#open one of their eyes to find the ink demon moving past them as they pull themselves from the wall-

[arcadequeerz]

Not doing the best atm so I’m just gonna sit here imagining me w my faves.

[deafsignifcantother]

alastor just being weird

♥ summary: alastor wanting you solely for the fact that you smell delightful so he starts searching your room ♥ relationships: alastor x [deaf] woman reader, deafness not a major point ♥ word count: 600 ♥ notes: reader wears makeup, she likes photography, she also doesn't really gaf about alastor being snoopy and weird LOLZ

Now that you're not in here, he can look around. He's welcomed himself into your empty room, eyes roaming everywhere except the attached bathroom, of course. He's immoral but not indecent. Where should he even start?

As the hotelier, it is his job to meet and make the guests comfortable. To be able to do that, he needs to know more about you, which is out of kindness and does not relate to how good you smell or how he would enjoy making you his next meal, most be mistaken.

Your dresser's drawers are a good start.

Just a standard assortment of socks and underwear, some salacious as any demon would have, neatly arranged. One pair of fishnets, a small collection of photos, a camera, a notebook. Do you always keep things like this? Or did you develop a new habit after the sudden move-in. He is hoping to find a clue as to who you are, and notebooks have saved him a lot of times before. He lightly picks it up and flips it open. Blank pages. Do you write in invisible ink? His claws finger through the pages one at a time before he bends them and watches them fly by. There's nothing.

He's wasting time. He places it back and lifts up the photos. The red sky above. One is a long shot of the pentagram with the Hazbin Hotel in the center.

In the next drawer there are no clothes, only a single makeup bag and accessories. Mismatched earrings, it seems you have a habit of losing one of every pair and then stashing them away—in case you find the other?

Alastor opens the drawer closest to the ground. Empty except for what he can only guess is a miscellaneous drawer. The brush smells like you from the multiple hair strands wrapped around it. His nose twitches; how delightful. He reaches for it slowly, brain rocking back and forth in his skull. But by the time he grips the handle, it's too late to stop. The bristles meet his nose, and he takes a whiff, savoring the pleasant fragrance that fills his lungs. He puts it back before he gets carried away.

Your room has a lovely and quite large wooden wardrobe. As he expected, when he opens it, there is space needing to be filled. His smile twitches at the soft gust of your smell; the scent assaults his hunger.

His index claw drags down a long sleeve, wrapping around the material and bringing it up to his nose. Even when clean, you've corrupted the cotton.

The moment the door opens, he fades into the shadows. He stands before the bathroom door as you step out in a robe, fresh out of the shower. It's the robe he gifted you, a welcome gift. He'll never tell you it's for capturing the soapy aroma of your wet body.

You look behind him, eyes flickering back. His smile tightens. Ah, he left the wardrobe's door open.

Alastor straightens his suit, shoulders a bit taut from embarrassment. He makes a show of brushing off his sleeves while you stand in the same place; the weight of your stare makes him sweat. "Well, my dear, I'm afraid I must be off, one can't even imagine the things I'm busied with!"

He looks up at you, his monocle hiding one of his eyes, his expression unreadable while he waits for a response. His wavery pupils match the small, excited shake of his hands. He doesn't leave immediately, curious him.

"And 'be off' you may," you walk past him, signing in simple pse to strengthen your point, not acknowledging him further. Your hand rests on the wooden frame, getting a small glance inside the wardrobe before closing it softly. By the time you turn around, Alastor is gone.

[slutxs]

FLUNG THROUGH TIME

SERIES : DEMON SLAYER

lowercase intended

Chapter 3

Chapter song :

[ snowy path]

Cicadas Chriped loudly around the unconscious girl that laid in middle of the woods. The bright moonlight casted glow onto her skin that made her most tempting. Surrounded by wisteria trees that unknowingly protected from the horrors outside of her little forest fortress. Laid beside the sleeping girl was a glinting sword the hilt black as night. A few paces away was a fox mask which was white with red swirls moving ever so slowly against the porcelain clay.

Petals from the wisteria fell around her in a way making a halo as she slept peacefully. She wouldn't wake till dropplets of rain touched her face. Liyah eyes move behind her lids as she groans and pushes herself into a sitting position before opening her eyes. Liyah took in her surroundings in a state of weary and confusion.

Where was she... The strine was nowhere in sight and the wisteria trees looked much younger than what she was used to. Looking down she finally noticed the sword, it was like the one she saw in the strine but the hilt wasn't totally black it was infused with white linen. Which look slightly worn with the it had pieces hanging from its hilt.

Sliding her hand around the sword liyah carefully picks it up, moving it back and forth feeling the weight in her hands. As she runs her index finger over the dull part of the sword she flooded with memories of time before and now. The sword showed her glimpses of the past and how important her arrival in this time would be.

Liyah clenches her eyes close trying to stop all the information flowing into her brain. She gasps slightly choking on her breath. She cuts her hand on the blade and watches in fear as the wound slowly but surely binds itself together right in front of her frantic gaze.

"What the fuck!'" Liyah scream out in the silence of the night. Her night was not going great at all first she got sucked into a sword back in time and now shes some kind of vital piece to a puzzle. Liyah stood weakly off the ground, taking a deep breathe she sheathes the sword and tucks it into her obi.

Out the corner of her eyes she sees swirls of ink. Turning fully she glances down at the mask taking in the slowly movements of the ink; it was beautiful... Almost like it was dancing a lovers tale against the ivory paint. Reaching down liyah picks up the mask slowly and watches and the ink pick up speed almost as if it was reacting to her presence. It swirled excitedly forming small fire works against the clay before calming itself like a body of water.

Liyah smiles down wildly at the mask before tying it around the hilt of the sword that was now in her occupancy. Taking it her surroundings liyah knew she couldn't stay in her safe heaven forever she had to find someone to help her. She didn't know where to start which made her feel fearful of what was to come. Looking up into the starry night she noticed it was too dark which was telling her it wouldn't be daylight anytime soon.

Taking slow steps liyah reaches the end of the wisteria trees which lead back into the back into the dark forest in front of her. Looking around a thought pops up in her mind. No longet than a second liyah bends down grabbing hand fulls of wisteria petals. She started by stuffing stuffing some into her kimono and braiding it into the linen on the hilt of sword. The petals where pretty, liyah didn't give much thought to them. She did not know they would grant protection for a few days time before the wilted away.

Steping onto the black Forest floor just outside the wisteria trees liyah listened quietly to her surroundings. Suddenly her hearing was keen, she could hear from a mile away. . there was a doe and fawn drinking from a river and about another mile ahead she hear a mother bird feeding her hatchlings in the late night. While her smell and sight did nothing for her she noticed that nails long giving into the shape of stilettos, her nails we're sharp as talons. Liyah didn't know what she turned into but she would use it to her full advantage.

Liyah decided to follow the path of the river hopefully it would direct her to where humans would be. Liyah stepped fully into the forest and turned right following the the soft sounds of flowing water. She would be stuck in the forest for a few days from how far the river flowed throughout the Forrest. She would have to find food along the rivers path which would be easy. Unknowingly to her before she would reach civilians her petals would wlit.

Liyah hummed a soft tune as she walked thinking of how she got into all this mess in the first but for some reason all the information that given to her was locked into a box in the back of her consciousness. Shaking her from her muddled thoughts liyah brought up one sharp finger to poke at her lips. It was a habit of hers, yelping from accidentally jabbing her lip. Liyah slowly licked up the blood from her stinging lip, catching her pink tongue on bottom row of her teeth she felt the dull poke of fangs hiding underneath her gums.

To say liyah was shell-shocked... She was actually going crazy she wasn't something quite human anymore, it was weird to say the least. But she wouldn't knock anything after being sent to past by a fucking talking sword. Liyah didn't notice that she had came to a full stop while checking out her teeth. Liyah picks up her pace placing her hand against the hilt of her sword. It give her a sense of protection within the pitch dark forest.

Liyah sighs in relief as she is met with the river it few like hours she'd been walking but she for some reason she could keep going for a little. The river was made up sharp rocks and dead logs, surrounding it liyah noticed the snow finally. It was so white.. So clean that liyah felt she was dirtying it with just by staring at it. Silently liyah walks the snow filled path, moving at pace where regular humans would grow tired after a while.

Folding her arms into the sleeves of kimono to protect her from the cold of this area. Liyah begans the same hum from earlier; it's tune calming her once more and causing the black ink on her mask to finally pick up a soft movement again.

Unkowing to liyah a few miles out of radar was a tall figure standing so still that it was not human . The talk figure could not be made out due to the darkness of the trees covering the moon. The figure watched liyahs every move down to the twitch of her full lips as she hummed that sounded much more eerily.

Those luminous eyes bled yellow with blue sclera. Watching closely the figure eyed the wisteria petals in disbain. The tall figure moved it's eyes back to the girls face almost painstakingly slow not wanting to miss anything. The snow fell against her eye lashes and her vine like hair, it most outer worldly.

"Interesting... "

[partbadpartwolf]

I haven't written in a while but I thought of a cute/silly story post season 2 of good Omens and just wanted to write it. Don't know how long it will be or if I'll continue it. If people end up liking it why not. Can't promise it will be written particularly well but enjoy:

It was a weird morning. Then again, ever since that night where the ball/meeting they attended was attacked by demons, Nina figured weird was now relative. As she finished getting ready for the morning rush she saw Maggie walking over.

She waved while shoving the last of the freshly made pastries into the glass display. Opening up the door Maggie stepped in and took off her coat. Hair soaked to her face, she tried her best to dry herself in the doorway. Another rainy day. All the days has been rainy since last week when they last talked to Crowley. He looked like his usual gruff self sitting in his car as Nina had waved to him trying to give him a reassuring look.

He must have talked to Mr. Fell, she thought while a sense of unease crept over her. Speaking of: Nina hadn't seen him at all in the past week. He usually kept his bookshop closed and opened at the most random of times, but this seemed different.

Nina gazed past Maggie and over at the Bentley parked in front of the shop. It had been parked for quite a while with no sign of Mr. Crowley. Maggie saw where she was looking and turned around to gaze out the window. "I haven't seen either of them in a while. Do you think they are having some quality alone time?" Maggie asked with a tinge of mischief on the words "alone time."

Thinking about the face Crowley made that day she saw him, Nina wasn't so sure. She gave Maggie a shrug and grabbed her own coat off the coat rack. "Stay here I'll be right back."

Pulling her hood over her head Nina walked briskly to the bentley. Her hand attempting and failing at keeping the whipping rain out of her face. Thunder roared in the distance as she made her way across the street towards where the bentley always sat. Wiping the rain off the windows she peered into the car. It seemed perfectly clean and empty. In pristine condition. Almost too pristine. She tried the door on the driver's side and found that it was unlocked. When the door opened a wave of alcohol smell filled her nostrils, overwhelming her momentarily. She stuck her head out of the car and coughed trying to shake off the burning sensation. Her eyes watered and for a moment she was unsure she'd be able to investigate further.

Then in the corner of her eye just barely visible was something on the floor of the passenger side of the vehicle. Looking at her with yellow eyes was the biggest snake Nina had ever seen. The scales as dark as ink pools, but strangely beautiful. She blinked and could see the night sky full of stars in the scales. As quickly as they appeared the scales returned to normal inky blackness. After starring at her for a moment the snake seemed to have no interest, closing it's eyes and not moving. Nina, shocked to find such a creature inside of a car in the middle of SoHo forgot for a second that she should be terrified. He could be venomous, it could suddenly bite her if she wasn't careful. However her instincts in that moment shut off and she moved closer to where it was. She inched into the driver's seat and shut the door. Looking down on the floor to see if the snake reacted at all to the door being shut. Thunder boomed again and flashes of lightning trailed into the sky. It jumped her a bit and the snake poked one eye open to look at her. Wearily it moved it's head slightly toward the passenger seat. Slithering part of its upper body onto the seat it seemed to regard her with mild curiosity and slight annoyance. To Nina the gaze was very familiar. She couldn't really explain why she did what she did next and if you asked depending on the day, she'd give you about 10 different answers. At this particular moment in time everything seemed to happen in the next .05 seconds. Maggie watching the whole time was about to come out and see what Nina was actually doing when suddenly she was back in the coffee shop with a black bundle of something in her arms. It wasn't until she saw what looked like a head and blinking yellow eyes that she jumped back in surprise. " Don't worry it's not dangerous, I don't think." Nina said out of breath. She locked the shop door quickly and went out back to the kitchen with a black mass of something still in her arms. When she came back out she had it in a white towel and Maggie could now see more clearly it was a snake. The biggest she had ever seen in person. Maggie had always loved snakes. Any animal really. The sheer size of it was still enough to make her approach cautiously.

"Was THAT in the car?" she asked finally snapping out of her awe of it's size. The scales on the other hand were beautiful. She found herself staring at them, marveling at how even though they were black they had some of the most intricate detail she'd ever seen reflected in them. Almost as if, if she stared long enough she could see galaxies born and then dust. Blinking again the scales returned to their normal black. If they had ever been normal at all. It gave her a headache.

Nina sat down on one of the tables and rested the snake down on it. It looked like it changed sizes to fit onto the table from when it was first brought in. Nina wiped the water off it's head and the snake stuck out it's tongue, eyes still closed. "Do you suppose he's their pet?" Maggie asked, not knowing any other explanation. "I have no idea." "Why did you bring it in here? And why does it smell like alcohol?" " I don't know… it just looked…. sad." "How does a snake look sad?" Maggie asked stifling a nervous laugh. As if to answer the snake opened it's eyes and looked at Maggie. She couldn't explain it but the stare felt familiar. She also felt a sense of calm that the snake wasn't dangerous. She suddenly understood why Nina brought him over. Closing it's eyes it burrowed into the towel and coiled around itself. Disappearing into the folds. "It's probably Mr. Crowley's, he'll be looking for him you should put him back." " I can't just put him back he's probably been in there all alone. I haven't seen heads or tails of either of those two for over a week. Besides I don't recall either of them mentioning they have a pet snake do you?" Maggie thought for a moment. Did either of them mention snakes in all our little adventure? She couldn't be sure. Every time she tried to think on what happened it got fuzzier and fuzzier to her mind. As if her brain were actively trying to erase details of that night. "We could drop him off at the bookshop, they probably have food and a terrarium or something set up for the poor thing." Maggie offered. "Why would they have those things in a bookshop?" "Mr. Fell has all sorts of things in there I dunno, Why else would it be in Mr. Crowley's car? Maybe it was a present or something for Mr. Fell when they finally talked about their feelings." "Why would Mr. Fell want a snake? He doesn't seem like the type."

At that the snake scurried out of the towel jumping both of them at the speed in which it moved. Just like before, it's sized changed as it slithered across the floor, getting bigger each second. So big in fact there would have been no way Nina could have carried him here, or back. They looked at each other not sure what to do, as the snake went underneath one of the booths hissing and bearing it's fangs. Nina got up first. slowly approaching the creature with her hands down at her sides. "It's alright, we won't take you back if you don't want to go." It was crazy, talking to a giant black snake. Why was she talking to a giant black snake? She couldn't really say. The snake gazed at her direction when she spoke. " You aren't quite normal are you?" Nina asked. "You think it's about the demons that attacked the shop, that's why it doesn't want to go back there? Or it could be one of those demons stayed behind." Maggie speculated. The snake hissed at being compared to those idiots. "Whatever it is…. It definitely understands what we are saying. I don't get the sense it wants to hurt us, quite the opposite actually." Nina explained not knowing exactly why she knew that. The snake made an expression very much like rolling it's eyes as if to say…"Duh." A spark of recognition hit Maggie suddenly and she got up out of her seat approaching the creature.

"Mr. Crowley?"

[fowleyes]

𝐌𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘 :      21 ^_^                    ( image )

                                                               --  @inlife    

𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐃𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐘 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 the gravity of their existence & vision lacks reception to anything . his eyes display nothing , yet he feels his world spinning , the ceilings collapsing , & the walls closing in on him . his breathing increases & there's a backdrop of continued metronome beeping faster & faster with every moment that tears into his psyche . 

reality creeps in like a lingering demon from his past & dammit it all , it looks like he's alive . he can't move a muscle , & he dares not even try . he has no idea how long it's been since he'd released the reanimation jutsu , nor why it is that he still draws breath . he is bitter & resentful in this moment  .  .  .  he was supposed to have met the ruin that would subdue his endless suffering . it's all for naught . it's all for naught . could he not , even in his moments' most suffering , be the martyr damned by sin's consequence ?

it's not long after he wakes that a person meets his side , the needle in his hand causing mild discomfort & the smell of sanitization overwhelms his senses . the setting of the hospital clicks in his mind . he's putting pieces together , dissecting his present with each moment's passing & he feels a cold hand touch his wrist . the sensation sends goosebumps up his arms . he flinches , once , twice , & as she speaks , begins to recognize the medical - nin as one who stood at naruto's side , always fighting for sasuke , never wavering . he's shocked for awhile ; everything is still processing .

silence permeates the tension in the air that has since blossomed into extreme discomfort & upon further analysis of the room in which he lays , he hears his younger brother speak from the corner . in the fluctuations of their voices , he hears both hope & concern .

much has passed since he's awoken , but he's certain his strength will never return to what it once was . him & sasuke have been working to recover some semblance of a relationship since the trauma of their individual burdens , shared & also , completely their own . he sits in his apartment ( devoid of much , save for the kitchen , where he spends a bulk of his time now , developing his favorite hobby ) & his brother finds himself , along with sakura , seated politely at his dining room table . 

itachi makes his way over to join them , limping , as slippers slide against wood flooring . it's the new year , so after doing his best to clean everything in his living space , he thought he'd invite them over to share some toshikoshi soba . he's glad they came , yet cannot help but feel a pang of guilt & an emptiness within his chest at the thought of a genuine family dinner .

after finding a seat among the two , the hours grow shorter with each one's passing . they've begun opening up to each other , offering sibling - like jabs , & polite sorts of teasing . itachi is still awkward with sakura , but he does his best to make her feel included . ( he never once blamed her for saving his life , despite the resentment he feels for living ) .

laughing is hard for him , often resulting in a dry cough & a subtle , yet bearable , pain in his chest . he makes sure not to do it often , so , at times , it comes across as though he's unreceptive to playful banter , or menial jokes . 

& speaking of jokes , it takes several hours before itachi saunters to his living room , noticing , as he attempts to grab a bottle of sake , an unfamiliar jar that sits upon his lamp table , with what feels like a hand written label attached . he stretches his fingers across the inked paper , feeling for the characters without making a sound .

" いきりいんきゃ* "  it reads .

ah . so this is what's become of him . he supposes its well deserved .

though , you'd think after the slaughter of everyone you've ever loved ( with one exception ) you'd deserve far less than a holiday dinner & a douchebag jar .

he silently places ten - thousand yen within it , & offers the two a knowing smile before sliding it toward them .

he doesn't bother to guess whose idea it was .

[sonasnowdrop]

May regret posting this but if more chapters come out then congratulations to me I didn’t get cold feet

.

.

Chapter 1: runaway angel

-Break the cycle-

Addison was packing up that day to move locations, she had decided where she was currently staying was far too dangerous for a little angel toon like herself. She wanted to move to the upper levels where it’s more safe and resourceful.

Once she was done packing everything important she made her way down the twisted halls, avoiding any searches that swarmed or lost ones that have already gone mad. Heading up wouldn’t be a easy task however since the stairs and elevators are very hard to find when one is this deep in the studio, but the little angel was determined I can make it, I can do it she thought to herself attempting to boost her confidence.

She began to grow a bit hungry while sneaking about and tried ducking underneath a table to satisfy her hunger. She dug inside her bag and pulled out a donut that she happily munched on but also making sure to chew quietly just in case any nearby lost ones could potentially hear her.

Once she finished eating she crawled out from underneath the table and heard someone gasp, she turned her head in the direction of the noise and widened her eyes noticing a lost one had noticed her exiting the table. She sprung to her feet and attempted to dash away when a searcher grabbed her arm and pushed her to the ground.

she frantically backed away but was completely surrounded by them. They bickered and mumbled while cornering Addison and began to reach for her bag, realizing they were only tugging the bag she threw it off for them to fight over.

Seeing her chance to escape she slipped past them.

Addison had spotted an elevator and jumped for joy inside, she ran towards it while the lost ones were distracted but..then..suddenly the floor began to rumble and pipes began to burst. The floor rumbled so hard she almost slipped and fell to the floor.

She looked back at the lost ones and even they seemed just as confused and panicked as she was. The walls began to drip ink from in between it’s creases, her heart raced when she realized what this was, who this was, she needed to get out of there fast.

Then out of no where the ink demon appeared from a nearby hallway and attacked the greedy lost ones, ripping them to shreds while some got away. Addison gasped, it happened so quick she couldn’t even comprehend at first, she wasted no time running towards the elevator and slamming the buttons frantically practically begging for the doors to open.

She grew very impatient as the elevator took forever to get to her, then she heard a loud thud. She whipped her head around, and her eyes widened as the demon stared her down and then slowly approached her.

Addisons thoughts were loud, and her heart felt like it was gonna bust right outta her chest. RUN! RUN!! RUN!!Was all her mind was shouting but her legs wouldn’t move, she was completely paralyzed with fear.

The demon stood before her, tall and lanky. It leaned down to Addisons eye level. Addison slammed her eyes shut preparing for the worst fate imaginable in this world. Being consumed by the ink demon themself.

But then, moments passed by, she kept her eyes shut tight. More minutes passed. Slightly confused on why she isn’t being mangled and eaten right now, she opened one eye to see the demon was..walking away?

When it was fully gone, out of sight, the elevator dinged before opening. She stepped inside and pushed the floor she wanted to arrive at.

She starred at the floor confused

"..what..the hell..was that..?"

She whispered to herself. She couldn’t stop thinking about it the whole way there. When arriving she tried to take her mind off it by searching for new snacks and gear since the lost ones had taken her bag.

But still, it was very fresh in her mind.

Chapter 2 !

[that-one-cat-meow]

4. DYING BODY, LIVING SOUL

Fear. Stress. Confusion.

If you were Bendy, you'd feel the same, wouldn't you? After all... he is locked in an empty, dark room.

The cat didn't know what to do. Run away? Like where? What, is it supposed to make circles around its own axis? Call for help? The main rooms are miles away - only the souls surrounding him on every side will hear him. Though he couldn't see them, he felt an unpleasant warmth as the eyes of the spirits stared at his fur. He decided to take a look at his surroundings. There was a table here. And a candle! Something to light a candle? Nothing. Cards, jars of ink, cans of bacon soup, but nothing really useful...

A silhouette.

The silhouette that locked him here! What was it like? Such matted fur, it was brown in the light, a small scar under the eye, eyes with such bags and that deadly, heart-attack look of brown eyes ... and that malicious smile ...

Joey...

Joey Drew...

You'll pay me for this," Bendy growled. And then he saw it. That shadow of the cat that was in the room he was running past... it walked past him wagging it tail elegantly, but it wasn't a she-cat or anything...

It was a tomcat

And his name was Fang.

The ghost walked over to the candle, lit it by blowing on it, dissolving into the air. The room was blinded by light. There was a large puddle of ink next to one wall. The cat entered it, sinking his paws into.

One of ussss...

"I'm not one of you," Bendy hissed at the whisper.

You can't escape your destiny...

"I will escape any trap you set for me!" he continued.

"You don't understand, do you?"

Exactly eight gray ghosts with white eyes and mouths like the white face of a carved pumpkin appeared before him.

"What am I to understand?" The live cat took two steps back and ruffled its fur, looking at each of the ghosts.

"We, your servants, are faithful to you. You, our king, are above us all," said all the souls at once.

"W-what..."

"Hear the voice of God!"

"Let him catch you in his heavenly paws!"

"Let him say it's your destiny!"

"You are our savior!"

"You are a demon, firstborn son of ink."

"N-no! Bendy protested. Leave me alone! I am not your king! I am no savior!"

"Each of us died in suffering ... - a tiny kitty came forward.

"Hunger."

"Tired."

"From pain."

"For longing."

"Through torture."

"From stress."

"Protecting loved ones."

"Because we lived, we were condemned to death."

Bendy fell silent and stopped moving. A sharp hiss pierced the air. The souls fled when a tomcat appeared in front of Bendy and helped him light a candle.

"Give him time. And don't force anything." he snorted and turned to the tomcat "Are you okay?"

"Yes... r-rather yes..." replied the smaller cat, who was surprised to hear the voice of the mysterious figure. This ghost was quite tall, well built, had short light gray fur, and had a glitch effect on its body... it was a bit scary, and its voice was low.

"What do they want from me?" Bendy asked.

"As they said - they left in suffering and pain. They're looking for someone who can hear them, who can see... you answered their calls, so they probably thought you wanted to help them."

"I'd like to find help myself..."

"It's probably because of your powers that you're locked up here..."

"Can you see it like that?"

"Distraction, flying eyes, wiggling ears... Joey's not stupid. I had the opportunity to meet him in person... not a nice type of cat..."

"What is your name?"

The ghost looked at Bendy with a hint of amusement.

"It seemed to me that you already knew the answer to this question" the tomcat got up from the ground "My name is Fang. I used to live outside the studio but I died in it and I'm kind of trapped here..."

"I'm sorry..."

"Yeah... but at least I can go where living paws can't go."

"That is?"

Fang extended a paw to the smaller tomcat, and the latter caught it. The spirit opened a portal for them, and when they passed through it, they found themselves in a black abyss, with only white outlines of trees, grass, and here and there stones.

"Where are we?" Bendy looked around in wonder as Fang led him to the edge of the cliff.

There was no river of ink down there. There was a SEA of ink!

"Bendy... welcome to the Forest of Souls."

[mewtagen-mau]

Entry 9

We did, indeed, find Nualia. We did not, however, get many more answers than we had before. I certainly feel like I have more questions than answers, and she doesn’t seem to actually know all that much in the grand scheme of things. Someone else was pulling the strings here.

After we camped out with Shalelu, we returned to Thistletop to continue our investigation. We ventured down to the second floor—at first we smacked face-first into a locked door, but using a different staircase we were able to make our way down eventually.

The second floor seemed to mostly be living quarters. We found a room that belonged to Bruthasmus, the bugbear with whom Shalelu shares a mutual hatred. He was not present, however. Only his consorts were. We decided we really didn’t want to have to fight these ladies if they heard anything amiss, so we maneuvered one of the heavy pickle barrels from the floor above in front of the door to temporarily barricade it.

A little more exploring revealed living quarters for Nualia, Tsuto, and two unfamiliar names: Orik and Lyrie. There were noises indicating a person was occupying “Orik’s” room. So Tabot knocked.

Orik was a fairly genial man, albeit a bit drunk. Tabot offered my jug of Ameiko’s punch to him. Which I didn’t really want to give away, but if it got us into this guy’s good books and meant one less person we had to fight and kill down here, then I’ll live. I’m sure Ameiko will have another concoction to share another day.

It turns out Orik was not terribly loyal to Nualia—he mostly just hung around because he was infatuated with a wizard also on Nualia’s payroll, that Lyrie whose name was on the other door. The problem was that Lyrie only had eyes for Tsuto—who in turn only had eyes for Nualia. You could make a bad romance novel out of this.

Orik warmed up to us significantly when we implied that Tsuto ‘had an accident’ and died—and that we may or may not have been said accident. Orik decided this was the perfect opportunity to convince Lyrie to quit, since she didn’t like Nualia, so there was no reason left to stay. He warned us not to let on that we’d caused Tsuto’s death if we ran into them, and that Lyrie was ‘a bit grumpy’.

Before he scampered off, we were able to get a little information out of him about what else we could expect on this floor. There was apparently a temple that had ‘an invisible presence’ inside. He sometimes saw the door open and close on its own, so that implied whatever it was, it wasn’t bound to stay in the temple. Which meant we’d need to deal with it somehow.

The only other thing he could warn us about was that there was an open cliff face a ways off, and there was a thing with tentacles roaming around there—although there was also some treasure scattered around there, too.

We decided we were going to clear out the temple to avoid any nasty surprises, then see about going downstairs—which Orik told us was past where Lyrie would be doing her work. So if he needed our help to back up his argument for leaving, we could do that along the way.

We found an entrance into the temple, and Tabot managed to somehow discern where the invisible creatures were lurking. He pointed them out to me, and I threw my ink well at the nearest one, covering it in black smears that clearly indicated where it was.

The other one came up behind me, digging razor sharp teeth into my bad leg and ripping my feet out from beneath me, sending me falling to the ground.

At the same time, the other Yeth Hound began baying like it had cornered prey in a hunt and it was time for the pack to move in. I felt a primordial fear try to cloud my senses, but I clamped down on my rational thought and forced my way through.

The others stood their ground as well—clearly we’d honed our willpower since the fight with the little demon who sent half of us running.

The four of us managed to clear out the twisted hounds, despite them being unnaturally hardy—many weapon attacks barely scratched them.

Satisfied that the biggest threat that might come up behind us was dispatched, we went to see how Orik was doing convincing Lyrie to leave.

I was a little distracted during this particular conversation but will record it to the best of my memory. As you may recall, Lyrie was mentioned to be a wizard. As a wizard, she had a familiar. That familiar was a cat.

I realize how this is going to sound…but I am allergic to cats. Not to fellow catfolk, mind you. Only to actual cats.

So I was distracted trying not to distract everyone else with sneezing and sniffling.

Anyways, the basics of the conversation to my recollection were this: Lyrie didn’t believe Orik that Tsuto was dead. Nanel confirmed he was very much dead and it was very much not our fault, we just happened to learn that the local guards had caught him in the glassworks and killed him. Lyrie floated the suggestion of avenging Tsuto by continuing to help Nualia with her plans to crush Sandpoint. Orik told her to let it go, that she didn’t even like Nualia, and she could start fresh somewhere else. Some more back and forth was had, and eventually Lyrie agreed to leave with Orik to wherever he was going for their fresh start. As she was getting her stuff together, Lyrie warned us that Bruthasmus had been through, and was probably holed up with Nualia. Then they left.

And she took the cat with her.

Although the entire room was covered in its fur so it’s not like it helped much.

I think Krysa found a spell book. I don’t remember if we talked any about what to do about Bruthasmus. But then we went down the stairs, to the final floor of Thistletop.

As we reached the bottom and my sinuses were already clearing up a bit, I heard something coming down the stairs behind us. Fast. It sounded wet, and like it had tentacles.

We’d been worried about the invisible hounds, but apparently it was the other thing we’d discounted as just a beast that was now coming up behind us.

We barreled down the stairs and into the room beyond, turning to face what was coming up from behind.

The horror that shambled down the stairs after us was like a land-squid, all slimy tentacles and eyes. Unfortunately for it, since we heard it coming, we were able to counter its ambush with one of our own. It didn’t stand a chance, sliced to bits as it pushed its way into the room. I was tempted to take a sample to see if monster-squid could be made into calamari, but we had more pressing issues than fish-experiments. We knew Nualia and Burthazmus were just ahead.

We didn’t press forward much more before Nanel and Krysa stopped us, pointing out an exceedingly deadly trap set up in the narrow hallway. Two ancient looking statues of a man wielding a glaive were set in enclaves to the sides of the hall. If their analysis of the trap was correct, the statues were set up to stab anyone who passed by multiple times, before the floor would fall out from under and deposit the victim into the ocean below.

Whoever built these ancient ruins sure didn’t want people snooping around.

We managed to bypass the trap safely, and gathered just beyond it. Before we bypassed the trap, however, we took a moment to really discuss our plan. Most of us were of the opinion that Nualia could be saved—that she had been dealt a bad hand, and she just needed someone to acknowledge her hurt and try to guide her away from Lamashtu’s manipulations. Tabot, however, disagreed. He believed that for the things she had done she was unforgivable, and that we should administer justice upon her. Nanel and Krysa argued against Tabot’s rather rigid position. I tried to reason with him that we should at least try to get through to her, and if she proves impossible to talk down, then we could talk about ‘justice’. One of us asked Tabot if someone was unforgivable for doing harmful things because you were suffering and someone took advantage of their fragile state of mind. Tabot replied without any hesitation or consideration, that yes, that made the person evil and they had to be dealt with.

I am…concerned by Tabot’s stance on this. If every mistake is taken as a show of a person’s inner moral failings, then no one is truly good. I don’t think there’s a person in the world who has never lashed out in anger, or lied in desperation, or stolen because they are starving, or what-have-you. I believe the circumstances of a person’s choices should be considered just as much as the choice itself.

Regardless, while we were in disagreement about how to handle Nualia, we were in agreement that something had to be done. And that meant pressing forward.

Beyond the trap there was a hall to our right, and a closed door to our left. We could hear sounds from the doorway, and knew it was likely we were going to face down Nualia now.

In the room beyond the door, we were proven correct. Nualia awaited us, along with the bugbear Bruthazmus, and another demonic hound.

They flew immediately into the offensive. However, Nanel and I tried to talk Nualia down. Nualia recognized Nanel, and his words seemed to affect her most deeply. She was faltering, but she hadn’t quite made up her mind.

Then, to my surprise, Tabot spoke up. He told her quite frankly that he didn’t think she could be saved—but that we did, and he trusted us. It sounded like maybe he wanted her to prove him wrong. Or maybe I’m just interpreting it that way because that’s what I’d like. Regardless…our words reached Nualia. She agreed to parlay.

She wasn’t given the chance.

The moment she stood down, she cried out in pain as her demonic looking arm shattered like so much stained glass, leaving her with only a stump where it had been. The shards of demonic energy that had been released swirled around the ceiling for a moment before entering Bruthazmus. The bugbear twitched and bloated out into a horrific demonic form.

We slayed the Yeth Hound, and went toe-to-toe with the inheritor of Lamashtu’s corrupt powers. The demonic bugbear focused on Tabot, nearly forcing our friend to his knees with his vicious attacks.

Even with only one arm, Nualia grabbed her blade from the floor and joined the battle on our side, laying into Bruthazmus as much as she could in her current state.

Together we bested the demonic monster. The room was quiet as the bugbear fell, only the sound of his body hitting the ground and the drip of blood from what was left of Nualia’s arm.

We did what healing we could. As we did, we asked Nualia some questions. Unfortunately, she didn’t have many answers. She apologized to me for my house, and told me she didn’t actually know who had ordered her to have it burnt down. She had a strange amulet with a Thassalonian rune on it, and she said she’d had dreams since putting it on, of a large stone face who directed her in the plans against Sandpoint. She gave me the amulet, incase it might prove useful in learning anything else. I am…admittedly at a loss.

Unfortunately, we still weren’t done for the day. Nualia told us that there was something far worse waiting to be unleashed in these ruins. The creature the goblins believed to be a god. Nualia confirmed that it did exist, although it was more a creature of abyssal nature than a god of any kind. It was powerful, though, and dangerous. If it was unsealed from its cage further in the ruins, it would be a blight on the world. And likely its first target would be nearby Sandpoint.

Nualia rested in the chambers where we’d fought while the rest of us went looking for this ‘Malfeshnekor’.

We ventured down the hall we’d seen, and came upon what at first appeared to be a pile of golden coins. Closer examination proved them to be an illusion, and to either side in the wall were small coin-shaped divots. We placed a gold piece in each divot. The coins vanished, and a secret passage opened. We decided to explore beyond the secret passage first rather than continuing to follow the hall—if the passage was so cleverly disguised, it was likely something important was beyond. Possibly a caged ‘goblin god’.

We explored the rooms beyond. One was locked, with a strangely shaped keyhole. We suspected this to be the demon’s cage. Further exploration led me into a room with a phantasmal image of that same man with the book and glaive. He was talking, speaking in Thassalonian. The message was only a small snippet of some sort of speech, which kept looping. Between how the man spoke, and having a better visual of him than the statues, was enough for me to surmise this man may have been one of the fabled Runelords who ruled Thassalon all those millennia ago. This ruin was an anthropological treasure trove. Hidden beneath a goblin den of all places…

The others found what appeared to be the key to Malfeshnakor’s cell. We prepared ourselves, and then opened the door and entered.

At first the cell appeared to be empty. It was only so until Tabot and Nanel had entered the chamber—with Krysa and I remaining just outside the door. The demonic creature—a greater barghest—appeared, striking Tabot. Nanel and Tabot teamed up against him, managing to do just as much damage to him as he did to them. Malfeshnakor was smarter than the goblins and beasts we’d fought before, though. He retreated across the room, then cast a mass Enlarge Person spell on all of us. Krysa and I resisted, avoiding being crushed by the walls of the small hall we stood in. Nanel was less fortunate, and became too large to retreat back out the door.

Then the barghest disappeared again—not invisible, but teleported out into the hallway beyond the door. Behind myself and Krysa.

Malfeshnakor cast another spell as we scrambled to face him. He attempted to overwhelm Krysa’s willpower and turn them against us. Krysa played along, pretending to listen as they cast a spell—then unleashed a flaming sphere on the barghast. Tabot charged in from the other room, slipping past me and Krysa, and struck Malfeshnakor with the full force of his smiting power. I assisted from afar with my explosives, before switching in to impale the infernal creature with my blade.

We managed to prevail, ending the demonic creature’s life and saving the oblivious world above from his freedom.

We were utterly spent. We’ve returned to camp with Shelalu, Nualia in tow. We kind of half explained the situation to Shelalu, and she accepted our explanations for the time being. Which means all there is left to do is rest, and then do one final sweep of those ruins in the morning. Just incase any other dangers are still hiding down there, waiting for the chance to return to the surface and wreak havoc.

[plush-rabbit]

Aphrodisiac Induced Reader + The Brothers

A/N: The brothers!! I hope yall enjoy!! Aphrodisiac induced is always a fun thing to play with. The brothers,, my beloved

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You really should have known better than to take food that was offered by Beel. You know that he has the right intentions in mind- that him sharing food is a miracle of itself and rejecting him would have his brows furrowed and lips pursed into a pout- but he’s also gluttony. He can eat whatever he wants and as much as he wants without so much of a stomach ache. You, on the other hand, cannot. You should have seen this coming when the cupcake you bite into filled your mouth with such an indescribable sweetness that it made your teeth ache, the flavor otherworldly and leaving you hungry for me, taking greedy bites out of the cutely decorated pastry. There was a sharp pang in your stomach, your body on fire and sex dripping with every nudge that your body made.

You couldn’t be alone right now- or maybe you should have been left alone, maybe that would have saved you from humiliation of your dripping arousal that was leaking past your slit. You’re quick to rise, standing on shaky legs, curled over as your cheeks burn, sweat beading against your skin, only worsening the sensitive state that you are in. It’s fast-acting, making your breaths come out in heated gasps, and everything just feels a bit too much, just too good for it to be normal. An aphrodisiac- a strong one that is making you impossibly aroused. You suck in a sharp breath and go to the person who you know will treat you right.

Lucifer:

Lucifer is a gentleman- most of the time at least. But during your time of need he is perfect to go to. He’ll allow you- or more like insist- that you stay in his office until the aphrodisiac’s effects have passed. You’ll lay on the couch, face buried into a throw pillow while the other one is between your legs. Shame has long been gone since you’ve entered his domain, his eyes never really leaving your shaky frame. When you moan his name, he stiffens, the pen in his hand is held tighter but he still rises, walking towards you in concern. He’ll sit beside you, let his hand curve over your forehead, feeling the heat go through his glove.

He clears his throat, pulling his hand away, and there’s this heavy look on your face, the pillow squeezed tight between your legs, the pillow under your head has faint imprints of your teeth. He’ll avoid touching you, pulling his hand away from you and walking briskly to his desk chair. He can hear your steps across the floor, the way you gasp his name and seem to rub your thighs together for any sort of friction. He won’t spare you a glance, eyes focused on the paperwork in front of him. Underneath the desk, his leg jolts as you snake your arms around his shoulders, your lips wet as they touch his neck.

There isn’t enough time in the day and night for him to focus on his work and on your growing needs that are starting to mark everything in his office. Black ink scratches along the pape, the letters growing shaky as you snake your way onto him. He’s actually startled when you situate yourself on his lap, your sex pressed against his erection. He’s surprised by your sudden confidence but writes it off due to the effects of the aphrodisiac. You’re above him, arms snaked once more on his shoulders and you play with the hair that rests on the nape of his neck.

The feeling of shame is not foreign to the Avatar of Pride but even then, letting you know that he is indeed aroused given the situation does bring a bit of heat to his body. His hands find their way to hold onto your hips, trying to ignore the way that you have begun to grind against his. But there is work to do and despite the growing need to pleasure both you and himself, he displaces you, ignoring the way that you call his name and can’t seem to stop touching him.

The only way to gain his attention that you desperately long for is to push him away, the wheels locking against an edge of the floor and you bend yourself over the desk. Lucifer wants to throw you out so you can be another’s problem but you pull your bottom layer off, your fingers searching inside your leaking hole and pride starts to fuel him. You touch yourself in front of him, beg for him to touch you- of course you would. Slender hands come to touch your body, and you’re already leaking onto the floor, thick, sweet arousal staining the very room that he allowed you to enter. His cock is against you, rimming around your entrance, hearing your cries and please for him to simply fuck you but you did cause him to become distracted from very important work and he is going to punish you for that.

Mammon:

Of course you’d go to him. He is your first after all, why wouldn’t you go to The Great Mammon? But wow, he was over his head when you came knocking at his door. Always eager to see and spend time with you, he allows you to enter without seeing the state you’re in. You stagger into his room, holding his hand and stumbling into him and it’s only then that he can smell the sweet, lingering aroma in the air. He wants to believe you’re just trying a new perfume and now it's made you sick, but it’s worse than that when the hand you’re holding moves to your chest. He can feel your rapid heartbeat, the way your body is in flames that can rival hellfire itself, the pained cry of his name as you try to pinch your legs together in the awkward embrace.

Frozen for a moment, Mammon completely blanks on what to do. He can feel your pain, the aching need in your entire body that makes you feel as if you’re going to combust into flames. He doesn’t know whether to touch you or not. But then you cry his name- sobbing it out in broken syllabus and you cry that it hurts and you think you might die and you're in his arms. Your hold on him tightens and he thinks he can leave you to be- let you wait out the excruciating pain in his room until the feeling fades and just thank him with attention or material objects later. He fails to consider that he is weak to you and when you look at him with teary eyes, he falters.

He stutters in his explanation, talking about how he can maybe go out and get you a toy or something- and he promises to be quick, he is the fastest after all. But then the thought lingers and he imagines your sex stretched with some toy that he chose, and his body jerks. Your vision is growing blurrier by the second and the hold on his hand tightens until your knuckles pale. You pull on him, thanking whatever God is watching down on you, that the door to the prized car he keeps in is open. Even he’s unable to know what is going on until you push him inside, crawling onto the back seat, calling his name and begging for him to join you.

In such a closed space, the Avatar of Greed is trying desperately to avoid touching you. He stays seated in the front seat, fingers drumming along the steering wheel. He cares for the car deeply- one of the few things that gives him freedom that is indescribable and yet, here you are. Your sex is leaking, your cries echoing across the closed space and what is music to his ears in his dreams is now a horrible reminder that you are seated behind him, victim to an aphrodisiac. He needs an excuse to touch you, needs to just feel you for a moment and when you threaten to stain the flawless leather seats with your slick, it’s enough for him to crawl to the back seat.

He never realized how crowded it was, how his elbows and knees tend to knock into things. He doesn’t notice how you’ve kicked your shorts off, how your underwear has become dark in color to your dripping sex. You kiss him, and Mammon is weak to you. His hands are on you, the scent overpowering and he promises to keep the touching to a minimum to only touch what you’ll let him touch and kiss where you want him to. But you’re huffing, grabbing onto him and trying to meet his crotch. The windows grow foggy, the car begins to creak but neither of you pay it any mind. It’s cramped and you’re too close but not close enough, you ache to be closer to him, to have him pressed against you until all you can remember is the way that his chest feels against your skin, the warmth of him, and the way his kisses are so tender and feverish all at once.

Leviathan:

Leviathan refuses to make eye contact with you. He won’t even address you. He sits on his desk chair, playing a game that doesn’t need half of the attention he usually gives. You rest inside his bathtub, curled over he presumes, whining and mumbling something that sounds like his name but he can't be so sure nor does he expect you to mumble his name in your current state. But as much as he wants to drown you out, he can’t. You’re too whiny, crying and begging for a solution, peeling your shirt off because it’s too hot. He reasons that’s because of the aphrodisiac because his room is always kept to a cool temperature. So now, he has you topless in his bathtub and the only proof is your shirt that was tossed where he sits and the reflection above, portraying a teasing, blurry image of your torso.

It’s possibly the worst situation for the poor, introverted demon. He finally has you all to himself and you’re in such a needy state and the plot is so close to a top tier hentai of his- Help! My Friend Took a Drug and Now They Won’t Stop Grinding on Me But I Also Don’t Want Them To Stop. But You came to him, you trusted that he would watch over you and whether it was because he kept his room so guarded or because you trust him, he really doesn’t know which. It’s just too muddled for him to believe that you would actively choose him. So, he does what he does best- he immerses himself in a game. The cutest game that he could think of- one that even if he grew and remained hard would make him feel more like a degenerate than he already does. He puts his headphones on and as if everything is trying to punish him, the loading screen takes forever.

The soundtrack plays loud, booming in his headset and effectively drowning you out. But he knows you’re still crying for him- that you're still in the same room with him. The perverted otuka glances up where he can see your reflection and he catches a glimpse of your hands cupping the swell of your chest and his face burns. Had you caught him peeking before? Was this a way for you to play with yourself without actively touching yourself? He can feel his growing arousal, translucent pre-ejaculate spilling past his slit and staining his boxers. It’s humiliating and he hates that the idea of you touching yourself in his room is more than enough for him to get in the mood.

He’s ignoring you- the only way that he can hopefully soften without actually creaming his pants. He avoids your reflection, ignores how your hands grip the curve of the tub until your knuckles pale, how you swing a leg over and it meets the hard layer of the bath, and for a moment, you still. He’s ignoring your decision to remove yourself from the place he rests and staggering to him. When he feels your hands on his thighs, he startles and the game minimizes into a small box. Unaware of what to do in this situation, he freezes, letting his body tense as you crawl onto his lap, your eyes heavy with lust and body feeling so warm above him that he’s unable to breathe.

His breathing is ragged, his hands stopping on the curve of your bum, as he’s unable to look anywhere else but your face. You’re flushed, gripping onto him, your tongue out as you pant and you’re so desperate for his attention that you lean close. His hands raise in an attempt to push you off but as if it were a cliché moment, his hands curve over your chest and you whimper his name at the simple touch. The third born should have been careful, he shouldn’t have let you grind against him and he surely shouldn’t have let himself becomes distracted by a kiss and yet, here he is, undressing himself as you greedily slide yourself onto his cock, your face scrunching up as every scale is pushed further into your aching hole. Leviathan is holding you close, the computer screen dimming as your can fill him spill inside of you.

Satan:

Eager to learn, he knows the effects of what an aphrodisiac can do to a being. So when you come knocking at Satan’s door, begging for refuge, leaning against him and gripping at his shirt, he pats your hand, and welcomes you inside. He allows you to rest on his bed, letting you bury yourself under his blankets. Perhaps it wasn’t the best idea for either of you- you’re inhaling his scent during a time of desperate need, and soon when the effects wear off, he’ll be left in a bed that is drenched in your scent. That, however, is a problem for another day.

In order to keep his mind and hands busy, he’ll finally organize his room. He’s able to ignore your whining, the way that you shiver under the covers and bury yourself into his pillow, how you spread your legs so they are uncovered by the blanket; he ignores the sweet scent of your arousal that fills the room and his lungs. He holds his breath, taking few, deep breaths every now and then to avoid inhaling too much of you. You’re whining, talking through the pillow about how it hurts and you just need something- and doesn’t he have a spell he can use to just rid you of at least a tiny bit of it.

It’s the growing arousal of himself and your constant whining that edges him closer to annoyance. He holds books tight in his hand, orders them by author and published years, height and volumes, but it isn’t enough to drown you out. He regrets letting you enter his room but in the same second, he regrets having the thought. He’s happy that you came to him, trusted him enough to see you in a disheveled state. He doesn’t want to scare you off or make you feel unwanted, so he edges closer to you, tugging on the bottom of his shirt as if he were a nervous boy instead of a grown demon. The bed creaks under his weight and your hand latches onto his thigh. He jerks his leg, your hand only squeezing tighter and when he makes eye contact, your eyes are filled with tears, glistening and catching on your lashes like fresh dew.

You’re aroused, deeply and sweetly. It's a nervous thing to be attracted to someone like you, a demon that has been round and born with blood and wrath etched deep into soul and yet here he is, nervous to even touch your trembling hand. He knows the effects of something as strong as an aphrodisiac and for a demon made one, there is no real spell for it. He lets you lay on his lap, your mouth close to his sex, eyes lidded and holding tight to his hand. His control is fading, his growing need pushing past logical thought. He offers himself, and you rise quickly, already straddling his lap, your chest pressed against his, asking if it is okay. A cold shiver runs through his spine and he nods, offering that he’ll take care of you.

The trembling, nervous demon fades just as quick as it came when your lips are on his. You kiss him, need so transparent that he’s teasing, pulling away, letting your back meet the bed. His smile is sharp, leaning to kiss your pursed lips, grabbing your leg and pulling it upwards, mumbling praise under his breath when you hook your leg around his waist. Satan is heavy when above you, and maybe it’s the aphrodisiac that still lingers on your tongue, but he is unwilling to move away from you, kissing you and hooking his fingers in your mouth when you moan. You’re needy and he wants to hear you beg for him, calling his name. He cups your face with spit coated fingers, asking you to be good for him and mew for him.

Asmodeus:

As the Avatar of Lust, Asmodeus immediately knew something was off in the house when he felt lust in the air. It’s sweet. Intoxicating and bitter all at once. It’s like the sweetest honey known to mankind and he knows the feeling well enough to open his door before you have the thought to knock. He welcomes you into his room, letting you rest on the bed, a small part of him on the inside crinkling when you ruffle the sheets. But, of course, he knows this isn’t you- you would never be so careless. It’s all because of the aphrodisiac making your movements more frantic.

He knows the cure to end it- sex, plain and simple. Masturbation might help but he fears your hand will become sore. Always eager to have somebody in bed with him- out of his own sin and own need for company- he offers you two choices. You can borrow a toy- new, still in the box and all- or he could take care of you. Perhaps he shouldn’t have offered the second option, he knew how excited you were to simply enter a room with another living being but he couldn’t help himself. You look absolutely adorable with your flustered face.

A kiss from the living Avatar of Lust is better than any pleasure that you’ve ever received. And he knows it. You moan under him, your body shaking and eyes rolling to the back of your head, clawing at the shirt on his back. He smiles into the kiss. So eager to be taken care of that a simple kiss was enough to make you climax, your arousal dripping onto your underwear, so heavy in the air, that he pulls away as he feels your breaths start to shorten due to lack of air. But even as he pulls away, you still reach to pepper him with kisses, your breathing reggae against his face, gasping for breath with every parting kiss.

Your hands are on him, eager to pull him into another kiss. You want him and it’s evident from the way that you don’t push away when he removes his clothing. But, he stops for a moment, watching your gaze on him, wide and dazed and you stare at him as if he was something more than just a demon, you give him your worship and you pull him into another kiss. He stiffens, pulling away and asking if this is what you want, touching your bare skin only to flinch away as if it burned him. And when your lips are on him, your smile returns for a moment, telling him that you came to him because you knew he would tend to you in any way, and he melts.

His lips return to yours, kissing you eagerly, wanting nothing more than to just keep his lips on you. And as last time, you shudder beneath him, another orgasm washing through your body, your release spilling pass your slit. Limps entangle with each other and you cry the name Asmodeus, moaning it as if it were the only thing on your mind, sobbing under him and telling him how good it feels. You pet his head and let him bury his face into our chest, peppering kisses until he reaches your neck. His eyes close, an unexpected climax teases at him, as you pull him closer to your aching body. Every sigh from you in a gentle gust of wind, every cry a song that not even choir from the Celestial Realm can rival. He pushes deep inside of you, letting you feel every curve and texture from his cock as it molds your leaking hole into his shape.

Beelzebub:

Beelzebub feels incredibly guilty when you come to him, his shirt knotted in your hands as you explain what you ate. He blames himself, going to hold you only to flinch when you hiss and pull yourself closer to him. It’s an aphrodisiac, he should have known that you’ll be more sensitive to touch during this time. He apologizes as he leads you to his bed, shaking his head and holding your hand. He’s gluttony- he should have been able to smell the scent of an aphrodisiac.

Of course, he’ll let you hide in his room until the effects wear off. He won’t make a single peep but it’s difficult for him. His clothes are sticking to him, his body is in an odd sticky situation where sex clings to him clothes and skin. He knows the effects of the aphrodisiac but he feels guilty for giving it to you so when you cling to him, begging for him to not let go of you, he sighs and stays beside you. He’s stiff, unwilling to move and can only let out a shaky breath, when you press yourself closer to him, hooking a leg over his and curling it over. He can feel your sex- hot and pulsing and he leaves ripped bedsheets as his hand curls into the comforter.

He’s rubbing your back, letting his fingers drum against your spine as he hears your panted breaths. He knows he should stop, that he should at least go and take a shower so he can at least smell good but you hold a tight grip on him. You’re feverish, burning against him and he can tell you want more, your lips open up and kiss along the side of his ribcage but he can’t move.

It’s getting too much- even for him. He doesn’t want to take advantage of this needy state that you’re in but as he rises with a feeble explanation that he’s going to take a shower, you pull him down. He’s above you, your eyes watery and cheating rising and falling with heavy breaths. He can’t kiss you but you’re leaning closer, your lips brushing against his and he can smell the aphrodisiac that still rests like heaven on your tongue. You don’t blame him for the accident slip, you’re just begging for him to take care of you, letting your hand rest over the swell of his breast and he’s growing weaker by the second.

When your lips are on his, your tongue slipping past your lips, Beelzebub can taste the aphrodisiac and he’s melting. His tongue has made its home on your mouth, curving over your pink muscle and feeling the way you shudder beneath him. His name is muted by the kiss, your hands clawing at his clothing and he’s sweaty and aroused, watching you as you strip yourself of your clothes. The lovely pastry that still lingers isn’t enough for him to go into a full rut, but it’s enough for him to bend your legs to your chest, your hole pulsing as his cock aligns to it. The way that you call his name is enough for him to push himself fully into you.

Belphegor:

Belphegor is asleep under the covers, pillow tucked under his head and he does not awaken to your scent growing closer and closer, heavier and sweeter than usual. He doesn’t awaken when the doorknob wiggles, a frantic turning but he does awaken when you slam the door. He is startled awake, his eyes wide for a second before narrowing, teeth flashing as he lets out a low growl. He stops when he notices it's you, yawning and telling you to get into bed with him. It’s only until you’re beside him, greedily taking the invitation, that he realizes the state you’re in.

He has to prod you until you tell him what’s happened, watching as you bury your face into a pillow, whining out pathetically as you tell him what happened. He laughs, it’s sharp and teasing. Of course, you took an aphrodisiac by accident. It could only happen to you. He tries to be sympathetic with you. He knows you must be in a great deal of pain, but then again you came to him and that makes him stay awake for a bit longer, turning over on his side and watching you struggle to not touch yourself despite the aroma of your arousal that is thick in the room.

Sloth offers to put you under a deep sleep- he can’t promise that you’ll be still- but he can promise that you’ll wake up without the effects of the aphrodisiac. When you refuse, he merely shrugs, turning over with a pout. He’s disappointed but he can’t do much. He does tell you that he is tired, so he’ll be sleeping but you’re allowed to spend the rest of your heightened arousal in the attic with him. The power of an aphrodisiac- one made a devil no less- is strong, and giving it you in even worse. He can sense the neediness in you, the way you watch him with lustful eyes, your mouth parted the eagerness to get into bed with him.

As promised, he slips off into a sleep, leaving you alone. But your body is on his, legs parted with his single leg. He isn’t asleep long enough for him to be in an actual slumber before he feels the bed move ever so slightly. It’s constant and your whining, mumbling apologies and he opens his eyes to find you humping his leg. It’s pathetic and hot all at once, watching you get off on his leg alone, so desperate for release that you’ve succumbed to humping him. His smile is tight, turning over and letting his tail curl around you, the static in the air only causing you to arch your back when his demon form pops out. It pricks against your wrists, the fur unkempt as he rises above you.

You wanted his attention and now you’ve gotten it. You’ve woken him up from nap, it’s normal and expected for him to be grouchy but thank goodness that the smell from your leaking sex is more arousing that anything else he’s encountered. You’re on your knees on the mattress, his hips meeting yours and letting out a loud grunt when he finishes. He’s tired and over it but his cock still stands upright and you’re still needy and awake, your sex leaking with his arousal. Belphegor will lay on his back, offer himself in his sleep to you until you’re content. The last coherent thought he has is sighing at how warm and squishy you feel against him.

[lazywolfwanted]

MKR x Ink!Demon![Y/N]

[Chapter 3]

Reader is gender neutral, I ain't like choosing gender so I make S/O use they/them.

English is not my first language, so there might be a bad grammar and wrong spelling.

They don't know why.

Why are they following the group of six from a far, "T'sk." they spat. They follow them not because of the offer but they just wanted to make sure the monk is safe.

They didn't know why they care, but the monk have reminds them about someone from the past.

'Urgh! Knock it off [Y/N]! It's in the past! He's gone!' they scream in their mind. Paused, they look down on their palm.

'He's gone...' they sigh, looking back where the group are. They saw their were resting so they went a little closer and hid behind a tree.

As the night went unfolded, the ink demon stare down at the group from the tree banch. They still questioning on why they care about if the monk is safe or not, they just couldn't tell.

They saw one of the bushes move, a demon then appeared and saw the sleeping group. It bare it teeth when it saw Sanzang, launching forward only to be pulled by the legs.

It look at the back to see a puddle of black inks, an inky hand was gripping it's legs. Pulling the demon in the liquid, the demon screech before fully disappeared through the inks. Wukong jolt awake and look around, seeing nothing. He groan and rub his head, he then saw a puddle of inks slowly disappeared from the corner of his eyes.

Next morning, they follow the group from afar. Watching them through shadow, they can't believe they're doing this just because they wanted to make sure the monk is safe and sound from harm.

I mean he is safe under the protection from the demon trio but the ink demon was insisted and follow from the back.

'Urgh, why am I doing this again?' they ask in their mind.

Let just timeskip already:

The ink demon keep a hawk eyes on the group, Bajie once pointed out about he have a feeling they being watched.

Without the group knowledge, the ink demon was protecting them from other demon that try to sneak attack.

Their reason is still the same, to make sure the monk is safe. They keep on telling themselves to just leave the group alone but their soul was refusing on leaving them...not yet at least...

Nowadays, they could tell that the Sage has become suspicious. They keep hiding themselves from him whenever he glance back or snuck away from his master to just wanted to caught who has been watching them over.

Now they're in a palace, the ink demon have a bad feeling about the place.

'Something's not right....' they follow after the group where a mistress greet the monk. The demon trio was looking around, they move a bit closer to heard the conversation of the mistress and the monk.

They then caught a small pink creature was sitting on his shoulder, 'Since when?' they ask themselves. Shaking their head and trail after the golden cicada.

"This right here, is the room where you can find the kage. He already expected you to come." the mistress said and walk away, the monk knock on the door while the ink demon silently went inside.

A raspy voice call and invite him in, he was hesitate but walk in. The ink demon wait in the corner of the room, watching them in shadow.

"Ah, the golden cicada. I hope you have a nice day." the kage state, they squinted their eyes suspiciously. "And a Qi Energy? I have heard about it." he added.

The monk gave him an uncomfortable look, "You seem uneasy, don't worry. I won't bite." the ink demon grow silently.

𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘏𝘦𝘯𝘳𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘭 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘭 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘳.

The kage walk closer towards the monk, "I heard you want to have a stay in here for one night. I have order the kabuki to set it for you." the monk back away as the kage walk closer towards him.

"But to bad thought..." he open his mouth, showing him a sharp teeth and long tongue. The monk gasp, the kage launched forward only to be tackle down by something wet.

The ink demon screech, baring their teeth at him with their black eyes glaring at him. Summoned a puddle of inks under them and push the demon inside with them following.

The monk breath heavily, an inky hand shot out from the puddle. Pushing the person out to revealed the ink demon. They look at him with ink cover their upper face, fully out from the puddle and wipe away the ink from their face.

Putting on their glove, they walk towards the monk. "You good?" they ask, snapping out from his gaze, "Yes, thank you for saving me." the monk state ans smile at them.

"Yeah yeah whatever. That bastard was suspicious so I have to follow you." they said while glancing away.

"I hope you two have a great day." they said and bow before leaping through the ink and disappeared from the two sight.

A black flower was place instead of a ink liquid.

Finally, this take four days. I left it in draft thanks to school for that.

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

Does demon Dyl want flowers for Valentine’s Day

I think Dylan sees Valentine’s Day as a chance to crash singles parties to get laid and nothing more. But I feel like angel would want to be nice since he’s so important to Harry, so she’d buy him a bouquet of flowers and some chocolates and deliver them to his place herself.

When he opens the door, he’d be genuinely shocked for many reasons. The first is that she’s there willingly of her own accord, without having to he coerced into seeing him. The second being that she’d ventured here without Harry, which he doesn’t think has ever happened before, considering she tries to steer clear of him as much as possible and only interacts with him when her boyfriend’s around. The third— being the most obvious— is that she’s carrying an arrangement of flowers and candy, and that it contains a tiny little decorative note card strung around the plants with red ribbon, which has his name scribbled on it in pink ink.

Dylan’s wide eyes flicker between Y/N’s face and the extravagant present, his brain struggling to process the scene. He never in a hundred years would have guessed that something like this would ever happen— that an angel, who happens to be his very demonic best friend’s girlfriend, would wind up at his door step with a heartfelt gift meant specifically for him. It feels like a fever dream.

The demon shifts his footing, crossing his arms over his chest nonchalantly as he leans his shoulder against the threshold of the entrance, one of his brows inching upwards in mild curiosity as his voice weighs in blasé and smooth. “I think you got lost on your way back home, Little Red. Or should I say Little White, given your background and such.”

Y/N blinks at him in a deadpan manner, but keeps her attitude in check nonetheless. If she snaps at him, it’ll defeat the entire purpose of her polite gift. “I didn’t.”

“You must have the wrong door, then.”

“I don’t.”

“Are you sure?” Dylan cranes his head sideways slightly, the gold specks in his chocolate brown eyes dancing with mirth. “I figured this is the last place you’d want to be. Especially without your knight in shining armor by your side— without King Arthur.”

“Well, this is exactly where I want to be.” She mutters dismissively, pinning him with a flat glance. “As unusual as that may sound.”

A humorous, disbelieving laugh belts past Dylan’s lips, his head shaking in humorous amusement. “‘Unusual’ doesn’t even begin to cover it. Rain on a sunny day is unusual. Finding a hundred dollars on the ground is unusual. Harry missing a bullseye during target practice is unusual. This?” He motions between them with his index finger, tutting in an unconvinced fashion. “This is a celestial-level enigma. It could rip the fabric of reality as we know it.”

Y/N releases an irritated groan, rolling her eyes at his annoying antics before returning her glare back onto his gloating face. “Are you done? Or are you gonna continue being infuriating for a while longer?”

“Being infuriating is my entire brand. I’m sure your boyfriend can attest to that.”

“Yeah. He can.” Y/N maneuvers the bouquet of red roses onto her hip in order to distribute its weight, exhaling tiredly as she clears her throat with finality. “And since I’d like to get back to him, I’d really appreciate moving this along.”

Dylan plasters an exaggerated pout across his cheeks, purposefully wobbling his lower lip with faux emotion to elevate the dramatics of his little act. “But getting on your nerves is just so fun.”

“Dylan.”

He reaches up and taps between his thick brows as an accompanying gesture to his next statement. “You get this cute little crinkle right here whenever you—”

Y/N’s tone comes out as a blunt warning. “Dylan.”

The demon sighs grandly, slumping his shoulders theatrically as he forfeits under her parenting. “Fine. You’re such a fucking killjoy.”

“Around you? Always.” The angel murmurs pettily, proceeding to then jut her arms out in front of her, offering up the gift she’d lugged all the way up to his floor of the building. “Now here. Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Dylan studies the present gingerly, as if it might explode the second he touches it. He wouldn’t be surprised if it did, to be honest; Y/N harbors enough spite towards him that it’s a likely possibility, and it’d be a clever gimmick, so he wouldn’t even hold it against her. Rigging a gift with a box of grenade chocolates would be out of character for her, sure, but no more out of character than going out of her way to give him an actual present during the most romantic holiday of the year. The odds are in the air either way.

Y/N’s voice yanks him out of his thoughts. She’s looking at him with an agitated expression pinching her features, her body language impatient as she shakes the bouquet at him expectantly. “Well? Are you gonna take it or what?“

“I don’t think I should.”

“Why? It’s for you!”

“Yeah, I gathered that much, considering it has my name on it.” He comments dryly, glimpsing at her pointedly. “I’m a hellspawn, not a moron.”

“You act like those are mutually exclusive.”

“You’re not helping your case here, Buffalo Wild Wings.”

“Just take the fucking present, Dyl Pickle.”

Dylan narrows his eyes at her usage of the nickname Harry had coined for him, grumbling under his breath before finally stretching his hands out to receive the objects. His actions are careful and hesitant, as if he expects it to combust into a million pieces any minute now, spewing flower petals and chunks of Ferrero Rocher bonbons across the walls of the complex corridor, leaving him imbedded with candy shrapnel in some very unsavory places. But, much to his astonishment (and good fortune), it doesn’t. The arrangement simply snuggles into his palms safely, invading his senses with the scent of caramel-filled chocolate and traces of floral aromatics.

The crinkling of plastic and tissue paper fills the silence between the two immortals as he turns the gift over to get a better look at the tiny greeting card tied to its center. He squints a bit in an attempt to read the loopy print, and the genuine kindness and emotion behind the note’s contents leaves him stunned and— contrary to his normal behavior— utterly speechless.

To: Dylan

I know we tend to bump heads most of the time, and that’s mainly due to what we are and how our personalities clash, but the one thing we have in common is that we care for Harry very deeply, and I want to thank you for taking care of him for all those centuries before I came into the picture. You’re an asshole, that much is fucking obvious, but under all of your issues, I can tell you have a good heart, and I respect that about you more than I’d ever like to admit. I also want to thank you for being so supportive of our relationship. As you probably know, my end of the situation is what makes everything so difficult, so it truly means so much to me that you are willing to put aside our differences in order to let Harry and I have somewhat of a normal life around you and his other friends. The ability to be a couple around you without worrying about backlash and the fear of endangering him makes my love for him feel validated instead of treacherous, and I couldn’t possibly put into words how grateful I am for that little slice of peace and for the role you’ve played in creating it. I appreciate you keeping our secret despite its inconvenience, and I appreciate how you accept/tolerate me, even if it’s just for the sake of Harry’s happiness.

I know that Valentine’s Day is a pretty meaningless holiday to you since you’re not really a romantic person, but I wanted to get you something either way because I believe that it’s also a day made for cherishing all of people in your life instead of just your partner. And despite the fact that you get on my fucking nerves, I’m glad you exist (I’m never saying that again, so you might wanna keep this note as a reminder). I’ve noticed that these are your favorite chocolates, since you always have some in your pantry, and I know you’ll probably throw away the roses because you’re not a flower type of guy, but it’s the thought behind them that counts.

Thank you for everything.

Sincerely signed, Angel Food Cake.

Dylan blinks down at the piece of paper with a hazy tinge across his irises. It’s been a long time since anyone has ever gifted him something for Valentine’s Day— literal centuries, actually— and he’d forgotten how good it feels to be taken into consideration on a day meant for love, even if it’s not in the traditional sense. He didn’t expect anyone to get him anything, let alone thank him for being in their life, and he certainly didn’t expect it to be Y/N, of all people. But here she is, standing before him with her gaze cast down shyly as she picks at her nails nervously, anxious to see his reaction to how she’d bared her soul to him on a flimsy square of card stock. And here he is, feeling like he’d just gone ten rounds with a hellhound, fighting to keep his inner turmoil from registering on his blank face.

Dylan clears his throat roughly, releasing the card from between his thumb and forefinger in order to cradle the flowers and chocolate into the crook of his elbow, out of his line of sight so he can focus on Y/N directly. When he speaks, his voice comes out thick and strained with an incomprehensible emotion, which causes him to cough in an attempt to play off the mistake. He pipes up once more, and though his words are still low and edgy, they’re far more passable than they’d been a few moments prior. “Did, uh…Did Harry ask you to do this?”

“No.” Y/N answers quietly, her response coated with her typical gentle and bashful tenor. “He doesn’t even know about it, actually. It was meant to be a surprise, so I didn’t tell him because I didn’t want to risk him snitching. It would have ruined it, y’know?”

“Mm.”

A tense pause hangs in the atmosphere for a couple of heartbeats as the demon and the angel appraise each other skeptically, trying to find a way to navigate this new territory of being less than enemies and more than acquaintances. Y/N concentrates all of her attention on skidding the tip of her combat boot against the carpet along the ground, counting each pass of her shoe as a way to distract herself from the suffocating silence drowning her lungs. Dylan shifts his shoulder against its spot on the doorframe, relieving some of the weight to keep it from going numb. After a minute or so longer full of soundless contemplation, he’s the first to break the ice again, his demeanor as playful and airy as he can muster.

“So let me get this straight.” He starts, an underlying vein of comical blatantness running through his remark. It causes Y/N to look up at him below her lashes with mild confusion, waiting for him to elaborate on his thought. “You went out of your way to get me a Valentine’s Day present, and then you purposefully kept it a secret from your boyfriend, who also happens to be my closest and most trusted friend.”

The girl blinks at him emptily. “I mean, yeah, I guess…What’s your point?”

Dylan sucks at his teeth in faux disapproval, tsking as he shakes his head in fabricated disappointment. “My point is that this all sounds a bit sketchy, Guinevere. A bit like betrayal. Are you trying to make a Lancelot out of me?”

Y/N’s meek, apprehensive frown gradually molds into a faint smile, and all of the stress bricking her features slowly begins to funnel out of her system, leaving her relaxed as the awkwardness between them melts away under his jesting gaze. She reflects his joking tone right back at him with ease. “I would never.”

“Are you sure? ‘Cause it seems like you’re trying to make a move on me.” He jangles the flowers symbolically, humming in a chastising tune. “The roses, the chocolates, the sappy love note— you’re literally courting me. Arthur’s gonna be in shambles when I tell him.”

“Oh, so you’re gonna nark, then?”

“Absolutely. I’m a loyal knight of the Round Table first, and a harlot second.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“I find that insulting to my code of honor.”

“What code of honor?”

“The one I have against fraternizing with the king’s wife.” Dylan’s eyes suddenly flit black, the color somehow teasing and suggestive despite its lack of pigment. “Without his consent, of course. If Harry were to express that he’d be up for a repeat of last time…” He gives her an arrogant once-over, purely for the sake of making her squirm, “then I’d be more than happy to oblige.”

The reference to the threesome they’d had a while ago throws Y/N for a loop, and she has to fight off the heat that threatens to spill into her twitching cheeks. “Real mature.”

Dylan pitches his voice higher to mimic her own, repeating her quip from earlier just to flaunt the fact that he’s acquired the upperhand in their little argument. “‘Around you? Always.’”

“I take my note back.”

“Too late, I’m getting it framed. Here, have some chocolate to soothe the blow to your ego. Oh, and to cushion the fall to Hell. Lust is a cardinal sin, isn’t it?”

[kookieswan]

Sweet Blood - III

PolyDemon!TaeKook x OccultStudent!Reader (f)

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings/tags: Suggestive content (some dirty talk (?)) Mentions of Blood (reader gets a small cut), Blood Consumption. Questionable actions overall tbh. Some subtle fluff. Teensy bit of angst.

Summary: With a tongue like that, you wonder what exactly it can do…

Notes: He’s here~~~~~ Get ready teehee.

Masterlist found here!

Tags: @parkdatjimin @jookiemonie

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As much as it would probably help to ask you professors about it, you decided not to almost immediately after leaving the house. You didn’t want to make a fool of yourself in front of any of them and explaining that you summoned a demon by accident. Walking into your apartment building as the sun falls over the horizon completely, you let out a long sigh as the elevator door dings. It had been a long day, thinking about the fact that you currently have a demon infestation only made it worse. You still can’t believe it’s even happening…

The elevator moves upward and dings before long, leading you to move hastily out of the front door of your apartment. Grabbing at your purse, you dig through it to try and find your keys, but they seem to be buried. Praying that the demon is actually home already, you go to knock on the door before it flings open wisely, revealing none other than demon in question. He looks rather good… but you’d never say that to his face. The fact that you’re even attracted to a demon is questionable enough from a normal standpoint.

“Hello sweetheart. I hope you had a good day because it’s only going to get better from here. I have a surprise for you~.” The demon is standing in the doorway now, large body taking up the space as he gazes down at you with his blacked-out eyes. He looks even more… demonic than usual. To add on to the horns and dark eyes, there’s markings all over his body now, not just his usually tattoos… almost as if ink is running through his veins. Scoffing a bit, you place your hand on his yummy stomach to push him out of the way.

“I hope you realize how creepy you are. I’d ask how you knew I was about to knock but I don’t even want to know.” Pushing past him into the apartment, you pause almost as soon as you step in. The lights are all dimed, mostly because the only light that actually shines through are red candles that sit on opposing corners of a symbol to summon… something… in the middle of your living room. Nope. This is not fucking happening right now. You’ve had a long day of stressing out about what you’re going to do, and this unquestionably isn’t going to help. Placing your head into your hands, you rub at your eyes tiredly before looking to the celling.

“What the fuck? Are you having some weird demonic cult meeting in my house because that’s not going to fly man. One spooky man lingering around the area is enough for me.” Wandering further in, you drop your backpack onto the lovely pink couch, staring at disbelief as you spot the kitchen, footsteps pattering behind you as he follows. Demon man made brownies, so fresh that they’re still steaming. Probably to butter you up for whatever the fuck he wants. Something tells you that he won’t leave you alone about this until it happens, so…

“Here, I’ll crack a deal with you since my soul is off the table. Tell me your name and I’ll do whatever you want with this ritual… Oh and grab me a brownie.” If you can get his name, maybe you can do some research on him. There’s got to be something in the billions of books in the library about him. Here’s to hoping that whatever the hell else you’re about to welcome into your home is nicer and not as sinister. Gliding over to the kitchen, he grabs one of the sweets and glides back to your spot, plopping the brownie in your hand. You wait expectantly for him to explain while he stares at you, arms crossed with a salacious leer on his face as you nibble at the brownie.

“It’s Jungkook. And yours is _____. Good talk. Now, come here sweetheart.” You step closer to where he’s standing in the middle of your living room, looking all too cocky about everything that’s going on. You’re not surprised that he knows your name though, he’s a demon after all. He has his ways. Grabbing your hand, he sits you both down around the summoning circle, flames flickering as the breeze picks up outside and drifts into the house. Miserably, you sit the brownie down on your thigh, sad to let it go so soon.

“So, what do I have to do, Jungkook? I don’t have to sacrifice a goat or anything do I because that’s a no from me dawg.” He plays with your hand a bit, looking at each individual finger before he sits it against his thigh… his warm, meaty thigh. Before you even have time to react, he places the nail of his pointer finger against your hand and holds it there, the sharp tip already pressing into the delicate skin. You startle, ready to rip your had away, before he speaks up quietly. He looks serious, long hair hanging in his eyes as the flames dance across them smoothly.

“Calm down. I’m not going to actually hurt you… too badly; I Just need human blood to make the ritual work properly. Using demonic blood won’t work properly.” Nodding leisurely, you try not to gasp as his nail slips into your skin shallowly. He holds it out over the bowl in the middle of the circle, allowing for a decent amount to drip into it before drawing back. The worst, or you suppose best, part about it is that he brings your hand to his mouth, licking at the blood in one fell swoop. The confirmation you needed is finally there, Jungkook’s tongue stretched far beyond normal as your blood mingles with his saliva. You gawk at him in disbelief, ready to start yelling about what a little perv he is before you realize that your hand isn’t bleeding anymore. The cut is completely closed, not even a scar left in its wake.

“Don’t be so stunned. Believe it or not, my spit does indeed have some healing properties if I want it to... I wouldn’t want my little human to be in any peril for too long. On top of that, you taste amazing, Sweet Blood.” Jungkook licks at his lips, long tongue flowing across the lip ring that’s pierced through his lip before slipping back into his mouth just as quickly. You continue to stare, holding your hand close to yourself before scooting over a little, trying not to let the alarm show on your face. He always manages to out-creep himself. Every. Damn. Time. The fact that he’s grinning at you with blood on the corners of his lips isn’t helping at all.

“O-kayyy then. Let’s get on with this before you actually try to eat me whole, please.” His grin turns into a sly smirk quickly, sharp teeth glinting in the light. The demon leans in closer, hot breath whisking across you face. You try your hardest to not pay attention to how good he smells; having thought initially he’d smell like burning bodies or rotting flesh. You’re kind of mad that he doesn’t, if he gets any more attractive, well…

“Oh, I’ll eat you if you want me to sweetheart. Your heart, your soul, your pussy. You name it, I’ll do it.  Now, remember the chant you used to summon me? Do the same exact thing again. Everything will come into place then, and we can have some fun.” Mouth hanging wide open, you feel heat come to you face at his remarks because what in the ever-living hell is he talking about. Choosing to ignore it, like you have with most of the shit that comes out of his mouth, you start to chant out the Latin.

Just like it did with Jungkook, the wind picks up a bit, the flames of the candles starting to burn brighter. You keep your eyes wide open this time, wanting to see firsthand what exactly happens as whatever you’re summing pops in. The lights flicker out, smoking filling the air with a poof. You can’t help but cough a bit, waving your hand in front of your face to try and see what’s, or who is, standing above you.

It’s a man. Another demon most likely, although his appearance makes him seem almost soft in a way. He looks just as demonic as Jungkook but… different overall, a different aura. While Jungkook is shrouded in darkness, this man is covered in white. White horns, white eyes, pale hands while Jungkook’s are blackened. He stands tall above you, gaze trained downward, head tilted curiously as he takes in your sitting from. He cracks a few fingers decorated in long nails, head tilting back and forth before speaking up, rich voice nearly making you shiver as he lays all is attention on you.

“I smell brownies and… Ah, is that pure virgin blood? I think it’s time for a meal, hmm Jungkookie?”

[stetervault]

Hiii! Been delving into Steter now, in the year of our lord 2021, even though I never really did when I was active in the fandom years ago and I was wondering if you'd have some longfic recs for the ship? Like, fics that are Classics(TM)? But happy endings! And I'm not super into those in which Stiles is still underage 😬 do u have any recs? Thanks!

Welcome to the Steter fandom! I definitely have some long fics to rec, some of them are super old lol, and I'll stick to ones around 20k or over, and most of them are finished. And hmm, considering the ship, and a lot of fics like to start off in season 1 where Stiles is still technically a teenager, I'll try to limit these to ones with Stiles being at least 16/17 before anything starts happening, and only 18+ if there's explicit content. I hope that's okay.

drowning in the sea of you by Corpium

Beacon Hills was perfect for Stiles growing up, but now, with werewolves, hunters, and an anxious best friend running around, it's turning into a place too chaotic for an empath like Stiles to handle alone. And pain killers can only go so far.

Wake Me Up by ToAStranger

Stiles has been in a coma for six years. Now he's awake.

Tremors by Corpium

(Stiles has a taste for him now. All Peter needs to do is wait.)

Surviving Peter and the Zombie Apocalypse by Nopennamesleft

Its the end of the world and Stiles has run out of luck. He saves a werewolf from certain death. Will they begin to rely on each other to survive or will the wolf just eat Stiles for a midnight snack?

Bite Down by EclipseWing

In which Stiles is forced to survive the zombie apocalypse with a sociopathic murdering werewolf for company.

as you are by veterization

Stiles runs straight into a tree and suddenly, things are... different. Namely, he's in a world where Peter Hale is his boyfriend.

Call My Name by KouriArashi

After moving to Beacon Hills, Stiles starts having recurring dreams of a man in some kind of prison, who needs his help. Things get so bad that he ends up in Eichen House, where he finds out that the man is real.

Devil of Mercy by KouriArashi

Peter's heard people talk about what it felt like when they saw their mate for the first time, from those who actually believe in the mystical bullshit. Like a magnet, like gravity. Peter just feels... sharply curious.

Whiskey is My Kind of Lullaby by taylorpotato

Peter is a simple saloon owner on one of the outer planets between the Aaru Belt and the Olympus Galaxy. He’s done with trouble. Done with adventure. So fucking done with rustlers. That is, until a cute young outlaw named Stiles wanders into his bar. Peter has this problem where he can’t seem to resist charming narcissists (perhaps because they remind him of himself). And when said narcissists turn his life upside-down, the worst part is he’s not even that upset about it.

Proposing To Strangers by moonstalker24

At the end of a strained relationship, crime novelist Stiles chooses to hide from the world inside a bar with far too many motorcycles outside it for comfort. Here he'll meet the man of his dreams, eat food and propose marriage, all within the first five minutes.

Peter doesn't know who this kid is, but he's cute and looks like he could use a break. So he feeds him. He's not expecting a marriage proposal, but with what comes after, he doesn't really mind.

Stiles Stilinski, Disaster Chef by Guede

The zombie apocalypse forces Stiles to learn how to cook.

The Will by Guede

We are gathered here today for the reading of Gerard Argent’s will.

On the Importance of Lunar Influences in Gardening by Guede

“Oh, it’s you again,” Stiles sighs. He puts down his basket and drops the bunch of onions into it, and then dusts off his hands. “Can’t you get your own strawberries? I mean, I have it on good authority that wild strawberries? They’re a thing. They exist. They’re out there.”

“But Stiles,” says the werewolf dangling by one foot from the tree, sticky red smears around his mouth and all over his fingers. “Your berries are so juicy, so ripe. Those ones in the woods are mere passing indulgences compared to the royal feast you have in your garden.”

Genii loci Stiles and his father run a community garden, and it’s all good, except for the werewolf who keeps sneaking over the fence to raid Stiles’ strawberry patch (and the hunter who’s constantly hanging around his father).

Runes and all kinds of things by FeelingsDusk (WIP)

Enough is enough. Stiles is tired of being always a last choice when he always tries to do his best for his precious people, so they better get their act together or face being left behind.

OR

The things in the Argent's basement get nearly fatal, the Sheriff finds about the supernatural, Allison can have a wicked, wicked mind and Peter Hale appears to be everywhere.

Oh, and Stiles can't seem to stop breaking the laws of physics with his magic.

Sanctuary by DiscontentedWinter

The Hale Wolf Sanctuary isn’t just for wolves.

It turns out it’s for Stilinskis as well.

Out Of The East, Never See The Sun Rise by neglectedtuesday

In the beginning, there are three absolutes.

One. Stiles is a god, forged of starlight and collapsing galaxies and he is eternal.

Two. Peter is human, fragile bone and viscous blood and he is temporary.

Three. Stiles and Peter are in love; love that claws its way inside one’s heart like fish hooks; all encompassing love that is beautiful but dangerous.

Stiles is a god. Peter is human. They love each other.

Three absolutes.

You Had Me at Canapes by LadyArinn

Stiles doesn't mean to sneak into the Hale wedding, and he certainly doesn't mean to have cliche coat-room sex with the bride's uncle, but what had happened, happened, and it wasn't like he could just leave. At least, not until he got to have some of that cake.

Infinite Space by DiscontentedWinter

Stiles needs Peter's expertise to help stop the latest threat to Beacon Hills. And, as the pack falls apart around him, he might even need Peter for more than that.

Hook, Yarn, Sinker by pprfaith

Stiles is happy with his store, his hobbies, his friends. Peter's just trying to figure out how to raise his nieces and nephew without fucking them up too badly.

Paths cross.

Open Wounds by Guede

Talia got out of the fire with Peter, but everyone else died. Years later, they’re still struggling with injuries, but they’ve at least settled in with oddball werewolf Stiles. And then other werewolves start showing up. Familiar ones.

Bittersweet Creek by Guede

When Stiles finally steps off the westward trail to California, he’s the last of his pack. He starts building a den, but then he finds a dying man next to a burnt-down house and it turns out he’s not really much of a settler, after all.

For Great Justice! by Green

Stiles is a vengeance demon, drawn to Peter just as he's waking from his catatonia.

"Whoever did this? We will make those fuckers suffer. I promise you."

Bone Deep by ShippersList

A body in the woods, a mate, and a long-awaited revenge.

Peter had no idea how his life would change when he followed the strange pull in his chest.

Love What is Behind You by KouriArashi

Basically what it says on the label. Hunger Games type fusion. Stiles doing way better than anyone anticipates. Peter finds him intriguing. Ruthless, devious assholes working together to ruin bad guys, as the Steter ship is meant to be.

Soothing the Burn by Therapeutic_Steter (WIP)

Peter is burnt out and breaking down. Stiles notices and offers him solace, along with the one thing he wants most: Pack.

Til Death by Bunnywest

“How long do we have to find him someone?” Stiles asks. “Two weeks,” says Derek, eyebrows pulling down even further. The fierceness of his expression tells Stiles just how concerned he is. “He marries, or he goes to the camps. And you know what your father told us,” Scott reminds her. The camps……aren’t camps. Peter either finds a wife, or he dies.

Ink Blossoms by Triangulum

"So, you're going to ruin your niece's baby shower with flowers in the wrong color?" the florist, Stiles, asks when they reach the counter. He pulls out a binder and starts flipping through it.

"Not ruin. Mildly inconvenience," Peter says.

"Right, messing with a hormonal pregnant woman seems like a great plan."

"To be fair, her fiance and the father of her baby is my ex-boyfriend," Peter says. "And we weren't broken up when they started 'dating'."

Stiles looks up at him in surprise. "And you're still getting her flowers?" he asks.

"It's under duress, I assure you," Peter says. He absolutely wouldn't be here if his alpha hadn't ordered it.

"Well, shit, yeah, let's get you some purple revenge flowers," Stiles says.

After You by FlyAwayMeow (rjaejoo)

It’s true that sometimes what you want the most, you can’t have and that you’ll miss what you once had all along when it’s finally gone.

After breaking his engagement to Chris, Peter heads to New York to start over. He meets Stiles, a young author at his publishing house who helps him piece his confidence back together. When tragedy strikes, he discovers how to finally let go of his past and have the family and future he's always wanted with the pieces already in his life.

love me lights out by veterization

Stiles and Peter get snowed in together. (Or: what happens when you accept phone calls from people you haven't spoken to in over five years.)

Uncle Peter Doesn't Date by Mellow (SweetCandy) (WIP)

“Oh don’t lie, you love it.” Peter purred and winked at his newest arm candy, who spluttered for a few seconds, before blushing like a 16 year old virgin. Considering how young he looked Laura wouldn’t be surprised if he was actually 16. “Shut up Peter!” Bambi squeaked, still flushing and averting Laura’s eyes. “Well, anyways, I’m,” ‘Bambi’. “Stiles. Stiles Stilinski, pleasure to meet you- again.” Stiles smiled sheepishly, obviously nervous. Stiles Stilinski. Definitely a stripper then.

-

Or: Laura was prepared for whatever piece of armcandy her uncle had decided to show up with, what she hadn't been prepared for was Stiles Stilinski...her uncle's boyfriend.

Under the Songbird’s Wing by mia6363

Captivity easily destroys the will of escape. It can break the fiercest of animal. It can strip the most regal man and woman down to nothing but animal needs.

Captivity can, if met with unwavering determination, shape a person into something unimaginable.

Stiles is sixteen when he's captured. Stiles's first thought is, "I won't die here."

Baby Whisperer by twothumbsandnostakeincanon (somanyofthekids)

“What. Is that.”

Scott looked up at him, apprehensive.

“Her name’s Lily.”

Stiles stared at the fuzzy head peeking out of the papoose.

“Her. Her name. That is a real live human baby. Oh my God-”

“Actually I don’t know if she’s human?” Scott said with a confused frown. “Becca didn’t say.”

“Who the fuck is Becca?!”

Sacrificial Lamb by Bunnywest

The Alpha has a scruffy beard, unkempt hair and dazzling blue eyes. The scar on his face is raised, running down his cheek like a twisting, gnarled rope. Stiles knows that it came from the blade of Kate Argent herself, and that the Alpha got it fighting in the battle where Kate killed his lover, cutting his head clean from his neck, if the stories are to be believed.

The Alpha lets Stiles look his fill, before indicating that Stiles should take the other couch, and Stiles does so, his father’s words echoing in his ears. He can do this, can be pleasant and amenable. The lives of his people may depend on it. The Alpha spends long moments surveying him, before saying, “I like you, Stiles.”

You don’t know me, Stiles wants to blurt out, but he bites his tongue.

The Various Triumphs of Mischief Bilinski by Whispering_Sumire (WIP)

"Hello, Chris," sings a honeyed voice from behind.

Chris' attention snaps toward the intruder, his gun already out of its' holster and aimed at whoever it is — a boy, apparently, with braided russet hair, a red jacket, and wise eyes. He's wearing a gas mask, but Chris can tell by the way his eyes crinkle around the edges, the way sun-burnt sand swirls in his irises, that he's smiling.

Chris cocks his gun.

"You killed my father," he says.

"No offence, but he totally deserved it," the stranger agrees with cheerful solemnity.

"What the hell are you doing in my home?" Chris demands. The kid is perched on a windowsill in Chris' office, as nonchalantly as if this were something he did every day, as if they were familiar.

"I was just wondering," the kid speaks softly, fond amusement sewn through with a peculiar resignation, "how you'd feel about putting down some nazis?"

[Or: The one where Stiles goes back in time and subsequently fucks with everything.]

A Curious Magic by Triangulum

Overall, Stiles is very well-known in the supernatural community. It’d be hard not to be, not with how his reputation has grown like wildfire. He knows and is on good terms with nearly all the fae that reside in the preserve, the asrai that live deep in the lake, the Ito pack, the vampire couple that lives over in Beacon Valley (they buy an ethically-sourced food supply from Stiles), as well as almost every other supernatural entity in the area. But Talia Hale doesn’t like him, and a werewolf pack tends to do what their alpha tells them to.

So it’s a definite surprise when the wards at the edge of his property trip, the tingling down his spine telling him it’s a werewolf, the lack of burning sensation letting him know there’s no hostile intent. Stiles, in his office in the second floor turret, sets down the amulet he’s packing up for Marin and moves to the large window overlooking the front of his property. He’s expecting to see an Ito packmember, even though they nearly always call in advance, and is surprised to see a man that he recognizes as Talia’s brother, Peter.

Light in the Dark by cywscross

It still surprises Stiles sometimes, how easily he’s adapted. Seven months in a world filled with train tracks and soul-sucking fae, and it feels like he’s never known anything else.

~~

Or, the one where diverting the Ghost Riders from Beacon Hills to prey on a different town only succeeded in setting them free.

Vengeance Looks Good On You, Sweetheart by cywscross

Just because Scott refuses to see the Argents for what they truly are - prejudiced serial killers sitting proudly on a mountain of innocent corpses - doesn't mean Stiles will. It's about time someone did something about the Argent Empire anyway, and what a coincidence - summer vacation is just around the corner.

--

Or, the one where Gerard Argent kidnapped the wrong fucking person to torture. Stiles has never subscribed to the policy of forgiving and forgetting anyway, not when razing the problem to the ground and salting the earth for good measure has always been a far better solution in the long run.

He doesn't expect to have company.

[sparkbeast20]

You’re my Treasure (Mammon X MC) Pt13

The Blue Lotus petals (series)

As a fan of Beauty X Beast pairing, Showing your “true self” to Lover or (Monster Love) Tropes. I figure to make a (More Demonic Forms AU/head canon) story for each brothers. Heads up each brother’s Story is long as fuck. So, I’ll be posting them as parts and finishing one brother before moving on to the rest of them.

(spoiler for lesson 1-60)

Pt1 Pt2 Pt3 Pt4 Pt5 Pt6 Pt7 Pt8 Pt9 Pt10 Pt11 Pt12

Warning: Swearing, Demonic nature, Suggestive content.

Previously

The two snap out of their feral state by Levi’s scream, they turn towards Levi and shock to what they saw.

“Leviathan!?!, put that book down now!!”

You felt like something is missing next to you. Confuse you try to search it with hand but all you can feel was coins and clothing. You open your eyes to see that Mammon was gone.

You push yourself up and look around to see at no one is in the cavern with you.

“Hello?” slowly got to your feet and wander towards the mouth of the cavern, then you heard a voice call out to you, startling you.

You look up to see Beel looking at you.

“Your awake!” He flew down and immediately engulf you in a bear hug. “We were so happy to find you and Mammon, we didn’t stop looking ever since you two left.”

That feeling again, just came back. The feeling of guilt.

“Sorry to make you all worried”

He chuckles and tells you that breakfast is ready, you nodded and quickly flew out of the cavern and landed near the campfire where everyone is there and greets you.

“Ah…. Good morning, I guess?” once Beel let you go, Asmo was the first one to pounce at you and start rubbing his face to yours as he dramatically starts sobbing. After a moment of fake crying pulled away and cup your face and squishing it. “Look at you, a week of no shower or bath. *Gasp* a week wouldn’t be enough fix you and not to mention all the lost time we have make up since you and Mammon vanish”

You felt your chest tight, just hearing anything about casino and “running away” you feel guilt building up. You want to change the subject.

“I know, I look like I came from a post-apocalyptic game” you were hoping for Levi to jump in, to make one of his game/anime references. But you met was a confuse look from Asmo and Beel. And a dull look from Belphie and doubtfully look from Satan.

“If you look for Levi, he not here. He and Lucifer followed Mammon to who’s knows where” Satan broke the awkward silence.

“Ugh, Mammon is in a bad mood this morning, all though he did lighten up when I mention that you were sleeping…...what have you two been doing for the past week” Asmo grins and playfully bounce his brows up and down. Clearly thinking some private thoughts that Belphie are not to please to hear this early in the morning, he glared at him to stop with the “Asmo speech” but the fifth just wave his hand at him to stop his feeble attempt to scare him.

“Asmo how could I do it with him, when his three times bigger, and that his…... I don’t know a crow monster!”

“You said that his “Three times” bigger. Then that means his- OW!?! Satan the fuck that was for!” Satan smack him at the back of the head to cut that discussion short. He hisses at Satan, who just flash a fake smile at him, you chuckle at the Fourth and Fifth interaction.

“Anyway, why was Mammon in a bad mood?”

“I was just cleaning tail feathers, when squawk at me. I was just trying to help him”

You couldn’t say it out loud but every time you ask Mammon about his brothers, he just stay silent and turn his head away from you, like he didn’t want to hear about them.

Its like before the week you to left, Mammon starts too distant himself from them. As if he was irritated to be in the same room with them.

You felt your hands turning colder, as your heart start to beat fast. The guilt is killing you; all this happen because of you.

“I’m sorry…... this all my fault.” All of them turn and look at with a confuse look on their face. Satan was the first one to asks.

“What do you Mean?”

“……Mammon wasn’t the one who want to go to the casino……. I was”

It was a quiet night at the house, too quiet Mammon wasn’t his cheerful attituded that night even though it was Saturday night he tends to be at the casino by this time but he wasn’t feeling it.

You were at the couch in his room, doing some reading about the demon king and his time ruling for a report you’re doing.

While Mammon is laying at his bed looking at the ceiling with both arms under his head.

“Maybe we can play with Levi, he said that there was devil kart update last week”

“Nah, I’m not in the mood video games right now” he sounds tired and uninterested like all the passion in him is gone.

“Mammon” call to him in low tone and a slight worried, stood up and walk over to the bed and sat next to him. “Are you okay, did Lucifer or the others~”

“No, its….” He tilts his head and landed his sight on you “I think, I’m losing interest in cards”

“What? But you’re the sin of greed how are you losing interest in cards?” he sat up and look at the table by the couch with a stack of playing cards on it

“I don’t know…… it does excite or thrill me like it use to, maybe it has to do of me being in a slump lately. I mean babe, I lose all the rounds last week and all my cash in my pocket…... I think I’m losing my spark”

He lay back down to bed and turn to face away from you, not knowing what to do.

You hate seeing him like this, somehow its Mammon depress like this, just crush your heart. He always lively cheerful, full of himself, cocky and arrogant that why you love him. Even he does stupid and dumb things for cash. He is the light of this house and his brothers they just don’t want to admit it.

Then suddenly you thought of something to help your boyfriend, you lay beside him and start kissing him on the back of his neck.

“Babe, I’m not in the mood for sex”

“Oh……... I’m just doing this to grab your attention” you said it in a playful tone.

He turns you and with a pout “What are you gettin’ at?”

“Well….” You start playing with his hair “I have a couple of friends back in the human world that was in same state as you are right now”

“Yeah…... yer point?”

“Their solution is to change it”

“Okay now, I’m more confuse”

“You been playing poker and other card games normal and/or cheating” he looks at you narrow bows and his pout is even more sour, and you just chuckle and ruffle his hair. “You got used to it, and eventually the game got dull. So, I should come and play with you and make things interesting”

“You don’t like gambling, I’m even surprise that yer dating me”

“You know why I choice you right!” he turns away to hide his blush.

“Get to the point” he’s getting fluster, you try your best not tease him any farther.

“Yeah, I don’t like gambling…… but people change their mind about things and I want you to teach me how” you can see his face change into something to what his usual expression is.

“Yer tell me, that ya want the great Mammon to teach ya how to play and win”

You pulled out a grimm out of your pocket and show it to Mammon “I want more of this to buy something” you said like you’re making a deal with a devil. And his liking it.

“Go on……” he fixes himself in a sitting position with his hand under chin as you continue on to all the things you want to buy and other activities that you can only do with grimms. The longer you go on, the cocky grin on his face grow. He loves this feeling you indulging in his sin, what he saw is a wave of aura that he is the only one can see, surround you and your pact mark glows.

But to you you’re just talking about thing you want to buy; you know Mammon just love listening to you talk about things like this.

After all of that, Mammon jumps off the bed and turn to face you with his chest puff up.

“We’re not sleepin’ tonight, cause baby I’m teach ya all the tricks and cheats of this. By this time tomorrow we’ll be swimmin’ in grimms”

You smiled back at him, happy to bring back his spirit again “Can’t wait”

“After that, we spend all night playing cards until I memorize all cards in the deck. And we spend the nights at casino after casino earn wins and having fun…... until the Basto thing happen”

“So, you let yourself get too greedy and try to cheat for the thrill” Satan said with a stern tone. All you can do is nodded and try not to cry.

“I though changing things up and making them more exciting for him, will help get out of his slump…. But I didn’t want him to get all the blame and blame himself for me getting hurt” you start to sob and let the tears fall as you hold the case which should be off of you by now close to your chest.

Satan sigh and crouch right Infront of you and start talking.

“That was stupid and reckless of you, to act like Mammon, knowing that you’re playing a dangerous with powerful demons for the thrills” you nod as Satan continues “But what’s done is done, once this all over you and I are going to have a long talk” Satan pause for a moment and grab your case arm and looked at it and saw the writing in gold ink.

“But you shouldn’t blame yourself for Mammon hating himself for you getting hurt” he taps the case and it broke apart surprising you as you bend your wrist feeling free from it.

“Because this is what you are to him” he grabs a piece of the case of the floor, he gently grabs your hand and place the case on it revealing the piece is with writing My Treasure with the scribble of a feather next to it.

Your eyes widen and you looked up to met Satan’s eyes, he smiled back at you.

“Mammon loves you, if guns work on demons, he would’ve jump Infront of the bullet for you without a second though. Mammon is dumb but…...” he trails off and wipe the tears of your cheek. “His heart is in the right place”

“Satan’s right” Asmo fixes your hair “We make of Mammon from time to time, because his easy to tease. That’s goes to Levi with his obsession with his hobby, Satan’s with cats” Asmo can feel Satan glaring at him. “Beel with his eating, and Belphie with his laziness” Asmo pause for a moment remembering all the time Mammon and he were clubbing, and how he teases him on winning you, and boasting about in that was the best out of the seven of them to choose to be with. Sure, he was jealous all of them are, but seeing him happy like that and happy being with you. He couldn’t to smile and be proud of Mammon.

“We all care and love him, even these heartless demons won’t say anything” Both Satan and Belphie frown and look away from Asmo, who he and Beel chuckle of their brothers attempt to hide their emotion.

“Thanks…. All of you, I feel so much better”

“I’m glad, now let’s eat”

“Yes” without hesitation Beel start stuffing his face with the food he and Asmo has been cooking

“Make sure you save some for the three, we wouldn’t want to be in their bad side, if they came back hungry and expecting food waiting for them.” Belphie tells the others, and thinking what taking the older brothers too long to get back.

[jadelynlace]

ink drinker / Modern Vikings AU, Ivar x F!Reader, Chapter 3

catch up here!

synopsis: Ivar was only meant to be a friend with benefits, but he caught feelings for his older brother’s best friend, and co-worker: you.

pairing: Ivar x F!Reader

author’s note & content warning: mentions of depression, self harm and suicidal thoughts; all pertaining to Ivar, not reader. mentions of therapy, medication and past history of self inflicted & blooming trauma. please read at your own risk. my messages are always, always open for anyone who may ever need a listener. anything in italics indicates a flash back. there are so many fucking feelings in this chapter that I just, am apologizing now. but there’s smut!

✎

It was gloomy the morning you remembered finally catching a glimpse of Ivar’s scars. Adorned and nearly smothered by him in his bed, the small snores from him somewhere draped across your skin, traveling over the plains in warm boulders. You were always drawn to the artwork on his limbs, there was always a smaller detail you missed and found within your next search but through the endless gazes you finally caught sight of the jagged white flesh. The since healed lacerations and your medical knowledge took full force of your mind. They were scars, they were healed scars, but they were scars from the straight edge of a razor blade. With such precision and such aftermath you knew they were the scars with one intent within their making. And they were there to tell you the secret horrors Ivar had not yet spoken—that there was a point where he felt his heart should no longer beat, and his lungs should no longer fill and that his life was meaningless. And that he should end it.

*

“Can I ask you something?” You finally find yourself mumbling; words floating through the cabin of the parked ambulance on stand by. Hvitserk’s coffee halfway through to his stomach when you peep in such a meek voice he almost coughs the molten liquid back out.

“Yeah, of course, Y/N,”

“How bad is Ivar’s depression?” And you simply ask. No foreword to the speech, no coating of sugar or dusting of fake joy. As blunt as you had been trained to voice the death of a loved one to their family. “I saw the medication in his cabinet, and I saw the scars on his wrists. I know it’s none of my business because he’s your brother, but…” and you can’t find a lie to justify it. Not ready to spill to your partner about the times Ivar had spilled into the condoms with you.

“Bad,” Hvitserk says, and just as bluntly. “He…he tried to kill himself in college. I don’t know if you’ve noticed how he’s never available Saturdays from eleven to noon, but that’s when he has therapy. I had been trying to convince him since high school to see someone, and Floki finally got through to him not too long ago,” He adds. “When I got that phone call from mom that he was in the hospital—I felt like such a failure, Y/N, because I knew it was coming and I did nothing to stop it,” Your hand goes to his wrist for a second, a quick squeeze of added support as you listen.

“Sometimes people refuse what’s good for them, Hvitty,” You start. “You should know that—how many times have we explained to someone why they should go to the hospital with us, but they still refuse?” He finally cracks a smile at that. “Do you think he’s in a better place now, mentally?”

“Either that, or he’s just stable. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Ivar doesn’t like to talk about his feelings…”

“Wow Hvitserk, I had no idea,” You tease, nudging him with both your elbow and sarcastic tone as the voice on the radio fills into the cabin. Your stand by is over and the conversation is dropped as you leave the scene.

*

There had been instances where you think he might be ready; he might understand that the new gifting of your relationship status might help him to realize you aren’t joking when you offer to listen. You’d listen to Ivar talk until he ran out of things to say if it came to that. More times now the words perched themselves on his lips, ready to spring forwards but he keeps pulling them back. He keeps swallowing them because they’re mixed like bile and stew and far too gross, far too un-human for him to even want to try to speak them to you. And then Ivar kicks himself for drowning these demons who have started to learn to swim and he sees you in your uniform and remembers that nothing phases you. You watch open heart surgery on the television while you eat his mother’s lasagna without a care in the world or a realization that what you were doing is unusual. 

“Can I talk to you?” Ivar says bluntly, sitting like a cowered dog in the living room and you’re hardly through his front door when he asks. You can feel how your head rises slowly, a quick snarky word to come back but you bite down on your tongue so roughly you can taste blood as you just look at him. You have never seen a man of his stature try to look so small, try to be so invisible. Worry comes to your face just as quickly as the next breath passes through your diaphragm and you’re on the couch before you even take your shoes off. “It’s messy,” He finally admits. Shallow and dead and you can see the broken boy that has tried to hide himself through the bulked muscles and the tattoos; the glare through his blue eyes and the curved lip.

“Most of what involves the human body is messy, Ivar,” You find yourself saying back, and it sounds pathetic to your ears. It sounds like you’re trying to tell the parent of a dead child that you know how they feel but you don’t. And you never will. But Ivar shedding this skin for you feels like you’re walking through the motions on a call, eyes from crowds of people crawling over and stuck on your every move. And every move that comes next like they’re watching a soap opera with their dinner and they’ve disconnect that what is happening is real, it’s someones life. Just like how you have to disconnect. But in this moment it’s Ivar, and you’re present. 

“Like paint,” Ivar mumbles next. 

“Yeah, like paint,” You repeat and there’s a smile on your lips for a second. “Ivar? You don’t do that anymore, do you?” You finally find the courage to ask.

“No,” Ivar says as he glances down at his right hand’s wrist, shoving the skin next to the sweatshirt he’s wearing as if rubbing it on the gray cotton will make those scars dissipate. “I get tattoos instead,” That causes a sick button to click in your consciousness as to why Ivar is so heavily covered from his shoulders to his ankles in artwork. How the sting of the needle dawning the creations reminded him of the blade he tried to use to make the mess of thoughts fly away. To make the demons come free through his skin and leave him with peace, if only a moment. 

“What helps? What helps you stay present?” You ask. Ivar blinks far too many times, sorting through his brain for the answers as if it’s a container of memorabilia that’s so unorganized even his mother can’t stand the sight of it.

“My brothers help, sometimes,” He says. “I think about how devastated my mom would be. I think about Floki. I think about all of the people in my life who say they want me here even when my mind is trying to tell me I don’t deserve to be.”

“I want you here, Ivar.” You say back and catch how he looks at you when you admit such.

“Why? Have you seen yourself, Y/N? You could have anyone you want and you choose me…” The sentence breaks your heart but you now know the darkness the climbs between his ears. The seed planted so long ago in the depths of brown ground somewhere and you want to pull it from the mental garden. You want to rip the roots right from the soil and burn them so they never have a chance to infest any farther.

“No one makes me feel the way you do, Ivar,” Are the first words from your mouth. “You make me smile, you make me feel important—you remind me how to escape. Even on the worst possible days I can have, you bring me back to reality.” You want to tell him how he’s addicting, how there’s a quality to him you can’t articulate but always keeps you coming back. How you want to keep coming back because both your mind, and your body know it’s safe. How he was someone so mysterious from the outside but past every highly built wall is a man who is just so simply himself. “Because you’re you, Ivar. With the bachelor’s degree in calculus, and the copious amounts of tattoos, and a heart of gold that…you forget that you have,” You finally add. “You’re someone different to the rest of the world, but you’re the real Ivar around me,” You worry that the silence that over takes him is a sign of something else. A sign that you spoke too much, again, and scarred him for more than he could withstand. And then he smiles. 

But you can’t understand why—why he smiles for someone like you. The one who let him design your first ever tattoo to his heart’s content. The one who has the same twisted sense of humor. The one who will bicker back and challenge him. The one who gets to see him fall apart between your legs. The one who makes him hard, and has him make those noises. The moans, the heavy panting and rasped groans as he bottoms out and moves through you. The one who gets to watch how his eyes snap shut, and his mouth drops open when you clench around him; how his entire back tenses when he’s close. How he holds you as he fills the rubber with everything he has. The man who loves your nails trailing on his skin. The man who smothers you every night that he spends with you, and every morning when you wake and he’s still there. Making you coffee and cooking you breakfast. How he knows your takeout order from your favorite places, and your work schedule. What food to have at his own apartment, and what movies he should have on demand. The spare clothes he keeps there for when you come over after work, ready to take the ambulance grime from your skin. The pads that are in his bathroom closet, the painkillers. The bottle of “girly white wine” that he won’t admit to drinking too, because it is damn good wine. The man who knows to check in with you during the day, and again to make sure you really are alright. The same man who knows if you don’t text him back, you and Hvitserk have gone knee deep into either a bullshit call, or a tragic one. As shocked as you were that he was listening to what you were saying—and taking it to heart—you were stunned that you hadn’t caught on to how obvious it was that Ivar was in love with you. Even with all of the time you spend crammed between your own thoughts.

“There’s a lot to sort through,” Ivar says again.

“That’s okay, Ivar,” You remind him, your head resting on his shoulder and you feel him shift, move his arm to encompass you as you curl against his side.

“You smell like bleach,” He softly laughs, his nose deep against your hair and you snort, reminded of the decontamination duties you were gifted from the calls today.

“Better than Hvitserk, who got puked on,” You reply. “Shower?” And you can feel Ivar nod against you. 

His hands don’t move rapidly to shed your clothing, or to shed his own. There’s a certain calmness through his motions as he waits for the water to warm, slipping your polo from your shoulders, and planting his lips in its wake. Against the base of your neck, your spine, hugging your body flush against his in front of the mirror. Your eyes catch sight of his hands coming back around you, squeezing your breasts and you can’t stop the moan that crawls from your mouth. The traces of artwork on his fingers as his lips move from your neck, to the shell of your ear and graze your pulse point. There’s a push from your backside against his groin, and Ivar growls in response, humming not far after as you feel how his cock hardens the farther his hands roam.   

Down your sides, your abdomen, swirling through your folds and dipping between them to catch your juices. Circling against the bundle of nerves he knows so precisely and you moan twice as loudly, and he does too as you moisten to his fingers. Your hands move to grab at him, anywhere they can and you find one hand holding his neck and the other wrapping around his length. Your nails crawl to his hair, pulling the locks down as his fingers take to moving quickly, spreading your womanhood and arousal and you suddenly can’t wait much longer to have him. And he can tell by how you whimper, whisper to him about how you want to feel him inside of you and there’s no fight anywhere on his body to try to deny the tone of your begging. Ivar’s eyes catch yours in the mirror as he finally pushes into you, the cold porcelain sink calming the heat of your skin as he bottoms out and rests his body against yours. There’s a sinful moan that comes through his lips as his eyes bore into yours, with the squeeze from your walls and warmth you spread through him and at first he can’t move, he only wants to savor it. His eyes finally close as he slips away from you, pushing in once more as your body rocks to the sink, singing back to him as the steam from the forgotten shower starts to fog against the mirror. Your name is through his lips as he moves, tattooed hands coming to find yours as he moves your body with each thrust, each timed sensation and you feel your own orgasm approaching. His mouth open on your ear, eyes screwed shut between love and ecstasy as his breath tickles down your face and you’re close now, far closer and far faster than you’ve ever been

“Ivar—” comes your voice and there’s only a hum in response, wordlessly pleading for you to let go because he’s got you, and you know that. Your knuckles white washed against his as you finish, shaking against the sink and you miss how Ivar’s eyes watch you unfold. Studying the pleasure laced in your features. 

“Where, baby?” He says quickly, and you shudder as you remember he’s bare now, condom long since forgotten but there are still the small pills you swallow. Still working somewhere you know of, but the accuracy decreases when you take them irregularly—and there’s a big part of your life that calls for that to happen. The alarming lights and loud tones. But you know that you’re safe. With Ivar you’re always safe.

“Inside,” You finally say, his hips stopping to starve off the inevitable as he waits for you to be sure, as he waits to see the seriousness on your face so he knows you aren’t lying in the heat of the moment. And you have to say it again for him to start up again, remind him that you have a safety net. The sensitivity in your cunt melts as he keeps moving and you can tell another orgasm is starting to build. Ivar reaches from your hand quickly and starts his fingers against your clit, quick circles as you hear him get louder, feel his other arm move to crush you and you catch his face as he finishes. The sight searing in your vision and colliding with how he moves with you and your second release rolls through you. His seed spilling and you both moan, his lips still plastered against your ear and you can feel the shake through his whole body as he floats back down. The tense in his thighs pushing you against the counter. There’s a whimper next from him, as he stills, wrapping tightly to hold you there, like it was all a dream he doesn’t want to wake up from. 

“I love you,” You hear him say against your skin and you’re right there to repeat it back to him. “You don’t have to mean it,” He then tries and you already know what he’s doing.

“I do, Ivar,” You say back, trying to make him look at you through the mirror but his eyes are still closed. He slowly slips from you, his release sticking between your thighs as he slides away and you’re only then able to turn in his arms. Reaching forwards to pull his mouth against his. “I love you. You and me Ivar, against the world,” You say and he hums at that, a small snicker not far after. 

“I like how that sounds, baby,” His smile comes next, dopey and boyish as he finally looks into your eyes and understands that you don’t doubt any part of him. You love it all—the good and the bad and the evil things he may think about himself. You love them all because you know he feels the same way when it comes to you. “The hot water’s going to run out soon,” He mumbles as he holds you. And standing in the shower is not much more different, still wrapped up safely in his arms as you both feel the troubles melt down the drain.

Tags:

@smileysam13579 @dreamtherapy @heisentwerk @angelofthenightposts @ill-skillsgard @youaremyfamiliar @unbetaedimagines @kathryn-jane @readsalot73 @skrsgardspam @lihikainanea @victoria-styles @queen-sarang   @anastasiaskarsgard @andmyannabellee @youbloodymadgenius @apenas-mais-uma-pessoa @walkxthexmoon  @flowers-in-your-hayr @peachyboneless @heavenly1927 @theanxietyqueen17 @trip2themoon @love-all-things-writing @mighty-ragnarssons @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom @quantumlocked310

*please message me to be added or removed from my tag list. specifications for series are welcomed, as well as feedback!*

full masterlist can be found here.

[ukiyoexo]

HAUNT ME, BABY! — PJS

PAIRINGS — nct, park jisung x reader

GENRES — ghost!jisung, quarantine!au, humour, lots of fluff (+grumpy!cute!jisung), angst (?)

SYNOPSIS — when you see a ghost, you’re supposed to be scared right? yeah, that’s what jisung thought too until he met you.

a night spent in boredom leads you to lighting random candles and attempting to summon a ghost. you never expected it to work — or for the spirit to be so cute.

WARNINGS — ghost summoning, mentions of blood, swearing, pricking your skin for blood, mentions of how jisung died, unedited

WORD COUNT — 5.2k+

TAG LIST — @uwu-yifan @peachjaem00 @heartyyjeno @guccichan

NOTE — i basically took the bloody mary ritual and made some shit up so enjoy :) this is also the fluffiest of all the fics from deviltales so yeah... this is also shorter than i intended but oh well.

DEVILTALES — MASTERLIST

quarantining alone had its perks. like being able to eat whatever you liked whenever, and never having to actually get dressed. as well as the fact that you could spend the day doing what you pleased, without anyone getting in your way.

and maybe that’s why you were going through with the slightly crazy and slightly stupid idea you had come up with whilst spending your fourth hour scrolling on tiktok. there was no one here to stop you from summoning a ghost and you wouldn’t be getting in anyone’s way. plus, you couldn’t help but think it would be nice to have someone other than your cat to talk to — even if that someone was some demon that probably wanted to possess your body.

“red and white candles, check. mirror, yep.” you mumble off the checklist to summon your very own supernatural being. your finger scrolling over the wiki how page on your phone screen one last time before powering it off and chucking it onto your bed.

next stop was the bathroom connected to your bedroom, where you had already lit the two candles, placing them at either corner of the sink. you had already turned off the lights and plugged the sink like instructed, all you had to do now was repeat the chant and prick your finger.

you clear your throat, debating what you would do if your attempts actually worked but deciding to instead remain unbothered. “yolo i guess.” you mutter, only to laugh at yourself when you wonder how many people’s last words were that.

you repeat the chant confidently, despite the fact that it was some random latin that you didn’t understand and most definitely mispronounced. after rerunning it through your head to make sure you had it, you pick up the pin you had placed next to the sink. the cool metal almost numbs the feeling of it piercing your index finger, yet still not enough to completely distract from the unpleasant pinch. a steady drip begins even before you remove the needle, landing against the white ceramic sink bowl and trailing it way down to the plug. one drop, two drops, three drops, you keep count until you hit 16 and a small pool of the metallic liquid has formed at the drain.

nothing happens for a while, and you wonder if it really was just make belief. and then when the red candle blows out, you try to convince yourself that it’s just a draft. you know, because a draft in a closed room with no open windows is so common.

you’re not scared per se, but the feeling of someone’s hot breath against the neck is slightly unsettling, the hairs on your back standing up just that bit straighter with every exhale. you know the next step is to look up and face the mirror, but a part wants to just turn on the lights and pretend nothing ever happened.

then again, you were never one to back down from something once you had begun it.

“fuck it.” you take a deep inhale, holding your breath as you direct your eyes from the bloodied sink towards the mirror.

there it is. the dark outline of a body— a person, you can’t see it’s face at first and wonder if it’s just your shadow. but then the features slowly become more clear, a wicked smile, one white eye, there’s blood dripping from the crown of his head, trailing down to his other, reddened eye, where a thick cut is sliced through. “boo.”

“jesus fucking christ.” you’re pretty sure your soul leaves your body at that very moment. definitely a ghost- definitely a ghost- definitely a ghost. but what fucking ghost says boo?

one hand is clutched to your chest, heart hammering against your ribcage, the other fumbling for the light switch. your widened eyes still trained on the mirror.

“you— you’re like actually a ghost?” you question, the light switch seemingly impossible to find despite your frantic attempts. the boy behind you seems caught off guard by the enquiry. “i mean—” he begins in the most unghostlike manner “yeah, i guess. i prefer haunted spirit of the underworld though.”

you finally hit the switch and the boy comes into full view, your body turning so you can get a better look at him. he’s— he’s surprisingly unthreatening.

sure, he has copious amounts of blood dripping from his being, and yeah, he looks like he could possess you with the snap of his fingers. but, he also has the roundest rosy cheeks, and the most adorably button nose. plus, he talks like most of your friends do — not the spooky victorian vibe you were picturing. “huh.” you lean back against the sink basin, arms folded across your chest, eyes narrowed. “hmph, you’re kind of cute.”

the ‘haunted spirit of the underworld’ looks a mixture of offended and confused at your statement, eyebrows furrowing with a exaggerated pout on his lips. “what?” he mirrors the action of your arms, “you’re not supposed to find me cute— you’re not supposed to.” he stomps his foot and you can’t help but lose it, giggling erupting from your chest.

“not my fault, dude.” you inform him casually once you’ve caught back your breath. sliding past him to get to the bathroom door and promptly opening it. he follows as you enter your bedroom, standing above you with the same expression as before as he watches you slump onto your bed.

“but no one ever finds me cute.” he just looks more confused now. “guess im the exception,” you shrug, “i mean how many people have summoned you anyways?”

“a lot, ok? and that’s not the point. you’re killing the atmosphere by being so chilled out and i’m not here for it.” the boy continues but you’re more focused on examining him. under the thick red liquid is a dishevelled, ink black mop of hair, a slightly tattered black shirt that is loose fitting to his figure and then a pair of ripped black jeans, although you can’t tell whether the rips are intentional or a result of his untimely death. “hello? are you even listening to me.” your eyes flick back up to his face, “yeah, yeah i’m listening— something about atmosphere or some shit.”

he lets out a huff and indicates for you to shuffle over, moving to sit on your bed, “whoa, pause, that blood won’t get on my sheets right? i just washed them.” he pauses in his tracks, looking at the white linen and then back at you. “i’m a ghost.” he states obviously. “good point.”

silence seems to settle in the room once he gets himself comfortable, his eyes examine your room whilst your eyes examine him. the pout on his face had vanished, only to be replaced by this almost saddened look. for some reason, you can’t help but feel like it’s your fault.

“you can try again.” you mutter awkwardly, offering up the best comforting smile you could. “try what?” “you can try scaring me again. we’ll go back to the bathroom, i’ll turn off the lights and you can jump out again.” his head tilts as you explain your suggestion and you swear you can see the apples of his cheeks redden just slightly. “i— i mean it won’t work will it? you already know i’m here.” he reasons back.

“ah, my dearest haunted spirits of the underworld, you clearly haven’t witnessed my superior acting skills before, lemme show you how to be scared.” you stand up confidently, sliding backwards to the bathroom, wiggling your eyebrows as you do so.

he once again follows, watching inquisitively as you relight the candles and turn off the lights, closing the bathroom door behind you, once you’re both fully in. “now, do your thing.” you offer him a quick smile and he nods hesitantly, settling himself in the darkest corner of the bathroom where you can’t even see him. “haunt me, baby!”

as you let out your last, more joking, words, the red candle is blown out once again, the white candle merely flickering and provided little to no light. your breath catches in your throat and any humour you have left to offer seems to dissipate out of your body.

there’s a tapping against the tiles to your right. then a scraping behind you. you can hear an unintelligible whispering echo throughout the small space but can’t make out what’s being said.

a cold draft hits the back of your neck, following the shiver that runs done your spine and leaves goosebumps on your arms.

your eyes are locked on the mirror in front of you. you don’t even have to act scared, you just are. your heart pounding harder and quicker in your chest with each passing second, your breaths unsteady and shallow.

one tap on your shoulder, then two, then what feels like someone tugging on strands of your hair. your body tenses at the touch, limbs stiffening.

and then, in the glow of the weak candle light, a face appears, a familiar face but one that given the circumstances, looks all the more terrifying. your eyes widen just as before, your features hardened in the tense moment.

“boo.” he repeats the same ‘scary’ word as before but in a low whisper. you try your best to remain calm but it’s at that moment that you lose it, your eyes squeezing shit and your hands flying to hit the lights. “nope, nope, nope.” you repeat in a chant, jumping on the spot as if that would make things any better.

“what? was i good?” the ghost sounds surprised, chirpy, and it’s enough to convince you that you can look up again. “were you good?” you respond bewildered, staring at the boy, “you were to fucking, i hated that.” you inform him, pacing to wards your bed. he trails behind, cheering to himself proudly.

“promise to never scare me like that again?” you hold out your pinky once he’s sat back next to you.

he pauses slightly but then nods, extending his pinky as well, hooking it around yours. “promise.”

♡ ♡ ♡

“wait, you never told me your name? and how old are you?” you and ghost boy are lying on your bed, having established that he’ll be ‘haunting’ you until dawn, leaving you with six hours to kill.

“jisung, eighteen.” he hums back, “you?”

“i’m y/n and the same age.” you roll onto your stomach and closer to jisung, giving him a wide, cheesy grin. his eyes narrow, as if to say what are you doing, but then widen when he feels your arm shove him off the bed. of course, it doesn’t work because he’s a ghost and can hover, but you still receive the same amount of entertainment.

“why can i touch you?” you continue your questioning after jisung settles on the chair next to your desk, “and why can you sit on things?”

he huffs out a breath but doesn’t really seemed bothered by the pestering, in fact he rather enjoys having someone to talk to. “you can touch me because you summoned me, and i can sit on things because i control what i go in and out of.” he explains as simply as possible, holding his hand out against your desk. “look, like this.” he rests his hand ontop of the surface as if it’s nothing. then he lifts it back up and lowers it again, however this time, it goes straight through the wood. “whoa.” you gasp, genuinely impressed. “cool, right—”

“can you go through me?” you burst brightly, and jisung looks mildly concerned. “i mean— i’ve never tried but—” “try it on me! try it on me! try it on me, please!” you extend the last your vowels desperately, grasping your hands hands together in a begging motion.

jisung rolls his eyes but agrees nonetheless, rising from seat and walking towards you with his hand extended. “ok, hold out your hand.” he instructs and you comply eagerly. your hand pointed outwards with your fingers spread slightly.

jisung rests his palm against yours, his skin is cold but soft. but then the feeling seems to vanish, and you watch wild eyed as jisung closes his fist, inside your hand. “what does it feel like?” he asks.

“like nothing.” you tilt your head, it wasn’t as exciting as you thought it’d be.

jisung then pulls out of your hand again, places his palm back against yours and threading his fingers with yours, materialising his flesh again. “aw, you’re holding my hand.” you tease sweetly, “cute.”

jisung scoffs, quickly pulling away at the mention of that horrid c-word.

“anyways then, what do you want to do?” you flop back onto your bed, staring at the ceiling. jisung lifts off the ground, hovering above you and looking down to make eye contact. “what do you mean?”

“well, is there anything you didn’t get to do whilst you were alive that you wish you could? are there things you want to experience again?”

jisung smiles, it’s a sweet question. bittersweet though.

he had never really thought about the things he had missed out on, and he’d tried his hardest to not think about the things he actually missed. but something about you asking it, so innocently, so pure hearted and warm, makes him smile. makes him less sad about his untimely death.

“i don’t know.” the ghost drops beside you, fiddling with his fingers. “well let’s make a list then.” you match his smile and jisung swears this is the most he’s felt since becoming a ghost.

♡ ♡ ♡

half an hour passes before you finally have a list you can actually accomplish within the confines of your apartment.

first on the list is learning how to skateboard, your board that had been propped up in the corner of your room since the start of quarantine coming in extremely useful. “ok, put one foot on the deck,” you instruct calmly, hands already being grasped by jisung’s. the icy feeling if then still something you couldn’t entirely get over. “then the other.” he does as he’s told. stepping on carefully but surprisingly soon, he was a ghost though — nothing to lose.

it goes pretty smoothly, your body guiding his around the hard wood floor of your bedroom. there’s a few wobbles but nothing too severe. “fun?” you grin and he nods eagerly back, it was almost like having a puppy.

“now you try on your own.”

he stops smiling at that.

“but what if i fall off?”

“you’re a ghost.”

“oh yeah.”

jisung adjusts the board so that it’s facing down the longest stretch. he confidently settles himself on the deck. with one, slightly too strong of a push, he’s off across your room. he picks up speed quickly as he goes and it’s only near the end of his path when he realised that he’s fucked up.

whilst he jumps off, the board keeps flying, only stopping when it hits the wall — or rather goes through it.

you both stand, frozen in you positions, staring at where your plaster wall had been broken through. “you just put a hole in my wall.”

“that, i did.”

“ok enough skateboarding for you.”

you move on swiftly after that, finding out that jisung can still eat and deciding to order a selection of his favourite dishes: sushi, pizza and even pork belly.

whilst you wait for food, you decide to move onto the next on the list: alcohol.

“so you’re telling me you never drank alcohol, like any at all, before you dies?” jisung nods to your astounded question. “seriously?” you scoff, genuinely shocked. “the most i’ve had is a sip of mum’s wine and it was nasty so i just steered clear of alcohol as a whole.” he informs you and you’re pretty sure your jaw is touching the ground. “what about drinking games?” he shakes his head again. “that’s wild dude.” it seems like the only motion jisung can do is moving his head as nods awkwardly for what feels like the hundredth time.

you don’t pay much mind as you head to your kitchen, choosing a selection of alcohols and mixers and several glasses before making your way back to the bedroom with full arms. 

you settle yourself on the floor of your room, pouring out the various liquids into different glasses. “you don’t have to drink if you don’t want, you know that right?” you asks, swirling a glass of lemonade and lemon vodka in your, wanting to make sure that you weren’t forcing the ghost boy to do something he didn’t want to. “yeah, i know, but i do want to.” “ok, good.”you grin, hoding out the glass in your hand towards him.

he winces at just the smell which makes you giggle, the way his nose srunches being incredibly cute. he takes swig anyways however. its a quick one but you can tell by the range of emotions that spread across the boys face that he definitely got a taste. “good?” “i guess.” he twists his lips and you laugh even more.

“up next is gin.” you inform him, swirling another glass of alcohol and this time tonic.

you hand him the glass and he readily takes it, offering you a concerned look after taking his routine sniff as if to say ‘you really drink this?’. you smile encouragingly, despite thinking the drink you had just handed him was the worst of the lot. 

unfortunately for jisung, he takes you expression as a form of reassurance that the gin will be better than the last and takes a more confident sip than the prior drink. however, just as quickly as he’s sipping it, he’s spitting it back into the glass, this disgusted look on his face as he tries to hold back a gag. you let out a boisterous belly laugh at his reaction, much to jisung’s distaste.

“you like that?” he questions between gulps of water, watching you intently. his eyebrows arching wildly when you respond with a “rarely.” 

“so, wanna taste the next one?” you grin again, but jisung as trusting as before. “not really.” he pouts but you circle the drink around his face and he can’t really say no, he had never really had any self restraint anyways. “fuck it.” he hums before downing the mix of malibu and coke, a pleased look flashing across his face. “you like?” you nudge him into a response, “i do.” he smiles back, surprisingly happy. 

you appreciate his good taste in alcoholic drinks but decide to do only one more round before wrapping the session up. 

the last differs from the rest. the fact that it was dairy based and thicker eing the most obvious differences, as well as the fact that you put no mixer with it. “what’s this?” he holds the brown liquid up to the light as if that would help him decifer what he was about to sip on. “chocolate baileys.” you smile at him fondly, and he tilts his head at you. “don’t worry, you’ll love it.” you offer him some more genuine reassurance this time and his nods timidly, “bottoms up.” he raise his glass to his lips, taking a small swig. “wow.” he has another taste. “good?” “really good.”

food arrives shortly after and you waste no time stuffing yourself with the selection of delicious foods, making that jisung has plenty and enjoys the meal to its full.

♡ ♡ ♡

next on the agenda was catching up with all the music jisung had missed. and god, there was plenty.

you created a playlist of your favourites, a collection of ones he may know, and other new ones, setting it to full volume on your speaker — your neighbours could deal with the noise for a while.

when you begin to twirl around the room, busting out your favourite moves, jisung doesn’t seem too fond of joining in. unfortunately, no one told him how hard it would be to say no to you. the way you grip his hands and spin him on the spot with encouraging cheers make him laugh too much for him to then say no.

“there you go!” you grin ecstatically, watching jisung throw out some peculier but workable dance moves. your questionable singing matched with his much better singing when a song he knew came on.

your dance party goes on for what feels like half an hour but is really half an hour at most.

you spend half the time belly laughing while battling it out on who could dance better and although jisung won, it’s one of the best half an hours of your life. it almost makes you sad that, despite your exhaustion, you can’t continue with the dance party for longer.

you cross it off the list happily, looking for the next doable thing — watch avengers: endgame.

you were never much of an avengers fan but it turns out jisung was a huge one. and one thing he didn’t get to do before he passed was watch the last to the film, something he had been dying to do.

thankfully for him, you had already bought it after one extremely boring day in quarantine, figuring it would help you easily pass three hours of your time. only now, you were hating the length as it just meant less time to spend with jisung.

jisung actually having to agree to play truth or dare with you whilst watching otherwise you refused to turn it on.

it gets only fifteen minutes into the film and your prodding at the ghost’s arm. “psst,” you over exaggerate, “truth or dare?” you grin taking a scoop from the ice cream you had retrieved earlier.

jisung flickers his gaze between the screen and your pleading, hating how cute he finds you. “dare.” he whispers back.

if he hadn’t been so focused on the film, jisung would have seen the almost maniac like smile that spread across your lips. he then, would have been less shocked and disgusted when you dared him to drink a shot of soy sauce.

“you want me to do what?” the boy splutters, looking at you with mild concern. “what happens if i don’t?” one eyebrows quirks upwards. “then i choose a different date, as well as a truth.”

the manic smile returns.

“ok, fine.” you’re almost more shocked that he agrees to the questionable, sodium packed drink. “really?” you gasp. “yep, really.” he only confirms back.

you return to the bedroom a couple moments later with a glass bottle of dark brown liquid in one hand and a pair of shot glasses in the other. “you doing it with me?” jisung wonders once he sees the two small vessels, normally for alcohol.

“might as well.” you nod, questioning your own sanity as soon as you agree, “you only live once right?”

the joke is probably inappropriate given the circumstances, yet jisung chuckles nonetheless.

the humour dies down shortly after when the sodium liquid meets your tongue. your attempt short lived as you wait a whole five seconds to spit the shot back out. grabbing one of the glassses of water you had prepared and swirling it around your mouth.

jisung seems to struggle less than you, the alcohol most likely acting as a good warm up to him. however, you can tell by the expression his face twists into that he still definitely doesn’t enjoy it.

you fire more dares back and fourth after that, resulting in you snacking on a whole lemon and jisung ending up in an outfit of your choice — turns out ghosts can change clothes. and it continues until jisung finally chooses truth.

“so,” you clear your throat awkwardly, “well,” you continue to stall, twiddling with your thumbs. you open your mouth to speak again but jisung cuts you off, “you can ask me anything, like anything at all.” jisung nudges you encouragingly.

you sigh, looking at him with a pout, “ok then,” you don’t sound very enthusiastic but it’s more that you just feel bad, you couldn’t imagine that many people would enjoy reliving their last moments — assuming that’s what he was referencing, “my truth for you mr jisung is, how did you die?”

a silence settles between you and you’re too scared to even look up from where you were playing with the hem of your shirt.

“i— why would you ask me that?”

his words cut through the tension sharply. his tone serious.

“i— you- but you just said—” you’re beginning to panic, wondering if you had just hallucinated th last five minutes, but for all you knew, you could’ve been hallucinating all of this experience. “i’m sorry—”

“i’m fucking with you y/n, it’s fine, i was surprised you didn’t ask me earlier in fact.” jisung is evilly giggling just a bit too much for your liking, enough for you to attempt to wack his stomach. of course that fails though as he lets your arm just fly straight through him. “i hate you.”

“you don’t really,” he teases, reaching over to squish your cheeks as you glare at him. “it wasn’t interesting anyways, i was just hit by a car, boring really.”

“was it on purpose?” you pull the ice cream spoon between your lips.

“huh,” he takes another scoop himself, “i never thought about that.”

“well, did it hurt?”

“kind of,” he hums, looking like he’s genuinely trying to remember, “this bit hurt.” he motions towards his eye and for a second you almost forgot having a thick red gash across your eye wasn’t normal.

“hmph,” you lean towards him inspecting the cut, “that’s wild.”

“well, how do you wanna die?”

the way jisung asks so genuinely has a bubble of giggles brewing in your stomach, but you expression hardens when you realise he’s being serious. “i don’t know, i’ve never thought about it before. i die when i die, you know? i can’t stop it, so i might as well just enjoy what i have now and accept whatever death comes to me in the future, momento mori or some shit.”

you answer nonchalantly and jisung’s surprised by how calm you are about death.

he remembers the first time he experienced death. his grandpa passed away when he was eight and although he didn’t fully understand the concept of dying, he understood enough to be sad. and when his grandma passed away at ten, he was finally able to grasp the concept of it.

if he was being honest, death terrified him.

it was uncertain. and jisung didn’t like uncertainty. the unknown darkness that was death scared him and he even at eighteen, he hadn’t fully accepted it.

but hey, he was a ghost now, not much he could do to change his death anymore.

♡ ♡ ♡

the film ends sooner than you had expected and there’s not long left before jisung will leave. it’s weird, you didn’t think you could get so attached to someone so quickly, but then you summoned jisung and you both just clicked.

you had both decided that for the last moments you’d sit out on the balcony of your apartment, let jisung jisung feel the warmth of the sun as it filtered through the clouds.

“i think you’re my favourite ghost.”

“you’ve met other ghosts?” jisung quirks up his eyebrows, tilting his head towards you.

“nope, but i imagine you’re the best.” you continue confidently, watching as pastel blues and pinks fade into the sky.

he smiles at that.

he thinks you’re the best human he’s ever met, too.

you attempt to pass you the time by talking about life before death and your life after he goes but all conversation simmers down into a silence. it’s not uncomfortable, more just this solemn quiet. jisung didn’t want to leave, but he didn’t really have a choice — being a ghost really sucked sometimes, that was for sure.

“you know, there’s something else i kinda want to do before i go.” jisung hums, drawing your attention to his face. “what?” you question innocently which in itself makes the ghost smile. 

“well,” he begins, suddenly nervous and blushing under your gaze, “when i was alive,” you nod, encouraging him to continue, “i never got to have a proper first kiss.” he quietens at the end slightly but what he’s saying is still clear as day.

“oh.”

you watch him shift in his seat, waving his hand in and out of the arm rest anxiously. “mr haunted spirit of the underworld, are you asking if you can kiss me?” you can’t help but tease the red cheeked boy, swirling your finger on your lap.

“i mean— you don’t—”

“i’d love for you to, jisung.”

your grin is suddenly matched on the boy’s face, a genuine smile that makes your heart pump even faster and this bittersweet feeling to settle in your stomach.

you stand up from your seat and he does the same, intertwining his fingers with yours and shuffling closer towards you. his gaze lingers on your lips for a moment before shifting towards your eyes. the way your irises glow in the morning sunlight something he wishes he could witness everyday. the way your cheek feels against the delicate touch of his fingertips, something he wishes he could experience everyday. “thank you.”

“for what?”

“for making me feel alive for the first time in all my eighteen years, dead and alive.” he confesses barely above a whisper, your hand shifting to cup the back of his neck.

he tilts forward, resting his forehead against yours, letting out a soft breath before closing gap completely.

his lips are plush, a soft velvet against yours. this heavenly feeling that makes you wonder whether he’s more of an angel than a ghost. the feeling has jolts of electricity sparking through every nerve of your body and you wonder if he feels it too. you do your best to savour each second of the kiss, letting yourself indulge in the moment.

hoping to imprint it in your memory for ever.

when you pull back, you’re met with nothing but the rays of sun indicating that dawn had come and jisung had gone.

you’re not sure what comes over you but there’s a gentle trickle of tears that escape your eyes. you were happy to have gotten to know him while you could, but it hurt knowing that you couldn’t do more.

you settle back in your chair after the realisation comes to you, dwelling over the questions you didn’t ask him. the most important being whether he’ll ever be able to come back.

you hoped he would.

and if not, you found comfort at least in knowing that he had still left his mark. from the hole now in your wall to the many memories you had to look back on.

even though you had never been one to believe in soulmates, you couldn’t stop yourself from wondering if that’s what you and jisung were. even if you roamed in different worlds, you couldn’t help but think you were made for each other. only hoping that in your next life you would finally get to be together.