

Quickly, he snatches your hand, locking the both of your fingers together and gently nudging your head with his own. Silently asking you to look up again.

You're trying your best to pout at him, but you're surprised to see softness where you expected to find mischief in his expression. There's a warm fondness to his gaze. One you usually only see him wear when he's watching you talk about something you're particularly passionate about.

"I'm sorry I made you worry." The genuineness of the statement softens the hard lines of your face. And just like that, you completely forget that you’re supposed to be mad at him. His fingers trace the space between your brows where he had just made an angry knot disappear. "I do hate it when I do that."

Maybe it was a tactic to get off the hook. But it was a good one. It even has you feeling guilty for being hard on him. 

"I don't like seeing you covered in blood." You whisper, finally meeting his eyes. The glimmer there is triumphant.

"I'll hose off out front next time, how's that?"

You bite back a laugh at the image, trying to keep your stern disposition. You lean in, so as to impart the severity of your tone. "No next time."

Sukuna leans in closer, "And I'll have to get you a nurse's outfit."

"No next time!"

You were in love with the epitome of mischief. There was always going to be a next time.

[sky-high-standards]

Yandere Knight x Dragon Reader

sry I haven't posted in a while my single pringles enjoy~

Yandere Knight~ Who was summoned to rescue a princess from the clutches of the most feared dragon in the empire.

Yandere Knight~ Who indifferently agrees and begins his quest.

Yandere Knight~ Who charges to your land on his trusty steed and is then face to face with you your scales shimmering and your eyes burning with fury you were much more magnificent than he imagined...

Yandere Knight~ Who fought well bravely and was about to take the final blow ready to launch his lance into your throat when suddenly you transformed into your weakened part human form stopping him in his tracks.

Yandere Knight~ Who's eyes widened at the sight of you, you were gorgeous much more beautiful than any princess could ever be he took a moment to take in your form as you struggled to stay standing your wings spread and your fiery eyes glaring into his waiting for him to take the blow.

 Yandere Knight~ Who cautiously approached you and watched you sit there accepting your fate and smiles slightly as your eyes open confused as he caressed your cheek and horns muttering to himself.

"Ethereal..."

Yandere Knight~ Who is startled when you growl and fly away, and his eyes linger on your now distant form and internally groans when the princess runs out and throws herself at him as he fights back the burning urge to throw her off.

Yandere Knight~ Who confronts every dragon ologist to learn as much as he can about your kind, He has to know every detail about his new beloved after all.

Yandere Knight~ Who finds out your love for precious objects and always comes to your land leaving treasure and jewels behind picturing how lovely you'll look in them.

Yandere Knight~ Who outright refuses the kings proposal for him to marry the princess as a reward for saving her his mind only occupied with how stunning you looked amongst your flames.

Yandere Knight~ Who makes sure no other knight is sent anywhere near you he can't have anyone else seeing your beauty or attempting to slay you.

Yandere Knight~ Who's attempts end up being futile and is sent with troops to slay you once and for all.

Yandere Knight~ Who is furious to see the last remaining knight standing over your weakened for with his sword raised ready to finish you off.

Yandere Knight~ who charges and kills the knight slicing his head clean off with a sick smile as he watches it fall at your feet seeing your frozen expression as he caresses your face with his bloodied hands.

“No one will ever hurt you my treasure I’ll be the only one who knows your true beauty, and I’ll never let anyone else see it~”

y'all can read my new yandere dragon x knight reader

[hazelfoureyes]

⟢Alastor x Cupid FemReader Tasked with making a demon believe in true love or you can’t return to heaven, things immediately go off the rails when you hurt yourself and Alastor catches one of your most troubling arrows; Mania

I managed to finish this despite, ya know, the aforementioned: (´°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥ω°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥｀)

˚₊ · »-♡→ Week 1 and Week 2 (keep reading)

˚₊ · »-♡→Week 3 and Week 4 smut💦

˚₊ · »-♡→Week 5, Week 6, Week 7, and Epilogue smut💦

「warnings/promises: Alastor x CupidFemReader, broken bones, feet washing, normal sized Luci, you know the outfit in my PFP? You’re wearing that but soft purple and the bottom half is ambiguous because idk baby whatever you feel best in it’s your story, Husk has a bad time, Alastor has a bad time, You have a bad time, Charlie has a great time 👌🏼, not choking」

Minors this one is chill but the next two imma need you to Dni 💋 ♥️ 🧹lovingly

You had made a mistake, yes, but Hell? Really?

Sure, you had dropped an arrow into the water supply of a nunnery which did lead to some unholy behaviors. But! The nuns seemed quite happy. Wasn’t that the point?

Tossing you to Hell through a hastily opened portal was honestly unprofessional. You ended up dropping three stories, upside down, in front of a butcher's shop.

In the seconds between Sera telling you, ‘You can return when you’ve made a sinner believe in true love.’ and Lute kicking you square in the chest through the hell door, you thought it wouldn’t be so hard. True, you couldn’t use your arrows as that wouldn’t be “true love” and also too easy, even gods weak to your shots, but ultimately sinners were still human. Humans were pushovers! Pliable, gentle at their hearts, desiring love and tenderness. How bad could the naughty ones be? 

And then you landed shoulder first onto the pavement. It hurt. Things didn’t hurt in heaven…

Your arrows scattered, quiver spilling when you inverted. Wincing, you scrambled to grab as many as were within reach. Your right shoulder was burning, a new sensation.

You counted them by name as you gathered: Eros, Agape, Philia, Pragma, Philautia, Ludus, Storge… panic. 

ErosAgapePhiliaPragmaPhilautiaLudusStorge— Mania wasn’t there. Arguably the arrow that caused you the most trouble, the sting of Mania would cause a madness that led to obsessive behaviors, possessiveness, jealousy. 

Pulling yourself up, arrows clutched in one hand, the other holding the place near your collar was throbbing, your eyes were frantic in their search.

“What’s this?”

You finally looked up from the sidewalk, a man’s back to you before he turned. Bile rose and burned your throat as he pulled Mania from where it had pierced his chest pocket.

His eyes, shades of red heaven didn’t even entertain, made a simple trip from the arrow's head to your face.

The man went so still you thought for a moment he was a hologram, but you could see the tiniest rise and fall of his chest. A deer facing down a bright light, he remained frozen in place as you began to approach him.

“Excuse my manners, but that’s mine and I really need it back.” Your injured arm moved first and the pain made you see white, a cry so sharp people turned to look. He snapped back to his senses, and with an odd sound you couldn’t quite place, he seemingly disappeared into the ground.

Mania was left behind, shining smugly against the dirty pavement. You didn’t want to make a reach for it, fear flooding you. You’d never felt pain before.

You’d seen it in humans, but never in your existence had you experienced it. Would both arms hurt?

You let the left hand abandon its guarding place and grabbed the errant arrow. Tucking into an alley, you crouched and returned the arrows to their quiver with immense difficulty.

Okay, yes it was Hell but maybe you were a little paranoid. A sense of being watched wouldn't leave you even after you re-emerged from the darkness of the alley. 

The enormity of your task set in as you surveyed the area. You, an obviously heavenly creature even without your wings out on display, would need time to make anyone believe in any form of love. Where would you go in the meantime? And now injured for the first time in your life? How long would that need to mend?

Expanding your view, you saw the currently defunct doomsday countdown hovering above the embassy. Perfect, holy ground would atleast keep you safe for the night, which was falling with a malignant speed.

They couldn’t have given you some time to change? Or pack a set of clothes? Your short sleeved button up a (literally) glowing shade of white was attracting too much attention, golden sandals now cloudy from various fluids across Pentagram city’s streets. Your heart shaped overalls a powdered purple, you looked like an adult child among a sea of very tired professionals. 

When you got to the embassy you only had one good arm to open the heavy doors, which unfortunately didn’t budge. Perhaps you needed two? Trying to muster up some adrenaline, you began to pant. Deep breaths like the women in labour you sometimes worked your magic on.

As soon as you gripped the handle you saw something that made you jump back, muscles flexing around whatever damage you’d done in your body from the fall. A large black snake? Some demonic squid’s appendage? Something unholy grabbed hold of the handle as soon as you had and gave such a tug the doors violently shook.

You spun around to the dark neighborhood behind you. Nothing. Turning back the thing was gone. And so was all of your hope. It was locked. The tears were unwanted and unnecessary, but just-- you were hurting so much, you were dirty, you were alone, and now essentially homeless.

If there was ever a reason to cry, you decided to let yourself have this one. 

The lamplights flickered and the entire street went pitch black. Because of course it did.

Hyperventilating now entirely without intention, you watched as one light to the left popped on with a static buzz. Desperate to be out of the darkness you ran to the spotlight. As soon as your foot entered the beam, the light beside it lit up. Your eyes wandered to heaven above, were they helping you? Had you not been entirely abandoned?

Of course! Yeah. They sensed you at the doors and sent off some guidance. How silly of you. Relief washed over you as you ran through the lights until your foot left one spotlight but the next hadn't popped on.

Twirling back to the embassy, you saw all of the lights shut off in succession behind you.

Just you and the one lamp now, and the glow of some TVs in the shop window to the right. What was the meaning of this? 

That weird sound you heard earlier but couldn’t place… electricity but dusty and barely contained. Your gaze was drawn to the radio in the shop window in front of you. You hadn’t noticed it until it buzzed to life. It lit up faintly, dial turning on its own until a high and smooth voice rang out, “Looking for your way to heaven? You’re in luck! The Hazbin Hotel is now accepting any and all willing to find redemption!”

This must have been the message, I mean, heaven was never good at being subtle.

“Just make your way to the left and toward the looming building atop the hill!”

Your head turned to your left and then up slightly. Bathed in red and white lights stood a behemoth of a building on the edge of a cliff.

Head still facing the hotel, your eyes flitted back to the radio.

“Reception is open 24 hours a day!”

You touched your arm, then patted at your pockets. Not a wallet or ID card on you. You were the 17th Cupid incarnation, why would you have a fucking ID card? But didn’t those places need such things? You’d seen every romcom earth had ever produced. There was always some issue with hotel check ins. 

“Not a red cent needed! We literally do not care who you are!”

Oh. Wait. Was this a trap?

“Created by the Lucifer Morningstar’s daughter! A foolish young woman who genuinely believes in reforming sinners!”

Lucifer?? The former angel, yes, but the word angel carried much more weight now. Perhaps he would have a modicum of pity given your circumstances.

You took an unsteady foot forward and toward the hotel when the street lights all buzzed back to life.

The path to the hotel was long, many demons stopping you on your way but quickly losing interest after a second or two of pestering you. You gave a silent prayer to the archangels for that blessing.

It must have been nearly 1am when you finally made it to the hotel’s doors. When you entered you found an empty reception desk and a poorly written note:

Before the bell’s hammer even hit the metal, a man popped up from behind the counter.

The man.

The man you shot with Mania.

“Welcome to th-,”

You were outside and leaving the awning before he could finish, but just as quickly as you left he appeared in front of you, “Still missing your manners?”

He blocked your path with his remarkable size. Why were demons so tall? What was the use of it?

“Deer got your tongue?” He bent over unnaturally at the waist.

“What?”

“Would you like-,” he began.

You walked around him and down the driveway. He moved briskly beside you, slowly growing larger and larger until his body was several stories tall and entirely blocking the gates of the premises.

A horror. Hell was full of horrors.

He crouched, large toothy smile now baring down at you.

If you stabbed him in the eye with an arrow, which would cause the least trouble? It was a rule to never give a double love bite but this was a dire situation.

But if you were sent to hell for a little nun love fest, what would purposefully stabbing a sinner do?

He rapidly shrank, hands coming to his front to catch a summoned microphone…Cane? Staff?

“You’re injured. Just, come back inside. I promise I don’t bite without consent.” His head cocked to the side, a quiet, “Usually” tacked on.

We’re you visibly hurt? How bad was it? You looked past him to where sounds of yelling and music were rolling up the hill.

“You don’t have many options, angel.” He hissed the word through clenched teeth. Disgust almost seemed to lace his voice, but why, then, was he offering help?

“Not an angel. Cupid. Different.” Kind of. You gave the quiver a shake.

“Ah yes. That explains why you shot at me earlier.” A large hand came to your side and directed you to turn back around. He kept it there, pushing softly to keep you moving.

“I didn't shoot you.”, You huffed, crossing your arms before doubling over in pain. He stopped walking, hand resting now against your spine. Regaining your composure, you continued towards the hotel lobby, “My arrows fell out and…you caught one. With your body.”

“My pocket made quite the lucky catch. Now!” He snapped, a key appearing and floating into his hand with a sparkle of neon green, “Let’s get you to a room and cleaned up.”

“Do you work here?” You asked as he escorted you to one of the upper floors. The room was surprisingly clean and well decorated. You had expected a dingy highway motel. And while the room was largely dark wood and rich colors, it wasn’t as offensive as the rest of hell had been.

“Ah! My my, forgive me! I am Alastor, the radio demon and hotel manager here.” He bowed and offered his hand for you to place yours in. You did so without thinking, and he kissed your knuckles once but his mouth lingered over your flesh. Eyes half lidded, he glanced back up at you, “It is an absolute pleasure to meet you.”

There was no way to reverse Cupid’s arrows. Not by force. Love could only die by the hands of the ones who held it. Others could definitely bruise it, but ultimately it was up to the beholder. Mania was a little different, obsession could be dispelled by shattering whatever illusion the holder felt.

If the holder thought someone was the epitome of genteel chastity then a show of wanton sexuality could break the spell. If someone was convinced the object of their desire was very smart and savvy then acting ignorant could make the obsession fall flat. But there was no indication he had any illusions of you. Not yet, atleast.

Mania was now his, and he would keep it in his heart until he lost it or killed it. He could, technically, be possessed by, and be in the possession of, Mania for eternity. A sinner had never been shot before, that you knew of.

He didn’t noticeably react as you took back your hand. With a hum, he snapped again and you found a chair pulled up behind you and knocking into the back of your knees. You fell into the plush armchair, watching a metal basin of steaming water slide against your feet.

“Excuse you— ExcUU-,” you pulled your legs back but he pulled harder, Alastor removing your dirty shoes and tossing them off to the side like trash.

“You can't clean yourself with that broken collar bone. Allow me.” His hand gripped your ankles and dunked both into the water, “I insist.”

“It’s broken? How could I break a collarbone…,” the humor wasn’t lost on you, sinner washing holy feet, but your focus was entirely on the concept of a broken bone. 

“Falling twenty five feet head first, apparently.” Alastor rubbed soap into your calves.

“But I don’t break.” What happened to you, what had that kick into hell done? “You saw me? Also, that isn’t dirty.” you pointed at your calf.

“Peripherally.”

Did he mean the dirt or witnessing the fall? You sat in silence while he hummed, returning your feet to their original color. 

“Now,” he rose, patting his hands dry on a small towel, “Unbutton your top.”

Your expression was apparently quite loud, Alastor putting his hands up quickly, “Not like that. I’ve no interest in that sort of thing. I need to see your shoulder and upper chest.” He waited patiently, staring at you the entire time. His smile was so wide, teeth yellow and sharp. Unsettling. 

He really did look like he could eat you. You’d heard of such demons.

You slipped off the straps of your overalls, and began to open your shirt. He did away with the water, coming to kneel directly to your right as he watched. You couldn’t see anything without some kind of mirror. If it was bruised or swollen, it was out of your line of sight. Long clawed hands came to the front and back of your shoulder, pressing inward. You pulled away, a firm grip now as his right hand held at the left side of your waist.

“Are you a doctor?” Hotel manager and doctor would be an unlikely combo, but the day had been odd from start to finish.

A shake of the head, “But when I was alive, I did have quite a lot of experience with the inner workings of anatomy.” You grimaced, how could he say such sinister things with such a lovely voice? “Maybe not broken. But I’d say at least a fracture. Perhaps your heavenly body didn’t take full damage. It hurts when you move your arm, correct?” You nodded. 

He hummed, another click of his fingers and a fabric unfurled into his waiting hands. “Take it all the way off so I can set this.”

You were exhausted. The pain was gnawing at your nerves. No more fight in you, you just wanted rest, so you slipped off the shirt entirely and let him wrap your arm up into a simple sling. You were surprised his hands were so warm. Demons seemed like they’d be cold to the touch. Like lizards or pearls.

When he finished, you sitting in the large chair with your arm wrapped in a silky black sling, no shirt, and pastel purple heart-shaped overalls folded down your torso, you considered having another cry. You felt your chin tremble. You couldn’t recall ever crying from sadness before today.

It was just a mistake. You hadn’t meant to drop your arrow. Why were the archangels so angry? What’s some sex between nuns? 

Alastor bristled, hand coming to your cheek. It was an unwelcome gesture. You batted his hand away with your only free one, but he just sighed and set it on your thigh. You pushed it off, shooting him a glare. The audacity.

You thought you saw his eye twitch.

With what little energy was left in, you stood and open the door for him, “You have been very kind and helpful. Thank you very much. You can leave now.” Oh, right, “Please.”

He stood, pausing as he passed you. He was so tall. Shoulders wide. You felt your heart rate pick up. Even with two good collarbones you knew you couldn’t take him in a fight.

Alastor leaned down to your level, you backing up and into the door, “Until the morning.”

When he said it you had thought he was just going about formalities. But he wasn’t. You awoke some hours later to a knock. When you opened the door he was looming in your doorway again.

You tried to close the door but he put his foot in the gap, then a strong hand wrapped around the door’s edge and he pushed his way into the room.

You sputtered, arm flailing a little as you choked on which reaction to give first. You were undressed, in just your under things.

“I don’t want you to hurt yourself further when you get dressed. I’ll undo the sling and help.” Closing the door he then spun back around to face you, smile as bright as it was earlier that same day. 

“No! Absolutely not! Leave! Please!”

As he guided your arm through the shirt, you struggled to process what had happened. One minute you were indignant and stubborn and then he was so close to you, hands warm and gentle, and then already he was untying the sling and your shirt was just there and-

“See? Wasn’t that easy? No harm in accepting help.” Alastor looked you over from top to bottom.  

“Accepting? What part of any of that did I accept.” You stood bottomless in a button up, trying to get the overalls from the hanger with just your left hand. His chest pressed into your back, nearly forcing you to fall into the armoire, to assist you.

“The part where you didn’t actively fight me. I think we can call that acceptance until you learn better.” His words shook through your ribs and to your front. 

Annoyance rose in your chest, what was he thinking? Humans had no right to touch you let alone a sinner. “You’re an eldritch horror, please back away from the divine creature before you.” Alastor laughed, backing away with the clothes in his hands. Hand out, you motioned for him to pass it over. He tossed it on the floor, and took a seat on the bed with crossed legs. “Oh, I see. You’re an asshole. Perfect.” Pretense gone, manners not needed.

You grabbed it with your left hand and managed to get both legs into it before slinking it up and onto your left shoulder. While you tried to figure out how to do the right side, realizing the flaw in your order of processes, Alastor leaned over and unhooked the left strap, overalls falling to the carpet with a soft thud. 

You stood there for several moments, staring at him with purple fabric pooled around your ankles, him staring at you with a shiteating grin.

After finally getting dressed, preferring to not think about how, you were followed down to the lobby. 

“Breakfast?” He asked, you both in the elevator as he hadn’t gone more than three feet from you since he entered your bedroom. 

“No, no appetite. I need to find Lucifer.” You were sure he could help somehow. Somehow he could do….something. Details about Lucifer’s powers and abilities, his strengths and skills were all kept hush-hush. But if nothing else, you could find someone who understood your position. 

Your hand was being vigorously shaken before the elevator doors even closed behind you. Charlie Morningstar was not what you expected.  Chipper and bright, she was bursting with energy. 

“Gentle, Charlie. Our dear Cupid is injured.” Alastor’s hand came to the small of your back. You reached back with your left hand and knocked it off of you. 

“Like, the real actual cupid?!” Charlie’s eyes were shining, you could almost see the hearts floating up around her face. You felt Alastor’s hand again, now on your hip. You took three steps to the right, slipping from his fingertips.

“Yes, that is exactly what I-.” You were cut off, Charlie launching into a speech about sinners and heaven and redemption and so much more you couldn’t process. 

The energy she gave us was very angelic, which was confusing. Until you saw her father entering the common area.

The most hated creature in all of creation. Your best hope for a tiny sliver of comfort. 

Alastor’s hand reached for yours, fingers trapping your wrist and stopping you from approaching the king of hell. 

You shook your arm. His hold stayed. You tugged. He was unaffected, talking to Charlie now about your injury as if you weren’t right there. 

As Cupid, or at least as a cupid, you weren’t physically strong. You really weren’t meant to exist for a long time, just for as long as your body held up to repeated trips to the human realm. But, in heaven, you were never capable of being harmed. And of course, on earth, you weren’t really corporeal so no harm could come to you. You weren’t built for tug of war with a 7 foot tall demon.

“Mr. Devil! Sir!” You waved your foot, shouting out to the normal sized man. As he saw you, his eyes widened, “Hello there! Sorry to be a bother, I’m from heaven and-” You jerked your hand free, power walking to Lucifer, “I’m here on punishment. It’s a pleasure to meet another member of Elysium’s caretakers. Former or otherwise.”

Flustered, Lucifer fumbled with his phone before dropping it. “Oh! Shit! H-hello!”

You reached down to retrieve it for him, seeing black and red shoes behind you as you did. 

“What — why are you here?” Lucifer was looking at Alastor now, which was great news because for a second you thought he was talking to you. A sneaking feeling leaked into your chest that heaven hadn’t actually told him you were coming. 

“Just keeping an eye on my guest! As you can see she got injured and I’ve taken to the task of her safety while she’s in hell.” 

“No one asked him to do that, sir.” Your smile was strained, you could feel Alastor’s shoulder was touching yours. You looked to where you were connected and then back to Lucifer, “Are all sinners like this?”

“Honestly? Yes. They’re all pretty terrible.” Lucifer sighed, “What did you do?”

A cold sweat, “Misused an arrow. I can’t leave hell until I make a demon who doesn’t already believe in true love…believe in it.”

“Oh no! That’s— you’re gonna be here awhile.” Lucifer pulled at his collar in a mock attempt to release the awkward heat of the conversation. He saw you wither, and Alastor seemed to bloom, so he quickly changed pace, “But! Uhhh, you can totally do it! Charlie has some of the best of the worst here. If I can ever help, just ask!” Nervous laughter that did not put you at ease. He seemed so silly. So sweet and easily flustered. 

You felt your hope dash for a second time in less than a day. How long would you be in hell? How long was awhile?

“She is my responsibility now. She won’t be needing anything from you, your majesty.”

A darkness came over you as the two demons began to bicker. You now had your own obsessed shadow; a large and creepy sinner following you around. How on earth could you get close enough to a demon to complete your task? Convincing someone of true love would require trust and time. This would be impossible with Alastor attached to your side. 

You spent the first week in hell in the hotel. Everytime you got the courage to leave and explore the areas outside, you’d find yourself shadow portaled “back to safety” by Alastor. It was like the human film ‘Groundhog Day’, always starting over back in the lobby. 

No matter where you went in the hotel, he was either beside you or where you had been headed. You saw the sky less often than Alastor’s grin and you couldn’t stand it. You took to hiding, leaning against darkened stairwell corners and sitting on the floor of the ladies restroom. 

It bought you a little time to yourself, but the second you moved he was there again. Asking if you were a lost little doe, hand reaching for your waist to pull you near him, red eyes threatening to swallow you whole.

Toward the end of the week, while helping you get dressed as he did daily, Alastor took a step back. “I could get you some new clothes. Cannibal town has the finest duds.” He lifted the lace that lined the top of your  pocket, “You stick out. No demon is going to let you trick them into believing in true love like this.”

You could have screamed. No, no demon would even approach you with Alastor standing behind you. It absolutely wasn’t the clothes. You politely rejected the offer and went about your day.

The next morning you awoke to find your floor littered with strips of something. Flinging open the armoire you found two empty hangers. You turned back, noticing the white and purple color to the fabric confetti.

The march to Alastor’s room was easy, as it was 10 feet in front of your door. He had placed you directly across from him, because, ya know, Mania.

He clearly hadn’t expected you to leave your room in your underwear, eyes like saucers as he yanked you in.

“What in heaven are you doing?! Anyone could see you.” He hissed, closing the door with a little too much force.

“Whose fault is that?!” You seethed in return. Anger was something you rarely ever felt but he was inspiring new things in you. “Someone shredded my clothes.”

Alastor’s ears folded back, eyes looking to the left and up, “Odd. Are you sure? Maybe you accidentally threw them away.” That devilish grin you’d come to expect. He knew damn well how stupid that was.

You stomped your foot, if you had two working hands you’d try to rip his antlers off, “Are you serious?!” You turned to leave, kicking the door before attempting to open it.

A large hand pressed back on the door, slamming it shut. His breath was dropping down the back of your neck despite his considerable height, “You will not be leaving this room in such a state of undress, my dear.”

His voice was so low and close, had anyone ever spoken to you with such a commanding tone? A new feeling twitched in you. You blocked it out.

“You don’t get to make decisions for me,” said too softly.

His other hand came to press on the door, too. An arm to either side of you, trapped, as he leaned in. You pressed yourself against the door to make distance from his body.

“Oh, I absolutely do. Who is going to stop me? You?” Alastor’s voice had noticeably dropped an octave as he whispered what felt like a challenge against your hair.

Who indeed…you had no strength, an arrow would either be useless or complicate things. Lucifer seemed preoccupied and jittery. Heaven wasn’t returning your prayers.

He took your silence as an answer.

“Exactly. Now, I’ll only ask nicely once.” His hands left, warmth on your neck fading. You turned to look at him, sensing his eyes burning holes into your back.

He was holding a two piece set. Older style, 1920s American maybe. Black and burgundy. When did he have time to get this when every hour seemed to be spent near you?

“May I help you get dressed?”

You’d gotten quite close with the few residents who didn’t run at the sight of Alastor. Husk was one of them. You became fast friends, often drinking and lamenting about Alastor’s general existence as Alastor sat some 15 feet away on the sofa. Still not allowed outside the hotel gates, your second week you spent many hours at the bar talking to the surprisingly kind grump.

To your delight Alastor didn’t seem bothered by it, oddly, as long as you were in eyesight he seemed content.

You thought maybe his mania was already waning. Sure you hadn’t attempted to leave the hotel, and you hadn’t argued when he dressed you, but…Ah, hm. Fuck.

Mania can look like Love when you don't struggle against it. A fly motionless in a web can elude the spider for a little bit.

Don't push against the restraints and you can forget they are there entirely.

But push you did, accidentally. Husk was making some new cocktails, trying to enjoy himself and be creative. 

“Yeah, that’s it.” He grinned.

“Good?” 

He took another sip before handing the glass to you. You grabbed it, taking a taste. Sweet but a bite as it went down. Something with citrus. When you looked up from the glass, he was gone.

A choking noise from behind the bar made you stand up in your seat, eyes flying from Husk to Alastor. A glowing green leash dragging Husk across the floor, his hands desperately pulling at the collar as he struggled to breath. 

“Stop!” You shouted, crawling over the bar and grabbing the chain with your good arm. You tried to pull back, to slow the choking force, but got pulled along with it. “Alastor!” You screamed as your shoulder hit the floor and sent searing pain down your arm. 

You could hear Husk gasp, the green glow disappearing from past your clenched eyelids. 

“Why can’t you-,” Alastor started to speak a he came to your side. Husk scurried away, crawling back from the demon. You hit the hand Alastor offered you but were surprised to see his face painted with concern.

“I said stop.” After rolling to your feet you began to march away. “Every time I find something nice in this piece of shit domain you remind me I’m in hell.”

You had almost made it to your room when a hand pulled you by the good shoulder and pushed you against the wall. It still hurt. 

“Don’t you know? Sharing a drink, it’s as close to a kiss as you could get without bringing your mouth to his.”

“It was a drink, Alastor. You had no right.”

His hand settled on your throat. No grip, just a gentle placement, “I have every right.” His brows knit together in worry, in confusion. “What should I do to make you understand me?” His hand came to your chin, thumb ghosting over your lips.

“If I let you go too far, someone will surely take you. Who wouldn’t? Please. Stop pushing me so much.” His eyes were almost loving as they shined down at you. His breath was picking up. You could hear the desperation in his voice. 

Those damned eyes were unrelenting in their stare into your own. There was no creature in presence or audacity in heaven like Alastor. You’d never encountered anything like him. 

“Of all the Love you had to take a stray hit from, Mania really was the cruelest accident.” You held your hand at the crook of your neck, wondering if you did more damage. No, if he did more damage.

“Mania? Is that the arrow I caught? How fitting.” His finger pulled down on your bottom lip. You’d seen this movie, you’d been there for these scenes in dorm rooms and under rainy awnings, in darkened beds and sunny fields. You could move, no part of him was actually holding you physically. “Yes, maybe I am obsessed. But whose fault is that? Will you take responsibility for it?” His chest was shaking with every breath. Why didn’t you move? Just walk away. Knock off that touch as you had been doing. You hadn’t noticed how quickly you were breathing, too, until his hand was pulling your chin up and towards his face.

It only came out as a whisper, half said as it was only half meant, “don’t.”

A laugh, “At least pretend you mean it.” 

Your knees came together in some desperate attempt to stop the feeling creeping up your legs and to your lap, “Apologize to Husk.”

“Why would I ever do such a thing?” His breath was so warm on your mouth, face tilted to keep his nose from hitting yours.

“What a terrible reply!” You slid down the wall and slipped under his arms, “If you shadow work your way into this room I will fuck that horny spider on camera just to spite you.” You opened your door, pausing to make sure he was still down the hall, “Angel on Angel, working title.”

Your whole body went slack, the sounds of a wild animal loose in the hallway rocking the door as you took shaky steps to the bed, paintings on the walls rattling as he did unseen damage. Sounds of an unknown, unholy animal raging just past the thin drywall. 

Had you ever seen Mania work so quickly with so little fuel? Hand coming to your mouth, a burning where his finger touched you. 

No one had touched your lips before. No one could ever hope to. Humans were beyond the realm of feeling you, and you didn’t allow kissing with the partners you took in heaven. Personal rule. As in, it was too personal.

The lights in your room flickered, briefly shrouding you in darkness before coming back to life.

Deja vu.

Oh.

What had he introduced himself as? The radio demon? It wasn’t heaven who brought you to the hotel. Of course not. 

No. Obviously not.

ᡣ𐭩ˋ°•*⁀➷ masterlist

∰ Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult (general tag list):

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei , @wettiny-in-smutland , @moonmark98 , @hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain , @harley2223-blog , @coffee-colored-hopeless-romantic , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima , @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby , @dontfuckbutimfab , @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12 , @star-kujo-platinum ,

@ivebeenthearchersstuffn, @rubyninja1 , @simphornies , @alleystore , @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog , @thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies , @howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf , @ive-no-idea-what-to-call-this , @fizzled-phoenix , @fjorjestertealeaf , @phobophobular , @surusurusuru , @mariaclarade-la-cruz1 , @whateverlololo , @simplyonehellofanotaku , @xixflower , @i-am-nonbinary-bean-deal-with-it , @roxxie-wolf , @a-case-of-attachment , @multifandomfanatic02 , @watereddownmilk , @raynerrold , @crazii-saber-wolf , @valkyrie-expeditions , @bontensbabygirl , @sillyb0nez , @oo0lady-mad0oo , @jazzmasternot , @pseudobun , @fraugwinska✨, @alitaar , @straows , @alastorssimp , @angelicwillows , @b-o-n-e-daddy , @one-and-only-tay , @asleeponelmstreet , @tremendoushearttaco , @mutifandomkid , @sapphirecaelis , @itzzzkiramylove  @saccharine-nectarine , @viannasthings , @looking1016 , @ultimate-duck-king-lucifer , @blakeaha , @astraechos , @reath-solia ,

🏹Alastor stalkers: @celestial-vomit , @amurtan

@faeoffaith , sailorsmouth , @jeannyjaykaydeh , @jyoongim , @cosmic-lavender , @saturn-alone , @lustylita , @radio-darling , @kaylopolis , @dickmastersworld , @leviskittywh0re

[lovebugism]

Hi there 👋🏻 I've been binge reading your stories lately and I love them all! I have a request if you're up for it. Could you write one where shy!reader doesn't like her laugh because some people think it's annoying but Eddie loves it? Totally not self-projecting by the way! 🙃 Thank you!

thank you angel! please enjoy :D — eddie comforts you when he finds out an old boyfriend made you hate your laugh (shy!fem!r, established relationship, hurt/comfort, 1k)

You and Eddie sit on opposite sides of the worn, sunken-in couch — long legs bent at the knees, socked feet wedged neatly beneath your thighs. Your bare calves rest on either side of his lap while his calloused palms rub up and down the length of them. His touch is largely absentminded as he tries hopelessly not to laugh through the punchline of his own joke.

“—And I was like, ‘Boom. You lookin’ for this?’”

You think the brown-eyed look of expectancy he gives you is funnier than anything. You smile wide, hiding the sparkling expression behind your palm.

Eddie meets your beam with a boyish pout. He repeats the punchline, more serious this time. “And I was like, ‘Boom’—”

“I heard you, Eds,” you assure with a small chuckle. A mere breath of a laugh.

His frown deepens. “Oh, c’mon!” he exclaims, lifting his hands in protest. They drop back to your ankles a second later. “That was funny! That always kills with Hellfire!”

You nod rapidly, brows raised and eyes wide, like a parent comforting a child. “It was good,” you assure quickly.

“Then why aren’t you laughing?”

“So, what— I have to laugh if I think something’s funny?”

“Well, that’s usually how it works, yeah,” Eddie monotones with a flat face, nodding until his wild curls sway around his jaw. He shrugs lazily a second later and jokes, “If you’re not a psychopath, at least… You’re not a serial killer, are you?”

You meet his narrowed eyes with a more pensive gaze. Your lips purse to the side of your mouth as you jokingly ponder the silly question. “No,” you answer after a few long moments. “Not yet, anyway.”

Eddie nods like he’s relieved. “Nice.”

“There’s still time, though,” you add with a scrunched nose.

He scrunches the bridge of his back. “I’ll take that risk,” he says with a small huff before lifting his weight on his knuckles. The old couch creaks in protest as he leans over to kiss you. 

With a poorly bitten-back grin, you meet him halfway. Your mouths smack together in a fleeting kiss that tastes faintly of frozen pizza.

You settle back on the arm of the couch with Eddie’s socked toes wriggling under your thighs. His thumbs continue tracing shapes on the insides of your calves. He watches you watch the staticky television screen, too wound up about the whole thing to join in on the stupid sitcom.

The subtly overwhelming feeling bubbles in his throat until it spills like vomit from his mouth. “Do you think I’m not funny or something?” he blurts, then goes all shy right after. “Is that why… Is that why you don’t really laugh at my jokes?”

Your breathy scoff only further proves his point. “I laugh at your jokes all the time, Eds.”

He shrugs, unconvinced. “I mean… I guess. You, like, breathe really hard through your nose or whatever, but you don’t… You don’t laugh.”

“I think if you heard me laugh, you’d break up with me,” you joke and don’t think twice about how self-deprecating it is.

Eddie’s face twists at the thought — that he’d ever want to break up with you, or that there’d be a part of you he wouldn’t automatically adore on instinct. “Why would you say that?” 

You shrug with a vague I don’t know type of sound and turn back to the television. “My laugh is just weird, I guess....”

“No one’s laugh is weird!” Eddie insists. “It’s, like, the one sound people make when they’re happiest— It can’t be weird.”

You flash him a deadpan look of silent disagreement.

He caves.

“Okay. Fine. Dustin Henderson’s laugh is weird,” he concludes. “But… that’s just because he’s Dustin, you know?”

You breathe a faint chuckle at that. Almost like you’ve trained yourself to be as quiet in your laughter as you can. 

“My last boyfriend thought my laugh was annoying,” you confess like it’s no big deal. “So eventually I just kinda… stopped.”

Eddie’s soft features harden into a solemn frown. “What a fucking prick…” he grumbles like a storm cloud.

“It’s okay. I got over it. Mostly.”

He squeezes the backs of your calves with a pair of ringed hands, a warm and reassuring touch. “Well, I don’t think anything you do could annoy me,” Eddie tells you, tilting his head to the side until his wild curls bunch at his shoulders. “Just so we’re clear.”

Something in your chest flutters — like there’s a thousand moths trapped behind your ribcage. “Good to know,” you tease in the same sardonic tone.

Eddie rises suddenly, tugging at your ankles until you’re lying flatter on the couch. A squeal sound in your throat as you watch him rise to his knees and lean over you. He digs his fingers gently into the plush of your sides before you can blink. 

“Get off!” you swat at him, laughing loudly at the tickling sensation before you can help it. The golden sound spills from your lips and fills the dim trailer with so many little sunbeams. 

Your face heats at the proud, lopsided smile Eddie gives you.

“Get off,” you repeat, sterner now but still mostly playful. You’re only slightly surprised when Eddie obeys without pouting. You sit up a bit more and tug your shirt down from where it had ridden up. “And stop looking at me like that.”

Eddie fights to purse his beam to the side of his mouth. Your sparkling, unsmiling disposition is impossible not to smile at. “Can’t help it,” the boy shrugs with a stupid grin. “You’re too cute.”

Your face scrunches in disdain of his compliment. You prop your back against the couch and cross your arms over your chest, averting your gaze to the TV once more. “Just drive me home,” you grumble in protest, hardly meaning it.

“No can do, sweet thing,” Eddie says with a sympathetic sigh, dropping a heavy arm around your shoulder to pull you into his chest. You melt begrudgingly into his sloppy embrace. He presses a kiss to your hair and mumbles into your temple. “‘M never letting you go, actually.”

And, despite your very obvious pouting, you pray he never breaks his promise.

[cambion-companion]

Curled atop Raphael to thaw.

@sky-kiss put it in my head how nice it would be to use Raphael's hellish body heat to unfreeze after a cold day. Actually, she's mentioned it several times. So of course I had to make a drabble. This is the softest Raphael has been or ever will be haha

(Also remoras are the fish which attaches to larger fish to "clean" them.)

“I feel like I just trudged through the snows of Cania.”  Your teeth chattered, making it difficult to speak.  Huddled as you were by the inn’s paltry fireplace, the flames were doing very little to thaw the bone chill.

Raphael looked up from where he reclined, perusing a long scroll of parchment. His hellfire gaze swept over your shivering form, arching a brow in amusement. “I did warn you not to venture forth.  Yet you remain intrepid and stubborn as ever.”  He cleared his throat and resumed reading the contract he’d been editing since your return.

You glared over at the devil on his bed, not that he saw.  You shuffled off your heavy coat, the fabric stiff and just as frozen as the rest of you.

On numb bare feet you crossed the small room at a slight run,and hopped up next to where Raphael reclined. He gave you a look that you recognized as a sign his patience was slipping. “I don’t share my bed with little frozen mice.”

“Good thing I’m not a mouse, then.”  You snuggled close to his body, his skin the shade of ripe cherries and giving off infernal heat. “Indulge me.” You repeated the words he’d spoken to you days previous, accentuating your accent to mimic his own.

Raphael tutted and, with a tug, moved his wing away from where you rested on it. “Your body has the appeal of a corpse.  Get yourself hence ere I remove you.”

“Hurtful.”  You didn’t budge, instead pressing yourself closer and sighing as the heat radiating off him began to seep beneath your clammy skin. “Please, Raphael.”

The cambion stilled, his hand holding the parchment still outstretched to keep the fresh ink from smudging as you moved yourself as much on top of him as possible. You felt him sigh beneath you and smiled, sensing victory.

You did not expect the pressure of Raphael’s hand upon your hair, stroking once before resting against your upper back. He waited for you to stop moving, finding a comfortable position half-curled atop his torso.

“What are you willing to do in exchange for my constant lenience?”  Raphael’s breath stirred your hair.  He rested the parchment back against the top of your head and seemed to be only half interested in your reply.

In response you made sure to tuck your ice block feet against his thighs.  Raphael’s muscles twitched in response, and he gripped your waist hard in retribution. “You’re telling me you don’t enjoy this at all?”  You asked, your sense of self-preservation long since fled.

“I’m reminding you everything has a price, my dear.”  Raphael murmured. “I shall let you ruminate.  For now, be silent, I have work to do.”

You found no issue with that, feeling the rise and fall of the devil’s breath beneath your body as he warmed you.  Your eyelashes fluttered with a sudden wave of drowsiness.

Raphael’s wings curled around you both in a sort of cocoon, increasing the feeling of being thawed.  Soon you were enveloped in a haze of red and heat, every so often hearing the sound of paper rustling and the scratch of a quill.

You stretched, hooking one of your legs over the cambion’s waist and wrapped your arm around his chest.

Raphael looked down at your relaxed body, curled atop his. He smiled slightly to himself moved his long fingers through your hair. “What a soft, pliant creature you are. The errant remora seeking refuge, fully knowing it’s within the jaws of a shark.”

[bigification]

Jealousy Jealousy

Strong, loyal, dedicated. All words used by the boss to describe me, and every word seemed like a knife in the back of my roommate. I can hear it in the way he talks to me, ever since I joined the military all he ever seems to be is jealous. I've always been stronger and more dedicated than him, he's smarter but that doesn't even matter that much.

The walk back to our room is awkward. It is completely silent and I can almost see the steam coming out of his ears. I wanted so badly to be friends with him, but he makes it impossible. I've always worked out and kept my body in good shape, and apparently that's unforgivable to him.

We get back to our room and he immediately goes rummaging through his stuff. I pace back and forth, debating whether I should talk to him. It's hard living with him and I just want things to be civil between us.

"Hey man, I wanted to ta-" I'm interrupted when he quickly swings around and jabs something into my stomach. I look down and see a needle sticking into the side of my stomach. I feel frozen with fear, I can't talk, almost as if there is something stuck in my throat. I let out a groan as he pushes the end of the needle, injecting a green liquid into my body.

"I'm tired of being in your shadow, let's see how long you'll last after this." He monologues like some cartoon villain. What does he even mean by that, was that some kind of poison? Is he killing me just because the boss likes me more.

I stumble back against the wall, I feel weak but it hurts less than I thought it would. Although my stomach feels like it's boiling.

Am I dreaming... It feels more like a nightmare. But it must be a nightmare. I see a lump form under my shirt, and it seems to grow every time I blink. It can't be real, but it feels so real. The lump grows until it looks like I have a little belly. Do I have a belly? It's growing faster and faster until my shirt becomes untucked. It finally stops after growing into a sizable beer belly, making it impossible for me to see my feet. Maybe he gave me drugs, maybe this is just a bad trip. But it feels so real.

It doesn't end with the beer belly. Next my pecs start to swell. Something I worked so hard on is gone in seconds. I see them soften into a pair of man tits, growing until they press against my shirt. I always swore I would never let myself go like my father did, but I guess that's a lie. At least it took him until his thirties to get fat, I can't even make it to my late twenties without pigging out.

I still have no idea what's happening to me. It's getting harder and harder to think. I was thinking about... Something about pigging out. It must be because I love pigging out, that's how I got this belly.

As I'm trying to think, my body continues to grow. I hear the button on my pants pop off and feel the pressure release. I think my ass is growing, not that I mind. I feel my body being pushed further and further away from the wall as fat spilled into my ass.

Why does my crotch feel so tight? I could have sworn it didn't feel this tight a moment ago. I don't really care anyway, I can't even remember why I should care.

My pants strain against the fat filling my legs, I think I can even hear some rips tearing through them. My arms follow suit, softening up my defined muscles and fattening up my hands. Better off that way if you ask me, fatter hands means better belly rubs, and I like belly rubs.

I feel an itchiness engulf my body as a thick pelt of hair covers my skin. My arms, my legs, my chest, and most importantly my belly become a forest of sweaty hair.

My body finally relaxed and I let out a loud burp. Oh... I'm so hungry. I rub my belly trying to get any relief. It's all I can think of. Wasn't I stressed about something? What would I have been stressed about, maybe I was just hungry.

"How ya feeling big guy?" My roommate asks me.

"I'm so hungry." I cry out.

"Aren't you supposed to be on a diet?" He teases me.

"Why the fuck would I be on a diet. This is the mark of a true man!" I say as I slap my gut.

"Well I'm sure this box of donuts won't hurt your fitness assessment next week, and they won't eat themselves." He pulls out a dozen donuts. It feels like I lose control of my body as I instinctively ravage the donuts.

I lean back after finishing off the last donut and let out a loud burp. God I'm stuffed, but I want so much more. I rub my belly, trying to process the snack I just had, so I can make room for more.

"There's plenty more where that came from, big guy."

Credits to bulkgainer92 for the video and for inspiring this story.

[starhvney]

𝐌𝐘𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒

𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: blaze, garroth, gene, laurance

𝐂𝐖: NSFW, sexual content and kinks, but nothing extreme or disturbing

𝐀/𝐍: woah omg guys who wrote this?! it wasn't me i swear!! (it was me) i’ll probably make a part two with the other men i didn’t include in this one but um… yeah someone needs to restrain me i’m biting my keyboard

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝑻𝑯𝑰𝑺 𝑷𝑶𝑺𝑻 𝑪𝑶𝑵𝑻𝑨𝑰𝑵𝑺 𝑵𝑺𝑭𝑾 𝑪𝑶𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑻, 𝑰𝑭 𝒀𝑶𝑼 𝑨𝑹𝑬 𝑼𝑵𝑫𝑬𝑹𝑨𝑮𝑬 𝑶𝑹 𝑼𝑵𝑪𝑶𝑴𝑭𝑶𝑹𝑻𝑨𝑩𝑳𝑬 𝑾𝑰𝑻𝑯 𝑺𝑬𝑿𝑼𝑨𝑳 𝑪𝑶𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑻 𝑷𝑳𝑬𝑨𝑺𝑬 𝑫𝑵𝑰.

𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐙𝐄 | biting/scratching, restraining, predator/prey

☆ you had discovered that he got off on chasing and catching you one day when you had jokingly teased him and ran away, giggling as you went to hide from him. he had frozen just a second, giving you a headstart before he quickly went after you.

it’s really unfair, a human running away from a werewolf literally twice her size in height and muscle. you let out a surprised shriek when familiar, thick, tan arms wrap around you.

it felt like he was nearly about to tackle you, but you’re instead whisked off of your feet and pressed into the nearest surface—the wall. you tilted your head back to look at him, eye’s widening when you catch his gaze.

he huffs, hunched over you and pupils blown wide in lust. you’re shocked you riled him up so easily, and you’re just about to open your mouth to tease him again when he pins his hips into your behind. he grinds his hardened bulge into your ass, cutting off any of your previous thoughts and turning them into mush.

“got you.”

☆ you’re just so cute when you look up at him like that, eyes wide like a bunny trapped in a wolf’s claws. it’s instinctual, really, so can you blame him for how turned on he gets? the thrill of the chase and claiming his catch is in his blood.

so it’s no wonder that he claims you there and then, not bothering to move to the bedroom and instead humping into you from behind.

“so tight.” he groans, his voice nearly sounding like a growl. “feels s’good every time.”

he bites down on your shoulder, groaning and fighting off every urge to immediately go hard and rough. he still knows you’re smaller, and it shows in the way you whine when your pussy stretches and flutters around him, struggling to take him in.

☆ when you finally do adjust, rip to any kind of movement or function below your waist for the rest of the night. you will be numb and sore for days.

one of his hands easily has your wrists pinned together, pressing your arms against your chest while he uses his other arm to guide your hips. it’s incredibly easy for him to do, lifting you up before bouncing you back down on his cock at a ruthless pace.

you’re not sure what to do with yourself, head drooping and legs twitching and flailing while he has you completely restrained by your torso. he was hitting so deep, you’re sure you can feel it in your throat with every thrust.

his nails dig into your sides, not breaking the skin but still leaving irritated scratches along the surface while his mouth continues to hotly lick and bite into the skin at the juncture of your neck.

☆ it’s not until a mix of your cum is dripping out of you, trailing down your thighs and onto the floor beneath you that he finally calms down, whispering apologies in your ear while leaving sloppy kisses on your jaw.

“sorry, babe,” he pants, heart thrumming in his chest against your back. “i don’t know what came over me.”

he once again picks you up, carrying you bridal style in his arms as he kisses every scratch and bite mark he left behind before cleaning you up and snugly tucking you under him in bed.

𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐇 | size kink, manhandling, breeding, praise

☆ he is tall and he is stupidly strong. he would never ever use his strength to hurt you, but he still loves how much smaller than him you are. he thinks it’s adorable, how easily he can throw you over his shoulder, or how he can flip or bend you whichever way he wants.

you had let out a startled squeak when garroth had scooped you up as soon as you entered your home, wasting no time before the front door had even shut.

he had carried you with ease to your bedroom, tossing you onto the mattress without even slightly gasping or struggling for breath. when his long, thick fingers met your folds to prepare you, he was surprised to find you were already soaked in your slick.

“does me throwing you around like that really make you this wet, baby?” he smirked, slapping his erect cock onto your stomach, admiring how the tip nearly reached your navel.

☆ he knows he has to be careful, with his unnatural strength. but it’s so hard, especially with how your cunt greedily sucks him in, fluttering as you struggled to adjust to his size.

“fuck,” he hisses, his fingers roughly gripping the sheets by your head. “relax, sweetheart. or it’ll never fit.”

“ ‘m trying!” you whine, never getting used to the stretch even after all of the times you’ve gone through this process before.

☆ as soon as you finally do adjust and he bottoms out, you find yourself practically folded in half as he pounds into you, his hips slamming against your thighs.

his eyes focus on your lower abdomen, fascinated at the bulge that appears every time he slides himself back into your walls. his hand is large and warm, something that overwhelmed you as he pressed down against your stomach.

your legs shake and spasm against his hands as your eyes roll and your head lulls back. a sign, garroth has learned, that showed you were close to tipping over the edge.

“are you gonna cum, baby? yeah?” he pants in your ear, his pace stuttering. “go on. do it for me, i know you can. mhmm, good girl.”

as you tighten and flutter around him he lets out a broken moan himself.

“you gonna let me cum inside? you’d look so cute pregnant. you gonna let me fill you up? make you a mommy?”

☆ he buries his face into your shoulder when he reaches his peak, strong hands holding you in place as his hips jerk and press into you. his grip would probably leave bruises, ones that he’d individually kiss and apologize for when you were done.

a deep, husky groan vibrates against your throat as he stills, and his hot release shoots up, coating your insides white. you’re still catching your breath when he places sloppy kisses against the crook of your neck, lowering your legs and massaging your hips.

“you did so good for me, sweetheart.”

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐄 | degradation/teasing, spanking, dacryphilia, dumbification

☆ you really should know better than to try and tease and be bratty to him, because it always ends the same. though, you did know better, because he always reacted exactly how you wanted.

you whine into the sheets your face was shoved in, your grip white-knuckled against his pants as you were splayed across his lap. your back arched against his long hand that held you in place, while his other one cracked down against your reddened ass once again.

your hips jerk against the leg you were bent over as you muffle your moans.

“where’d your claws go, kitty?” gene questions, gently soothing the irritated skin with his lithe fingers before delivering another harsh slap. “you were talking all tough earlier, weren’t you?”

☆ he lifts you up, keeping your head face first in the bed while he raises your ass up in the air, pushing himself into you. he gives you just enough time to adjust before he’s started a merciless rhythm, your moans and cries stuttered and jolted every time he slams into you.

“poor thing…” he turns your face to the side, kissing the tears of pleasure from your cheeks and licking his lips with a grin. “just keep taking it. can you at least do that? hm?”

you nod, gasping and eyes rolling as the thick vein running along his shaft continues to hit that one mind-shattering spot inside without fail. you’re not sure how many times you’ve came now, but the soaked sheets and sticky feeling against your thighs was enough of an indication.

“good doll,” his thumb from the hand that firmly held you down between your shoulder blades rubbed soothing circles on your skin—a sharp contrast to his rough and unwavering pace.

“yeah, you’re too sweet to be tough, aren’t you?” he tilts his head, laughing at how your attempt to tease and one-up him once again ended with you drooling underneath him. “sweet thing.”

☆ he’s the type to mock your moans as he has you bent over and nearly unconscious, his deep voice pitching higher as he whines and gasps in your ear.

“ah~! mmn~! aah~!” he whines, a raspy laugh leaving his lips when he realizes you’re too fucked out to even respond.

“aww, can’t take it anymore? you should’ve thought of that before you started talking like you were all tough, huh?” he juts his lip out, giving you a look of fake pity as he continues to show no mercy in his pace.

☆ it’s not until he knows you really are at your limit that he finally slows down, brushing your hair back and kissing you as he rolls you over to lay on top of him.

“are you okay, lovely?” he whispers, holding your droopy head between his hands.

you sleepily nod, relieving his tense worry that he had been too rough on you. he wraps his arms around you and mutters for you to hold on as he carries you to the bathroom, whispering praises in your ear and peppering sweaty kisses against you.

𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 | marking, overstimulation, orgasm control, begging

☆ you’d lost track of how long you’d been in bed, something that was a common recurring theme anytime laurance dragged you under the sheets with him. 

his hips leisurely roll down into yours as a lazy and overconfident smirk stayed cockily plastered on his face. he ducked his head  down into your neck, kissing casually on the exposed skin as if he wasn’t balls deep inside of you right now.

“laurance,” you whine in frustration, hips twitching and bucking up into his. “please.”

he bucks deeper into you, pinning your hips into the bed and preventing you from squirming any further. he tilts his head and hums innocently, lips brushing along your jaw and hovering over your lips.

“please what, my love?”

“move,” you demand, cheeks red and chest heaving.

he clicks his tongue disapprovingly, continuing to slowly grind into you as his lips trail away from yours, moving to nibble on your earlobe.

“well that’s no way to ask for something…” he purrs, voice vibrating against your ears.

“please, go faster, harder, something!” you grit, nails digging into his shoulders as he suddenly draws back and snaps back into you.

“good girl. keep begging for me like that and i might give you more.”

☆ the teasing fuck doesn’t actually keep to his promise until you’re a babbling mess from his slow movements, spasming on his dick while he’s barely gotten started. when you finally really beg for him, you almost regret asking for it. almost. 

“oh, fu-ah!” you cry out, hands reaching down to push on his waist in a futile attempt to slow him down. “slow down, laur—ance!”

laurance barely raises his head from where he has just been sucking on your chest, lovely red and purple marks forming on the sensitive skin. his eyes droop in satisfaction as he stares down at you, admiring your mussed hair and bleary expression.

despite your overstimulation, he continues the same unrelenting tempo, his length battering your insides as he smiles down at you.

“oh, but how could i after you asked me so nicely to speed up?” he asks, relishing in how you spasm around him as he coaxes yet another orgasm from you.

your eyes scrunch as you arch up into him, gasping and frantically steadying yourself by digging your fingers into his toned back. you see white as you gush and squirt around him, jaw dropping as you try to catch your breath.

you think you’re in the clear as his hips still against you, giving you a moment of reprieve to recover. as soon you open your eyes they blow wide open, a startled moan leaving your lips as he pulls out to the head and hastily snaps himself back in.

“c’mon, just one more for me? you can do one more.”

☆ “just one more” is never the case with laurance. it’s not until he himself has wasted his own energy that he finally collapses, leaving you both spent and satisfied against the sheets. 

he relishes in the afterglow, giving you sloppy kisses as if he hadn’t been doing that for the past couple of hours anyways. after his legs return their strength he carries you to the bathroom, knowing he once again left you sore and used.

he’s used to the scandalized gasp and harsh slap he earns on his chest when you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. 

☆ he always leaves you with hickeys spanning from your neck down to your breasts. sometimes you’ll find them on your lower stomach and thighs… if he spends a little extra time on you that day. 

“laurance zvahl! how am i supposed to hide this?”

“by wearing my sweater again…” he giggles, rubbing his hands along your waistline.

©starhvney, 2024. please do not steal or repost my works as your own.

[yelenasdiary]

omg open requests??? this is like super specific BUT maybe gambling addict neighbor fem!reader x rich (maybe like mafia leader or powerful lawyer or just like shield agent lol) natasha. reader is natasha’s neighbor and one night she’s super beat up in the apartment hallway or smth cuz she’s super in debt from illegal gambling and couldn’t pay back. natasha is super protective of reader (maybe r has a small kid or smth), sees this and lets her inside, patching her up, and pays her debt to free her. or beats up those who hurt her neighbor. or both. platonic or not! up to u ! sorry this is so long but feel free to do what u want w the concept! thx ! glad to see requests open again!

Bailed Out

Pairing: Lawyer! Natasha Romanoff x Fem! Reader (Platonic)

Summary: Your neighbour helps you after a little ‘misunderstanding’ 

Angst 

Warnings: Gambling Addiction, Illegal Gambling, Mentions of Physically Assault, Blood and Bruises | 1.7K

AC: Thank you for sending this! Sorry it took so long; I hope you enjoy it! x

Natasha sighed in relief when she finally got to her apartment complex, just knowing she was only a few feet away from being able to kick off her heels and throw her brief case to the side and enjoy what was left of her night. She carried herself up the first three flights of stairs before she heard the soft sobs of a woman crying in the hall. She turned the corner and dropped her brief case instantly when her eyes landed on you, on the floor in tears. 

“Y/n! What happened?” She rushed to your side. You flinched at first, scared she was going to give you another beating not noticing who she was at first. “It’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you” Natasha added, gently lifting your chin up. She saw your busted lip and the small river of blood that came from it. “Who did this?” She asked sternly. 

“It’s nothing, I’m f-fine” you sobbed, avoiding eye contact with your neighbor. 

“This isn’t nothing, where’s your sister?” Natasha questioned in a panic. 

“She’s inside, please I don’t want to worry her. I’ll be fine” you replied, wiping the tears from your cheeks. “Come inside and we’ll get some ice on that lip” Nat suggested before helping you up onto your feet. She picked up her brief case and searched her coat pocket for her keys before unlocking the door to her apartment. You followed behind her into her kitchen where she handed you a bag of frozen peas.

You took a seat at the island in the middle of her kitchen, bringing the bag of peas to your busted lip while Natasha got you a glass of water. “I promise you; this is nothing. Just a little misunderstanding” you said, breaking the silence. The lawyer cocked a brow, “you know that my job is to prove somebody is lying, right?” She said, “so you can sit there as long as you want and tell yourself this is nothing, but I don’t believe you” she added. You looked up at her and sighed, “I just owe some people money” you admitted. 

“For what?” Natasha asked, keeping eye contact. 

You hesitantly shook your head, “it doesn’t matter, this is my problem. I’m sorry you saw the end of it” 

“Somebody just beat you up in the hallway outside your apartment over some money. If it’s something illegal, I don’t care. I’m not going to turn you in, I just want to help. How much danger are you in?” The red head said sternly. You took a few moments of silence before finally confiding in her. You lowered the bag of peas and took a sip of water to help swallow the lump in your throat before you looked at Natasha once more. 

“I owe $20,000 in bets” you admitted. Natasha nodded at your words, “I just wanted to help Casey get into a good college, I swear. But I won a few times and put most the winnings away, but I guess” you paused, feeling ashamed of yourself for not only having to admit to your neighbor but also yourself that you have a problem. “I guess I got lost in thrill of winning and now I know some really bad people a lot of money, money I don’t have, and I have no idea how to get” you added. 

“Why didn’t you come to me? I would’ve helped” Natasha replied. 

“Because it’s my responsibly to look after myself and Casey, it’s just us and I didn’t want her to stress about not being able to get into the college she wishes” you explained, placing the bag of peas back onto your bruised bottom lip. You felt defeated, the feeling of being weak soon washed over you as your eyes dropped to the glass of water in front of you. “What’s the deadline?” Natasha asked. 

“Tomorrow night at 6pm” you replied in an almost mumble. 

Natasha gently lifted your chin once more to look at her, all you could see in her eyes was disappointment which only made you feel worse than you already did. “I’m going to pay it off, okay?” She says. 

“N-Nat, no. I can’t ask you to do that” 

“You’re not asking. I’m telling you; I’m going to pay it. You won’t be paying me back in money, you can make it up to me by promising me that you’ll go to GA meetings, okay? We’ll find you a group close to home and I’ll take you so that Casey doesn’t suspect a thing” Natasha replies sternly so you can’t argue with her about it. 

“Why would you help me?” You asked. 

“Because I care about you and Casey. You’re a smart woman, we all make mistakes, but I know this isn’t what you want. You don’t want to live in fear over money, trust me, I’ve seen enough cases come and go with the cause being over money. Besides, if you want to put some money away for college tuition, I have a few filing jobs I’d be happy to pay you to do if you’re looking for that extra cash” Natasha offers.

“Are you sure? I mean, I’m sure I can find a way to pay them back. This is my mistake” 

“Will you stop for a moment? If I were you, would you do the same for me?” Nat asked. You nodded instantly, “right, so case closed” she added with a soft smile. You gave her a smile in return only to re-open the cut on your lip. 

“Take the peas with you, I’ll come home early tomorrow with the money, and you can come with me to drop it off, okay?” 

You nodded at the lawyer’s words before sliding off the stool at the island of her kitchen, “thank you Nat, I really mean it” you said before she showed you out. 

----

The next afternoon, you found yourself sitting in the passenger seat of Natasha’s car while you watched her take the bag of money to the tall man standing in an alley way. Your right knee bounced in fear while you kept your eyes on the entire interaction that was before you. 

“Where’s Y/n” the man asked when Natasha dropped the bag at his feet. 

“You don’t need to worry about that” she replied as the crook picked up the bag, unzipping the front pocket to check the money inside, “there’s $30,000 in there. $20,000 to cover her debt and the, let’s say tip, is so you guy never both her again. I’m not joking before you laugh, if I ever find out that you or your boss or anybody else in your little illegal gambling games comes near Y/n or even lays another hand on her, I promise to shut down your little business here and you along with your friends will be locked away for a very, very long time” she threatened. 

“Hey, I don’t give a shit, I’m just the guy who picks up the debts but uhm, I’ll pass your message on” he replies with a chuckle.

“That’s not good enough” Natasha spat, “I need your boss’s word that Y/n is free” she added, keeping stern eye contact with him in the dim light from the streetlight. The taller man rolled his eyes as he pulled out his mobile phone from his back pocket. Natasha waited patiently for the silence to be broken. 

“Yeah boss, I got the money, but some woman wants to talk to you” he said, talking into the phone. His words caused Natasha to raise her brows, some woman? She thought to herself. “I don’t know who she is, she knows Y/n, said she needed your word that we won’t rough her up anymore” he added, making Natasha to roll her eyes. “Give me the phone” she reached out. 

The debt collector handed Nat his phone, “Who am I speaking too?” The voice came through the phone. 

“Nobody you need to worry about unless you bother Y/n again. I’ve given your lost dog $30,000 in a bag, 20 to cover the debt and 10 in hopes that you and your business will never bother Y/n again” 

The man on the other line chuckled, “I can’t control what the beggar does with her life, if she comes to me and loses again, that’s on her” he replied. 

“Do I have your word?” Natasha repeated sternly.

“Yeah, whatever. Better be $30,000 in that bag exactly” he said before hanging up. Natasha tossed the mobile back to the man standing in front of her, “run along now” she cocked a brow at him, not wanting to leave until he couldn’t be seen. 

----

You gave your new co-worker a soft smile as you made your way to Natasha’s office to find her lost in the email she was reading. Knocking softly on her door, she looked up at you and gave you a lit nod to enter. 

“I won’t be long, I just need to send off this last email” she said, her eyes quickly returning to the screen of her computer. 

“Take your time” you replied, taking a seat across from her desk. It had been three months since your neighbor basically bailed you out of a lifetime of endless debt and since that night, you’ve kept your promise to her. You attended a gamblers anonymous group once a week which Natasha took you too and waited for you afterwards and you took her up on her offer of the filing job. It wasn’t a full-time position, two days a week in an office of your own, scanning and filing documents both physically and digitally. 

The money you made from the second job was put into a savings account for your sister’s college tuition. She had a couple of years before that time would come, giving you plenty of time to save up as much money you could to help her out. 

“Alright, let’s get out of here” Natasha smiled, logging off her computer, “I don’t want to see the inside of this office until Monday” she added causing you both to chuckle.

“I was thinking, after my meeting tonight if we could go to dinner? My treat, I really would like to thank you for everything you’ve done for me” you said as Nat gathered her things, “Casey will meet us after, I told her we were working late tonight” you added. 

“Sounds good to me but dessert is on me” Nat smiled. You playfully rolled your eyes at her comment, “I won’t win this one, will I?” You asked. Natasha shook her head, “nobody can argue a good peanut butter sandwich” she chuckled.

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[spacebarbarianweird]

Fever

Summary: During your post-game adventures, you get sick and Astarion takes care of you.

Pairing: Astarion x f!Tav

Tags: hurt/comfort, f!tav, established relationship, post-game

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

Thanks @tragedybunny for being an amazing beta!

It's bone-chilling cold. So close to the Spine of the World, the snow and winds prove as merciless as demons from the Abyss. Tears freeze on your cheeks. Even Astarion, wrapped in his fur cape, shivers; the cold seeping into his undead body. He starves. The dark forest is silent, with no animals around to prey on.

"Astarion," you muffle through the thick scarf, "take a small sip, I beg you."

"No," he refuses yet again, unwilling to risk your life. Hunger and cold torment him, but he stands on his feet. Meanwhile, you, a fragile mortal, teeter on the verge of death in this frozen forest. Your back aches despite Astarion carrying most of the load. Your feet are numb as if submerged in icy water, and your throat burns with pain.

Astarion grabs your hand and lets you lean back on him. The nearest village is still miles away, and there's no chance you'll make it till sunrise. Nights are long, dark, and unforgiving. You need to set up the camp; it might be warmer in daylight.

But Astarion desperately holds on to his sanity, which he might lose if he doesn't feed soon.

"Astarion, please. We need to put up the tent. Sunrise is soon. I will just lay by the fire, and you can eat."

"We still have time, darling, and save your energy," he grits his teeth. The starving monster within him looks at you through Astarion's kind crimson eyes.

"Astarion, take my blood!"

He doesn't reply, leading the way through dark woods. If only there was an animal, even a rat. Looking up, you see the dark skies filled with prickly stars.

"What is it, my sweet?"

Suddenly, you realize you haven't been cold because of the snow and winds. You are cold from within. Your heart, lungs, and bones are freezing, much like what Astarion feels every moment since he died. "Oh, fuck!"

You realize you now lie in the snow, unable to move, as the air in your throat burns with ice.

"Wake up, gods damn you!" Astarion's voice is desperate, betraying that he' is scared to death.

You hear the loud thump when his travel sack drops in the snow. Then he works on your belts, releasing your burden. A moment later, and you rest in his hands.

"Love, I need you to stay awake. You hear me?"

But you can't say anything. The cold rips through your muscles, turning into ice, and you lose consciousness, drowning in cold, dark waters.

So cold, so cold. It's a freezing grip of death on your heart, killing you. You think of Astarion, imagining him beside your lifeless body.

… You hear muffled talking and open your eyes. You aren't dead, that's for sure, but there is complete darkness around you.

And you lie under something weighty.

You try to move but can't, your. whole body shivers. You are almost naked, tucked in animal fur like some barbarian child.

The smell wood and herbs comes to you. And fire.

Then you remember the sun. And how Astarion carried you in his hands. Horror pierces your mind along with cold.

He is dead. He didn't make it till sunrise. It burnt him; he is gone. And the village people probably found you alone in the snow and brought you here.

While you think, you realize there are people in the room. Two people, to be precise.

"It's a freezing fever," the female voice says. "You two would have been complete idiots if you'd decided to put up a camp. She would have been dead by now."

"But now—is she ok?"

Astarion.

You have never felt so much joy in your life. He is alive and here, beside you. You can't comprehend how much strength he had to pull to make it with you in his hands by sunrise.

"She needs to take the potion. And then sleep in warmth."

You feel the familiar weight beside you. Then, two hands get you out of the blankets and make you sit up. Your head is spinning, and you shiver, though you notice sweat on the healer's face.

Astarion smiles at you and brings the bottle with the potion to your lips.

"Drink, love," he says.

"The taste is nasty," the healer shrugs. "Make her drink every last drop."

The potion is genuinely awful, burning your mouth. You start slipping away again, and Astarion tucks you in thick blankets.

"And people say vampires are soulless creatures. They should meet you two.”

When the healer leaves, Astarion lies beside you over the blanket. You wish to hug him but are afraid of his cold skin.

"Are you hungry?" you ask.

You hear a chuckle. "You are at death's door, and you ask about me? "Take mine," you insist.

"Tav, darling, I ain't taking a tiny drop from you until you fully recover. There is prey in the woods. I will find it."

You want to say something else, but the freezing hand of the sickness grips your throat. You feel like you’re naked on ice, in the howling wind.

"Love?"

"It's still… cold…"

Astarion sighs and stands up. You want to cry, to beg him to stay, but you can't say anything as he leaves the room, closing the thick wooden door.

You feel like crying, alone, and freezing. The healer curses, "You, idiot, stay inside!"

You hide under the blanket in the fetal position, trying to save warmth. However, it's difficult since the core of your suffering is still within. What if you are dying? And you are dying all alone in this village without a name in the middle of nowhere.

It's been years since you left Baldur's Gate together, and you can't fall asleep without him by your side. Astarion is safety. Astarion is protection. Whatever enemy is out there to threaten your life and freedom, Astarion is always there with his fangs and daggers. He doesn't sleep—only meditates a bit—and he is your guardian when you are most vulnerable.

But now you are alone. Your mind grasps consciousness with the last bits of strength you have. The thick blankets don't let you move, and you lie like you’re in your very own coffin of ice. It's been a long time since you were left alone, but you know it's still dark outside. And then you realize you aren't alone anymore.

Astarion crawls under the blankets and covers your body with himself, placing his head on your chest. He smells like blood, the hunt, and forest. He has already pulled off all his clothes, and you feel his skin against yours, unexpectedly flaming hot.

You can only wonder how much blood he has drunk. Sure, his body gets warm after feeding, and the more living blood he takes, the more alive he seems. But this is different. You can't see him, but you are somehow sure his skin has temporarily returned to its natural living color.

You wrap your hands around him and stroke the scars. Astarion groans and adjusts himself a bit.

"I've been hunting," he says, sounding drunk. "The healer told me there is a bear attacking villagers, starved and angry. I found and drained it."

"You shouldn't have risked it."

"I wanted you to be warm. I know how it feels to have a freezing grip on the heart. It hurts. All the time."

You press him tighter and kiss his forehead.

With him in your hands, you finally fall asleep. You have a strange dream—a summer day in the beautiful mountains.

And there is Astarion beside you. He smiles, exposing his face to the sunshine. You want to tell him to hide, to run away. But he opens his eyes, and you stare at him in disbelief.

They are green, not red.

… When you wake up, you feel hot. Sweat runs down your back, and the blankets suffocate you. You get out of them like a kitten squeezed by its mother.

"Hello, my sweet. You are so adorable with this bed hair," Astarion sits on the floor with a needle and a thread. You recognize his own shirt in his hands.

"How awful do I look?"

"You look like someone who finally got better. But I suppose you could scare away some kids in that village. Maybe I should tell them you are also a vampire. Food or bath?" he asks.

"Food. I am dying of hunger."

"My sweet, don't tell me about hunger." He mockingly kisses you. He returns soon with a soup bowl. You try to take the plate in your trembling hands, but Astarion forces you to sit still like a baby and starts spoon-feeding you.

"Good girl," he chuckles. "The healer said it would take you weeks to recover, and you made it in three days."

"And you have been here?"

"Don't offend me with such questions."

"Oh, don't be angry."

With a full stomach, you feel much better and lie back on the bed, letting your body fully recover. Astarion studies your face as if seeing it for the first time. Then he lies beside you, allowing you to place your head on his chest. His skin is cold again, but it feels more like him.

"What is on your mind, Astarion?" you ask.

"I want to stay," he says. "Not exactly here, but I can't live like that anymore."

"What do you mean?"

"Living on the road. I can't do that anymore. You obviously can't either. I... listen… I've never had a home. Never had a place to call my own. I want one. I want one with you."

"Didn't you tell me it would be tediously boring?" you inquire. "I wanted to see what life has to offer beyond the city walls." "Astarion, it will be dangerous. No one would want a—"

You bite your tongue. "Sorry."

"Dealing with a nosey neighbor doesn't sound more dangerous than getting some weird sickness in the middle of nowhere. Besides, we can prove to people it's better to have a vampire of their own rather than be threatened by some unhinged vampire lord.”

"Astarion, I am afraid for you. People hate vampires!"

"And I am afraid for you."

You are both silent. You turn to him and nuzzle his collarbone. He wraps his hands around you. Vague memories return, and you suddenly realize you heard the voices while in fever.

"Don't die. Please, don't die. I need you."

A scared voice of a healer. "You are a vampire!"

"Please help her. I won't come inside. I will stay in the woods. Please, please, help her! She is mortal; she is dying!"

You remember being carried to the bed and a strong smell of herbs. "How did you two end up together?", asked the healer.

"She saved me. From myself. Showed me I have a chance to be something different from what I was turned into. Tell me what I can do. Do you need herbs? Ingredients? I will bring you anything."

And then the face of the healer standing above you. She came to check on you in Astarion's absence, and the feverish mind remembered that.

"You are a lucky to have him, girl."

You caress Astarion's cheek. "Would staying in one place make you happy?"

He nods.

"Then, me too." --

Tag list

@tragedybunny @caitlincat-95 @tallymonster @astarionsbeloved @lumienyx @fayeriess @aoirohi @elora-the-slutty-songstress @veillsar @astarion-imagine-archive @micropoe10 @starlight-ipomoea @herstxrgirl @theearthsfinalconfession @ashrio20 @not-so-lost-after-all @vixstarria @wintersire

[luxurychristmaspudding]

Weightless | On Call

summary: your curtains are closed, truck silent on the drive. today of all days, you shouldn't be alone.

pairing: neighbour!frankie morales x f!reader

ratings/warnings: 18+, MDNI. dual pov. loooots of angst. active grieving for a dead parent. a very soft frankie. vibes are better in the next chapter lmao.

wc: 2.1k

an: my grandad was a man who loved flowers. today marks seven years since we lost him. he was gentle and kind and so talented.

have some forget me nots, which are in my garden and now also in your hands. for @morallyinept's flora and fauna challenge. for anyone you may also miss <3

When the time came Just like you are He was weightless In my arms

- weightless, elbow

series masterlist | main masterlist

Your house is quiet.

Quiet like Frankie has never heard. 

There’s always some kind of noise. A record turning, the hum of your voice. The TV on, windows open to birdsong. But today, there is nothing. 

His legs are heavy. Heart heavy, fingers shaking, wrapped around the bag of groceries he’s brought. He’s taken two steps in through your front door, and now he doesn’t know what to do. 

He watches the dust motes swim in the sun of your hallway. Shifts on his feet to look through into the living room. You must be upstairs, but to call your name in the silence of the morning feels like too much. Invasive. Cruel. 

Instead, he swallows and takes the remaining strides into your kitchen. Breathes in the fresh smell of your plants, the familiarity of your spice rack in the corner, the spread of miscellaneous stuff that he’s rarely seen tidied away. He gently places the bag of groceries on the counter before opening your cupboards for a vase. 

Once he finds one, he fills it with water and trims the stems. Forget-me-nots and white carnations. Something simple. Remembrance and love. Bright and pretty. No lilies. They only remind you of the funeral.

He’s biding his time. Trying to tamp down the nerves swirling in his gut, the somersault of his heart in his chest. He knows from the gaps left in his own life that today will be hard. And he wants to make it easier for you. He just hasn't worked out how.

He knows what works for him. The long hikes, the pull of a bottle. In murkier times, many years ago now, the sharp taste of powdered gums. Knows what works for the boys. The days with drawn curtains, video games played in the gloom. Tequila and memories shared across barbeques. Even his parents - honorary pastel de choclo, flicking through photo albums. But for you, he’s not sure. 

Once he’s happy with the way the flowers are arranged, he takes off his shoes. He leaves his cap on the counter, and pads up the stairs.

It’s still quiet. You’re not in the bathroom. No reason for you to be in any other of the rooms. He holds his breath and raises his knuckles against the wood of your bedroom door.

He knocks, softly - once. Waits for an answer that doesn’t come, but pushes it open anyway.

‘Bug?’ He says gently into the morning sunlight.

You’re swaddled in bed, still in your pyjamas, eyes red and swollen. You sit up slightly with a watery smile as he edges in, managing a crackled hey, Fish.

A sharp lump rises in Frankie’s throat. Something about seeing you upset has always hurt; the same kind of ache he gets in his chest when Lucia or his mum cries. His eyes flick from yours to your bedside table, to the picture of your father settled on top of it. Frozen in time, his smile is wide - just like yours. Greying hair, a little more chin fat than he would have had as a younger man. A younger you tucked into his side, his arm slung over your shoulders. Your arms around his middle, squeezing, laughing. Fuck.

Frankie’s heart shoots out the bottom of his legs and skids across the floor. He looks you over, and your chin wobbles. Too much. Too vulnerable. The smile drops, your face cracks. Your mouth clamps shut with a snap of teeth, and a fresh wave of tears begins to pour down your cheeks.

Frankie feels his own expression crumble, and he’s at your side before he can even think for his feet to take him there. Perched on your mattress, arms around your shoulders to pull you close. Shushing like the gentle in and out of waves, lips pressed to your hot forehead. 

You’re tense, so tense. Breath coming in choked hiccups, shoulders up to your ears. Hands gripping the sheets. There’s another pull in Frankie’s chest.

‘Stop trying not to cry,’ he murmurs, ‘I can feel it.’

You release a ragged breath, a heartbroken cry as you cling to his sleeves. Like you're being ripped apart. Like you're being drowned.

‘I’m sorry,’ you gasp, ‘I’m sorry.’ 

Frankie shifts you further across the bed so he can fit next to you, shaking his head. 

‘Don’t be sorry. Why should you be sorry?’

‘You don’t have to be here,’ you choke, ‘It’s okay. You don’t have to stay.’

Frankie closes his eyes. Leaving you here is the furthest thing from his mind, a notion that wouldn’t even cross it.

‘I want to.’ He says.

You nod, curled tight to him. He can feel dampness seeping through his hoodie, and he sits back against the headboard, cradling you to his chest. His heart is beating so fast. You can hear it, the conch of your ear pressed to the cage of his ribs. You try to focus on it, try to think of nothing else. Try not to think of this day four years ago. The weightless feel of your father in your arms in the last minutes of his life. How you held him when he could hold you no longer.

‘What do you need, baby?’ Frankie asks.

The streams of tears, the bow of your brow, serve to split his heart in two.

‘I don’t know.’ You whisper.

So Frankie holds you closer, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

Unwittingly, he’s answered the question for you. For the last four years, you have needed to be held like this. Needed to be held together by someone who is not yourself, someone who can shoulder the weight of the grief you have carried alone for years, just for a moment. 

You lose yourself to it. To the warmth, the smell, the comfort. You let the flood come, you let Frankie rock you. You ask him how Luc is, and he understands the need to hear about life outside this room. So he tells you about her arts and crafts, her newfound dislike of mac and cheese, what she wants for her birthday. The daisy chains she's been making, the sweetpeas they're growing in their garden. And it’s wonderful. It reminds you of the good of the world, that it keeps spinning, that there is love out there even when it feels lost to you. 

If there is something out there other than life, you hope your dad is in it. On a deck chair with a beer on the beach, a little basket of fries delivered to him every so often. He’s smiling, laughing. You hope he’s still around, because the idea that he’s not is too big, too great to face. It’s too lonely. Too terrifying to be alone in this world, no anchor, no tether, a family with their backs to you after you’d told them who you loved, too far in the distance to turn back to you with outstretched palms. An ex-fiancée who simply didn’t love you enough.

But he’s here, you feel. Here in this moment, watching from somewhere above. Mixed with the fabric of now like clothes in a washing machine. A spiral of colour and feeling. Pink, purple, blue, green. Love, joy, heartbreak, loss.

Orange. Orange and white is what Frankie can see. The warmth of the sunlight, the pale of your sheets. You’re far away but safe in his arms. He wants you there always. Wants to be wherever you need him.

He thinks of this day in his own life, four years ago. The tiny, warm body of his baby in his arms. Weightless as you are now and yet so heavy, the two of them fighting sleep in a nursery elsewhere in Florida. He can still smell her hair, still hear the way she’d babble, the way she still fit tucked into one arm. He swallows, hard. Holds you tighter still, thumbs rubbing your shoulder, your side. There is so much of his daughter’s life to see. He can’t imagine having it cut short. Can’t imagine knowing it would end soon, counting down the days as his body wasted. The milestones he’d miss, the moments and memories. The stories and people she’d introduce him to. It doesn’t bear thinking about, her out in the wide world without him to guide or protect her. And he knows you’d hate it, but he’s sorry. So sorry that that’s the life you have, that you don’t have him to turn to anymore. And he’s sorry for your dad. For him to have missed who you are now, to miss who you will be. 

He presses another kiss to your head, hoping to convey this. This nebulous thought, this strange feeling.

‘He wrote letters for me,’ you whisper into his neck. So quietly, voice strained to breaking as you force the words out. ‘For birthdays. For jobs. For my first home. For my wedding. For a first child.’ You try to smile, but it’s flattened with a broken breath. ‘He thought of everything. And I read them again today - the ones I’m up to - but it’s like - it’s like his voice -’ you cut yourself off, burying your face in your hands as you try to calm down. ‘Sometimes it’s like I can’t hear him properly anymore.’ 

Frankie strokes the back of your hand, and it drops easily. He holds it in clammy palms.

In the cold days after your dad passed, through numb dissonance you had googled everything to do with grief. The stages, the remedies, the processes. What you forget first.

Voice. There would be a day, before anything else, when you wouldn’t be able to remember how your name sounded spoken by his lips. When you couldn’t remember the texture of I love you spoken in his tongue.

Frankie knows this. He googled it after Colombia, when the weight of every body he’d seen or carried seemed to settle on him. It had comforted him. He didn’t want to remember shouts and screams, couldn’t stomach the memory of Tom’s orders rattling through his brain. But he feels so desperate to take this from you, to retract and hide what you know. So useless in the face of so much hurt, so much loss. Even when he knows the best he can do is sit here in it with you. 

You press your free fingertips into your eyes. 

‘I’m so scared, Frankie,’ you whisper from behind the dark in your head. ‘I’m so scared I might forget him.’

Frankie’s seen the simplicities of grief before. Knows them intimately. Knows the horror of these realisations, understands as he presses his lips to your hairline and you shake in his arms. He loves you too much to lie.

So instead, he tells you a truth.

‘I’ve got you. I’ve got you.’

When the light turns from golden to white, the sun a little higher in the sky, you disentangle yourself to blow your nose. You manage a laugh as you do it, muttering a bashful ew as Frankie watches you, still stretched out on your mattress. Any other time, and your heart would be hammering in your chest at the sight. But now, it’s all the comfort you need. 

He stands, stiff, stretching his arms to the ceiling before gathering you briefly in his arms again. 

‘You okay?’ He asks.

‘Better.’ You say, brushing a curl from his forehead.

His eyes are so warm, so gentle. 

‘Breakfast?’

You hum, offer him the best smile you can. A sludge of guilt slops in your stomach, but you try to swallow it.

‘Thank you. I’ll be down in a bit.’

When he’s downstairs, listening to the sound of your shower, he unpacks his grocery bag and begins making a stack of pancakes. Blueberry, banana, strawberry, chocolate chip. Syrup enough for you to taste through the salt at the back of your throat. Methodical, mechanical, more focused on listening for your movements through the floors of your house. The shutting off of the water, the soft thunk of your drawers. Your footsteps heavy on the stairs, down the hall. You appear in the doorway, hair washed, eyes red, cosy in sweats and a t-shirt. He smiles at you, and you smile back. It’s small, but it’s a start.

You move closer, and he takes you under his arm as he turns the stove off. You wrap your arms around his middle.

‘Thank you for the flowers,’ you say, quietly. Frankie follows your eyes to the bouquet arranged in the vase. Forget-me-nots, white carnations. ‘Thank you for not getting lilies.’

He smiles, kisses your forehead. Wonders whether he could leave a mark simply from doing it so often, so you’d always feel safe.

‘No problem.’

He guides you towards the table, pulls out the chair and makes sure you’re settled. Makes sure you have your coffee, your pancakes. The smell of the flowers is sweet, something blooming in your stomach. You trace the outline of them before you, the simplicity, the thought. Frankie asks what you want to do for the rest of the day. You deflect the question back at him, and he smiles.

‘Anything.’

‘Anything?’

You raise an eyebrow at his mhm.

‘That’s dangerous.’ You say with a wry smile.

Something in Frankie’s chest lifts. There she is.

Later, when Luc is tucked into your side and you’re tucked into Frankie’s, you’ll wonder how you can ever repay him. The kindness he shows you, the patience.

You only hope that you will, someday. Promise it, head leant against his shoulder.

Even if it takes the rest of your life.

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One Two

I want to see Max. Billy says it the second they all leave.

Eddie sighs, but makes no attempt to fight it. He pulls the covers back and carefully, slowly, climbs out of bed. His feet are chilly on the linoleum, but socks would be slippery and Eddie just can't risk it, if he falls and busts his ass it could be catastrophic – not that he’d be able to bend to put socks on anyway. Steve has left him a worn old zip up hoodie on the chair – rescued from the trailer – so Eddie grabs that and slips it on, even though it hurts to put his arms back like that, it’s worth it for their chilly journey along the hall. Steve’s already told him that Max is only two doors down, so at least it’s not far. Well, it shouldn’t be that far, but actually it feels like fucking miles and takes what feels like twenty minutes for Eddie to shuffle along the hallway.

Conveniently her name is scribbled on a little board hanging outside her room.

Ready?

Ready.

Eddie opens the door.

Max is lying in bed, the bed is sat up a little, but not much. Below the covers, the casts on her legs look bulky. The ones on her arms sit on top of the covers, her fingers poking out the ends. The kids have drawn all over them.

She turns her head to look at the door. Must have heard them come in.

Something wells up inside Eddie, and he knows it’s Billy, such a strong sense of loss, of longing, relief, it’s a physical weight.

Hi, shitbird. “Hi, shitbird.”

Max makes a noise, tries to sit up, asks desperately, “Billy??” Eddie’s frozen there, for a second, watching as Max tries to struggle up, a lump caught in his throat. She’s blinking, her eyes as white as Chrissie’s were, “Billy please!”

“No, it’s Eddie...but also kind of yes, it’s Billy.”

Eddie closes the door and shuffles across the room, sits down next to Max.

“This is weird.”

No shit. “No shit.”

Max giggles, and Eddie can’t help but laugh with her.

She goes sombre for a second then, “I’m really sorry about the Camaro.”

I completely forgot about the stupid car. Errr...fucking tell her she can pay me back for it. Once she’s up off her ass and gets herself a job.

“He says don’t worry about the car, it doesn’t matter.”

Traitor.

Max snorts, “he definitely didn’t say that.”

Billy snorts a laugh. Uhm, hey, could you ask her...ask her hows Susan? And...Neil?

“He’s asking about Susan and Neil.”

“Oh. Well, after you died they started fighting even more and then eventually, Neil fucked off. They’re divorced now. Had to move out of the place on Cherry Lane. We’re Eddie’s neighbors now.”

She’s better off without him.

I’m not saying that. Eddie steadfastly doesn’t think about how often Susan’s car is gone. He goes not think about all the bottles he sees in their trash.

Tell her I’m glad she’s close to you then, at least.

Eddie schools his expression, trying not to react to that. What’s even worse is that Billy’s being sincere – he’s genuinely glad Eddie has his little sister near by. “He says he’s glad you’re near enough to hear my rocking tunes.”

She rolls her eyes, but Eddie can only tell because she moves her head. “Sure, yeah, listening to you fuck up the same song fifty million times in a row is such a treat.”

“Hey! I nailed it when it counted.”

The door opens then, “oh Max I didn’t realize you had visitors still – oh. Eddie, isn’t it?”

Eddie stands, “yes Ma’am-” Billy snorts, “-just come to keep my favorite neighbor company.” Susan looks exhausted, and as they shuffle past each other, Eddie can clearly smell the tang of alcohol, “Bye, Mrs. Hargrove.”

Mayfield.

“It’s Mayfield again now hon.”

Yeah, good.

What the fuck kind of name is Bilbo Baggins?

Shut up man, let me read.

Wait wait, turn the page back, you read too fast. This shit is confusing. Why are all the names so weird.

Eddie huffs a laugh, “want me to read out loud?”

There’s a moment of reticence that Eddie senses, before, okay.

Part Four

[perlelune]

Tag, You’re It | Ethan Landry | x.

Happy, carefree college days meet their abrupt end when every guy who approaches you mysteriously turns up dead.

Warnings: NON-CON, Stalking, Bimbo!Reader, Clueless Reader, Loss of Virginity, Incel Ethan, Cheerleader Reader, Skin Carving (w/knife), Canon Typical Slashing, Voyeurism, Kidnapping, Forced Masturbation, Filming, Blackmail

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

Panic ripples through you as Ethan’s body heavily drapes over yours, his lips stealing yours for yet another ravenous kiss. 

Hopeless, your fight or flight instinct kicks in. 

You bite his lip with all your strength.

The metallic tang of Ethan’s blood spills over your tongue. 

He hisses, jerking away from you. He lets you go and air finds shelter in your lungs again.

Ethan grips his jaw, his face scrunching.

When his tongue sweeps over the blood dripping from the cut on his mouth, a dark laugh leaves Ethan’s mouth. 

The look he gives you sends a chill across your spine.

You retreat to the furthest corner of your bed, bringing your knees to your chest.

A tremulous whisper rises from your throat.

“Ethan…I think you need to go. I d-don’t feel safe right now.”

You suppose you should try to get up, dash to the door. It’s what common sense dictates. But for some reason, you’re frozen in your spot, drenched in sheer denial of what just transpired - almost transpired - on your bed. 

“Don’t feel safe? I’ll be so good to you,” he defends, spreading his fingers towards you. Bile climbs up your throat. You recoil, making yourself even smaller to avoid his touch.

Hurt paints itself over Ethan’s boyish features at your reaction. 

A contemptuous laugh bursts from his chest.

“You think any of these guys ever cared about you, ever saw you, really saw you?” he asks, his voice deeper and scarier than before. Your mouth goes slack as he continues. “Do you think any of them cares what you think or how you feel? That they’re interested in you because you’re such a great conversationalist or because you’re so funny or smart? They’re not.” A shudder slithers through you. The crimson tear on his bottom lip shimmers as his mouth stretches in a slanted grin. “All of them only want you for one thing. They just want to show you off, use you, fuck you and then t-”

A slapping echo resonates across your room as your hand flies in the direction of Ethan’s cheek.

For a while, a deathly silence blankets your room.

Ethan’s reddened cheek pulses as his gaze widens.

His head turns slowly.

He gapes at you, seeming as stunned as you are that you struck him.

You can’t remember the last time you hit someone. Maybe you never did.

But Ethan’s cruel words sank into you like a knife, jabbing at your deepest insecurities. The fact that they poured out of a friend makes it all so much worse. 

“Get out of my room, Ethan, now. I mean it or I’ll…scream for help.”

He glares at you one last time before getting to his feet.

A sigh floats from his lips as he crouches to pick up his backpack.

You tense when he pauses on the threshold, his gaze on you unusually hard. 

“In time, you’ll understand. I’m the only guy for you…just like you’re the only girl for me,” Ethan says matter-of-factly.

When the door clicks shut after his departure, you jump from your bed. Wobbly fingers rush to snap the lock back into place. 

Your short-winded breaths fill the room, coalescing with the wild hammering of your heart.

As your legs weaken underneath you, you collapse against the door. You tuck your legs against your chest as tears skip down your cheeks.

You glance at your phone from across the room. It’s lying across the mess of rumpled sheets. The very same sheets Ethan pushed you onto.

Your insides lurch.

A fresh wave of tears gathers in your eyes as your lashes flutter shut.

There’s nothing you want more than to call your friends right now, hear a familiar voice, feel a warm embrace…but you can’t.

He made sure of that. 

So you let your sobs grow louder as you wrap your arms around yourself as tight as you can. 

It’s a blessing you don’t run into Ethan the following week. To your astonishment, he doesn’t attend any of the classes you two share, most notably Econ and Psych 101. You find yourself staring at the empty seat he used to occupy a lot of the time. Every time you do, a confounding blend of emotions stirs inside you, one you still haven’t fully untangled. 

Part of you is hurt, of course. You never imagined such a side lay dormant in Ethan. It was like he turned into a different person that night. And the things he said to you…your chest twinges whenever you remember the utter viciousness of those words.

Those are the kind of things you’ve heard from others before. But you never expected in a million years to hear them coming from him.

Yet another part of you…feels guilty. What if it’s like Mindy suggested one time? What if you caused that by leading him on, sending him signals without meaning to? 

You always tried your best to be a good friend to Ethan but maybe he misread things you told him or even the way you acted around him… and you ended up becoming a bad friend instead.

The heartbreak that glistened in his eyes that night is still etched in your mind. You hurt him, and you loathe that you did. Despite what happened, you can’t help but still care about him. 

You can’t forget the moments you shared together, how he was there for you when you needed it most. You hate the idea of one awful moment ruining your friendship. 

You also refuse to believe this is who Ethan is. It can’t be. His emotions must have gotten the better of him. Maybe he too feels horrible about the situation. After all, he's all but disappeared this week. Hopefully in time, you both can apologize to each other. 

One day perhaps. Because right now you can barely stomach the thought of being anywhere near him.

The events of that night are still so fresh. 

Engulfed in your gloomy musings, you bump into someone else. The books in your arm scatter across the hallway floor. 

You crouch to pick them up and so does the other person. 

“It’s okay. I got it.”

The sound of the familiar voice has your head snap up.

Emotions swell in your chest as a warm smile you’ve sorely missed crowds your line of sight.

“Hey, it’s been a while…” Anika gingerly remarks.

For a while, you soak in her presence. You grow overwhelmed, the plethora of things you wish you could say to her scorching your lips. 

Then the harshness of reality crashes upon you. 

You can’t talk to Anika. You can’t talk to anyone. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, on the cusp of scampering in the other direction but Anika’s hand on your arm stops you. You flinch at the light touch.

Anika’s forehead puckers. She retreats her hand and cocks her head sideways.

“Is something wrong?” she inquires, her soft tone laced with concern.

Hasty words roll off your tongue. “No. Nothing’s wrong.”

Anika’s scrutiny prickles your skin. It’s obvious she doesn’t fully believe you, her stare lingering on the hickeys Ethan peppered over your neck. You self-consciously brush your fingers over them.

You’re thankful when she doesn’t address them and switches topics. 

“You know there’s a party for Chad and Mindy’s birthday this week,” she reminds, gauging your reaction.

“Yeah, I know.”

Of course, you know. How could you forget? Every year, you used to look forward to it. You even have an alarm for it on your phone. Before everything, you even discussed potential plans to go on a group trip to Chicago.

You can’t see yourself being a part of that now.

“They’re both really hoping you’ll be able to come.”

You nudge a feeble smile on your face.

“I’m late for cheer practice, Anika.”

“Whatever’s going on…You know I’m always here for you, right?”

You freeze. A terrifying echo in a deeper voice swells in your mind.

I’m always here for you, you know that.

Collecting your books from her hands, you rush past her as she tosses you a sad look.

“I gotta go. Tell Chad and Mindy I can’t make it. I’m sorry.”

You don’t glance back as you head to the locker room, afraid you’ll fall to pieces if you do.

You just changed into your cheerleader outfit when your phone vibrates. You sigh, hoping it isn’t Chad again. He’s been blowing up your phone nonstop within the last few days. You surmise he’s also trying to convince you to attend his and his sister’s birthday. 

You can’t even face him right now. What if he suspected something? You shudder to think how he’d react. You can’t see it boding well for Ethan. 

Chewing on your lip, you retrieve your phone from your gym bag. 

You swipe your thumb down to open the notification floating atop the screen.

A video fills the screen and your gaze bulges at what you see. 

Your fingers wobble around the device, your mouth falling open in horror.

A crying Quinn sits on a chair in a dusky room, tied up with thick ropes and her mouth covered with duct tape. Smudged mascara streaks down her freckled cheeks, her pleading gaze seeming to dive right into yours. 

Your breath hitches as you watch Ghostface skulk around her chair, his sharp blade tracing the side of her neck while she sobs. 

Dread twists your insides.

A string of messages appears below the video.

Come to this address alone right now or she dies.

Tell anyone and she dies.

Call the cops and she dies.

Tick, tock, princess.

You shake your head, a wave of queasiness clutching your senses. 

Not again. 

You frantically copy the address included in the message before pasting it into your ride-hailing app. 

The app indicates that your driver will arrive in five minutes outside the gates of campus so you make a beeline for the exit door.

You gasp as Alana blocks your path, standing akimbo in front of the door with a scowl on her face.

“Are you seriously leaving right now?” she asks, her shrill, accusing tone like a whip. “We’re about to rehearse the new routine. The next game is in three weeks.”

You shrink, your features scrunching apologetically.

“I’m sorry, Alana, but… something came up. Something important.”

She snorts and shakes her head. “Are you really…You know what?” She tosses her hands up in the air, stepping to the side to make room for you. “I give up. I’ve had it with you and your drama.” She narrows her icy blue eyes at you. “If you leave today, don’t bother coming back.”

“O-Okay,” you stammer, your gut sinking. Cheerleading was the one thing you had, the one thing that wasn’t going completely off the rails. Now you don’t even have that anymore.

Suppressing the budding tears behind your eyes, you take a deep breath and take a firm stride towards the door.

Alana’s jaw drops when you remove the bow in your hair and throw it at her feet.

She gave it to you when you joined the team.

You don’t look back as you brush past her and shove the door open.

“I want my uniform back on Monday,” she hisses.

Your chest clenches, but there’s no time to process yet another crushing disappointment, all your thoughts turning to Quinn.

She needs you right now. 

So you race across campus as if your feet were on fire.

You all but lunge inside the car waiting for you, mumbling a quick ‘sorry’ to the man who casts you a dirty look. You slip him an extra twenty so he drives a little faster, heart pounding wildly against your ribcage.

He ends up dropping you off in front of an abandoned theater.

You get the heebie-jeebies as you peer at the building with the crumbling facade and shattered lights. Diving inside it requires every ounce of courage you possess.

Fearful steps lead you to the lobby. The eerie stillness around you makes your nerves sing.

You steal a glimpse at the popcorn machine, the spider webs you spot inside sparking a shiver through your frame.

You slink through the wide open doors of the first hall you see. Stomach tight, you drag your feet forward. The freezy winds fluttering through the room skate across your skin as you enter. 

You rub your arms, nervousness growing at the sight of the empty theater seats.

You swallow the lump nestled in your throat. You truly are on your own.

After a quick survey, you find Quinn, bound to her chair amidst the center stage.

Relief floods your insides.

You sprint directly to her and climb onto the stage.

The first thing you do is remove the duct tape covering her mouth.

“Quinn! Oh my god, are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

Her bright green eyes follow your motions in silence as you begin untying her, a little taken aback by how easily the ropes come off, requiring barely any effort to yank loose.

Once you’re done, Quinn stands up and rubs her wrists. 

“Quinn?” you repeat, worried by her strange quietness. Maybe she’s too traumatized to speak. 

She cracks her neck backwards, stretching it before her gaze lands on you again.

Her lips stretch in a slow, wide grin. 

She then bursts out in laughter.

Your brows knit as you fall back, confused. Your voice trickles out in a tremulous whisper.

“W-Why are you laughing?”

She slants her head to the side.

“You were right, big bro. She actually fell for it,” she says before letting out an impressed whistle. She chortles. “Not a very bright one, is she?”

“I mean, I told you she would.”

You whirl at once, shocked to hear the last person you’d expect to find here. You tremble as you come face to face with Ghostface.

Befuddlement has you blinking. You could have sworn you heard an all too familiar voice rising from behind the mask.

“W-What’s going on?” 

Ghostface chuckles then removes his mask. The air is knocked from your lungs when his identity is revealed to you. You feel as if the entire world just fell on top of you.

“What going on is that you’re fucked, princess,” Ethan states, a terrible smile spreading onto his lips. “Well, not quite yet…” His lecherous gaze drags over your quivering frame. “But we’ll get there eventually.”

Tears well up in your eyes. 

“Ethan? No…”

His smile broadens. “Yes,” he replies, seeming to relish your reaction.

Your lip quakes as a shuddering sob spills from your throat.

“You’re Ghostface?” you whimper.

He shakes the mask in your face before tossing it away.

“Well, duh,” he chimes. A glint of excitement bounces in his chestnut orbs. “You should have seen the way Connor and Tyler squealed like pathetic little pigs when I stabbed them over and over…” Bloodlust distorts his features. You back away, a fear like no other gripping your throat. “…And over. That was hilarious. Especially Connor. Fuck, it felt good to kill him. That conceited, condescending alpha bro.”

“Why?”

“Because they had no business touching what’s mine,” Ethan replies like it’s obvious.

Your eyes widen as it sinks in that Ethan’s referring to you. On instinct, you leap off the stage and start fleeing in the other direction.

Your mind short-circuits with the onslaught of troubling facts, the chaotic drumming of your pulse filling your ears. 

Ethan is Ghostface…and Quinn is helping him. They even appear related somehow.

You don’t want to believe it but there’s no denying what you witnessed with your own eyes.

Before you can get too far, an abrupt pain blooms at the back of your skull, sending you keeling over the edge of the stage. You wail and curl on the floor, the agony numbing enough to keep you from rising again.

Twirling a baseball bat in her hand, Quinn bends over you. Her form blurs in your sight as you groan.

“Oh, poor thing. I hope I didn’t hit her too hard. You okay, sugar? How many fingers am I holding up?”

She waves her hand in front of you.

“F-Four,” you mindlessly answer.

She perks up at that.

“Attagirl. She’s all yours, big bro. I’ll give you two some privacy.”

Ethan nods at his sister - a fact your mind still grapples with - before crouching next to you. He picks you up and cradles your head against his chest. You feebly punch him and he mutters against your temple, “Shh, princess. Don’t fight it.” A rag is suddenly pressed against your mouth, its cloying scent invading your nostrils. Your lashes turn heavy. Your punches grow even weaker till you slump against Ethan. “There you go. Good girl.” 

Spots of darkness creep the edges of your vision until it’s all there is…darkness, and the dwindling echo of Ethan’s sickeningly tender voice mooring you amidst it.

You awake in a strange and obscure bedroom, the only meager light coming from a single window above you. You wince, your head heavy as you move it. As soon as you try to shift on the bed, you realize something is restricting your wrists’ range of motion.

Gasping, you look up. Your stomach sinks as you take note of the metal cuffs binding you to the headboard of the bed.

Your gaze lowers. 

Panic swells in your chest when you see Ethan standing at the foot of the bed.

A smirk decorates his mouth as he watches you struggle.

“Ethan, why am I tied up?” you squeak, almost afraid to know the answer.

You tense as he climbs on the bed, crawling his way to you. Hovering above you, Ethan places his hand on your cheek. 

“It’s much better that way, princess, so you don’t hurt yourself trying to escape,” he explains like it’s the soundest logic in the world, despite how insane this is. 

“Look, Ethan…” you start, carefully pondering your words. Who knows what he’ll do if you say or do the wrong thing? He’s killed people and he could just as easily kill you. You force a quivering smile onto your face. “I’m sorry I hurt your feelings. I had no idea. Please, let me go. I swear I won’t tell a soul.”

Caressing your cheek, Ethan hums, “Oh, I accept your apology, princess and I know you were too stupid to notice…” He bends over you until his mouth skims over your earshell. “But I’m still gonna fuck you.”

Ice spills into your veins. 

Ethan collects the single stray tear sliding over your cheek, bringing it against the seam of his lips with a wide, satisfied smile.

“No, Ethan, please, I’ve never…” you beseech, tugging at your restraints again. Utter helplessness engulfs you as you realize how trapped you are.

Excitement waltzes in his orbs, his eyes crinkling. He cradles your face and smiles down at you endearingly.

“Really? So I’m your first? God this is even sweeter.” He slots his lips over yours, ensnaring them in a slow, heated kiss. The salt of your tears coats both of your tongues. When he lets you breathe again, his forehead falls against yours. Elation drips from his deep, enamored timbre. “You really are my dream girl, you know that?”

He kisses you again, silencing every protest with his mouth. Ethan maps his hunger for you all over your body, sprinkling scorching pecks over your neck, chest and navel and slowly undressing you at the same time. He grabs your boobs and starts fondling them, his tongue swirling over your nipple. 

An uncomfortable heat begins to bloom between your legs, your breathing growing uneven. 

As you feel Ethan’s hard-on press into your thigh, adrenaline rushes through your blood.

“Ethan, don’t…” you beg, your helplessness reaching a peak as he slithers down your frame and parts your thighs. 

He slides your panties to the side. Your heart leaps.

Ethan’s gaze flares devilishly. You only get a glimpse of brown curls before he dives between your legs. 

Words falter on your tongue. Your mind blanks with pleasure as his tongue traces maddening patterns over your bundle of nerves, endlessly teasing it. Broken moans roll off your tongue.

Chest heaving, your back arches on the sheets.

“Fuck, your pussy tastes even better than I imagined, princess,” he lauds, the vibrations from his voice rocking through your core. Your breath catches as coils tighten in your belly.

Ethan devours your cunt until you see stars, coming on his mouth with a sudden shout. He greedily purrs against your folds and licks your arousal as it rains on his tongue.

Before you can even recover from your haze, Ethan sinks one finger inside your wet heat. Your breath hitches at the intrusion.

A sinister chuckle leaves his lips.

“You’re so goddamn tight. You really are a virgin, aren’t you?” He hooks his finger inside you, drawing a sharp hiss from you. He smiles down at your squirming form. “This is perfect. We’re gonna be each other’s firsts. Kinda romantic, right princess?”

Ethan groans, seemingly frustrated as he shifts against you.

He leans back and begins undoing his pants. Your stomach clenches. You kick your feet and sob, despair raging inside you. Ethan unleashes a deep, weary sigh before seizing your wrists and slamming them into the headboard.

A pain so intense rings through your bones, you’re shocked your wrists don’t shatter on the spot. You let out an ear-splitting scream. 

He cocks his head, pity flashing across his face.

“Stop moving so damn much. You’re gonna hurt yourself, princess.” You gape at him through your tear-streaked vision. How can he say that when he’s the one hurting you? A soft smile stretches his lips as he squeezes your wrists even more, making your bones grind against one another. “And scream as loud as you want, pretty girl. No one can hear you here.”

You whine as he releases your throbbing wrists. 

His thumb then traces your shuddering mouth. Ethan’s teeth sink into his lip. He cups your face and rasps, “Fuck, I wanted to take it slow…But my balls feel like they’re about to burst, princess.” His pupils inflate with lust. “Why do you have to sound so fucking hot?”

It’s all the warning you get before Ethan hastily lowers his pants and buries himself inside you in one blunt thrust. 

The searing pain steals the breath from your lungs. You feel as if you’ll tear, Ethan’s thick girth stretching you to your limit. The cuffs slice into your flesh as you yank on them desperately. 

“God, you’re squeezing me so tight,” he says, his voice hoarse with need. 

“Ethan, please, it hurts,” you beg, tears streaming down your face. 

He peppers tender kisses over your damp cheeks. 

“It’s okay, princess. It only hurts at first…I think.” He unleashes an awkward laugh. 

Ethan drags out of you before shoving inside you to the hilt again. You wail, your core burning at the friction. 

He starts moving, his rising grunts mingling with the wet slap of his skin into yours.

The bed rattles loudly underneath both of you.

Your watery eyes rise to the ceiling in search of a fleeting escape. But Ethan doesn’t allow you that, corralling your jaw so you’re forced to peer into his hungry gaze.

“Stay with me, princess,” he orders, squeezing your jaw painfully whenever you try to look away.

He wraps your legs around his taut hips, piledriving into you. You jolt as he hits a spot that makes your mouth part in a soundless scream. 

Forehead resting against yours, Ethan pounds inside you faster. He reaches between your bodies, pinching your clit. Your vision flickers, your legs turning liquid as you come apart around him. Ethan moans as your walls tighten around his cock. When you come back to yourself, shame fills you. You never wanted this. In fact you hate it. So why is your body surrendering to him so easily?

More tears flood your vision.

“I guess that makes us official,” he chuckles against your temple. “We’ll have to tell everyone the good news.”

He nuzzles your neck and you feel sick. 

His low tone vibrates against your flesh as he warns, “And don’t even think about trying to get away from me. Because if you do…” He pauses, his hips snapping into yours even faster than before. “I’ll kill every single one of your little friends and make you watch while I do.” He grins down at you, fondling your cheek. You choke on a sob. Ethan hums, fingers digging into your ass, “I’ll start with that bitch Mindy, then Anika…and then that asshole Chad.”

“Do you understand, princess?”

He fucks you harder and you whimper. When you stay silent, his large hand wraps around your throat, your pulse thrumming beneath his palm. 

Ethan’s jaw clenches, his eyes darkening.

“Answer me when I’m talking to you,” he rumbles, his bruising grip on your throat dangerously tight.

“I-I understand, Ethan,” you sputter. 

A wide smile blooms on his features at your agreement. His hold on your neck slackens. Soon after, his pace slows, his thrusts turning sloppier. He goes still above you, his dick twitching inside you. You shudder as a sticky warmth glazes your walls. 

Ethan nestles his head in the crook of your neck. He purrs in pleasure, still sheathed inside you as silent tears skip down your cheeks.

You wished he’d move away, let you process the horror of what he just did to you. Instead he rolls both of your bodies to the side and hugs you tight against him. You cringe as Ethan sprinkles soft kisses over your face, lingering on your lips.

He then traces the heart-shaped scar he carved on your chest during that awful Halloween night before placing a kiss on it too.

His knuckles sweep over the apple of your cheek, pure bliss painting his features. 

“Good girl,” he praises.

~

[dollwrites]

‘𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐨 𝐰𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 — 𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐮𝐦𝐢 𝐳𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐲𝐜𝐤

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

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

𝗻𝗼𝘄 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴 ∣ sex doll by nathan james

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

“I recognize you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

but only for a single moment.

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

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

“P—pet…” you whisper, hopelessly.

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

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

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

“Hold your legs open.”

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

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

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

“Look at it.”

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

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

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

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

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

he hadn’t been bluffing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[strawberrystepmom]

cw omegaverse, cw yandere, cw predator prey dynamics. f!omega reader, alpha!geto. wc 698

pt. 2

“Fuck,” you mutter to no one in particular while inspecting the ingredients label of a jar of sesame paste to try and hide the flush that you know is painting your cheeks and the bridge of your nose crimson.

It has been a long time since you’ve felt like this and your hand shakes as you barely hold onto the jar enough to slide it onto the shelf in front of you.

You don’t even need sesame paste, you just need a distraction. Something to keep you from focusing on the twist of your stomach and the sweat prickling across your hairline and the back of your neck.

Today was clearly not the day to forego your heat suppressant, limbs feeling simultaneously light as air and heavy as lead as you drag your feet down the aisle with a basket dangling from the crook of your elbow. Your head hurts, your senses are dulled, but you don’t miss the clearing of a throat behind you nor the way it makes the hair on the back of your neck stand on end.

“Excuse me?”

The voice is rich as the cake you allowed yourself to indulge in on your last birthday and it wraps around you like a velvet ribbon. As if you cannot control yourself, you turn your head and gasp looking at the man who is beckoning you in a way that makes you feel completely out of body.

He’s tall, his raven hair spills across his shoulders, and his broad chest blocks out the sight of anyone on either side of him. Swallowing but your throat feels more dry after doing so somehow, your pulse speeds up as realization dawns.

Alpha. This man, Suguru Geto, is an alpha.

“I’m sorry, I know this is a strange thing to ask, but are you…” he trails off, indicating you should know what he’s asking, but your blank stare tells him otherwise. Your eyes are narrowed but suspiciously glossy and he knows, instinctively, the answer is yes.

You are an omega standing in the middle of a busy grocery store filling the entire place with the aroma of bergamot and vanilla. Unbonded, he can tell as his dark eyes dip downward and check out the contents of your small basket - all for one, he can tell. No ring. No visible mating mark.

Brave or stupid, he can’t tell which.

Your scent is overwhelmingly sensual to the man, his mouth filling with saliva if he dares inhale too deeply, and he can feel his natural urges overtaking any sense he has left in your presence.

“Forgot my suppressants for a couple of days,” you clarify with an embarrassed whisper, eyes still narrowed despite the pull you feel to go to him - to give to him - and you take a step backward to put distance between your bodies, giving yourself a victory in the battle of wills.

“Better be careful being out here then, you’re bound to catch a lot of attention.”

His voice is just as velvety despite the low note of warning in it and if you were less controlled by your base urges in this moment, you’d bare your teeth in an overly polite smile and walk away. Right now, though, you are frozen in place and your eyes meet his. They are molten bronze framed by the darkest lashes you’ve ever seen and you’ve never felt as pinned as you do right now, beneath his gaze.

Like a frightened rabbit, you become skittish. Two further steps backward put even more space behind you and you turn on your heel, eyes wide as you look over your shoulder to have the last word.

“Thank you for your concern but I’ll be fine.”

He nods politely and plasters on a serene smile, inhaling just deep enough that his pupils dilate after another overwhelming rush of you inside his head.

“Take care,” he raises his voice to speak back and you shiver, stomach twisting even more as you fumble your way toward the checkout and force yourself to keep looking forward to prevent running back in his direction.

You’ll be back in a day or two, Suguru assumes, and his alpha instincts rarely fail when it comes to getting what he wants and he’s more than content to wait.

[daisyblog]

Mini Us

Young Love Masterlist Summary: Louis and YN welcome their baby into the world.

Warning: childbirth, labour, unexpected home birth, mention of blood

10th of November 2009

In the quiet bedroom, YN laid in the bed still sore and uncomfortable from the trauma her body had been through earlier in the day. She looked down at the sleeping newborn that laid upon her chest. She admired the little one that was equally half of her and half Louis.

The little ones blue eyes were identical to Louis, whilst their little petite nose and lips mirrored YN’s. YN brought her finger up to their cheek, admiring their precious gift.

“I’m the luckiest mummy ever that you chose me”. She spoke to the sleeping baby who was content in her arms. “Me and your dad are gonna give you the best life possible…we’re going to spoil you with love and make so many memories together”. YN could feel the tears begin to form in her eyes because now that she was a mother herself, she couldn’t understand how her family could have treated her in that way.

---

Earlier that day

The third trimester had certainly taken its toll on YN. She was tired to the point that she could come home from college and take a nap, and still go to bed early and sleep all night. Her heightened hormones caused her to snap at anything, big or small. Louis had been walking on eggshells at the inconsistency in her mood swings.

Four days had passed since YN’s due date, but she had tried everything to kick start labour but unfortunately for them nothing worked. The only thing left to do was take a long walk. That morning YN and Louis had walked around Doncaster at least ten times until YN said she was tired and her feet were hurting.

As soon as YN’s body hit their bed, she was fast asleep as she cuddled up to the pillows. After a while Louis had noticed that YN’s body began to tense for a few minutes but then relax again. Seeing as she was still sleeping, he hadn’t thought much about it.

Louis realised he must have dozed off to when he woke up to YN’s scream. The sound was piercing, sacred and terrifying. He shot up from his sleeping position and the sound of YN crying caught his attention.

“Lou…Lou..there-there’s some-something w-wrong”. YN stuttered out the words in between her sobs, her body still almost like she was afraid to move.

Louis gulped heavily, feeling it travel down his throat and into the pit of his stomach. He looked at scene in front of him and his body froze. The bottom half of YN, including the bed sheets, was covered in red. Blood everywhere, something he would never forget the sight of.

“Lou…please…I need help!”. YN broke him from his frozen state, and without saying a word he called for his mum.

Jay came rushing in and although the sight shocked her and caused her to panic, she remained calm and collected on the outside. “Everything’s going to be alright darling okay…Lou go and get loads of towels and blankets”.

“Mum is the baby okay?”. Louis looked for his mother’s reassurance, but Jay gave nothing away and instructed her son to go and get the stuff quickly.

Once Louis had left, Jay moved quickly. “Alright YN, love…am I okay to check what’s going on?”. When YN nodded, shaking with fear, Jay removed the blood stained clothes and gasped. “Oh my…I don’t know how you’re not screaming in more pain…I can see baby’s head!”.

“I feel numb…and weak”. YN admitted, and it was in that moment that Jay realised that an ambulance wouldn’t arrive in time because this little one was on their way.

Louis walked back into the room, folded towels and blankets gathered in his hands, but was more shocked than before because he could see the top of his baby’s head.

“Is..is…is that?”. Louis eyes were as wide and in shock as the could be.

“Yes! That’s the baby’s head…you need to get over here and support YN…you’re about to have a baby!”.

---

The next hour felt like a lifetime. Jay stayed in the same position, watching to make sure her first grandchild was safe coming into the world. Louis was by YN’s side, moving her hair back from her face whenever she pushed through a contraction.

“YN…darling…you’re doing amazing my love…listen to your body and any minute now you’re about to meet your baby”. Jay spoke calmly, as she reached up to give YN’s hand an encouraging squeeze. “You’re doing so well love”.

Louis felt like a spare part, he wanted to take the pain away, he wanted to be the one that was doing all the hard work so YN didn’t have to experience it.

“I’m so proud of you!”. Louis left a gentle peck to her forehead. “You’re so strong…and me and the baby are so lucky to have you”.

YN felt an immense pressure down below, and like Jay had said, she listened to her body and pushed as hard as she could whilst squeezing Louis’ hand.

“AHHHHH!”: She let out an exhausted scream, hoping this would be the last push she needed for her baby to be born and in her arms.

Jay quickly picked up the crying little baby and placed them on their mother’s chest. Louis and YN both had tears in their eyes as they peered down at their newborn.

“I’ve never felt love like this”. Louis spoke into the room as he held the little ones tiny hand.

“She’s beautiful!”. Jay spoke, carefully revealing that they had a daughter.

YN looked up at Jay, tears still soaking her eyes and cheeks. “A little girl?”. With her own tears matching her sons and YN’s she nodded as she soaked them precious moment.

YN and Louis shared a look, knowing they had already chosen both a girl and boy names ready for the birth of their baby. A smile appeared on both of their faces.

“Welcome to the world Mia Rose Tomlinson!”.

Taglist:

@ell0ra-br3kk3r @slaymybreathaway @wh0s-nadii