#noelle writes

[joelsdagger]

all the things i would do

read on ao3 | resources on how to help Palestine here <3

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: porn no plot. joel finds an article of clothing of yours and there’s nothing holding him back once he gets his hands on them. 

rating: explicit, 18+ MDNI 

content warnings: [Post Outbreak], established relationship, implied age gap (25+ years), joel is canon age, slightly domestic joel (blink and it’s gone), joel has a panty kink, panty sniffing, masturbation (m), soft dom!joel, fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v sex, pet names (use of baby, sweet baby, sweetheart, love), smidgen of fluff (these two are so in love it’s sickening), an inkling of a size kink (but in my head joel’s at least 6’5, he’s a BIG big man in my brain), joel’s filthy mouth, praise kink, hint of sub!joel, nipple play, one use of the word ‘Daddy’ (moots don’t look at me I couldn’t help it), slight tummy kink/tummy worship, cum eating.  No use of Y/N. No physical descriptions of reader other than having hair long enough that it’s past her shoulders. 

word count: 3.1k

A/N: so, a few things before we get started. i’m new to writing fics and this is my first time publicly putting out a fic that wasn’t just for shits and giggles for my friends and i and i’m so fucking nervous like the amount of times i’ve panicked over this is a little embarrassing to admit but we ball. that being said, i love and welcome constructive criticism as long as you’re nice about it. there was an alternative version of this, it’s more like a deviation (literally sitting in my drafts as we speak) but reader is more involved in the situation, if y’all still wanna read that, just let me know and i’ll work on getting it out for you guys. finally, shout out to @skrunkly-scrimblo for encouraging me to actually write this all those months ago and for all your brilliant ideas and encouragement and practically holding my hand through it since day one, @aurasjournal for being such a gem and helping me with the cover for this fic and hyping me up, and thank you to @papurgaatika and @nevergoingbacknowshine for being so kind and encouraging and listening to my 3am rants when i was anxious. another big thank you to kat, aura, and naya for beta reading and helping me during the editing process. all four of you have been absolute sweethearts despite me being a pussy about posting this. okay i’m done rambling, enjoy some of the filth that constantly plagues my brain <3 

Joel’s eyes blink open slowly, the sun peeks into the bedroom through the curtains across the room. For a moment he searches for you beside him, but remembers you’ve already left for the day out on patrol duty. Joel harrumphs, still bothered over letting you and Ellie bully him out of his patrol duties. “You’ve been hurting yourself too much baby,” You had told him a few weeks ago over breakfast. “Yeah, you’re an old man now. You fall over one more time and you’re done.” Ellie snickers from her seat in the kitchen. Joel just rolled his eyes before turning his attention back to the dishes, but you had caught the small grin on his face when he turned his head back to the sink. Against the two of you, Joel never stood a chance.

Joel drags himself out of bed towards his dresser to grab a new set of clothes. He throws on a blue shirt that fits a little snug on his well built form, the thin material stretches over his broad shoulders, across his strong back, and pulls taut over his biceps and he grunts as he pulls a pair of dark wash jeans over his strong, thick thighs, securing them in place with a distressed leather belt that he’s had for years. Once he’s dressed, he takes in the mess in the room. He notices both of your clothes from the night before are still scattered around the room.  He bends down to pick them up, he grunts as his knees pop when he stands back up. He starts gathering them up to toss them into the hamper already overflowing with clothes. The last article of clothing out of place is yours. Your black lace panties on the armchair in the corner. He grabs them and his eyes widen when he feels it, the center still wet from him making you come earlier. His cock instantly hardened in his jeans.  

Joel turns on his heel and in just a few long strides he’s in your shared bathroom. He deliberately avoids the mirror, knowing that if he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror he’ll disgust himself even more. Briskly, he sets the laundry hamper on the tile near the bathtub. Joel brings the thin black lace up to his face, closes his eyes and he sniffs them, breathing you in completely. He groans at the scent of you. His cock painfully hard now. He knows he shouldn't but he can't help it. He’s addicted to you and he knows he can’t wait til you get home. He knows he can’t wait to have his way with you, dig into you any way that you will let him. So, without another second of hesitation, Joel unbuckles his belt, a clink from the metal hitting the edge of the counter, unzips his jeans and takes his thick, heavy cock out, and then brings your soaked panties to his angry, leaking tip. His precum meets the wetness of your panties and he hisses at the feeling. With the wetness of the gusset of your panties acting as a lubricant, Joel begins to slowly stroke himself, wanting to take his time, savoring every feeling, relishing in it. Joel soon becomes too desperate for release, he quickly loses control, his hips moving faster to fuck his hand, his hand tightening around his cock, the grip almost painful now. His eyes are screwed shut, as he throws his head back, the night before instantly replaying in his head.

He had just gotten out of the shower to find you sprawled out on your stomach on your side of the bed, ankles crossed in the air. He rakes his eyes over your form until his eyes land on your ass. You were wearing the panties he was currently fucking his hand with. You didn’t notice him stepping out of the bathroom, too busy looking at the photo album you had just put together. It’s relatively new, most of the pages empty, yet you were looking at the photos you had taken earlier that week at the Tipsy Bison. The one that had your attention was a photo of you and Joel that Ellie had taken. Neither of you looked at the camera, the photo had captured you mid-laugh, head tilting back, eyes shut, it was a full belly laugh at something Joel had said. Joel’s arm was around your shoulder tucking you into his side, smiling down at you, a rare type of smile, one reserved only for you. 

Leaning on the entryway, his arms crossed over his broad, tanned chest, he smiles at the view. You’re in nothing but your panties in his bed, in his home. His feet move without thinking, walking over to you. He brushes your hair over your shoulder, tracing his fingers over your soft supple skin down your back and over the lace of your panties, and lightly pinches your ass. “So pretty sweet baby,” he says shyly, almost like he’s speaking to himself. You turn your head to look up at him, smiling. Wordlessly, he took the photo album from your hands, placing it on your nightstand. He gets in the bed, carefully sitting on his knees while attempting to avoid loosening the off-white towel around his waist. You roll onto your back to face him, his silver curls still damp from the shower as water still drips onto his strong shoulders. He combs his hair back after a shower and the ends tend to curl up around his ears. It’s been months since you last cut his hair but you like his hair longer, you had whispered to him in the darkness of your bedroom, your naked, sweaty limbs tangled up together between his sheets. From that night on he hasn’t asked you to cut it for him. He likes it because you like it. 

While you’re busy ogling him, Joel’s hands immediately reach to trace the floral lace pattern before toying with the little satin black bow at the center front. His rough, calloused hands slide up your bare thighs, wrapping his large hands around your thighs and he pries open your legs, his hazel eyes locked in on your center like a bullseye and you notice the cocky smirk he’s got plastered on his face, pleased with himself that he’s already got you wet for him. 

He brings two thick fingers to slide over your covered cunt. He feels the wetness on the material and he pulls back to look up at you and finds your attention on his fingers. “What a mess you made, pretty girl,” he murmurs. You’re watching the movement of his fingers, entranced by his fingers teasing your pussy as he glides them up and down your slit. He clicks his tongue at you, “so wet for me huh baby? Always so wet for me. So perfect,” he smirks to himself as he gently pulls your panties to the side, revealing your aching, needy cunt. He lowers his head placing gentle kisses on the soft skin of your inner thigh, his lips tracing and peppering your skin all the way towards your center, his mouth hovering over the place you need him most and you shiver beneath him. 

“Joel,” you whisper, he chuckles seeing you all worked up for him. “Baby please,” you whimper. 

“What is it baby?” he tuts, “use your words, sweet girl,” he tilts his head slightly with a smug grin on his face. His fingers move up and down your folds. 

“N-need them inside me, p-please,” you whimper as you claw at his forearms, clutching them for stability. 

“Alright baby, lemme taste her first,” He lays flat on his stomach, moves his arms under your legs, and hoists them up over his broad shoulders. He lowers his mouth onto your cunt and the tip of his tongue licks through your folds. He hums at the sweet taste of you on his tongue. He flattens his tongue and licks a long thick stripe and he groans lowly, the vibrations making you squirm under him. 

“Fuck, more baby,” you beg. You gasp at the hook of his nose bumping your clit. Your hands fly to his hair, eyes closing swiftly, brows furrowed as you let out a loud moan. 

“There she is,” he smirks. He flicks his tongue over your clit. His eyes slip closed as he relishes in the noises leaving your mouth, like music to his ears. Your hips buck up into his face, selfishly grinding your cunt for more. Joel’s eyes flicker back up your face, “eyes on me sweetheart,” he murmurs. Your eyes snap open to watch him as he brings his fingers back up to your cunt, two thick fingers dip into you and you can hear the wet squelch as he eases his fingers in, simultaneously, he circles his tongue around your clit. He pumps his fingers slowly in and out of you, his tongue lapping at your cunt. You feel the pressure building up more intensely inside of your belly and then you’re chanting his name as he curls his fingers inside you, petting at the spongy spot he knows will break you. He closes his mouth around your clit and he sucks hard. 

“Fuck, Joel, yes yes,” Your hips bucking up into his face, your legs start to shake as you come on his face and your cunt tightening around his fingers, a loud strangled moan filling the air. 

“That’s my girl,” he says as he watches you gasp above him, pressing a quick kiss to your clit. Your eyes flutter open just in time to see him removing his fingers, all wet and shiny, and putting them in his slick covered mouth, sucking them clean. 

Softly, he grabs your ankles, pulling you down towards the edge of the bed eliciting a giggle. His favorite sound…well one of his favorites. His favorite being the next sound that comes out of your mouth when he quickly pulls your panties down. He sees the wet shine of your cum in the center and his face lights up with glee. “You made such a mess ‘a your panties, baby,” he tuts before tossing them across the room. He unties the towel from his waist and lets it fall and it pools around his legs, revealing his thick, heavy cock, the tip angry and beads of precum seeping out of the slit. You place your hands around your thighs, slowly pulling them apart, presenting your already spent pussy to him once again and he groans roughly.

He leans forward, his fingers running through your folds once more, and you quiver at his touch. He gathers your cum on his fingers and strokes himself twice before he dips the wide tip of his cock inside of you. A whine leaves your lips. That. That was his favorite sound. He doesn’t push in further… he doesn’t move an inch. He’s teasing you…wants you to ask nicely for it. Like clockwork his voice laced with honey he says “Ask for it baby, ask for my cock.” 

Desperate, you whine again “please joel… I need your cock.” Your needy fingers trail lightly over his soft belly, sitting up slightly, you place soft kisses from his belly button down to the dark patch of hair above his cock, his body trembles at the feeling of your lips ghosting over his belly and a breathy moan escapes his lips. He laces his fingers with yours, bringing your hands near your head, his large form encompassing your smaller frame, he lowers himself down over you, his lips brushing against yours. “Baby, please. Please fuck my pussy” you mewl. He pushes his cock deeper, deeper, and deeper til the head of his cock kisses your cervix, provoking a loud groan from him against your ear as he nestles himself into you, where he belongs. 

“See baby all you had to do was ask politely” Joel cooes. He drags his hips back, leaving only his tip inside you once again and you clench around him. “Fuck, goddamn you’re fucking tight,” he grits. Slowly he starts thrusting his tip in and out. 

You whine again, “Baby don’t be mean. I want all of it.” 

“Shh..I know baby, I know,” he soothes. Then in one long single thrust, he wedges his cock back inside of you to the hilt, bottoming out into your cunt, hitting the spot that only he knows with a loud ragged groan into the crook of your neck. His cock is stretching you out, feeling every twitch, he’s everywhere and it’s overwhelming. He hitches your legs up towards your chest, opening you up more, your chest pressed tightly against his, he drags the weight of his cock languidly between your slick, moaning at the wet sound of his balls slapping against your ass fills the room. 

When you look up at him it’s like you can see a lightbulb go off in his head and before you know it, Joel’s large hands grab the swell of your ass, he picks you up, and repositions you both so he’s on his back and has you sitting on his thick cock. He wants you to ride him. In this position you can feel him in the deepest parts of your belly and it hurts just a little bit but you find pleasure in it, you always have.  

Leaning forward, you place your hands on the headboard and arching your back a bit more, Joel's head falls back down onto the pillows. At the sudden change of the angle, his eyes shut for just a second before he’s snapping them right back open. He doesn’t want to miss a single thing. He wants to see it all.  He watches how your breasts bounce as you move and quickly, he leans up to catch a nipple in his mouth. He’s licking and sucking all over your pebbled nipple and then his teeth graze along the hardened peak before swiftly pulling it between his teeth. He moves onto the other and he flicks his tongue over your nipple, he sucks and nips at it lightly before he lets your tit fall from his mouth, admiring the slight bounce of your breast before his eyes lock in on your face, watching your face contort and your mouth open while you seek your high. It's his favorite thing, watching you like this. 

“Jesus Christ, look at you, you’re takin’ me so well,” he groans. 

The grip of his hands on your hips tightens but doesn’t guide you, just seeks some ounce of control. You lean forward more so your clit brushes ever so slightly against the dark patch of curls at his base. The friction makes you approach your orgasm quickly. Joel’s eyes flicker down to where you two are connected, taking pleasure in seeing his cock splitting you open, watching as it disappears deep inside of you. 

“That’s it, baby. Fuck….use me. Fuck yourself on daddy’s cock, atta girl,” You roll your hips faster, grinding harder on his cock, greedy and desperate to come again. “C’mon baby, come all over my cock.” 

His words and your clit repeatedly pressing against him make your hips stutter and you clench around him as your orgasm finally washes over you, harder than before. Your body goes limp on his chest. Joel doesn’t let up, he grabs your thighs and lifts his hips, relentlessly fucking his cock up into you. His cock slams into you so hard the wet slapping sound of your bodies fills the room. 

You turn your head and press your lips to his ear, nipping at his earlobe, you spur him on “c’mon Joel, come for me baby,” you softly rasp. “C’mon baby, for me, do it for me love,” you whisper and he whimpers, his thrusts becoming faster, more erratic. You bite down on his shoulder to muffle the whines that leave your mouth as he fucks into you harder, your walls tighten around him, his cock twitches inside you before he hastily pulls out with a long pained groan and with his cock between your bodies, his cum spurts out, thick and warm, coating his stomach. A moment passes and you lower your lips down his chest, feeling the rough edges of his skin underneath your lips as you pepper open mouthed kisses along his strong torso, the soft skin of his belly, over the jagged scar on his lower abdomen, all the way down his happy trail, you feel him shiver beneath you. 

You sit up on his thighs, locking your eyes with his, you bring your fingers down to his cum on his stomach. You look back up at him, your gaze meeting his as you swirl your fingers twice in his spend and bring your shiny, sticky coated fingers up to your mouth, closing your lips around your fingers, sucking them clean. His mouth agape, he’s staring back at you while you use your fingers to lick up his cum, “dirty girl, one’a these days you’re gonna gimme a heart attack woman,” he groans. 

The memory of it all…you riding him, your naked breasts bouncing, his cock impaling you, watching it disappear inside you over and over, your cunt clamping down around his cock and the echo of your moans as you came last night playing in his head sends him hurtling over the edge.

His cock twitches in his hand, his other hand slamming down on the counter, he groans your name raggedly and his thighs quiver as he comes hard into his fist, harder than he ever has when jerking himself off. He pumps his release into your panties, hot, thick ropes of his cum painting your panties. His cum spurting out seemingly endless for a man his age. 

If you were here in front of him he would pull the fabric up over your thighs, making you wear your cum filled panties before going about the rest of your day.

But you’re not here so instead he brings the cum soaked panties up to his face, eyeing his spend and your wetness for a moment. He stops himself and contemplates the idea in his head as he eyes the glistening sheen over the center. Just as quickly as the thought infiltrated his head, he decides against it and bunches up the thin material and tosses them in the old laundry basket sat in the corner of your shared bathroom. Joel tucks himself back into his jeans, washes his hands, limping slightly as he walks out of your bedroom and closes the door behind him leaving your laundry for another day.

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

just a little something for the darling @yournowheregirl to wake up to! it sounds kinda dumb and insignificant, but i always appreciate your tags in the fun tag games that come across your dash and for always being one of the first that ask something from those ‘ask me’ posts i reblog! it makes me feel appreciated and i am super grateful every time 🥰🫶🥹

There was meant to be two beds.

Steve specifically got a double king room for the goblins, and another room with two queens for him and Eddie.

So of course as soon as they got into Milwaukee the night before the D&D themed nerd fest, the (actually very nice) woman at the front desk says: “We had to swap around the rooms, but the two will still sleep all you boys, don’t worry!”

Whatever. That’s fine, right? They’ll all have a spot to sleep the next two nights they’re here for the kids’ (and Eddie’s) dragon game convention.

He gets back to their rented minivan and passes the key cards to Eddie in the passenger seat.

The van was just the first point of contention between him and the kids’ beloved Dragon Meister, followed closely by…everything else.

The first thing Eddie said when Steve showed up in the rented van was “King Steve is coming along on our journey?”, to which Steve could only respond with “This ‘super cool’ guy you assholes have been going on about this whole time is Eddie “The Freak” Munson? Really?”

Following closely behind are: the tapes and tapes of loud garbled ‘music’ Eddie insists on playing, his absolutely tragic way of unwrapping Steve’s burgers for him when they stop for lunch, the wariness Steve has in the first place about this being the guy Dustin wouldn’t stop talking so highly about…this nerdy, obnoxious, third-time senior…great.

“204 is the Hellions’ room, 207 is us.”

Eddie bends an arm backwards into the feral beast enclosure the second two rows have become over the last six hours and Steve’s surprised he still has his hand when it returns to the front.

Steve gets the van parked in the hotel’s garage, and they head up to their rooms.

“Alright, assholes,” he says to the somehow still rambunctious masses, “This is you guys, Make sure you’re up by eight so we—“

“Yeah Steve, we got it,” Dustin scoffs, “As if we’d risk being late to this.”

Steve rolls his eyes with a “Fine, goodnight.” and shuffles the few steps across the hall to his and Eddie’s door, leaving the troops to file into theirs.

The only thought in his head is of laying down and getting the fuck to sleep. It wasn’t even that late but—

“Oh you’ve got to be shitting me.”

So that’s what brings them here. To their one barely queen sized bed.

“I guess I’m on the floor then, huh?”

“I’m not about to let you sleep on the floor.”

“Oh, the King has chivalry does he?” Eddie rolls his eyes and throws his duffle onto the armchair in the corner.

“As much as you, asshole; I just want you to have the energy to corral the gremlins tomorrow.” Steve scrubs a hand down his face. “Look, we’ll just deal with it tonight and I’ll get another room tomorrow.” he lies. As if he’s got the cash for that.

Eddie looks him over, and seems to come to whatever conclusion he needs to because he says “Fine, but you better not be a blanket hog.”

Eddie’s the worst blanket hog Steve’s ever had the displeasure of knowing.

He thought Robin was bad, but this is something else.

Eddie’s fully a burrito within an hour of laying down. After a hearty, but silent, game of tug of war over the worn duvet.

Steve falls asleep angry and cold, and wakes up on a cloud.

He’s so warm and so entangled in the comforter, he can’t help but snuggle deeper into the pillow he’s clutched onto.

The pillow hums back at him and scoots itself under his chin with a sigh.

Steve squeezes tighter onto the pillow momentarily, but his curiosity of why his pillow’s making noise gets the better of him.

He cracks his eyes open, looking down at the thing in his arms.

It shifts as well, and Eddie Munson blinks up at him with those (holy shit…beautiful, deep, dark) doe eyes of his.

“Hi.” Steve breathes.

Eddie’s eyes flutter shut, and shuffles himself back into Steve’s neck.

Steve chooses to blame the still sleepy bit of him for curving himself back around Eddie.

“How’d you sleep?” Steve whispers into the now-bared hairline under the other man’s bangs.

“Fucking amazing…” Eddie mumbles, snaking an arm over Steve’s waist and settling a hand in the middle of his back. “How ‘bout you, Stevie?”

“Stevie, huh?” Steve chuckles.

It’s only then that Eddie seems to come to his senses, his head shooting up before he scrambles away, falling straight onto his back between the opposite side of the bed and the wall with an “Oof!” and a “Fuck!”

“Oh shit!” Steve shuffles off the bed and helps Eddie back up, ”You alright, Eds?”

“Yeah..yeah, I’m fine..” Steve gets Eddie back on his own two feet and (reluctantly) lets him go once he’s stable.

‘Reluctantly? Why reluctantly? What the hell??’

“Sorry I was all over you, not the greatest thing to wake up to, huh?” Eddie says, huffing a sardonic laugh under his breath.

Steve hums nonchalantly, “It wasn’t all bad, I slept pretty fucking amazing too.”

Eddie hums an acknowledgment, then: “I wouldn’t—“ Eddie starts at the same time Steve says “I should—“

“You go ahead,”

Eddie’s hands come up between them, spinning the rings on his fingers nervously. “I was going to say that…I.. Iwouldn’tmindifyoustayedtonight..too.”

Steve blinks. “Good thing I was going to say that I really should save my money.”

Eddie’s smile is slightly nervous, but there’s a hopeful tinge to it that Steve can only assume means what he thinks it does (hopes it does).

“Leaves me with more to spend on the Gremlins, right?” he shrugs.

Eddie beams. “Glad to know we’re on the same page, Harrington.”

also, if you haven’t heard it recently: Alice, YOU’RE DOING AMAZING SWEETIE 🤩

[blackcoffeeofmelancholy]

the brothers protect you from another demon

words: 4273

warnings: depictions of blood and violence, implied sexual assault, and dark themes

notes: I'm reuploading my previous work from my old blog, so I have everything in one place. I still have sequels to Mammon's and Leviathan's parts I have outlined and plan to write one day. And I'm slowly working on some new stuff when my brain allows me to lol.

As always, I apologize for any spelling or grammatical errors that may have gone unnoticed. Thank you to those who take the time to read and comment on my work; it’s greatly appreciated ♥

LUCIFER

An unusual quiet fills the school, the halls empty. Lucifer appreciates the peace despite working after hours, the only sound that of his quill against parchment. Typically, he opts to retreat to his office after class; today he decides to stay behind while you attend your private study session. Unlike his brothers—save Satan—your grades are acceptable, aside from one class that is lowering your grade point average. He wishes to tutor you himself, unfortunately, his current workload is far greater than he’s accustomed to, completely monopolizing his free time. The least he can do is wait for you in the student council room and escort you home, allowing him to enjoy your company, although fleeting. He values every second he’s able to delight in your presence, your smile a light in the darkness of the Devildom, and the brush of your hand causing his heart to flutter, temporarily satisfying his temptations.

Collecting his belongings, he awaits your arrival, staring at the door in longing. However, you never appear, the minutes ticking by at an agonizing pace. He frowns, checking his D.D.D. in the event you messaged him—nothing. Perhaps the lecture is running over time . . . A cry cuts through the silence, true unadulterated fear chilling him to the bone and stealing the breath from his lungs. He recognizes your voice, the sound of your panic causing him to spiral, his usual composure lost to the demonic aura ominously swirling about him, wings drawn out and raised in all their glory. The frantic beating of his heart pounds in his ears as he rushes down the corridor, pulling the classroom door off its hinges and tossing it aside to reveal the sinful scene before him. You lay feebly on the desk, struggling to free yourself, your nails biting into the professor’s skin. Their hand covers your mouth, muffling your screams, and the demon is grinning, pleasure dancing in their eyes. Lucifer sees red.

The stern call of his name grounds him in reality. He turns to meet Diavolo’s solemn gaze, the prince commanding him to stand down. Lucifer is indignant, hesitating to follow orders, yet he relents with a bow of his head. Blood splatters the walls and floor, the demon’s body lying motionless at his feet, limbs dangling at awkward angles and an arm precariously thrown across the room. He’s certain his actions are justifiable, but a part of him is overcome with shame at his loss of control. Glancing in your direction, he feels a swell of pride knowing he protected you—the most important person in his life; what wouldn’t he do to ensure your happiness? He entrusts the aftermath to Diavolo, eager to return to the House of Lamentation where he keeps you in his sight. Thankfully, your injuries are minor, it’s the shock that leaves you trembling in his arms. To his satisfaction, you stay in his embrace the remainder of the night into the morning, leaning into his gentle touches and kisses against your brow. No demon will harm you again; that’s a promise he’s sure to keep.

MAMMON

Mammon takes pleasure in the high gambling provides him, unable to curb his addiction much to his brothers’ frustration. They berate him for his losses, though there are times he emerges victorious, amassing a decent amount of Grimm behind their backs. Today the Great Mammon feels generous, inviting you to hang out after class. It’s the start of the weekend, and he craves your company, wanting to steal you away from his brothers. Knowing he has you all to himself leaves him giddy, his excitement evident in the blush spreading across his cheeks, the heat traveling down his neck and straight to his heart. When you smile, he can hardly breathe, awkwardly avoiding your gaze in an attempt to collect his bearings. His act of indifference is steadily falling to pieces, the Avatar of Greed practically melting at the warmth of your hand in his, threading your fingers together. He can’t deny the happiness you bring him, his gaze softening as you eagerly thank him, looking at him in adoration. Sure, he’s greedy, but he enjoys treating you, preferring your love to the Grimm in his pockets.

The streets are quiet, stars shining overhead and lighting the path home. Disappointment wells inside him the closer you get to the House of Lamentation, desperately wishing the night could last forever. Perhaps it’s selfish of him, however, his desire grows the longer you’re together, fanning the fire that threatens to consume him. He stops, turning to glance at you. It’s easy to imagine himself holding you against him, his hand on your cheek, gently tilting your head up to catch your lips in a kiss. Instead, he rests his hands on your shoulders, mouth unbearably dry, his confidence shaken the moment you lock eyes. Slowly, he leans forward, closing the distance between you only to hear you scream his name. He’s on the ground before he can react, confusion and panic clouding his thoughts. A growl escapes him, wings snapping into place on impulse, and his demonic aura shifting around him threateningly. Anger, hot and intense, swelters below the surface at the sight of you at another demon’s mercy, struggling to free yourself of their grip, nails biting into and breaking your skin. Your panicked expression physically pains him, his mind racing, assessing the situation.

Initially, he’s overcome with the urge to kill, poised to attack and tear the pathetic demon limb by limb, their cries music to his ears. Yet he hesitates, cursing the bastard for using you to their advantage, your body their shield; he can’t put your life at risk. He feels helpless, repulsed by such a display of weakness. How can you call him your protector when he fails to keep you safe? If he’s so great, why is he the one backed into a corner, sensing the fear that clings to you and now overwhelms his senses? He regards the demon warily, exchanging his wallet for you, briefly mourning the loss. They grab your wallet as well as the shopping bags, disappearing into the shadows with their spoils. Mammon considers hunting them down and personally showing them how hellish the Devildom can be, vowing their crimes won’t go unpunished. Despite the rage still boiling within him, he wraps you in his arms, nearly in tears as he breathes in your scent. His apology dies in his throat at the gentle touch of your hands cupping his face, drawing him into a kiss, your lips trembling against his. You’re irreplaceable. His world. He can’t envision life without you.

LEVIATHAN

It’s not often Leviathan leaves the comfort of his bedroom, venturing out into the Devildom, though he makes an exception for you. Most of your time together is spent playing video games or watching anime. Your constant reassurance eases his mind at the moment, yet he can’t help worrying you’ll tire of what he has to offer. Compared to his brothers, he’s pathetic, a gross otaku who is undeserving of your love and attention. He doubts himself, finding it difficult to ignore the voice in his head telling him he’s worthless, wishing he could be as suave as Lucifer or as smooth as Mammon. Why do you give him the time of day? Asking you to accompany him took all the courage he could muster, and now he wonders if he made the right choice. He wants to return the favor, bringing you the same joy you bring him, a bright light in the darkness that envelopes him. Loneliness no longer plagues him, and he finally feels understood—accepted—but does he take more than he gives?

The aquarium is scenic, your eyes widening in wonder while he tells you about the Devildom’s sea creatures, smiling fondly at a colorful school of fish as they swim past. He planned your date with painstaking precision, initially proud of himself; now he’s uncertain. Of course, he’s enjoying the aquarium, reminded of the ocean. He pictures the gentle flow of the waves washing to shore, and the salty breeze tousling his hair, soothing his nerves. You seem happy—are you? Afterward, he takes you to a nearby café. Seated outside, the weather pleasant, he glances at you, trying to gauge your expression. He can’t help thinking how incredibly cute you are, swallowing thickly as he reaches over to grab your hand. His heart is pounding. Surely you can feel the sweat on his palm, but you don’t pull away, leaning forward. He could kiss you, instead, he blushes, wishing he could hide in shame the second you frown. Ready to apologize for being a spineless coward, he hesitates, the sound of laughter drawing his gaze to the table behind you.

A couple of demons leer in your direction, snickering loudly. Your hand trembles in his, and he can see the way their words wound you, each scornful comment a critical hit to your self-esteem. They call you pathetic, a disgusting human who’s tarnished the Devildom’s image—you don’t belong here, especially not at the Avatar of Envy’s side. He stands, confronting the demons. Leviathan is a stuttering mess, his anxiety rising, but he’s determined to defend your honor. You grab his arm, reassuring him it’s alright; the demons are amused. They mockingly apologize, making a point to bump into you as they leave, sending you and your drink to the ground. The look of dejection on your face crushes him. Before he knows it, he’s summoned Lotan, flooding the streets. Luckily, his tail is wound securely around your waist, anchoring you to him so you aren’t washed away in the chaos. He brings you closer, pulling you into an awkward hug. Your date is ruined; he can’t recover from this. He apologizes profusely, hoping you don’t hate him. Are you okay? Is there anything you need? Anything he can do?  He’s stunned when you wrap him in your arms, pressing a light kiss to his lips. Head spinning, he sucks in a breath and kisses you back. He loves his Henry, and no one hurts you and gets away with it.

SATAN

Although he’s the embodiment of wrath, Satan is calm and complacent in your company, your soothing aura bringing him an inner peace that eluded him in the past. The day is perfect, the quiet of the bookstore with you by his side his ideal date. Your brows knit in concentration as you flip through a book, and he stifles a laugh, gazing at you affectionately. He’s drawn to you, the light of your soul mesmerizing him, leaving him breathless. A demon of knowledge, he resigns himself to the fact love is unexplainable, no longer questioning how a human managed to capture his heart; he welcomes the feeling, the fire you ignited burning relentlessly. You shelve the book, and he takes your hand in his, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, lips curling against your skin into a satisfied smile at your blush. He pulls you into his embrace, thankful to have you in his life. The world was a dark place before you entered it, desolate and chaotic; now it is nothing but a distant memory.

Taking advantage of the bookstore’s café, he stands in line while you look for a table. The smell of freshly brewed coffee wafts about him, and he eyes the pastries on display, deciding to surprise you with a sweet treat that will compliment your drink. When he turns to find you, you’re gone. Your D.D.D. lays abandoned on a table in the corner, no sign of you, his gaze flitting back and forth, scouring his surroundings. He waits, hoping you’ll reappear. Doubt begins to weave its way into his mind, a surge of adrenaline driving him to wander into the labyrinth of shelves, his anger and impatience growing the longer you’re not next to him—safe and sound. He comes across a trail of blood, his heart dropping. How could he leave you alone, vulnerable to the evils that still plague the Devildom? The bookstore gave him a false sense of security, becoming a place he could rely on to escape. Yet not for a human such as yourself, demons prowling in plain sight, considering you prey to hunt. 

In the backroom, he hears your cries. To say he’s furious is an understatement, he’s beyond livid, repulsed by the hand around your neck, and the tongue of the demon trailing down your neck to taste your blood. The remnants of the self-restraint he clung to relent to a blinding rage exploding within him, electrifying the atmosphere. Wrath consumes him, knowing no bounds. You’re protected in his arms, the building in flames once he regains control, the mangled body of the demon lost to the inferno. It’s a shame, he thinks, that the books must perish along with them—innocent victims of his bloodlust. Nevertheless, you’re alive, face buried in his chest. He’s sorry he foolishly let his guard down, putting you in harm’s way and forcing you to bear witness to the true powers of the Avatar of Wrath. Satan expects you to fear him. However, you allow him to tend to your injuries upon your return to the House of Lamentation. He’s gentle, wishing he could rid you of your pain, but he’s a truly demonic being, only capable of hurting you further. Your hand on his catches his attention, coaxing him into bed with you, giving him a sliver of hope. Holding you in the darkness, he tells you he loves you more than anyone or anything and promises to protect you—always.

ASMODEUS

Asmodeus takes pleasure in the praise of his adoring fans, their compliments and gifts are one of the best parts of his day. He craves their undivided love and attention, enjoying the feel of their eyes on him, enraptured by his ethereal beauty. There are demons who vigorously pursue him, going to great lengths to capture his heart, though it belongs to you, skipping a beat each time the thought of you enters his mind. He notices the jealous gazes that fall upon you as they wish they stood at his side instead, fantasizing they’re the object of his affection, not you. No one can replace you; his love for you is unrivaled. However, he finds their envy entertaining, relishing the fact he’s so passionately sought after, fanning the flames of desire. Demons stare heatedly at the two of you, the lights of The Fall accentuating his radiance; he’s a diamond, positively glowing. 

Snaking an arm about your waist, he draws you close to whisper how adorable you look, his lips brushing against your ear. Your skin is warm and your mouth parts in a breathy sigh the moment he kisses you, hands sliding beneath your shirt to rest at the small of your back. He can feel your heart racing as you shyly touch him, your innocence captivating the Avatar of Lust. Temptation urges him to lead you away from prying eyes, appreciating all his human has to offer in privacy, until he tastes blood on his tongue, choking on the bitterness of it. Pulling away, he barely manages to catch you, dismayed by the gaping wound now marring your flesh. Through his tears, he glares at the demon that stands behind you, fingers wound tightly around the hilt of a blade tainted by your blood. They declare their undying love for him, expressing relief and happiness at getting rid of the competition—they hurt you to get to him. Asmodeus wants nothing more than to escape the Hell he’s forced to endure, for once resenting any love that’s not yours.

The club comes to a standstill. His anger is tangible, hanging thickly in the air, the crowd watching in awe at the dark beauty that is Asmodeus, wings arching gracefully and the sweet scent of roses encircling him, entrancing those in his presence. He begrudgingly leaves your side, promising to return, chest tightening at the sight of you, his poor fragile human. The demon is on their knees, proclaiming their love so all can hear. His stomach churns in disgust; he’s heard enough. Wrenching the knife out of their grip, he drives it straight into their heart, watching their body drop to the ground. He carefully gathers you in his arms, walking into the cool Devildom night. The breeze tousles your hair, moonlight shining on your eerily pale face. Holding you as if his life depends on it, he makes the excruciating trek back to the House of Lamentation, praying this nightmare comes to an end. He’s beyond grateful your injuries aren’t fatal, yet he continues to sob, crawling into bed next to you. In the darkness of your room, he tells you you’re loved, apologizing, hoping you’ll forgive him once you awake.  

BEELZEBUB

Beelzebub smiles to himself, taking pleasure in the delectable aroma of the lavish meal spread before him. Hunger overwhelms the Avatar of Gluttony, the emptiness filling his stomach particularly strong following an exhausting but rewarding workout. Hell’s Kitchen never fails to satiate his appetite, and your company proves to be the cherry on top, his eyes catching yours from across the room while you tend to the customers, causing his grin to widen in unbridled joy. He considers himself lucky to have you as his server, giving him the chance to talk to you when you stop by his table. A blush warms his cheeks at your touch, your fingers brushing along his lips to wipe away the crumbs on his face. He laughs, and you smile in return; he wishes to taste the sweetness of it, the craving difficult to ignore.

Gathering his used plates, he watches you disappear behind the kitchen doors, absentmindedly shoving a forkful of food into his mouth. He hums happily, wondering what he’ll order for dessert, drool dribbling down his chin as his thoughts return to you, the sweetest treat in the restaurant—no—the entire Devildom. Angry shouts startle him, and he nearly chokes, glancing up to see you thrown into the wall, dishes and food strewn about the floor. A demon hovers above you menacingly, your apologies drowned out by their incessant shrieking; Beelzebub’s fork clatters to his feet at the commotion. His demonic instincts take possession of him, the table overturning the second he stands, wings propelling him forward until he wedges himself between you and the lowly demon he glowers down at, their bones shattering after they connect with the hardened muscles of his abs. Beelzebub growls.

The demon pleads for forgiveness, though Beelzebub is merciless, enjoying the satisfying pop of their arm dislodging from the socket as he pulls them back and throws them through the wall, leaving behind a gaping hole in the building; a heavy silence hangs in the air, the patrons and staff avoiding his gaze. Dust settles around them, the aftershocks making the ceiling lamps sway, and the door fall off its hinges. He pays no mind, gently picking you up to hold you protectively against his chest. Your body trembles, bloody cuts and scrapes covering your skin, yet you look at him in adoration, showering him with words of gratitude. He chuckles, merely thankful you’re safe in his arms; he’s not planning to let you go any time soon either. Stepping over the debris, he escorts you home, carefully tending to your injuries in the privacy of your room where the two of you whisper your love for one another. His hunger is long forgotten, replaced by an unusual fullness as he kisses you, his heart overflowing with emotion.

BELPHEGOR

Belphegor’s heart stops when he hears you scream out in pain, falling to the floor at his feet. On instinct, he kneels beside you, arms pulling you into his protective embrace. He barely registers his own voice echoing in his ears, choking on your name in his desperation and fear. Blood stains your skin and his hands, slipping through trembling fingers despite his best efforts to staunch the flow. Your body grows limp, losing its familiar warmth, and his hope begins to vanish with it, the crushing weight of emptiness snaking its way into his soul. His gaze trails over the dark bruises on your neck to the blood at the corner of your mouth, tears clouding his vision and dampening your cheeks the moment he feels your pulse fade out under his touch. 

Despair consumes him, his cries turning into howls of rage that shake the walls and shatter windows, unadulterated demonic energy rolling off him in waves. Looking up into the arrogant face of the demon who murdered you without mercy, he stiffens upon finding his own eyes staring back at him, an impish smile contorting his features. Your blood is on his hands, beneath his nails, splattered across his clothes. His doppelganger laughs at his stunned expression, tail flicking in amusement. Belphegor wonders if this is what you saw the day you freed him, the thought leaving him nauseated. Growling, he lunges forward to wipe that disgusting smirk from his lips as he wraps his hands around the Avatar of Sloth’s neck, tightening his grip until the bones give way, body sagging in defeat. He deserves far worse for hurting you. 

The sound of his name diverts his attention, the world melting away around him, and he blinks in the dim light of the attic. Your face comes into focus above him, brows furrowed in worry. It takes him a second to gather his bearings, realizing your gentle fingers are wiping away his tears and brushing back his hair, his chest constricting at the sight of you alive. Sitting up, he draws you against him, savoring the heat of your body. He’s relieved when you simply hold him in return, allowing him to sob into the crook of your neck. Belphegor wants to apologize, to thank you for giving him a second chance although he never earned it, yet the words die on his tongue. Instead, he kisses you, pouring every ounce of the love he holds for you into the gesture. No one will hurt you again; that’s a promise he intends to keep.

[vanillacreambunny]

dottore x reader

genre: fluff

words: 604

warnings: none

notes: the cold weather inspired me to write this. Just something short and sweet. As always, I apologize for any spelling or grammatical errors that may have gone unnoticed. Thank you to those who take the time to read and comment on my work; it’s greatly appreciated ♥

One would assume you’d grown accustomed to the harsh Snezhnayan winters by now, and yet you find yourself woefully unprepared as you step out into the cold, which seeps beneath your layers and into your bones. Each breath burns your lungs, and by the time you reach your destination your hands and legs are numb, and your nose is running, snow dusting your shoulders and catching in your hair. 

Lord Pantalone, with that sickeningly sweet smile on his face, places a handkerchief in your hands as he passes you, exiting through the door you came through. He disappears before you can utter your gratitude, and the next moment, the Doctor himself is wrenching the handkerchief from your grasp, wiping your nose himself despite your protests, his expression unreadable. 

“I expect better of you,” he drawls, tossing the handkerchief into the fire crackling in the hearth; you watch it succumb to the heat of the flames, wondering how much Mora burns before you.  

The thought is fleeting, however, as you bask in their warmth, snowflakes melting on your wind-chapped cheeks. You slip your gloves off, shoving them into your pockets—not before Dottore gives a disappointed click of his tongue at the sight of the threadbare material, the palms worn, and the seams coming undone, his disapproval palpable. 

He takes your hands in his own, turning them over in silent scrutiny. “Good. You’re still of use to me. No signs of frostbite,” he hums, every brush of his fingers against your skin sending your heart rate higher. “Consider yourself lucky, though remember that your foolishness will catch up to you one day if you are not careful.” 

“Yes, my—” 

His hands close around yours, rubbing warmth into your fingers, and causing your breath to hitch in your throat. Heat rushes through your body from his touch, and all you can do is pray he believes your trembling is a result of the lingering cold—nothing more. You notice how large his hands are in comparison, his fingers rough and calloused after years of working with them, your eyes tracing the pale scars that run like rivers through the valleys of his knuckles. 

Goosebumps run up your arms and down your neck when he purses his lips and blows, so close to kissing the tips of your fingers. Your gaze flickers from his mouth to his masked face, and although you cannot see his eyes, you feel them on you. He smirks, giving you a glimpse of pointed teeth as he chuckles, low and infectious. You can’t help but smile in return, regarding him with a tilt of your head and a kind expression. 

“About time, assistant,” comes a gruff voice, the door slamming open with enough force to rattle the hinges.  

You pull your hand away, taking a step back and bumping into Dottore, or at least one of his many segments, his red eyes narrowed in your direction and hands on his hips. “You know I don’t take kindly to such insolence. Perhaps I should experiment on you today as punishment.” 

“Please,” Dottore scoffs. “You and I both know you wouldn’t dare. Besides, I can vouch for her tardiness, lest you forget your place.” 

The segment frowns, huffing in indignance, and turns around without a second glance. “Come along then. We’ve wasted enough time.”  

You nod, following after your master, but first, you turn to Dottore once more.   

“Thank you,” you whisper—your voice loud in the quiet of his study—before slipping out of his sight, that grin of his etched into your memory and keeping you warm the remainder of the day. 

[noellewrxtes]

why no more of tupelo blues snippet?

hi anon! thank you for asking! unfortunately, i have very little free time in my personal life at the moment and not a whole lot of spare time left for writing. i also have a bunch of different wips i'm juggling so when i do have time to write i'm not necessarily working on tupelo blues.

all of that said, i'm really happy that you were interested enough to ask and it's been a while since i've posted a snippet anyway so i dug through my drafts and found this flashback scene that i like a lot and i hope you do as well! <3

Itachi crept in just after three o'clock, more than an hour after the funeral had ended and Shisui had locked himself away to be miserable in peace. He cracked the door open and knocked softly on the door frame to announce his presence, eyes watching Shisui warily like he wasn't sure if he was entirely welcome and Shisui kind of hated himself for even making it a question. 

He sighed and pushed himself into a sitting position. "Hey, what's up?" 

"Should I leave?" 

Guilt reared up within Shisui's chest, though he knew that wasn't Itachi's intention. It lingered there nonetheless, tinging his words with weariness as he answered, "No, you don't have to." 

"But should I?" 

Another wave of guilt crashed over him, this one stronger. "No," Shisui promised, exhaling his exhaustion into the air between them. "No, you shouldn't."  

Itachi's brows pulled together just slightly and his gaze watched Shisui in concern, but he stepped inside and pulled the door shut behind him, the handle making a soft click as the door settled into its frame. Itachi leaned back against it, leaving an entire room full of space between them but, god, if it didn't feel like more and, god, if Shisui wouldn't give his right arm to know how to close that gap. He didn't know. He didn't feel like he knew much of anything right then, but he knew he wanted Itachi to stop looking at him like he might bite if he wasn't careful.

Shisui held out a hand for him and looked up with tired eyes. "Come here?" 

There was a moment, brief as it was, where Itachi gazed at him with caution in his eyes and Shisui thought he was going to say no and it was going to absolutely fuck him up when he did. But he didn't--he nodded his head and pushed himself up from the door, crossed the room carefully until he was within reach and Shisui could draw him slowly, ever so gently, into a loose embrace. Itachi stood above him, running a hand through his curls, and he didn't ask Shisui where he had been or why he hadn't responded to any of his texts and that kind of made it all worse. 

In all honesty, Shisui wasn't really sure he had an explanation to give, anyway. Instead he looked up at Itachi from his seat with sad eyes and said, "I'm sorry." 

Itachi, determined to prove yet again that he was a better person than Shisui deserved, hummed and pulled Shisui's head into his stomach comfortingly. "Don't be." 

And Shisui buried his face into the fabric of Itachi's shirt and squeezed him tight and didn't cry. 

[lynxgriffin]

Eldritchrune - Parasite Problem

1 | 2 | 3

Story Setup Eldritchrune Masterpost

After Susie is severely injured in a major battle, Kris elects to take on a very difficult and dangerous task to help her out with a smaller problem.

PHEW this comic has felt like it's been taking me forever to do, and I've still got more left to finish, but hopefully all the rest goes smoothly!

[izukuszn]

𝟗:𝟐𝟑 𝐚.𝐦

“Baby?” Someone lightly shakes your shoulder, but you only groan in response, clutching at the covers and pulling them further up your body. 

“Wake up, sleepy head,” the voice says, a bit louder this time, laced with amusement. When they rub at your shoulder, hard enough to rouse you but still gentle, you lazily open an eye, revealing Satoru, sitting on the side of the bed. 

The blinds are pulled open behind him, early morning sunlight pouring in, highlighting the edges of his hair. He’s not wearing any eye-coverings, so you get to see him in all his glory, azure eyes set on you. His skin crinkles in the corners as he gives you a soft smile. “How’s my angel?” He asks, leaning down to place a lingering kiss on your forehead, brushing your hair back with a warm hand.

You pout, grumpy that he’s woken you up, but pleased that he’s the first thing you saw when you opened your eyes. “Mornin’,” you say.

“Good morning. ‘Missed you.” Satoru’s hand settles on the side of your face, thumb stroking your skin as he talks. “You’ve been sleeping for too long, there’s only so much you can dream about when all you need is right in front of you, you know.”

Laughing, you sit up, sheets pooling at your waist, and you reach over to envelop him in a cozy hug as a greeting. You feel him sniff your hair, nose at your neck, rub his large palms up and down your back. Slowly, he maneuvers you back down and settles on top of you, making sure to keep half of his weight on the mattress so you’re not crushed. He ends up with his head resting on your chest, his arms wrapped around you, tangled with you and the sheets. His palms are warm, crawling underneath your shirt to feel your bare skin. 

You place your own arms around his shoulders, one of your hands carding through his pillowy hair. You close your eyes as he invades your senses, content to just lay like this. To bask in this morning with him, knowing that you’re here together. That you’ve been granted this luxury, at least for today. 

“Is someone feeling clingy?” You tease. 

He whines, burying further into you. “So mean to me, baby. What did I ever do to deserve this?”

Giggling, you place a kiss on the crown of his head, and you can hear him sigh against you, satisfied with your affection. 

“Love you, ‘Toru,” you say. You mean it more than anything. 

He momentarily brings his face up for a kiss, grinning at you in that lovesick way that does terrible things to your heart. “I love you too,” he responds, then giving you another. 

The two of you lay there, content to love each other, and enjoy this moment. 

[windmills123]

on my puter :3

[operator-report]

In middle school, I read a short story for English class called Flowers for Algernon. Maybe you’ve read it, too. In the story, a disabled man named Charlie is given a medicine that cures his disability. Over the course of the story, he comes to realize that his “cure” is temporary and that he will “regress” into being disabled again. The story makes it clear that this is a tragedy. As a disabled teenager when I first read it, the story affected me deeply.

I’d like to talk about David and Noelle. 

Content warnings for discussion of suicide, self-harm, ableism and eating disorders below the cut. Spoilers for Worm through arc 27. 

When I was first reading arc 18, one of the things that stuck out to me is how much time the story spends on Eidolon. For me, it was the first time I paid much attention to him - prior to that, Eidolon was just an extremely powerful background character to me. But in arc 18, we learn that (1) Eidolon is losing his powers and (2) he believes that fighting Echidna will allow him to tap into some sort of reservoir to bring them back.

We find this out, of course, through Tattletale exposing him, which is always an extremely embarrassing event for Tattletale’s target. It makes it extremely clear that what Eidolon is doing is pathetic. He is going to kill a teenage girl so he can feel something. 

Which would be messed up enough, right? We don’t need to make this even worse, right? Wrong. Because Wildblow has spent the last several thousand words building up the Case 53s as X-Men style metaphors for oppressed groups, and one of the forms of oppression that Wildblow generally writes well is ableism. I think you can consider most, if not all of the Case 53s as disabled in some way. I think the link is extremely clear with Noelle.

Noelle doesn’t get her powers from traditional Cauldron human experimentation - at least, not directly. Instead, she and Krouse are facing what is, to them, a no-win scenario. They’re quarantined with limited access to medical care. Breaching this quarantine would permanently render them criminals. If Noelle survives her surgery, which is a pretty big if, she’ll become disabled, in a way that both Krouse and Noelle agree is ugly and undesirable. She won’t be able to do “boyfriend-girlfriend stuff” because she won’t be “any good to look at, after.” 

Krouse and Noelle are terrified of death, yes, but they’re also terrified of disability. They are desperate for control over Noelle’s body, control that, as of that moment, only the state has. (Remember the quarantine?) Krouse pressures Noelle into drinking the vial. Noelle is cured. 

Noelle’s cure does not last. In attempting to assert control, her body becomes uncontrollable. Her body is her trauma and her eating disorder made literal. She still needs care.

Worm would be bad if this is why her life sucks. But Worm does something better, instead. Noelle goes through hell, not just due to the sheer difficulty of having her power, but because of the way her teammates and Coil treat her. They talk about Noelle like she’s already dead. They’re ashamed of bringing her the food she needs. When Krouse “includes” Noelle in a discussion in arc 12, it’s mostly perfunctory. They do not believe Noelle is human any longer. They lock her away.

Noelle doesn’t want to be put in a cage. Noelle doesn’t want to be dehumanized. In interlude 18, when we get insight into Noelle’s thoughts, we learn that what Noelle is angry about is the fact that Krouse locked her in a concrete bunker and placated her. When she tells people not to look at her, there’s a coda to that sentence that she doesn’t get to verbalize: don’t look at me like that. 

This is the person who Eidolon is going to kill. 

Via the Simurgh, this is a person Eidolon has unknowingly created.

A few thousand words of Worm go by. It’s Gold Morning. Eidolon is fighting Scion. Now, at the end of the book, we finally get substantial insight into David, the man behind the mask. 

David takes a Cauldron vial to cure his disability. David sees this as the only way out, after an unsuccessful application to join the military, and then, an unsuccessful suicide attempt. David is bearing an immense amount of shame and internalized ableism. David is worried that father’s friends are watching him. (Don’t look at me.) David cleaves the world into two kinds of people: those who can have jobs, who are liked and respected because they are useful; and people like him, who are useless.

It’s a terrible way to think. Without that worldview, how could a person not take the vial? David wants to be used, because David wants to be useful. He never gets the independence he craves – not when he’s in that level of debt to Cauldron – but he gets to be useful, and that’s one of the best things you can be.

Like Noelle’s, like Charlie’s in Flowers, David’s cure doesn’t work. His abilities are wearing off. He is essentially told, when Doctor Mother administers his booster shots, that his medicine is too expensive. 

Cauldron creates Noelle. David, as Cauldron’s soldier, has a role to play in her creation. David knows exactly what he is doing to Noelle. It happened to him. Worm fandom talks a lot about David being a father. He’s a father in more ways than one. (David’s father is always watching him.) (Don’t look at me.)

Cauldron never cures David’s ableism. In his world, you can be useful, or you can die. David asks Noelle if she wants to win. Noelle tells him no. You can have a job, or you can kill yourself. When David tries to kill Noelle to help himself, isn’t that a mercy?

Of course it isn’t. It goes without saying that all of this is extremely fucked up. When it comes to disability, “cure” is a complicated concept. I’m not going to get into all the ways it can be treated; this post is already a thousand words long. But I do think that Worm, through Noelle and David and the concept of the Cauldron vial, provides an extremely vivid picture of the problems with cure. 

Under ableist logic, when you have a disability, a cure is something you’re expected to want. Without it, the story goes, you can’t be useful. You can’t do boyfriend-girlfriend stuff. The expectation is social, like the act of staring. Your desire for it should drive how you organize your life – it is control, like a quarantine. David is crushed by that expectation. He throws his lot in with Cauldron, the cure-makers. The expectation is passed along to Noelle, and even though David can recognize that inheritance, he cannot imagine any other way to respond to it other than attempted murder.

At the beginning of this post, I mentioned that Flowers for Algernon is a tragedy. The reason that story has stuck with me so long is that I keep going back and forth as to why. Is it a tragedy because Charlie goes back to being disabled? There’s a good chance that’s what the author intended. I don’t know. It would be a pretty shitty story if that were the case. Is it a tragedy because people only treat Charlie well when he’s “cured,” and when that stops, he’ll go back to abuse? Seems plausible. I don’t think there’s one right answer. Regardless, when you’re disabled, there’s an immense pressure to seek out a cure, and a cognizable loss when it is withheld. The fact that Worm captures that social pressure and social loss so well is extremely compelling for me, and I’m going to be thinking about these characters for a long time.

[chocoenvy]

ok but like

imagine a sagau au where the reader isn't recognized by the acolytes

but they aren't being hunted down by them either

and in this au looking like the creator isn't a sin it just warrants a "damn must be truly blessed by the creator to be blessed with their face"

and the reader just kinda wants to see how long it takes for everyone to realize

also venti is the first to know and the reader literally begs him not to tell anyone

and they both just kinda

vibe as gods in disguise

Say My Name

In where you begin your journey in a fairly dull way, but that doesn't make it any less exciting.

Part two

Characters: Barbara, Noelle, Venti

Notes: Once again, I have made Venti a prominent character in a fic. I have grown far too attatched to him :( AND I WANTED TO MAKE THIS MORE ABOUT NOELLE BUT I DIDN'T HAVE ENOUGH ROOM BECAUSE VENTI'S FAT ASS TOOK UP ALL OF IT. And I didn't want to shove something in at the end, I thought it was a good stopping point so I didn't stretch the fic on longer than it needed to go. Anyways this was fun to write either way :)

warnings: fluff, cult behaviors, comical

Considering how extravagant and lively Teyvat is, your arrival was fairly dull.

You were freaking out of course, your heart beating out of your chest and breathing erratic. What were you supposed to do when you wake up in your favorite game? What was the right course of action?

Frankly, you thought you were dead or about to die. Teyvat is crawling with high level monsters. Maybe this was all a big fever dream?

You sighed, clutching your head, so many thoughts whirling around and yet none of them stayed long enough for you to get a good grasp of the situation or the best course of action.

But one thought remained consistent as your eyes drifted over to the path laid out before you. Mondstadt.

The moment you lay your eyes on the bridge leading to the Mondstadt gates you can't help yourself, running past Timmie's birds, shouting out a quick sorry to him, and sprinting as fast as you could to the gates. You slowed as you neared them and Lawrence - the gate guard - stopped you in your tracks.

"Greetings strange but respectable traveler!" He saluted, his eyes wide staring at you and you assumed it's because of the odd way you dressed, "May I ask what business you have in Mondstadt?"

"Oh! Just visiting." You grinned, feeling a tad bit dizzy at hearing his voice right in front of you and not just through your headphones. Not to mention the fact that his hair looked so real and nice.

He hummed and nodded, "Alright then, just don't cause any trouble." He waved you off.

That was easy... you mused. Though you didn't dwell on it and marveled at the wonderous city adorned with the high-noon sun and pretty flowers.

You could hear the humming of bards and birds, the sound of Flora selling her flowers, and of course Donna simping over Diluc.

It was all so familiar, from the people to the music and the tiles on the floor, it all felt like the beginning of your journey. Almost like home, you couldn't help but hum along to the merry music.

You passed by Katheryne and she waved at you knowingly but didn't say anything. You decided not to question her about it - Katheryne knew a lot of things anyways so you decided this was pretty in-character for her - and you waved back with a grin.

You wandered meaninglessly through the calming streets, still humming the tune. You came upon the fountain in the plaza and paused. Usually, you'd climb up the wall to get past but now you had to actually walk.

You chuckled, you weren't sure why but this was such a nice feeling and you sprinted to the left until you came upon a set of stairs. You climbed up them and made your way to Venti's large statue.

When you made it, you craned your neck up to take it all in, an awed smile on your face.

"Ah, are you a newcomer?" A nearby nun asked you, snapping you out of your dazed state.

"Oh! Uh- yeah I am!" You grinned sheepishly.

The nun hummed, smiling warmly, "You must be truly blessed to look so similar to our creator. You can go into the cathedral if you want to see our offerings to them." She nodded towards said building, "Hope you enjoy your stay in Mondstadt!" She waved, now even allowing you to get a word out before moving along.

You stared after her for a minute before whispering to yourself, "What the fuck-"

You turned back around and stared cautiously at the cathedral. What did she mean by creator? Stuff like this has never been mentioned in the lore before...

You'd been in the cathedral maybe a hundred times and had never seen anything that could be attributed to some... creator or whatever she meant by that.

So, naturally, you had to go and investigate.

The moment you entered those cathedral doors (with no loading screen separating the two anymore), your eyes immediately caught onto the shrine built on top of the rotating door. Two pairs of stairs leading up to it.

You gaped at the shrine, grand and well-kept, but what caught even more of your attention was the sheer amount of offerings left out at the base below the shrine. There was so much food and random shiny objects, some of which looked more than what you were worth.

Your jaw hang open at the sight, and you noticed you started to get some odd stares. You fixed your face and donned a more neutral expression, looking on at the shrine curiously.

"Ah, first time in Mondstadt's cathedral?" said a soft and familiar voice.

You whipped your head around to face Barbara, her sparkling eyes fixed onto you.

You composed yourself - both at the scene in front of you and the fact you just met Barbara face-to-face - "Yeah, it is."

"You look so much like our beloved creator!" She exclaimed, "It must be such an honor to be blessed with their lovely face!"

"U-uhm..." You stuttered, sending her an awkward smile, "I suppose so."

Her eyes shifted and you felt a jolt of unease in your chest, sinking into your heart, "Sorry, I'm just not used to Mondstadt's customs. We practice things quite differently where I'm from."

"Oh! Sorry then," Barbara frowned, "I didn't mean any disrespect, I just wanted to make sure you weren't disrespecting our creator in any ways. I suppose in the end it didn't do any good."

You hummed non-committedly and gazed back upon the shrine. There was a statue of the supposed creator upon there and unconsciously you took steps towards it. As you gazed up at it, it was as though you were looking into a mirror.

The statue was an exact replica of you, in every way shape and form it was you.

"It truly is remarkable how alike you two are," Barbara smiled up at the statue, pure devotion in her eyes, "It was an honor to look upon you and see an image that so wonderously reflects our creator's." She smiled at you.

You nodded and she left with a wave. A few moments later you left the church.

*~

The problems in this perfect world arose when your stomach started to growl and you realized...

You had no mora.

"Goddamnit I'm having a Zhongli moment," You cursed the gods (specifically Venti and Zhongli) for not giving you mora when you arrived to Teyvat.

Although you didn't have to worry about that for long, oddly enough. When you were eyeing Good Hunters, a kind little lady approached you.

"E-excuse me," Her cute voice cracked and your eyes met with Noelle's, "Are you hungry? I could um-" Her eyes diverted away from yours but always seemed to come back to stare into your eyes, "I could make you something if you so wish."

You gasped, your face lighting up in a smile that reddened Noelle's cheeks, "Really? Oh! I'd love to try some of your Tea Break Pancakes- oh! Ah, nevermind. You don't have to." You waved her offer off, "I don't even have any mora on me."

"That's fine." She grinned, "Consider it... a gift to our creator. A celebration of how much you look like them."

"Ah," You couldn't help the surprised smile that tugged up at the corners of your lips, "That's- I mean I appreciate it but I'm sure there's much better uses you could use with your time-"

"Nonsense! I insist," Her resolve was as sturdy as the sword you'd given her, "A little treat of mine."

"I-" Your stomach interrupted any argument you were going to make, "Fine..." You sighed, "But I owe you okay? If you ever need anything just ask me."

She agreed and made you the meal, which you excitedly watched her make. It was so surreal watching Noelle make the pancakes instead of just pressing a couple buttons.

Even still she made those pancakes in record time, you were impressed.

"Thank you so much Noelle! Really, you're carrying Mondstadt on your shoulders." You giggled.

Her face flushed a bright red and she waved her hands dismissively, "Oh no no no, I don't do that much. I'm... not even a knight yet." She frowned.

"Well," You said in-between bites, "You do as much if not more than the knights do. Don't put yourself down just 'cause you're not official yet."

Your smile, a replica of the ones on the statue but brighter and more personal caused Noelle to feel nearly dizzy.

"You're far too kind... Oh! Dear, where are my manners?" She huffed, "What's your name?"

"Oh! It's (Name)." You held out your hand but she didn't take it immediately.

She tilted her head, her eyes narrowed in confusion, "Isn't that... the creator's name? Did your parents name you that?"

Your mind blanked. Why the hell does this creator person have my face and my name?

You chuckled, "They did."

Noelle hummed and nodded along, "It's a bit unusual but not like it's against the law or anything," She shrugged and took your hand, "It's nice to meet you (name). I'm Noelle, though it seems you already knew that..?"

You nodded, "Yeah, I've heard of you. You're the best maid in Mondstadt. Who knows, maybe the best maid in all of Teyvat." You chuckled as her face bloomed into color once more.

"Truly, you flatter me too much," She fanned her face in an attempt to get rid of the heat, "...have you really heard of me outside of Mondstadt."

Without hesitation, you nodded while biting into the pancake, "Of course!" You technically weren't lying. You'd heard of her outside of Mondstadt... and outside of Teyvat... in your world. So it was technically true.

She covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes lit up in wonder, and a soft giggle escaped her throat, "Aha, I'm so happy..."

Without thinking, you reached over and patted her head. She had stars in her eyes. "I'm glad," You said, "You deserve it."

*~

You and Noelle had talked throughout the entire day. She had often went to go and help people and you tried your best to help her as well. Finding stray cats, helping children find lost items or getting them down from high places, collecting and delivering items for people.

You did your best to nudge Noelle away from accepting every little thing that came her way, but majority of the time she'd end up helping the person. So you settled for helping lessen her load by helping her complete the tasks instead.

When night time finally rolled around Noelle finally bid you good night and you were hesitant to leave her because...

You had nowhere to stay.

The dark Mondstadt streets, only lit up by the few streetlights still lit by candles and night owls still awake inside their houses creeped you out.

Where would you stay? You couldn't stay outside for too long, it was freezing and you only had the clothes on your back.

Maybe you could sneak into Angel's Share and sleep in the rafters? That way you'd stay warm and they were open 24/7 you believed.

Maybe you should just tell someone you got transported here from another world. That's what the Traveler did and now they're a renowned hero with a teapot to live in...

Teapot... Teapot! If you could find the Teapot...

"Shit! Where did I last set it down..." You scrounged through your memory, praying it wasn't in the inventory. You had no clue how to access that or if you even could access it.

You recalled... teleporting to Windrise to grab some crystalflies and heal up... and opening up your teapot. That's where it is then. Or at least you hoped.

Even if it wasn't there, sleeping in the big Windrise tree didn't sound like a bad idea. So long as you didn't freeze to death.

With that in mind you set out to begin your walk to Windrise, sending a wave to Katheryne as you left. She wished you good luck which made your heart swell. Her eyes always seemed to know too much... but in this case it was quite comforting.

You also waved goodbye to the guards outside Mondstadt's gate, and they saluted with kind smiles.

You hummed, tiredly making your way across the bridge once more. What a lovely day in Mondstadt, you mused to yourself, humming the quiet nighttime tune.

*~

Your legs were jelly by the time you made it to Windrise, silently thanking the gods that you weren't attacked on the way there. Tiredly, you looked around the statue and the tree for any sign of your teapot and...

nothing. Absolutely nothing.

With a groan, you sat down at the base of the statue, burying your head in your hands, too tired to hold your head up on your own.

You just needed to shut your eyes for a moment...

*~

You blinked your eyes open as the sun glared at you. Squinting up, you noticed you were now laying at the base of the statue.

You paused as a melody filled your ears, close by and unfamiliar. You turned your head to see a bard - your bard - playing the lyre and humming a tune.

"Ah, you're finally awake." He grinned, "What were you doing sleeping outside by the statue?"

You groggily sat up, "Venti?" You groaned, "I was just... traveling and ended up falling asleep."

He hummed, "You know my name?"

Goddamnit-

You nodded, "Yes, you're quite the famous bard aren't you?" The excuse flew naturally off your tongue, it wasn't necessarily a lie either.

Venti giggled, his fingers idly plucking a tune, "Quite the charmer aren't you? Though, can't say you're entirely incorrect. I am the best bard in the world! Most famous though? I can't really say." He leaned in, his face nearly touching yours, "So, how do you know me hm? You just arrived to Mondstadt yesterday after all and I don't believe you ever caught my name or even saw me."

"...You were watching me?" You questioned, your eyes narrowed.

Venti faked an offended gasp, "You make me sound like a criminal! I was merely observing my surroundings. I saw you, an odd looking traveler, and had to observe you for a bit of time. Can't blame me for being a little curious." His grin was sly and it made you roll your eyes.

"Still a bit creepy if you ask me, especially for an apparently not-so-famous bard." You challenged him, your eyes sharp as they dug into him.

He shrugged, "I gotta watch over Mondstadt. I love the city with my life, you know. Now answer the question, how do you know me?" His eyes were so playful for such a scathing question.

You hummed, surprisingly calm given how wrong this could go, "How do you think I know you, bard?"

He giggled, "Asking me the questions now are you?" His fingers switched up and started playing a much more familiar tune. One he shouldn't know, "Perhaps you've been watching me for a long time now. And whenever I saw your eyes I just knew they were the same ones that had been watching me for countless months. Hm?"

Your eyes shot open, "How do you know that song?"

"I know every song," His teal eyes sparkled with mischief and glee, "Past present and future."

Your jaw slackened, but you couldn't help the grin that tugged at your lips.

"I suppose I wasn't aware of just how far your knowledge reached, O' Anemo Archon." You snickered, and jokingly bowed.

Venti giggled, his fingers stopping his playing so he could mockingly bow back, "And I suppose I wasn't aware of how stubborn you are, O' Great Creator."

"What?" Your playful nature halted in its tracks as you stared at Venti, dumbfounded.

He blinked, confused, "Huh?"

You shook your disbelief away with a shake of your head and a laugh, "Did you just call me Teyvat's God?" You chuckled, "Then should I call you your friend's name?"

A flash of hurt took over his eyes, he whined, "Huh? What do they have to do with this, your grace?"

"What?" Dread crawled into the back of your throat, "Cut it out Venti, don't joke like that."

"But I'm not joking, your grace. Did you- did you not know?" His eyes were wide and glassy, "I'm sorry..."

You blinked owlishly, "Wha- you're serious? I thought- I thought I just looked like them!"

"I thought that was your intention!" Venti cried, "I thought this was like- a test of loyalty or something!"

"No! What? Am I actually-" You couldn't force the words out as you stared Venti in the eyes, stunned.

"Y-yes!" He shouted, "You're the creator! I can sense it! So can the slimes and animals. Don't you see?" He pointed to the nearby birds, their gaze turned towards you, "They like you! The monsters don't attack you and this statue calls out to you! Don't you feel its warmth? It's probably why you didn't freeze last night."

You were silent as the information processed, "So- so wait!" You turned your body fully facing Venti, "That shrine in the cathedral... was for me?" You asked, bewildered.

He nodded, "Yeah! Did- did you really not know?"

Immediately you were wildly shaking your head, "No! I just- I dunno! I thought I was like the traveler or something that just got dropped off here one day."

"The traveler came here of their own free will, (Name)!" Venti sighed, "I just- You look exactly like them too!"

"Listen! Denial is a powerful think, okay!" You huffed.

"Fine, I get it." He rested his head on his hands, his eyes meeting yours, "So... are you gonna tell the others?"

"... Dunno." You shrugged, "What would happen if I did?"

"Well..." Venti tapped his finger against his face and used his other hand to hold up his pointer finger, "Zhongli would go batshit. He's got a whole log up his ass when it comes to you and how to 'properly worship you' bleh." Venti stuck his tongue out, "Then there's Baal, she'll probably also go insane over you. She's like a lost puppy." He held up a third finger, "Then there's Jean and the knights. I think they'd be... alright. If you told them they'd try and throw huge festivals for you and worship you. Oh, and the church would triple their worshipping for you, obviously."

You roughly sighed, "So... I won't be treated as a human is what you're saying."

"I mean- well- yeah." He frowned, "Don't worry, I get it if you don't wanna do a whole grand reveal. It's stressful. Too much work, y'know?"

You hummed in agreement, "The thing is..." You frowned, "We don't have any mora."

Venti scoffed, straightening his back with a proud grin, "Speak for yourself! I have a mora."

You snorted, "A mora."

"Hey, better than what you're doing," He took off his hat, "It's right in here-"

You both stared at the hat that was almost as empty as your souls.

"Okay well," Venti put his hat back on, "Nothing a little begging can't do. Not like I haven't played music for money before."

You stared at the ground hopelessly, "...so... how do you think Ningguang would react to me telling her I'm the creator?"

Venti snorted, "I like the way you think but... she'd be grand. I think she'd make you live in the Jade Chamber and give you every little thing you could ever want. She can keep a secret though I'll bet."

You hummed and stared at Venti, living a life as free as a bird. Even with the status of the Anemo Archon, he was as free as his people, and just as happy as them as well.

"Not really the life I wanna live... what about Childe?"

Venti shuddered, "I love you (Name), but no. He makes... quite a spectacle of things. And, well," Venti frowned, "He'd probably leave a few corpses at your doorstep."

"Ah," You grimaced, "Okay so... we're fucked."

"Ah ah ah," Venti waggled his finger comically, "Don't you remember what I said? I can sing for money, and I'm sure with you, the creator's look-alike right by my side helping me with my performance, we'd make double the money! I mean," His eyes were alight with mischievous glee, an expression on him you were coming to dread, "That Noelle girl yesterday had no problem giving you a free meal just cause you look like the creator! So I'm sure we'll pull in lots of cash!"

You frowned and then a lightbulb went off in your head, "Wait a minute," Venti raised a brow, intrigued, "If I'm the supposed creator or god of this world... then those offerings at the altars and shrines are meant for me... right?"

Venti nodded with a tilt of his head, "Yes? ...Oh... Oh!" His eyes lit up like Christmas lights, "You mean-?"

You grinned, "So that means that if I were to... let's say... take the items and sell them, it wouldn't be wrong right?"

Venti tilted his head back and laughed, "No, I suppose it wouldn't be, your grace."

Your grin was damn near evil, "Then I suppose we have our plan then."

Venti nodded, "I suppose we do!" He hopped up and grabbed your hand to help you up as well, "Though I think my singing idea was pretty good." He kicked his legs up like a child as you both made your way back to Mondstadt, "Who knows, I might even become the most famous bard in all of Teyvat with you by my side!"

You hummed, smiling fondly at the silly bard at your side, "Perhaps."

[trumai-pdf]

ahahaha whoops i dropped my eight page kris dreemurr character study with art from @friedri-ce oh nooo......

[joelsdagger]

let it flow | frankie morales x f!reader

read on ao3

pairing: sub!frankie x f!reader rating: 18+ minors dni word count: 4.4k (i think something possessed me bc this was originally 1k lmao) summary: you start a new form of birth control which has many side effects but frankie takes advantage of one side effect in particular. warnings: canon divergent, established relationship (reader and frankie are married), sub!frankie, soft dom!reader, body worship, pet names, nipple play, mommy kink, lactation kink, mutual masturbation , praise kink, pre-ejaculation, overstimulation, cumplay, cum eating, fluff.  No use of Y/N. No physical descriptions of reader. um i think that’s it? *scratches neck* disclaimer: this is literally for shits and giggles bc a friend and i were talking about sub!frankie having a lactation kink, but we weren’t feeling the whole pregnancy trope so i found a loophole hehe. after extensive research, i found that certain types of birth control that include progestin *can* increase lactation as well as breast enlargement and tenderness, so i tweaked this specifically for the purpose of this fic. i don’t study medicine so some of this isn’t 100% accurate so if anything is wrong just remember this is just for horny fun and i changed some things to fit what i was going for. if this piece is not for you, that’s cool, obviously not everyone is gonna be into the same stuff but please just move along and let everyone else enjoy the fun.

a/n: thank you for all the love on my first fic i was so incredibly nervous about it but yall have been so so kind. technically, i told myself i would post this friday for frankie friday, but the longer shit stays in my drafts the more i start to hate it and the urge to scrape everything grows too strong lol. this one is for kat and lyss who gave me this idea and then we screamed about it til 1am. shout out to @skrunkly-scrimblo and @papurgaatika for beta’ing and literally always saving me bc i can never read my fics from start to finish so they always come thru during the editing process. and shout out to my pinterest QUEEN, @aurasjournal, for helping me with the visuals. thanks for reading i hope you like it <3 super cute divider by @saradika

You’re staring back at yourself in the foggy mirror of your bathroom, assessing your breasts, they’re full, heavy and they ache. This is the fourth day in a row of feeling the consequences of your new birth control and the pain has only gotten worse. “The shit we do….fuckin’ birth control,” you mumble under your breath. 

You had switched to a different form of birth control earlier in the week, the IUD route wasn’t working out so well for you. For starters, the pain of getting the IUD implanted was unbelievably excruciating and on top of that, you had ParaGard (the copper IUD) implanted which didn’t have hormones so you were still getting your period. Your periods were heavy and painful and you have been seeking an alternative solution to stop them completely. At your last visit with your gynecologist, you both agreed to switch you over to taking birth control pills. 

Your physician had informed you that the pill form was a progestin-only contraceptive that would decrease the bleeding during your menstrual cycle or possibly get rid of it completely if you skipped the placebo pills on the last week of your pack. There was one not-so-tiny problem, you were not told that being on the pill would make your tits swell and you sure as hell didn’t know the damn pill would make you lactate. 

Earlier today you practically sobbed to your doctor on the phone. 

“Doc, sorry to be blunt but my tits fucking hurt,” you cry, tears welling up in your eyes. At this point, the pain had become unbearable.

“That’s pretty normal hun, it’s a common side effect for some women. As I told you on Monday, the use of a hormonal birth control that contains progestin can increase the likelihood of producing breast milk even if you aren’t pregnant. It’s your hormones adjusting to the pill and it’s going to take your body three to four months to adjust,” your doctor explained.

‘Wait three to four months,” you shout, "Doc, you didn’t mention anything about that. What the hell am I supposed to do?” you ask rashly.

Your doctor hesitates, “Well, we could go back to the copper IUD but then-”

“Then, I’d get my period yeah absolutely not,” you frantically cut her off.

“We could book you to come back in and try another route but I’m booked until the end of the month,” she suggests. 

“Of course you are, you’re like the only nice physician in the office, everyone wants to see you,” you laugh bitterly.

“There is something else that may help until we can see you in the office...many women have said that it helps,” she says.

You cross an arm around your chest, wincing slightly as your arm presses tightly against your chest, before dropping your arm back down at your side, “Okay…what is it?”

“You could massage them or have your husband stimulate your nipples,” she says nonchalantly. 

“Stimulate my nipples?” you hesitate, your eyes widening at her suggestion. 

“Yes, have him use his fingers or-”

“You’re not serious?”

Your doctor chuckles at your curiosity, “Yes, nipple stimulation and other sensual activities, can trigger and release the hormone, oxytocin, commonly referred to as the love hormone. Once oxytocin is triggered, your hormone levels are boosted and then it increases arousal and stress relief. Once it's released into the bloodstream, it helps alleviate breast tenderness and breast pain as well assisting with the flow of breast milk so yes, it’ll help.” she says pointedly.

You stare ahead, wide eyed and mouth agape. What the hell are you supposed to say to that?

“Look honey, many women have come in and told me directly that it helps, believe it or not, it even helps induce labor, but that’s beside the point, many women have been in your position and they have reported that it works. So at least try this out, and see how it makes you feel, just until we can get you an appointment and have you come in and then we can try something else. Alright?” she asks. 

“Yeah alright, thanks again Doc,” you huff, your hand rubs at your temple before dragging it down your face. 

“No problem hun, keep me updated through the portal,” she says. 

“Will do,” you hung up the phone and tossed it on the couch. 

That was six hours ago and now you’re standing in your bathroom as you wait for the bathtub to fill up. You read online that heat therapy could reduce some of the pain. While your husband was at work, you sprawled yourself out across the couch with a heating pad on your chest. It managed to ease the pain for a bit until the set timer turned the heating pad off and the second you stood up, the pain worsened again. 

To be honest, you’re a little embarrassed to bring it up to Frankie. It's not like Frankie won’t want to do it, he’d be very interested but what the hell are you supposed to say to him. Hey honey, my tits hurt and they’re leaking breast milk. Can you play with them a little so they feel better? He loves to engage in a little titty appreciation but this is a whole different ball game. You really aren’t in the mood to have this conversation with Frankie tonight, unsure of how he would react and possibly causing a bigger issue. 

You can hear the TV through the bathroom door, Frankie is watching some game. But when he hears you croak out in pain when you remove your bra, hands clutching at your swollen breasts, he moves lightning fast towards the bathroom door. 

“Querida, are you alright in there?” he asks through the door, his hand wrapped around the door handle.

You bite down on your lip, sighing before you finally bite the bullet and admit what’s going on. You crack open the door just enough so he can hear you better. 

“It’s-,” You let out another exhausted sigh as you rub your temple, feeling your cheeks warm.

“Remember, a few days ago, I went to my gynecologist and we decided to switch birth control methods?” He nods, eyes full of concern. 

“The pills are making my hormones go crazy and they’re making my tits swell and well…” you pull the door open to gesture towards your breasts. “I’m like a fucking pregnant woman but without the damn pregnancy,” you grumble. 

You immediately clock the worry on his face but Frankie can’t help the fact that he is practically salivating when he looks down at your tits. You notice his jaw slacken, his lips part as he takes in the curve of your breasts, they have grown a noticeable difference in size. You hear him inhale sharply when his stare drops to your nipples, dark and swollen. 

Suddenly feeling a little shy under the intensity of his gaze, you bring a hand up to cover your breasts, he inhales once again before speaking, yet you speak before he does, “It’s fine, apparently a bath will help, and I’ve got the water running. I’ll be out in a few minutes babe,” you press, a tight smile on your face. 

You see it all over his face, he wants to help but he doesn’t know how. His big, deep brown eyes filled with worry. “Okay baby, I’ll give you some privacy. I’ll be in the bedroom if you need anything,” he says quietly, eyebrows still raised. You can sense the uneasiness in his body language but he doesn’t press the subject. 

You thank him and shut the door, hearing him step back towards the bed. You slip off your panties and toss them into the hamper, then step into the hot water, sighing as you dip beneath the water.

After a few short minutes, you slowly bring your hands up to cup your breasts, experimentally kneading them. You press your hands more firmly and you bite down on your lip as you try to muffle a quiet moan. Huh. It does help. You continue toying with them until the water is no longer warm and your fingers become pruny. 

Dragging yourself out of the water and stepping out of the tub, you pull the plug out, the water spinning through the drain. Leisurely, you dry yourself off, pull a thin white tank top over your head, and drag a clean pair of blue lace panties over your legs. 

As you open the door to let the steam out of the bathroom, you grab your fuzzy robe from the hook behind the door, wrap it around your damp body, and head into the bedroom to catch the rest of the game with your husband. 

Yet, to your surprise, you find the TV off and instead see Frankie sitting up in bed, one hand tucked behind his head and the other holding his phone as he squints at the screen. 

You chuckle as you walk over to your nightstand. “Thought you were supposed to be wearing your glasses?” You tease, your lips forming into a smile.  

“I look dorky with ‘em, ‘sides I don’t need them right now,” he mimics your tone and turns his head to watch as you pump some of your cocoa butter body lotion into your hand and work it into your skin.  

“So, I did some googling,” he starts, a sly smirk creeping up onto his face as he continues, “It said…messaging them and sucking on them would help.” His eyes are still on the bare parts of your damp skin, completely enamored by how your skin looks in the dim light of your bedroom. 

You tense, hands freezing, streaks of lotion yet to be fully rubbed into your skin, “Baby, that’s ridiculous,” you laugh him off. 

“No, I’m serious look,” Frankie sits up and moves across the bed, holding out his phone for you to read the article he was studying beforehand.

“I don’t know about this Frankie,” you shake your head, frowning while you avert your eyes from his. 

“Come here,” smirking devilishly as he brings his hands up to your arms, pulling you towards the bed. 

“Frankie–” you scoff, playfully rolling your eyes at him. 

He tilts his head up to look up at you with those big brown eyes that you often find difficult turning down. “Trust me,” his hands rubbing up and down your arms soothingly.  

“You know I do, Frankie, the hell did I marry you for,” you tease, you sneak your hands behind his neck and interlock your fingers as you lean down and press a soft kiss to his head.   

“Then c’mere, let me help,” he whispers and it sounds more like a plea. He’s pulling you down onto the bed, guiding you to sit up against the pillows. His hands find your robe, untying the knot in the soft belt across your waist. You lean forward slightly while he pulls your robe off slowly,  his eyes watching your face, searching for any indication to stop but he doesn’t find any. 

He tosses the robe behind him on the bed as he leans down over you, nudging your legs open as he settles himself between your legs. He brings his hands back up to the thin material of your tank top, cupping your tender breasts in his large hands. 

“You’re so beautiful, so perfect, fuck–, so pretty baby,” he babbles lowly, goosebumps erupt on your skin, even after years of being married to him he still knows exactly what to say to make you feel so desirable. 

He gently squeezes your breasts, his thumb sweeps over your nipple back and forth, you whine softly as your hands find his hair, burying your fingers in his curls. It hurts but it’s pleasurable, the pressure he’s using feels better than what you were doing earlier in the bath. 

Frankie pinches your covered nipples between his rough fingers, hardening under his touch, you hiss when he tweaks them tightly, Frankie pauses, his eyes meet yours for a moment, “it’s okay–feels good, keep going,” you whisper to him. 

He brings his mouth down to one of your nipples and sucks it through the material with his other hand still fondling your other nipple. “Fuck– that feels good Frankie,” you moan, he whimpers lowly and feels his cock twitch in his boxers. Your eyes roll back in your head, your mouth falls open and he hollows his cheeks, sucking harder around your nipple. 

His mouth lets go of your breast, you look down to see the wet patch that formed over your peaked-covered nipple before he hastily pulls the tank top over your head, tossing it onto the floor, Frankie lets out a shameless groan when his eyes hungrily lock on your bare chest like a missile to a target. 

He leans in closer, his mouth hovering over your breast. You feel the warmth of his breath over your breast, a tingling sensation sneaks down your body. His hot mouth closes around your pebbled nipple. 

“Shit, Frankie,” you arch further into his mouth, and he moans and his tongue flicks up against your peaked nipple, and then he bites down softly, his eyes open, looking up at you from under his eyelashes. Frankie feels a slight warm gush fill his mouth, his eyes slip closed, whimpering around the bud. 

You tug on Frankie’s hair, pulling his mouth away from you, your stomach twisting at his reaction when he feels the gush of liquid filling his mouth. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know that would happen-”

“Baby, hey, it’s okay. I was just surprised-” 

“No I know, it’s just gross,” you frown, feeling the pang of embarrassment in your belly.

“It’s not–it’s not gross. I–I liked it,” Frankie says sheepishly. 

“Really?” you ask softly. 

He laughs lightly and leans forward to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth then another just below your jaw. His beard scraping along your skin as he places wet open-mouthed kisses down your neck, all the way down past your collarbones until he reaches the valley of your breasts once again.

“Relax baby, I got ya,” he whispers against your skin.

Your eyes squeeze shut, your head falls back against the headboard, and your hand comes up to the nape of his neck, petting at his long brown curls. He ducks down to bring his mouth to your nipple, he parts his lips around the bud, his tongue circling around the bud a few times, licking at your nipple, he closes his lips and sucks softly before tugging it between his teeth, he hums around it, making you grasp at the sheets beneath you, a low ache building in the pit of your stomach.

“That’s it baby boy,” you say softly, petting his hair. You open your eyes when you feel him press his cock against your leg, his cock stirring in his boxers at your praise. 

He’s loving this, loves the taste of you and loves how good he’s making you feel. 

His hand palms your other breast, squeezing and kneading the meat of your tit, beads of milk collecting at the peak. He takes your nipple in between his calloused fingers and pinches it harder between his index and middle finger, the milk pours out from the bud down his hand and onto his forearm. 

Frankie feels the warm liquid on his arm, his mouth letting go of your breast, his pupils full of lust never leaving your face as he lifts his left hand up and licks a long slow, thick stripe from his forearm up his hand. Your mouth falls open and your chest heaves at the sight. 

“You taste so fucking sweet, baby,” he groans, his eyes closing at the taste of you. His cock twitches against your leg, now painfully hard in his boxers. 

He dips his head back down and licks up the milk leaking down your torso up to your nipple. He moans once his hot mouth latches around the stiff peak and his tongue swirls around it. He laps up the warm white liquid he’s sucking out of your breast. “There you go baby, just like that,” you sigh, closing your eyes and your head falls back against the headboard. 

One of his knees perches onto your leg, he grinds his cock against the meat of your thigh, he moans deeply, his fingers digging into the flesh of your breasts. “So, needy for me huh, baby boy,” you tut, gripping firmly onto his soft curls. 

He whines quietly, and unbeknownst to Frankie, he starts rutting his hard length against your leg in slow, shallow thrusts, you feel a rumble of a moan in his throat around your nipple. At the sudden movement, your head snaps up to see your husband getting himself off against your body, his teeth sinking into your breast. 

You’ve never seen him like this before, he’s insatiable and relentless and it makes your pussy pulse and clench around nothing. 

“Ohhh that’s it– good boy Frankie,” you moan breathlessly, feeling him suck harder on your breast with a deep groan.

You grab at Frankie’s hair again, your hand combs his hair back while tugging at his hair, gently pulling his head back and he whines loudly when you pull his mouth away from your breast. You catch a glistening sheen on his lips when you direct his head to your other breast. 

Your eyes meet his dark, blown out pupils as your thumb rubs his cheek down to the corner of his mouth. You thumb the bottom of his plump, soft lip, wiping the milk off of his mouth. Your thumb slips between his lips and you whisper, “Who’s my good boy?” 

He shivers beneath your touch, “I am,” he murmurs softly, his head resting down on your chest once again. Your hand cradles his head and you move your hand down along his head to cup his face.

You watch your husband’s eyes shut as he closes his mouth around your nipple and continues suckling from your breast, “Fuck– Frankie, keep going,” you pant into his hair, your hands still toying with his curls, eliciting another whine from him. 

He shifts and begins fucking himself into the mattress once again, seeking any type of friction possible. 

Watching your husband getting himself off to your body sends a sharp, hot spark of arousal down your spine straight to your core, your pussy throbbing and your panties now wet and sticky with your slick. 

You smirk and bring your lips down to his ear, whispering the word that you know lights a fire within him.  “You’re making mommy feel so good baby,” and Frankie whimpers, his mouth swallowing your breast whole, his hips grinding down faster into the mattress. 

“That’s it, baby, atta boy, such a good boy for mommy,” you coo into his ear. Frankie lets out a high-pitched whine, his hips stuttering and groaning when he feels himself spilling out all over the inside of his boxers. Your mouth falls open, your eyes wide as you stare at him, realizing he just came simply from putting his mouth on you. 

His hips shudder, occasionally jerking erratically, his legs shaking uncontrollably as he hisses from overstimulation, you continue whispering praises into his ears. 

While his mouth works on relieving your breast you take matters into your own hands, bringing your fingers down to your neglected cunt. You press your fingers into your covered slit, feeling the wetness of your pussy through the material before pushing your panties to the side. You move your fingers to your throbbing clit, circling eagerly while his tongue swirls over your nipple. 

He bites down on the bud a little more harshly, feeling another gush of warm liquid in his mouth, “tastes so good mi corozòn,” he whimpers against your breast, closing his eyes while his teeth nip at the wet bud. 

Feeling a cooling wetness from his eyes seeping onto your breast, you briefly look down to find tears stinging his eyes from the pleasure, the teeth marks on your nipples, your skin all wet and red from his mouth. 

He continues sucking at your breast, licking up the sweet taste of you into his mouth and moaning around your nipple, savoring the taste. 

You slip your fingers into your wet heat with a moan. “So good, Frankie, ohhh– you’re doing so well for mommy,” you gasp out while grinding your hips up into your own hand.  He whimpers, his cock twitches, throbbing lightly against the mattress, he’s getting hard just from hearing that word once again. 

Your other hand roughly tugs on Frankie’s soft locks, pushing his head further into you, swallowing more of your breast into his mouth. 

Frankie was too far gone to notice, but you realize he’s grinding himself into the bed once again, still moaning and whimpering into your tender flesh. You thrust your fingers into your pussy, timing them to Frankie’s thrusts into the bed, the wet squelch from your fingers thrusting in and out obscenely echoes in your bedroom. 

“That’s perfect, Frankie— don– don’t stop…shit. I’m so close–” You curl your fingers inside yourself, petting at the spongy spot deep inside while his teeth nip and lick and suck at your tit. 

You shout Frankie’s name as your back arches off the bed, legs shaking around Frankie’s body when your orgasm finally sweeps over you. 

He pulls off your nipple with a wet pop, moving fast to sit up and back on his knees, his hands making quick work of pulling off his underwear. His cock bobs up against the soft swell of his stomach. He hisses when he wraps a large hand around the girth and he thumbs the wide blunt of his tip smearing the beads of pearly white dribbling out from the slit. 

Your tongue pokes out, licking your bottom lip before biting down on the flesh. Your hands massage your breasts, your fingers pinching your erect, sensitive nipples under Frankie’s fucked out gaze. 

Desperately, he fists his cock over your figure. “Come, baby. Be a good boy and come for mommy,” you order him while staring into his eyes, dark and dilated, his mouth hanging open as he strokes his cock. 

Your low voice and your words are all he needs to bring him over the edge. The thrusting of his hips gets more erratic as he jacks his cock tighter in his hand and increases the pace, the wet, lewd slap from his strokes gets louder, his whimpers and pants filling the otherwise quiet room. 

“There you go, atta boy, give it to me Frankie, let it out," you encourage him softly. 

Your eyes watch the muscles in his soft belly tighten and his thighs tensing up, his moans growing louder and louder and louder, his eyes roll back into his head, “Fuck– mami,” a long drawn out, agonizing groan slipping past his lips, you watch as his cock twitches in his hand, his hips stammer as long, thick, warm ropes of cum paint your stomach. 

“That’s it baby, just like that, you did so good. So good Frankie,” you murmur. He opens his eyes and looks back down at you, still catching his breath while he watches the last of his cum spill onto your swollen breasts, he groans seeing the marks he’s left on your skin. Your tits are covered in splotches of red and teeth marks from his mouth, his come and the milk from your breasts leaking down your chest and onto your stomach. 

His hair is a mess, his pupils are blown out, he looks completely in a haze, utterly fucked out. You smirk up at him and click your tongue, “You made such a mess on mommy, Frankie.” 

His cheeks warm, the redness creeping down his neck and chest, he’s embarrassed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to do that,” he mumbles, his hand scratching the back of his neck.  

You move your fingers down your stomach, gathering his cum onto your fingers, “Don’t get shy on me now, come here my love,” your other hand reaches for him.

He crawls up towards your side, you slip a coated finger into your mouth and you close your eyes and hum. Frankie curses quietly to himself, seeing your pearly-covered finger slipping into your mouth and back out devoid of sheen. 

You bring a finger up to his mouth, your fingertip pressing against his lips, “open,” you order. You take advantage of his jaw slackening, sticking your glossy finger into his mouth and his lips close around your digit. You feel his tongue flatten underneath your finger then swirls it around your finger as he sucks it clean, he closes his eyes, his brows furrow, and he moans at the salty taste. 

“See, I keep telling you, you taste good, sweetheart,” you smile down at him, tucking a single brown lock behind his ear. 

“You did so good for me baby, made me feel so good,” you tell him while holding his patchy-bearded face. He chuckles timidly before pressing his lips to yours, licking behind your teeth, tasting himself in your mouth and mumbles a faint I love you against your lips.  

Frankie pecks your lips again before sitting up and walking over to the bathroom. You hear him flick the light on and the tap turning on and off while your eyes drift shut. You feel the warm wet rag dragging across your tummy and your tits, and then down between your folds as he cleans you up with tenderness. 

You open your eyes again when you hear him pad off towards the bathroom once more, watching him toss the washcloth back in the bathroom before he tucks himself into your side and nuzzles his face into the valley of your breasts, the coarse hairs of his beard tickling your skin.  

Frankie’s low voice breaks the comfortable silence, “Next time it hurts, you tell me cariño, ‘m more than happy to do that again,” he says shyly, feeling the smile on his face against your chest.

You fail to suppress your giggle, “Yeah, you enjoyed yourself didn’t you, sweet boy?” Your fingers run through his long soft brown curls, your fingertips grazing down his neck, a hint of sweat at the end of his hair along the back of his neck. 

“Mhm,” he hums, and you grin into his hair, pressing your lips to his messy curls, your eyelids heavy with sleep. He feels your fingers still, Frankie tilts his head to look up at you, “Don’t fall asleep yet, we’re not done mi vida, I still need to make you come again.”

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

sobbing and crying because i got this wrapper on a chocolate

and i immediately thought of this:

--------------------

These kids will be the death of him.

Steve already knew this, mind you, he just thought the threat of actually dying from anything having to do with them was finally behind him for good.

But today.

Today, El was given a chocolate.

It was a leftover from Easter, one of those ones that has some sort of phrase typed on the inside of the wrapper (She probably shouldn’t have even eaten it, does chocolate go bad? They’re in the end of summer now..).

The kids were all at Steve’s, taking a last bit of a breather together before school started again. Before he, Robin, and Eddie make their move to Chicago. Before they’ll all be separated until a holiday rolls around.

Steve was lounging back on one of the chairs at the edge of his pool when El came up to him; Robin was on a chair of her own on his left, and Eddie, his darling boyfriend (Boyfriend! Can you believe that??), floating amongst the other gremlins still in the pool.

El’s shadow blocked the sun from his face when she stepped up to the other side of his chair, looking down at him with a determined look on her face (though the look is softened immensely by her chewing).

He smiles up at her, “What can I do for you, Bells?”

She doesn’t say anything, just swallows down whatever was still in her mouth and leans forward to hug him tightly around his arms and chest.

“Whoa, hey, You okay?” he says, starting to panic a bit, sitting up straight while wrapping an arm back around her. She’s not normally touchy or affectionate to others outside Hopper and the Byers, so he’s concerned, okay?

“I am okay,” she says, pulling back and handing him a shiny something. Steve takes it from her, recognizing as soon as he takes it, reading the chocolate’s message.

‘Hug the sunlight.’ is typed into the center of the foil.

El starts to explain before he can ask. “Eddie always calls you ‘Sunshine’, so I concluded this meant you.” She nods once in finality, and turns on her heel back to the chair she was sharing with Max.

Like he said, these kids are going to be the death of him.

[blackcoffeeofmelancholy]

the brothers comfort you during a panic attack

words: 4121

warnings: depictions of anxiety and panic attacks

notes: I'm reuploading my previous work from my old blog, so I have everything in one place. I'm starting with the first piece I wrote for Obey Me. I have a part two with the dateables in my WIPs that I hope to finish one day.

As always, I apologize for any spelling or grammatical errors that may have gone unnoticed. Thank you to those who take the time to read and comment on my work; it’s greatly appreciated ♥

LUCIFER

Lucifer is troubled. Following lunch, you disappeared, currently absent from class. This is unlike you, his worry intensifying every minute you’re out of his sight. Yet he maintains his composure, resigning himself to scouring the academy grounds. Time passes at a torturous pace, his thoughts beginning to take a turn for the worse. He contemplates whether to involve his brothers and Lord Diavolo himself at this rate, however, the sound of his D.D.D diverts his attention. A wave of relief washes over him at the sight of your name lighting up his screen, chased by frustration at you, your silence, and himself for losing track of you so easily; he couldn’t bear living if anything happened to you under his watch. He expects this behavior from his brothers, not you. Though his heart sinks, the Avatar of Pride uncharacteristically overcome with guilt while he reads your message. Of course, you are not his brothers. He should not have doubted you.

Your texts are apprehensive, a weighty pause between them as you hesitate to lay bare the darkest depths of your soul. He approaches you cautiously, to avoid upsetting you further. Your words alone convey the sheer panic taking possession of you, the last of your strength used to press send. Outside he discovers you, huddled miserably in an isolated corner of the building, swathed in shadow. The desire to shelter you from the world burns within him, but your eyes widen fearfully in his presence, wounding his pride. Immediately, you apologize. Sorry you’re missing class, that you left without telling anyone, and upset him—especially when you’re aware of his busy schedule. You’re sorry for not having the courage to pull yourself together, succumbing to your anxiety, your shame palpable. The hand clutching your D.D.D is trembling, your chest heaving as you struggle to breathe. He aches for you, each tear shed hurting more than the last, your pain managing to touch the very core of his being and set him alight.

If anyone is sorry, it’s him, pride be damned. Kneeling in front of you, he assures you an apology isn’t necessary—your well-being is of great importance to him. He wants you to rely on him, grateful you confided in him despite your doubts. Hopefully, he can eventually put your mind at ease. His voice is low and soothing as he continues to console you, making sure you’re aware he’s not upset, and your feelings are valid. Although he’s not familiar with the inner workings of anxiety itself, he’s willing to listen, learning how to support you to the best of his ability—starting today, provided you’re comfortable accepting his offer. Initially, he prioritized your safety for the sake of the exchange program and Lord Diavolo’s wish to unite the three realms, now it’s merely out of adoration for you, his beloved. Once you’re ready, he’ll let you know you’re not alone. He’s never too busy on your behalf. 

Offering you his hand, a smile graces his features as you accept. Slowly, he helps you to your feet, steadying you against him. He notes the way you relax at his touch, shoulders sagging and head coming to rest on his chest. Only you exist at this moment, his gaze never leaving you, not even for a second. Standing in silence until your breathing settles and you regain your balance, he sees you through the height of your attack before escorting you back to the House of Lamentation. He’ll personally excuse you from the remainder of your classes, understanding you need a quiet place to recover. Classical music plays softly in the background of his room, and he’s content to have you in his embrace, drawing you onto his lap after you finish the tea he brewed to calm your nerves. Lucifer pays you special attention, massaging your tired body and kissing you tenderly, his breath fanning across your lips as he reminds you how special you truly are—brave, compassionate, and incredibly loved.

MAMMON

Mammon mourns his loss, wondering how he let them gain the upper hand; admittedly, a foolish mistake on his part. He dreads breaking the news to Lucifer, and the resentment that shows on his brothers' faces once he confesses does little to ease his mind. Still, he worries about your reaction most of all, knowing his stupidity has put you in a precarious position. In that moment he believes their words—only a greedy scumbag like himself dares to place his human’s happiness on the line. Although certain of his win at the time, he should consider how his actions affect you more often; otherwise, how can he claim he’s the Great Mammon? His confidence is his downfall in the end. Now you’ll suffer along with him. Yet you feign optimism, attempting to soothe everything over despite your innocence. His guilt only grows, a heavy weight on his shoulders; one he deserves.

Three days of waiting on and performing for large crowds at The Fall proves hectic for everyone. He can tell you’re struggling beneath the facade of a composed and hospitable server, going above and beyond to ensure the patrons leave satisfied. You even lend him and his brothers a hand, coming to their rescue on multiple occasions; it should be him making it as easy on you as possible. His concern for you runs deep, no matter how hard he tries to maintain his usual air of indifference, but you have the nerve to reassure him—it’s meant to be the opposite, dammit. Each night he goes out of his way to check on you, frustrated that you continue to dance around the subject. He can see the exhaustion on your face, hear the slight tremor in your voice, the toll his stupid decision is taking on you, and it stings. You comfort him, even when he’s undeserving, so why won’t you allow him to hold you and kiss the pain away? Not that he’s asked. You should realize by now you can rely on him, right?

Watching you suffer in silence tortures him. He can’t deny it regardless of his best efforts to make light of the situation. You barely eat or spend time outside your room, saying you’re tired, which isn’t a lie—working is exhausting, no doubt about it—but he understands you well enough to notice the subtle signs of your anxiety, your smile unable to trick him into believing otherwise. Perhaps you find him as insufferable as his brothers do, or worse, and don’t want to see his face after what he’s done. That doesn’t stop him from showing up at your door, hoping he can offer some form of comfort no matter how small. However, you keep up appearances, supporting the seven of them during the longest weekend of their lives. You work hard too, his chest swelling with pride as he watches you care for his brothers and customers alike. How can you like an idiot like him? You’re selfless and loving, looking past his flaws to see what lay beneath his sin. His human. His angel. He wants—no needs—you to be okay.

The last day comes and goes in a blur. Finally, he can toss these ridiculous clothes and rabbit ears in the trash and never perform that dance again. Better yet, you’re free of his burden, though the guilt remains. He can’t relax until he’s positive you’re okay and know he’s genuinely sorry. Standing outside your room, he tries to muster up the courage to open his heart to you—apologies are not his strong suit—when he hears you crying. They’re small, muffled sobs that manage to shake him to his core and make his blood run cold. He should knock, but he can’t control himself, throwing the door open without hesitation and rushing to your side. The sight of your tears is almost too much to bear, and he draws you into his embrace, face heating up at his own moment of vulnerability, but this is about you, not him. He can be strong for you too, telling you everything’s going to be okay, that the Great Mammon is here to help.

After his stupidity, you tell him you were afraid to bother him. He can hardly suppress the shock at your confession, the sadness in your eyes breaking his heart. You wanted to make sure it went smoothly for his sake? You suffered through hell alone because you chose to put his feelings first? Crazy. Though he thanks you, not completely ashamed to admit he’s touched. However, he tells you that you don’t have to put aside your feelings for his benefit; he prefers to be by your side than know you’re having a rough time on your own. He is your first. Taking the initiative, he asks what he can do to make it up to you, no matter how big or small the request is because he’ll do it in a heartbeat. You opt to stay in his arms, burying your face into his chest, and he wipes away your remaining tears, being as gentle as he possibly can. He can feel how tense your body is, your skin flushed, and it takes a while until you stop shaking. It’s moments like these he’ll tell you how much you mean to him—that he loves you—and he wants you to come to him for everything. He’ll hold you, taking your hand in his, and kiss you with all the adoration in the world because you’re incredibly important to him. Mammon can attest to that.

LEVIATHAN

Leviathan invites you to his room to play video games, a daily routine the two of you have comfortably fallen into. He loves gaming with you, though on occasion you opt to watch instead, thoroughly enthralled by whatever is on the screen. Miraculously, you enjoy listening to him ramble—whether it’s about the game he’s playing, anime he’s watching, or TSL among other things—genuinely showing interest in his passions; he’s incapable of expressing how truly grateful he is for your company. His heart nearly bursts whenever you compliment him on his gaming prowess, encourage him during a particularly intense battle, or merely tell him how you enjoy hanging out. How did a gross otaku like him get so incredibly lucky? He can hardly believe you love him of all demons. The thought alone sounds crazy. 

Unable to contain his excitement, he awaits your arrival that night, ensuring everything is perfect when he hears a knock on the door. However, his smile fades the moment he lays eyes on you, mind beginning to race as he wonders why you look so miserable, your gaze trained on your hands. Before he can speak, you apologize, dissolving into tears while you return the game he let you borrow. You’re stuttering, completely breathless, and he can barely hear you confess to accidentally corrupting his data in your panic. In fact, he loses track of the number of times you choke out an apology. He treasures his games, his collection extensive, but he cherishes you most of all. The loss is a minor annoyance, nothing that lessens the feelings he harbors for you. Although difficult, he overcomes his insecurities to show you it’s okay—you’re loved.

Not only are you sad, but you’re also terrified, a part of him wanting to destroy the game itself if it means you never have to experience the pain that torments you now. Regarding you carefully, afraid to make matters worse, he reassures you that he’s not upset—far from it, honestly—and that he cares about you more than any game. No stranger to your panic attacks, he reaches out to take your hand in his, hoping you find comfort in what he has to offer. And when you finally glance up, hope shining in your tear-filled eyes, he can’t help but wrap you in his arms. A warmth spreads across his face, heart pounding in his ears, but he knows you need him, allowing his body to relax around yours.

Holding you against him, he tells you everything’s all right, stuttering out how he loves you and, most importantly, wants to you to feel better. Your arms circle around his waist, causing his heart to jump into his throat, but he only pulls you closer. You’re his Henry, and what friend is he if you can’t rely on him? Leviathan is understanding, wanting you to come to him for support at your most vulnerable. Now he puts his knowledge to the test, easing you into his room with continuous words of affirmation. You always know how to console him at his lowest, and he hopes he can return the favor. If anyone deserves to feel loved it’s you, who brought joy into his otherwise bleak world, and he’ll sit with you every day and night if you need him to. 

SATAN

Satan knows he shouldn’t be awake, though he finds it difficult to satiate his curiosity as he peruses the books lining his shelves. He barely registers the sound of his D.D.D, reluctant to put the book aside to see who’s messaging him at this ungodly hour; Asmodeus most likely. His tune changes after he sees your name lighting up his screen, his annoyance replaced by worry. He knows you struggle, especially at night, but he can tell you’re hesitant to reach out. Nevertheless, you gradually begin to confide in him, his patience limitless if you’re concerned, and he feels a sense of relief that you choose to trust him at your most vulnerable instead of suffering on your own. Pouring over every book he can locate on anxiety, he studies it religiously, engraining each page into his memory. Not by giving unsolicited advice—he doesn’t want to make that mistake twice—but by comforting you the best he can, even if it simply means staying by your side, waiting for the panic to pass.

A second later, he appears at your door, gaze softening as your eyes meet. In the darkness of your room, he can tell how exhausted you are. You apologize for bothering him, particularly this late, but he dismisses you with a shake of his head and a reassuring smile, sitting beside you on the bed. It saddens him that you feel the need to, but he’s familiar enough with anxiety by now that he understands how much of a manipulative monster it truly is; if only he can destroy it with his own two hands, strangling the life out of it so it no longer taints that innocent soul of yours. To watch you struggle fills him with a rage that he forces deep within himself, fully aware anger isn’t the answer no matter how great his desire to protect you is. So, he cups your face in his hands, your skin warm beneath his fingers as he strokes your flushed cheeks and presses your foreheads together. 

Focus on him, he tells you, the steady rhythm of his breathing, and his voice while he whispers words of love and encouragement. He never tires of letting you know how beautiful and strong you are, that he’s always here for you and loves you—all of you. You unravel in his arms, opening your heart up to him, and he listens intently, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips the moment you look uncertain. You’re not a burden, he promises, hoping one day you’ll believe it yourself, but he’ll remind you every chance he gets; forever if he must. It’s worth it in the end when you relax against him and smile, kissing him in return. Slowly, the anxiety leaves your body, Satan grateful that the waves of panic have receded enough to let you rest your weary mind. He remains next to you, pulling you down to lay your head on his chest and closing your hand in his, entwining your fingers. He’s content here with you, watching you fall asleep and chasing away the nightmares.

ASMODEUS

Asmodeus loves shopping, but he loves shopping with you most of all. The day is bright with you by his side, and he can’t help but buy you clothes and matching accessories to bring out your inherent charm. Your potential is endless, and he gushes over how gorgeous you are, unable to contain his excitement when your eyes light up in return. He can hardly control himself around you, gaze fixated on your every movement and heart racing each time you flash him one of the sweetest smiles he’s ever seen; your very soul seeming to shine through and blind him. Nothing prepares him for the love he feels for you, but he considers it a welcome surprise, his desire to grow closer to you intensifying day after day. You captivate him, the Avatar of Lust of all demons. What an exciting turn of events!

Of course, he attracts attention wherever he goes, posing for pictures with adoring fans and basking in the compliments constantly thrown his way; nothing new, but he enjoys it, nonetheless. Who can resist the allure of his very presence? However, anger wells within him at the sight of you being shoved to the side, falling to the ground, and lost to the crowd that has gathered. Their words of flattery fall on deaf ears as he rushes to you, throwing a heated glance at the lowly demon who dared to touch his darling human. He desires nothing more than to punish them for such an injustice, but the fear in your eyes tells him otherwise. By the time he scoops you up into his arms you’re trembling from head to toe, and he can feel your heart pounding against him. A part of him places the blame on himself, an unfamiliar feeling, but he chooses to ignore it for now, focusing on getting you home in your worsening state.

In the peace and quiet of his room, he sits you on the bed, wrapping you in his arms as he affectionately runs his fingers through your hair. He can tell you’re upset—in an absolute state of panic by the looks of it—and all he can do is hold you through it, quietly asking what you need and willing to answer your every beck and call if it means that adorable smile graces your features once more. For a moment he considers seeking out Lucifer, worried something has gone terribly wrong, but thankfully you find your voice, mumbling into his chest about anxiety and panic attacks, that you’ll be fine—eventually—and are sorry for ruining your date. He doesn’t understand completely, though he knows you need him, promising to stay by your side for as long as you want. Kissing your cheek, he assures you there’s no need to apologize to him, your safety more important than anything else; the demon who laid his hands on you won’t go unpunished either.

Admitting a bath helps calm you down, he prepares one for you, steam rising from the surface and the heady scent of roses filling the air. Together you slip into the water, enveloped by its warmth, and he hums in contentment as you lean into him, his arms coming to rest around your waist. He watches you carefully, making sure you’re able to relax and preparing himself in case you call on him; he’ll do anything for you if it brings you the happiness you deserve. Your eyes flutter close, Asmodeus showering you with delicate kisses, comforted by the fact your breathing has leveled out and you appear a lot calmer than before. The day didn’t go as planned, and he hopes to make it up to you, vowing that no one else will hurt you on his watch. He loves himself, he loves his brothers, but loves you most of all.

BEELZEBUB

Beelzebub notices you haven’t touched your dinner and is beyond happy the moment you offer your plate to him. Yet he can’t bring himself to enjoy the food in front of him while you excuse yourself from the table, eyes downcast and voice quiet, the usual smile gone from your face and leaving behind an emptiness that rivals his own hunger. His mouth waters at the thought of seconds, but his concern for you grows, and he decides to follow you without question, disregarding the ravenous growl of his stomach. He catches you in the hallway, calling out your name. You turn to him, his brow furrowing in unease at the sight of your tears and the slight tremble of your lip. It hurts him to see you in obvious distress, and he earnestly offers his support.

The only sound is that of your sobbing. He desperately wishes to hold you tightly and rid you of your pain. However, he falters, studying you. Your gaze is trained on the floor, shoulders stiff with tension, and the color drains from your cheeks. When you speak, he’s surprised by how helpless you sound and the fact you’re trying to reassure him, putting his needs above your own although you’re struggling to hold yourself together. Fear flickers across your features at the echo of the brothers’ voices traveling down the hall, and he mumbles out an apology as he carefully lifts you into his arms, cradling you to his chest. 

Before the others can round the corner, he hurries around the corner and slips into your room, determined to protect his vulnerable human. He notices you relax against him, your fingers curling into his shirt, and he can’t help but want to keep you close, relieved after you lean in closer to wrap your arms around his neck. Stroking your hair, he allows you to cry, his patience and love for you endless. Eventually, you mutter an embarrassed apology, thanking him profusely, but he’s merely relieved you’re beginning to feel a bit better, reassuring you that you can always depend on him. 

Listening to you intently, he never breaks eye contact. You open up to him about your anxiety, his stomach twisting as you describe what you call a panic attack and how it wrecks you both mentally and physically. Beelzebub knows he has a lot to learn, but he expresses interest in understanding anxiety and, most importantly, how he can help you, so you don’t suffer alone. For the rest of the night, he keeps you company and eases you through the remainder of your attack, giving you plenty of hugs and rubbing your back in soothing circles until you no longer shake, and your heartbeat returns to its usual pace.

BELPHEGOR

Belphegor enjoys the time you spend together, especially when the two of you are alone. He asks you to accompany him in the attic, and it’s not long before he curls around you, falling into a peaceful sleep as he listens to the steady beat of your heart. However, when he awakes it’s to the sound of your soft cries in the dark, which fill him with a fear he can’t seem to shake. Without hesitation he’s at your side, sitting up to softly place a hand on your shoulder and ask you what’s wrong. The sadness in your eyes as you glance up at him, tears staining your cheeks, tugs at his heartstrings. He can’t bear to see you upset.

Once he realizes you’re having a panic attack, he’s attentive to your needs, cradling you in his arms as you cry into his chest. You confided in him about your struggles with anxiety after you fell to pieces in front of him months ago. A part of him understands, the loss of Lilith haunting him throughout the years and instilling a similar feeling of unease within him, especially when his nightmares seem to blur the line between reality and the painful memories of his past. You always came to his rescue and now it’s his turn to comfort you in your time of need. Sleep can wait.

With you in his embrace, he brings you down to relax against the pillows, pulling the blanket around your shivering form. You rest your head on his shoulder, and he gently brushes the remaining tears from your face, whispering words of love and reassurance. He listens to you when you’re comfortable enough to talk, the slight tremble of your voice causing him to draw you closer and press a kiss to your forehead. Belphegor tells you he’s here for you—forever—and although he’s still learning about anxiety and finding the best ways to comfort you during an attack, he wants you to depend on him no matter what; even if that means you wake him up in the middle of the night. He won’t rest until he knows you’re okay, and you’re peacefully sleeping in his arms.

[vanillacreambunny]

enjoy the silence

genre: fluff, hurt/comfort, romance

words: 2034

warnings: reader is not gendered but has breasts, smut (mdni), biting, blood, established relationship, probably ooc; if I forgot anything, let me know.

notes: this scene popped into my head, and I wrote it. I intended for it to be around 500 words, and it quickly grew out of control. There is no dialogue. I wanted to write something without it, and it seemed to fit what I envisioned. I'm unsure if I accomplished what I wished to. I enjoyed writing it, but I'm not exactly happy with the end. Perhaps I'll rework it one day.

Second time writing for Dottore. Second time writing for Genshin Impact. Second time writing smut, which I didn't want to write in too much detail (for the sake of the story), so I'm sorry if it falls short; I did my best.

Titled after Enjoy the Silence by Depeche Mode.

As always, I apologize for any spelling or grammatical errors that may have gone unnoticed. Thank you to those who take the time to read and comment on my work; it’s greatly appreciated ♥

Another failure. 

Dottore’s not one to let his composure slip, cool and calculated in his actions after centuries of learned patience. First and foremost, he’s a scholar; he cannot allow his emotions to distract from or influence his work. Frustration and doubt simmer below the surface, buried deep within his heart as he starts over from square one with a determination to see the experiment through to the end—to prove to himself he can. Now here he stands, materials knocked haphazardly across the floor, blood on his hands, and his work in ruins. He rips the pages from his journal, cursing his past self for his incompetence. Days locked away in his lab, forgoing sleep, wasting time that could have been better spent elsewhere, and for what purpose? 

His fingers tangle in his hair, pulling until pain pierces his skull and dances along his spine. A laugh reverberates through his chest, shaking his shoulders, and echoing off the walls. His voice sounds foreign to his ears, and he almost doesn’t recognize his reflection when he catches his gaze on the scraps of metal at his feet, the smile on his warped face unsettling even to him. A monster stares back at him—expression bordering insanity—baring its pointed teeth in mockery as it too laughs; not with him, but at him. 

Wrenching the mask from his face with an angry shout, he tosses it across the room, nearly hitting you as you step inside. 

No one dares to approach him at his best and certainly not at his worst—except for you. There’s not a trace of fear in your eyes, only concern. You treat him akin to a wounded animal and not the predator he is, a growl of defiance dying in his throat as you reach up to cup his face in your hands and kiss along the scars that mar his skin, whispering words of comfort he doesn’t deserve though refuses to deny. You’re a mystery he has yet to unravel, and he wonders why you make his heart beat when so little in this world can. 

You coax him from the bowels of his lab into your shared living space, once cold and empty until you wandered into his life, a rabbit making its home in the wolf’s den; fortunately for you, he decided to keep you and claim you as his own against his better judgment. You proved yourself useful, and he’s loath to admit to anyone—including himself—that he longs for your touch when apart and finds solace in your arms, the chaos that is his mind falling quiet in your presence. If he’s a madman, he’s convinced it’s your doing, and his fellow Harbingers may agree. He’s spent years alone, growing accustomed to the loneliness that followed him in his adolescence, embracing who he is and what that meant for him. You’re an outlier, blindsiding him and driving him to question all that he’s come to know. 

With a gentleness that brings him pause, he observes you as you clean and bandage his hands. You care for him. The cynic in him wants to laugh and renounce your foolish affections. How can you let your guard down around him; do you not realize what he is? Your lack of awareness infuriates him. If he were anyone else, you would be dead. The thought itself is sickening. He shouldn’t be bothered; however, you speak to the part of him that yearns to be understood—accepted—to feel the love he once believed out of his reach. 

Smiling, you kiss his knuckles as if those same hands hadn’t spilled blood and taken countless lives. Your eyes meet his, and he’s at your mercy. 

Your patience knows no bounds. No matter how long he’s away, you wait for him. Maybe he had it wrong. It’s not you who is fortunate, it is him, and he’s unsure of how to feel when he comes to that realization. 

He brings your hands to his lips, looking up at you through pale lashes. You shiver beneath his touch, your skin prickling with heat, and he smirks, a low chuckle escaping him. How easily you fall into his grasp, leaning into him instead of pulling away. Sweeping you into his arms, he cradles you against him, humming in contentment. His frustrations disappear, your warmth and the softness of your body easing his mind. You understand the importance of his work, never complain when it demands his undivided attention, and, in turn, he always makes up for lost time. 

His eyes meet yours, and he sees himself mirrored in them, his gaze intense—hungry. Your scent alone is dizzying, and he thinks he’s truly lost it. These carnal desires were of no interest to him before, but you drive him mad. He wants your mind, your heart, your body, and your very soul itself, hoping you can continue to accept a monster such as himself into your loving embrace. He’s so pathetic, and he can’t find it in himself to care. 

The anger that coursed through his veins boils over into an excitement he often feels when his research ends in success, his hard work culminating in a fever pitch that leaves him sated and breathless. And you, you never disappoint. No, you are familiar and comforting, similar to the Ruin Guards he’s studied time and time again, mapping you out from head to toe in a way no one else can. Rather than wires and circuits, you are flesh and blood, full of life and love—a love you willingly give to him. He doesn’t need you. He wants you, your affection, to chase the emotion that swells within his chest when you’re together. These are the moments he accepts his humanity, and he ponders a life that could have been . . . 

The bed creaks under your weight as he lays you down upon it, studying you, how your breath hitches in your throat and his touch leaves goosebumps in its wake. His actions are methodical, precise, removing your clothes at a painstaking pace and trailing kisses down your body all the while. You reach for him, tugging at the collar of his harness, but he pins your arms above your head with a growl and nip of warning to your lips; he wishes to lose himself in you and analyze every dip and curve, every little detail that makes you who you are—he cannot afford distractions, and the tenderness of your caress is far too potent.  

He swallows your whine with a kiss, slow and languid, his free hand coming to rest on the column of your throat, stroking the delicate skin with his thumb. Still, you do not fear him, baring your neck to him with a sigh of longing that makes him all too aware of his own arousal as your legs spread to accommodate him. You’re so needy, but he’s no better, his resolve wavering the second he tastes you on his tongue. 

Your thighs tremble, muscles tensing, as his fingers gather your wetness and sink into your heat. The sound that leaves you is music to his ears. Nuzzling between your breasts, his lips poised above your heart, he listens to the sweet melody of its beats mingled with your breathy moans and the slickness of his thrusts. You are far from perfect, a slave to your humanity, and yet your beauty is unparalleled. Without your flaws, you would not be the person he’s come to adore.  

When his cock replaces his fingers, and your warmth envelops him, he sees stars.  

For a moment he forgets to breathe, his chest tight and eyes glazing over. Every time feels like the first—beautiful and agonizing all at once. He both curses and praises you for bringing him back down to earth and forcing him to feel things he hasn’t in years. How is it possible to hate and love something as much as he does you? His attempts to snuff out the flames you ignited in him failed long ago. In the beginning, the burn was much too painful, and now he welcomes it, melting into you without hesitance or remorse. 

He exhales, shuddering as you brush the hair back from his face and stroke his cheek—tethering him to this godforsaken planet. You gaze up at him, face flushed and eyes brimming with affection. You’re exquisite, and his heart aches at the sight. His fingers flex, digging into your hips, and your lips meet in a bruising kiss. 

You want him. 

Your legs wrap around his waist, drawing him in as he pulls you into his arms and holds you tightly against his chest. This close he can watch the pleasure flicker across your face, not missing a single detail, not even the most minute. His desire comes second to his observations, mind working to commit the image of you to memory. For as long as he lives, he wishes to remember you this way, tears on your cheeks and back arching when you call out a name he once considered long dead. 

You want him. 

His head spins, your cries a siren song he can’t help but follow over the edge. Your body tightens and convulses, and he loses all rationale, swept out to sea in the waves of your ecstasy. It’s as if he’s drowning, gasping for air but unable to stay afloat, and he doesn’t want to. 

A deep growl reverberates through his chest, and he thrusts into you like the madman he is, sloppy and unrefined, but he loves the way you squeeze him, your body begging for all he is and has, and he gives it to you. You writhe beneath him, screaming when his teeth sink into your shoulder, the heady scent of blood filling his nostrils and sliding down his throat like a fine wine. Laving his tongue over the wound, he tilts his head up to lick away your tears before kissing you, staining your lips red. 

In his eyes, you look perfect; his finest creation. Beads of sweat dot your skin like stars, creating constellations he could study for hours. You’re more real than the sky above at any rate. 

Collapsing atop you, into your awaiting arms, you tuck his head beneath your chin as your fingers stroke through his hair. The sensation is electrifying, grounding him as he steadies himself and catches his breath. Exhaustion weighs heavily upon him, though he hasn’t felt such peace in weeks. He allows himself this, your warmth and affection regardless of how many times he’s told himself he doesn’t need this—need you. It’s a part of himself he has yet to come to terms with, but he doesn’t want to lose the happiness you bring him. It’s different than the happiness his work provides. It makes him feel human—it makes him feel whole. 

There’s no harm in exploring it further, is there? 

He rolls onto his back, bringing you with him. A smile softens his features, and he doesn’t hide the fact he’s enamored by you, admiring your blissful expression in the afterglow of your lovemaking. Sliding a hand between your legs, he gives a purr of satisfaction at the stickiness of his release that now coats your thighs and the shiver that travels through you from his touch. 

This calls for another round of tests to evaluate his findings, he decides. A true scholar wouldn’t stop here, after all. 

The following morning, fractured sunlight pours through the frost on the windows, and you snuggle into his thigh, blanket pulled over your head to keep out the cold and catch a few more minutes of sleep. Perhaps he merely required a good night’s rest to clear his mind, and he has you to thank for that. His pen glides across the parchment with ease, and it’s almost infuriating how everything falls into place. You were the exception it seems. Setting his notes aside, he joins you under the covers, tongue tracing the bruise that now darkens your shoulder. He grins, all teeth, when you gasp. 

It’s only fair he rewards his assistant for their hard work. 

[noellewrxtes]

i may be working on the thing that i absolutely should not be working on and i may or may not have a snippet under the cut

"Hey, they're looking for you," Shisui announced when Itachi emerged the next morning, throwing a Cheerio at his head. Even though Shisui had watched him dodge projectiles like a fucking acrobat just the previous night, he made no effort to dodge this one, letting it bounce off his forehead and fall to the floor without even acknowledging it. His eyes glued themselves to the television screen, his own face staring back out at him from a picture of him with his younger brother. A press conference played in the right hand corner of the screen where the man from the night before stood in a well-tailored suit, formerly disheveled hair pulled out of his face, asking for the return of his beloved nephew. Shisui couldn't tell if Itachi was turning pale or if that was just his normal complexion.

"They're offering a reward and shit," he continued, taking a bit of his cereal. "Fifty grand. Shit, I could use that..."

Across the room, Itachi's eyes snapped to him, shoulders stiffening and stance lowering, preparing for movement.

Shisui rolled his eyes. "Relax," he said. "I'm not gonna turn you in. I saw that guy try to kill you, remember?"

Itachi still didn't say anything, but he released an exhale and he didn't make a rush for the window, so Shisui chose to believe that was a good sign.

"So, what," Shisui asked, just to have something to say, "he's after your inheritance or something? I mean, the news said your parents were loaded."

"I don't know," Itachi answered softly, eyes round and honest and confused.

"That's some real Lion King shit," Shisui muttered, looking back at the screen. "Knock off the parents first, then the kids. Damn." A moment passed with the only sound being the oily smooth voice from the television, light casting stark shadows across the room. Then Shisui asked, "What are you going to do?"

For the first time since Shisui had met him, Itachi truly seemed the mere fourteen years that he was--his frame small, eyes downcast, anxiety carved into the downward curve of his frown. He looked scared, in the way you can only be when you've realized too young that you have no idea what comes next and no one left to guide you through it. He looked terrified in the way only an orphan could, in the way only someone like Shisui could understand, but his voice was steady when he answered, "I don't know."

And wasn't that just the worst, because Shisui didn't have a damn clue in hell either.

"Well," he said after a long, pregnant pause, "we'll figure something out. Here, you want some cereal?"