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#Just makes it even more desolate
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HIII MAC! i don’t listen to tma (podcasts r hard :[ still working my way thru nightvale) but whatever an avatar of the extinction is sounds very intriguing 👀 giggling kicking my legs twirling my hair. would u like 2 perhaps. explain what that is and how it relates 2 knives perhaps??? i am holding out a microphone 2 u the floor is yours
OH FUCK YEAH. HI HI IVE BEEN DYING TO TALK ABOUT KNIVES AND VASH IN THE LENS OF TMA ENTITIES. SORTING SYSTEMS AND HORROR THEMES MY BELOVED.
ok in basic terms. The Extinction rules over. obviously the fear of going extinct. (alt names for it are. The Terrible Change, The Future Without Us, and The World Is Always Ending. which. hello. slaps.) it deals with catastrophies, large forces of change, the human race dying out and being replaced with something else. you know that feeling when you think about how the sun is going to expand and swallow the earth in millions of years and theres no way the planet or anything on it will survive that, but time will keep passing anyway without us? yeah. that.
there werent ever any actual extinction avatars within the show, so its given more as a vague concept instead of given human form (which i think is very fitting) but if it was given a form i think that would be TEXTBOOK knives. thats his Whole Deal.
the extinction IS however manifested physically in different ways in the show, mostly in the form of different technology. and sometimes it gives visions of what humanity could potentially become or be replsced by.
ALL THAT TO SAY. holy shit. extinction avatar knives. he is distinctly Not Human, but appears human. he's actively working toward the destruction of all humanity, planning to replace it with plants. plants are vaguely humanoid in shape, but also distinctly Not Human. horrifying and eldritch and scary. the first time any of the humans see what a plant actually looks like its often met with disgust and horror. now imagine seeing those and being told "one day all of humanity will die and be forgetten about, and youll be replaced with these. nobody will be left to miss you." knivescore.
this post is getting sooo long but i have so much more to say. namely regarding not only knives' need for the destruction of humanity but ALSO his destruction of everyone he used to love. the people on the ship. rem. vash. etc.
BUT. i woudl also like to talk about desolation vash :]
The Desolation is the fear of losing things dear to you. losing everything you own in a house fire. family members and close friends dying unexpectedly and out of your control. everything you love being cruelly ripped away from you in an act of senseless and unstoppable violence. natural disasters. etc. you see what im talking about here.
Desolation is often represented by fire and melting wax but thats really only because the only canon representation we get is very fire-heavy. personal hc is that it can manifest in ways other than that.
normally i would call vash a victim of the desolation (victims are people whose lives are ruined or are killed by the fears, but avatars are people who either embody or serve the entity. instead of being afraid (or sometimes in spite of being afraid) they are also drawn to their fear and have a sick fascination with it) BUT. even though he has VERY much been a victim. vash has also CAUSED desolation. its not always his fault and its never intentional, but it still Happens. he doesnt want it to. and thats why hes unwilling, he would never choose to torture people in that way, but it still happens and because of his actions the entity is still being fed. look at the people who want revenge on him because of july. look at augusta and the fifth moon. it might not be his fault, but hes still the catalyst.
look at vash standing in the ruins of july and tell me that isnt desolation incarnate.
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luvevee · 2 years
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Liking a slightly-less bad/more liked pokemon character doesn't mean you get to be rude to people who like bad/less-liked pokemon characters
#this isn't directed at anyone btw cuz i know people in that fandom space talk about it#but like bro don't be those guys#thing is those same people like characters like n or volo or silver#'but n was-' n stalked a child/lured them into a secluded area and lied to get them in a small space/was cool with destroying life as known#'but volo didn't-' volo lied to a child because they were useful to his plan and became a trusting figure because of that#he literally tried to rob and kill a child in the most desolate part of hisui after confessing he and giratina opened the rift#also he bothers ingo instantly about his memory loss on first meeting him like bro ask him about his outfit or smthin#'but silver's-' yes silver is a child but also before he grew he was a*usive towards his pokemon and robbed the professor#you can make the same argument for just about every liked character that they did something wrong in the games/manga/show etc#some are mistakes and some are a*usive things but they still get more likeness#literally nobody is washing characters like ghetsis of their background#yes he's shitty and a*usive nobody is saying he's not#same for lusamine or giovanni or whoever#nobody is saying 'they're just my little uwu' and being serious about it#people find charm and even comfort in those characters for different reasons#when someone does that but washes the problems away/uwu-fies them is when it's like ok it's time to stop#but otherwise no it's fine#and also people understand that in prison-arcs or ideas the original point of jail is to rehabilitate#characters like ghetsis receiving therapy is actually good and what a imprisonment system should be doing#punishment and rehab go hand in hand that's the point#and yeah they're not ever gonna be let back into society for the majority but like they're still needing that treatment#'why should they get therapy' so they don't do those shitty things again to the extent they did before#like if the only option is to let a shitty person live then why not give them therapy so they at least say 'damn fine i'll behave a little'#like don't go at people who like complex and shitty characters and just say 'well you have problems'#first of all we know lmao#second of all that's pretty shitty to assume certain things of a stranger because of media critically consumed#like idk maybe they just like this dumb shithead who got roundhouse kicked by a 10 year old#i like ghetsis and i would still pay to see nintendo make a canon animation of him getting bitchslapped#like i'm just saying#rosebud posting 💐
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tariah23 · 7 months
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I really do wonder just how many more years tumblr has in it
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feluka · 2 years
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ok i'm completely convinced that i'm experiencing a non-linear progression of time rn because there's NO WAY the coffee that was too hot to drink a second ago is now ice cold
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curionightshade · 2 years
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I have reached the point where 1am is an early night apparently. anyway if someone were to send me things (funny/not funny/serious/amusing) while I am asleep I would be mildly surprised and bemused when I awake !
#terrible night btw. rantjng in the tags because i guess fhat helps#ive had weird kinda upsetting conversations with two different friends now jn the last few weeks and thats been not great!#even when my reaction to a situation has been the cause of it. just a really unpleasant sticky feeling that doesnt go away#prolly doesnt help ive been jn a fog all week. sleeping at 5am waking at 1pm writing for hours and sometimes producing something good#uhhhh what else#medical shits been whack. not that i have a lot to complain about in comparison to other people but every week that goes by where I'm not#on estrogen makes me feel. i dunno. desolate. not a real person. my mom asked me if i wanted her to start using my new name instead of my#deadname (as in i don't use it online anymore) and it terrified me how uncomfortable it made me. no issues with my mom. just#kind of a clusterfuck where i still don't want to have to manage all of this messy shit. i just want to be on hrt and feel like a person#and get antidepressants again before i even think about how other people see me. like what use is being a person to other people when my#own self image fails me#haven't heard back from uni acceptance stuff yet and i have the feeling I'll be rejected. i dunno. worst case i guess i apply again next#year and use the spare time to make more movies#but wow yeah i always forget how silently this mental illness shit sneaks up. my lack of self image kinda means that i don't check up on#myself a lot. so I'll just have moments after weeks of dullness where I'll go 'oh huh i feel fuckin terrible'#sleeping earlier tonight at least! i hope i make meaningful connections that aren't stained by my jealousy and resentment. a hug would be#nice too#oh well. Jeff Rosenstock will suffice#FUCK. dvsvvixdbshcosbscocbskxdbdkcbschdkdbdicndjcdnfudneufneiddndifbdiddndjdksbshfksbavdosnwbrjeornebrkffldhebdlfjddbdkfjdbdkdfjdbekeiehdmd#fbdvrdicbd rdbcicdddkcjssvajKhfbsoBajhvajJvvbj£7374;£9#hdbedshshxix#goodnight <3
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thebirdmanhewatches · 19 days
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Erebus’ mother now has a name so does his father this is exiting because what other parent characters have solid names literally none of them (Alex and Eiras mother is either called aderyn or Gwen I haven’t decided she’s irrelevant and Louie’s parents are called Jennifer and locryn that’s really it) so his mother is Matilda and his father is Henry and I think I might give them the surname duff I’m not sure but I don’t really have any other ideas and behind the name spat it out when I was looking up names with dark somewhere in the meaning I’ll sit on it also joshA1 and joshA2.5s combination reboot got renamed Liam because there are too many joshes so the one guy that was actually originally called josh (unlike joshA3 and joshA4 who where called Louie ) is now called something similar to Louie but Liam actually hasn’t shown up in any major characters names before this so I’m actually getting less incomprehensible
#hark says i#100%birdmade#ocs#gotta get a Keith in here somewhere as like an effigy to my past as a klance shipper#I’ve really been thinking on Liam#and the pond cave cabin in the woods original mikeal(called mickel also current mikeal is really more Idie and his own character than mickel#) Rodrick heather nitro and gash era#no character the lot off them#anyway the story is getting ireprably tied to the Magnus archives fear system to the point where I’m gonna probably just slap smirks 14(15ac#ctualy don’t leave the extinction out)#in there and say that the bauddalinns brought it over(the classification system not the entity’s)#part of me is like no stop the regular magic sci-fi and fucked up science was enough you don’t need evil fear magic as well#but Liam is literally such a hunter and I like stranger Rodrick and lonely heather and slaughter nitro and end gash and Andy is literally a#watcher you cannot take that from me he can’t stop knowing things and Erebus is so offensively the dark it isn’t even funny and Nora is such#a slaughter desolation avatar and I haven’t even really touched her song I got back into tma she’s just always been like that#I like the way they fall headfirst into the supernatural the attempted school taught magic is cool but I have come to interpret that as a fe#eble attempts at making magic the army’s bitch which was never going to work#it’s always worked best vague and fear god esc like whos actually a traditional wizard? bill I guess Dylan the school teacher or whatever hi#s name was all the magics always been kind of vague and fucky so it’s not like it doesn’t fit in#Robert smirke was a bauddalinn confirmed#oc lore#hard oc lore#hitting you over the head with my oc lore#making a world with story’s and people to inhabit it feels like sculpting#he says despite not really sculpting that much
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fantastic-artemis · 6 months
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How to find a job that doesn't make me despair to live
#I LOVE the library but i've been part time for two years and i am not making enough to support myself lmao#i am very fortunate to have a lot of savings but i live alone in an apartment i signed for when i had two jobs and now that my income is#cut in half things are rough#and i have interviewed a dozen times or more for a promotion to full time and they aren't budging#and then yesterday one of the managers was micromanaging me and my shitty coworker was mocking my menial tasks lol#bc he is info staff and i am just lowly circulation so i have to keep my head down and shelve the books i guess?? even tho he doesn't do#jack shit and gets paid double what i do and is full time#like i got scolded and told to stop preparing for my presentation that is tonight bc i should have been making sure the books were in the#right order on the shelves lmao#meanwhile this guy has been booking vacation flights all morning#and even if i get full time and even though i work at a comparatively VERY well paying library#im still not going to make much#i have a degree in journalism and communications that im not using bc that shit made me feel dead inside#and i wanted to do something that mattered#but the things that mattered are not paying my bills or buying me a new winter coat or allowing me to do things like get a haircut or buy#clothes that i like or go out with friends or start new hobbies#and im just like is it worth it??? is this worth it???#like im not desolate or anything but i deny myself things every day bc im fine now#but i dont know how much longer i have to make the money stretch#and im tired#i just wanted to do something real that helped people#every day i get to work around books and talk about books and help people access social services#i helped a kid with homework and an elderly lady access job resources and showed a kid his favorite book series that he got so excited#about that he yelled all in the same day and it was fantastic#it mattered#but#is it worth it???#this was the dream i worked so hard for and now im looking at all that hope and effort like. this didn't save you either#idk yall its rough out here#me
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sweet-as-an-angel · 5 months
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MW2 Reaction To You Panty-Flashing Them
Warnings: Implied Smut, Mean! MW2, Dominant! MW2, Victim/Reader Blaming, Slut-Shaming, Reader Getting Pimped Out, Mention of a Leash, Allusions to Injury, Mentions of Blood, Petnames, Profanity, No Pronouns Used For Reader Except ‘You’.
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Ghost
Ghost is a territorial man. So seeing you flash not only him but Johnny as well made something in him simmer.
It wasn’t rage, for this little accident, regardless of how intentional it was, was not your fault. If he had to place it, he’d attribute it to…
Lust.
As was evident in how he excused himself from the gathering of the 141 and Los Vaqueros in your living room, grabbing you by your arm.
He stowed you away. Dragged you to a desolate laundry room and gripped you by your thighs. You gasped, gripped onto him. Felt something hard rub against you.
Ghost threw you atop the washing machine and gave you a harsh stare as he watched you try to fight the feeling building within from the machine’s buzzing and shuffling.
“Go on then, Doll,” he rasps, eyes hard and the throbbing monster between his legs harder. He palmed himself. Remorse was not in his nature. And neither was mercy.
“Seein’ as you were practically beggin’ the others to fuck you, go and put on a show.”
His voice lowered. He stood between your legs, frame blocking you from any form of help or salvation.
“Just for me.”
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König
König had been sat on your sofa, an action figure in a house for a doll half his size, and you’d bent over to retrieve something from beneath the TV cabinet.
The fact that you were wearing a pair of König’s shorts was already clouding his moral compass. Seeing your underwear peeking out beneath them was what sent him over the edge.
As you remained bent, cheek pressed to the floor as you reached for what you’d lost, you didn’t hear König approach. Didn’t know he’d even moved from the sofa until something thick and hard was pressed to the back of you, followed by two heavy hands holding you at the waist, and a slow, shuttering breath.
“Don’t move,” König told you. “Stay like this.”
Slowly, he pressed deeper into you. You could feel his restraint unwinding second by second.
It was when he bent over you, had his broad chest pressed to your back, that you knew you weren’t escaping. And you weren’t backing down.
“I’m gonna fuck you ‘til you cum, bleed or pass out.” König’s voice held no humour, but you could feel the franticity building in it.
He reached round, gripped your chin. Made you look at him. His smile was sharp, his features dark.
“Whichever comes first.”
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Soap
Johnny pulled the leash tighter around your throat when you tried to protest your innocence. Tried to make him see reason.
“Doesn’t matter that it was ‘just an accident’.” He mimicked you, made you sound weak, whiny. His eyes hardened and his jaw clenched. His knuckles turned white around the leash.
His shadow loomed over you from your position on the bed, on your hands and knees while Johnny presided over you with an iron fist.
Tears obscured his silhouette. Made your eyes glassy.
“Aww, Did I upset you, Bonnie?” Johnny’s tone held a gruffness that didn’t even try to hide the anger running beneath.
He huffed, a mocking laugh.
“How’d’ya think I felt when you were practically spreading your legs for Simon?”
Again, you tried to tell him what really happened. Tried to incur any fragment of mercy Soap would spare you.
He pulled on the leash again. Tighter. You gasped, hands flying up to the leather around your neck, trying to loosen it – to plead for Johnny’s favour – as the air was knocked out of you.
“Oh no, you don’t get to talk.” He said. He stepped to you. The bulge in his jeans became ever more noticeable. Impending.
“M’gonna use you like the whore you are ‘til my cum’s leaking out of every hole in your body.”
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Valeria
“Do I look like I fucking care, Darling?” Valeria circled you, her belt wrapped around her hand, a glint of darkness in her eye.
Wrists and ankles duct-taped to the chair, you could do little to follow her. To understand her intentions.
“Do you really think whatever little lie you pass off as an excuse can quell the fire you’ve set?”
Before you could attest your innocence, beg for forgiveness, Valeria’s belt came down across your thighs. Crying out, you flinched, tried to withdraw, pushing your chair back in the process.
Valeria lunged forward and gripped the chair by the arms, pressing your skin into the wood, and dragged you back.
Her face twisted into a visceral snarl, the portrait of evil.
“Please, Valeria, I’m begging you–”
“Oh, you’ll beg for me, alright.” Valeria looked down at you, her face to yours. Just shy of your noses touching. With bared teeth, she smiled.
“I won’t stop until you do.”
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Price
“If you wanted attention that badly, you could’ve just asked.”
Price had your arms and legs bound to a hard, wooden chair while a thick ream of cloth had your mouth gagged. He stood over you, arms crossed over his front, a glint in his eye. He sighed, brought his hands to grip your tied forearms. Pressed them into the armrests.
You winced.
“What…possessed you to go and show your arse to Alejandro and the rest of the team?” His voice reflected a tone of ponderment found only in Sarcasm’s extended family tree. And it showed with the faux confusion written in his brow.
“Do I just not cut it for you?” He leaned in. The chair creaked. Your arms hurt. He didn’t let up.
“Am I not enough to keep you from throwing yourself at the nearest soldier?”
He watched you, his stare narrow. You shook your head, eyes wide. You tried speaking through the gag, tried to tell him that he was the only man you loved, but you both knew your efforts were futile.
He withdrew, gripped his belt, adopted his default stance. He heaved a deep breath.
“Come in, lads,” he called behind him, not taking his gaze off you. Your stomach tightened.
A thin smile stretched across Price's lips as he watched your eyes widen, your gaze following Simon, Soap, Gaz, Rudy and Alejandro as they filtered into the room.
Price bowed at the waist, lowered his voice so only you could hear.
“Seeing as you’re so keen to show ‘em what’s under your clothes, I’m gonna let them use you ‘til you’ve learnt your lesson.”
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Horangi
Hong-Jin popped the top button of his jeans, keeping his gaze trained on you, spearing you with a dark stare.
“Did you enjoy giving König and I a little show, Dear?”
Sarcasm nestled in his tone, a viper in a den. But the excitement running parallel beneath it, just shy of its transparent underbelly, was evident.
Hong-Jin slid the zip of his jeans down. Pulled the denim over his hips.
“It’s only fair that I…” He took your hand, placed it at the hem of his underwear. Dipped beneath the band.
His skin was scorching. Something pulsated beneath your fingers.
The implication sat heavy in his tone. In his eyes.
“Return the favour.”
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Alejandro
“I didn’t know I was dating such an attention-seeking whore.”
Alejandro’s voice was the roll of thunder across a darkened valley, the weight of a downpour of knives settled into his tone.
Hands behind his back, he stood over you, having resigned you to sitting on your knees, the hardwood floor pushing against your joints.
“Luckily for you, I’m not the type to hold grudges.” A smile played at his lips. One you knew not to trust.
“But he is.”
Alejandro looked to the door, where, from beyond its frame, emerged Rudy. His face held a similar, serpentine pallor, his lips drawn up into a thin smile. Venom in his veins.
“Wasn’t expecting to get blue-balled by (Y/N) earlier, Ale,” came Rudy, his usually sugared demeanour having dropped, the veil between what he was and what he showed to the world slipping away. Retreating.
Alejandro gave him a knowing look. He turned back to you.
“Why don’t you be a good little doll and put your face to the floor. Just like we practised.”
The memory of leashes, lashings and tears flooded your memory. You held back a  wanton whimper.
Alejandro’s voice dropped. “And let Rudy see the rest of what you promised him.”
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Rodolfo
“I don’t want to have to do this, Cariño. Rudy stood over you, his hands on your shoulders and his face dark. Grim.
His hold on your shoulders tightened.
“But I can’t let your behaviour go…”
He searched your eyes for the right word. His brow furrowed when he found it.
“Unchecked.”
He sighed. Pushed down on your shoulders.
“Come on, Angel. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.” He told you, pushing harder until you bent to his will.
Now, on your knees, you could see how desperately he needed you.
One hand came to your jaw, thumb trailing to your lip, pulling your mouth open. The other slid down to his belt, sliding it from the buckle. It hissed, pulled tight against the metal. You swallowed.
Rudy’s breath shuttered, and you could tell from the way his hand clenched, the way he slipped the belt from his jeans like a snake, that he was enjoying this. Much more than he wanted to let on.
“Now remember, mi Amor, no teeth, no biting.” His head tilted. Condescending. “Or I’ll bite you back.”
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Graves
He can barely contain himself.
It was only the briefest of flashes. It wasn’t even intentional. But something about your shy smile after the fact once you realised what you’d done sent a vicious little idea to Graves’s head.
He starts stealing all your underwear. Gradually, yet in large enough volumes that he doesn’t have to wait longer than he can handle without his reward.
One day, you come into his office, face warm and tugging an oversized shirt over the top of your thighs.
“Missing something, Darlin’?” Graves drawls. Your eyes narrow at him. You know he’s had something to do with your underwear’s disappearing act.
He puts his papers down, sighs, and rests the back of his head in his hands against the backrest of his chair.
“How about you flash me again. Slowly, now.” His eyes glint with a dark mischief and want.
“Y’don’t wanna know what happens if you don't do it the way I like it.”
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Gaz
“Oh, Darling, look what you’ve done,” Gaz’s voice carried despite the thickening tension in the room. Neither of you needed to look down to see what he was referring to.
Despite the chastising tone in his voice, his eyes were warm. Kind, almost.
“If you wanted my attention so badly, you only had to ask.”
He stepped towards you, placing a hand under your jaw. He smiled.
“It’s only fair that I reward you for being so creative, isn’t it ?”
His other hand came to your shoulder, pushing the strap of your tank top until it fell, leaving the sweeping juncture between your neck and shoulder exposed.
Has bit back a shuttering breath.
Despite his gentile voice, an angeline choir, the soundtrack of mercy, there lay a hunger in his eyes, in his barely-restrained grip, that suggested a beast lurked beneath his pretty boy exterior.
And you knew from the way he told you to “Get on the bed – be good for me,” that you’d be seeing it tonight.
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Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist
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iovesia · 4 months
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loose ends. coriolanus snow.
cw. toxic relationship. dark!coriolanus. manhandling.
"after everything i did for you—" his booming, hoarse voice echoes through the desolate forest. "this is how you repay me?!"
your heartbeat drums in your ears, chest tightened as if he was stepping right on you, as you hide behind boulders. each crunch of twigs under his large boots crept closer to you. like a measly little mouse, you crept and crawled faster, the mud and dirt staining the rose smelling shawl on your shoulders.
"i.. i just wanna talk.." coriolanus' tone switches at the drop of a hat. his mind dancing on the thin line between desperation and rage. was there a difference?
"i'm not gonna hurt you," he lies.
the jabber jays mock him, faintly singing his words through the forest, and only making you feel more suffocated. your tired feet, and burning thighs ached as you knelt down in the creek. cold water from the river sloshing at the bank, freezing your skin as it hits you.
"where are you?" coriolanus' voice is a meer whisper, "where.. are.. you..?" his faint breathing, and paranoid mumbling gradually faded under the sounds of the river and birds chirping.
you peak your head above the creek, seeing no sign of the gun-wielding lover. no sight of his platinum blonde hair within the stalks of dark, brown trees. naively, your nails dig into the dirt and you hoist yourself out the damp creak. a relieved sigh leaves your lips, eyes fluttering closed.
"found you."
you freeze. the color drains from your face, once you open your eyes to the familiar sight of dirty army boots. your frame trembled as you craned your neck up to him. coriolanus towered over you, his face dimmed by the sun shining down on him, creating a twisted silhouette glow around him. a devil in disguise.
suddenly, his hands tried to grab at you, but you duck under his reach. your feet kick against the dirt, lunging yourself to the side as you run. your fruitless attempt at escape was cut short: your head meeting the ground as you collapsed.
a pair of hands grip at your biceps, roughly turning you over like you weighed nothing. a sluggish groan escapes your lips, and you flutter your eyes, barely making out the shape of his face.
"corio.. corio please.." you beg softly, lower lip quivering as tears clouded your sight. "it's me.. please.. you can trust me—"
"no loose ends, you know.." coriolanus interrupts, his brows knitted together. his hateful baby blues shoot daggers at you, his nails digging into your skin as he shakes your body.
"corio!" you whimper, chest heaving from exhaustion and utter terror. "i won't tell anyone.. i swear! please.. i wasn't going to say anything.."
coriolanus shakes you violently once again, offended at your words. he leans his face down to you, hot breath hitting your cheeks. fat dollops of tears roll down your cheeks, and even pinned down ruthlessly, you look softly at coriolanus.
"we promised we'd always take care of each other.." his comforting words spoken in such a cold tone did nothing to ease your mind. his nose flares, brows furrowing harder, and his nails almost drawing blood. "did you mean it?"
a beat.
you hiccup quietly, lip trembling as the words die in your throat. coriolanus' patience was drawing thin— but the utter fear in your bones ate away at you. all you can offer is a shaky nod, weak sobs mewling from you.
your simple gesture was enough to loosen coriolanus's grip on you, letting your fall back against the dirt. he chews his lower lip in concentration, his intent gaze never leaving you and you can see the cogs whirring in his mind.
his large hand gently strokes your sweating face. a flash of guilt shimmers in his eyes when you wince at his touch. coriolanus hovers over your frame, his knee now on either side of you, trapping you under him.
"you know i'd never hurt you.." he says quietly, his head lowering to yours. his pink lips barely brush against yours. his calloused fingers lightly wipe the tears and dirt staining your cheeks. "i promise."
his weak promises taste bitter on your tongue when coriolanus presses his lips to yours, his tongue swiping along your lower lip. your soft gasps are muffled as he swallows your sounds, his hands now on either side of your face.
his once warm, and gentle kiss .. now just felt cold, and suffocating.
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tired-needs-sleep · 1 year
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ava's growing on me
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tragedybunny · 7 months
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My Starry Sky - Astarion x F!Reader
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Reader and Astarion have their first real argument and have to go through the aftermath.
“Come to bed early, spend some time with me?” Astarion whispered in your ear, crimson eyes still a bit watery.
There wasn’t any other answer to give. “Of course love,” you took his hand and gave it a soft squeeze, desperate to reassure him after what had happened earlier.
Going into this, you knew how he could be, how he lashed out sometimes, and why. That hadn’t made the first time he directed it at you after your mutual confession any easier. Maybe you had thought finally sharing your feelings would change that part of him, a selfish wish. “Damn it, are you just going to ignore me all day!” He snapped at you on the road, drawing questioning looks from your other companions.
“What?” You’d turned back to him, confusion knitting your brows together.
“You heard me.” Around you, you could sense everyone stepping away, wisely giving the two of you space, despite the fact that you were in a desolate, cursed place. The locale was probably not helping the tension.
“I’m not ignoring you!” The first mistake you made in that conversation, a sharp tone, fire returned.
“So I’m just imagining that you’ve hardly said two words to me for hours but have been more than happy to prattle on with everyone else.” He doubled down, and you could tell he wasn’t going to hear you. “Or you're lying.”
The accusation stung, did he think so little of you? Maybe this was all a mistake. And just like that, all the worries, the struggles, and this blasted place boiled over, and you were the one who lashed out. “This isn’t going to work, we’re not going to work, if you’re going to act like this!” The second mistake.
Eyes going wide, his posture changed in an instant. It was like he tried to make himself smaller, to get away from the pain of your words. “Please no, I’m sorry.” His voice shook and if he had any need of breathing he would have been gasping. “Gods, I’ve already ruined it.” Tears had started to spill down his cheeks.
With horror, you realized what you’d done. You’d threatened him into compliance, even if you had done so out of hurt. Were you no better than Cazador? In a rush, you threw your arms around him pulling him close, frantic to relieve the hurt you’d caused. “No, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.” After a second of hesitation, you felt his arms encircle you as he sniffled into your hair. "That was wrong of me."
It took a few moments of soft whispers and soothing until he would let you go. "Let's just forget this," you prompted and he readily agreed.
The hurtful words and accusations stuck with you though and you excused yourself as soon as dinner was over. Taking you by the hand, Astarion leads you to his tent, where you'd been sleeping most nights lately. With a soft gasp, you note small enchanted motes of light, dancing at the top of the tent. "Gale's work," you ask, staring at them with enchantment.
"I don't want to know what he's going to ask me in return," he chuckles but it’s strained and struggling.
“At least he’s not looking for magic to eat anymore.” With a quick brush of your lips against his cheek, you lower yourself down to the waiting nest of blankets the two of you spend your nights wrapped around each other in. Your hand still in his pulls him along with you.
An open bottle of wine and two glasses were waiting and you readily take one after he pours it. The two of you sit close enough that shoulders and thighs touch, a small comfort after the harshness of the day, and you lean your head on his shoulder. “I love you, you know that right?” Desperately, you want him to know it, even with all the complications, you sincerely love him.
“I know,” he finishes the glass of wine, and you note that he seems off still. “I love you too,” he pours another and drinks deeply. It was a rough day all around though, and you don’t want to push it.
Moments later you’re surprised as a pale, slender hand reaches down to tilt your chin up off his shoulder and kiss you. The taste of the wine lingers on his lips and you drink in the intimacy of it on your tongue. Your glass is taken from your grasp as the kiss deepens, lips parting invitingly to him. Hands wrap around your waist and your stomach flutters, you’ve missed being touched like this by him. A trail of soft bites is traced from your lips down your neck as his hands work their way under your shirt caressing the sensitive skin of your breasts. Reaching up, you grip his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as a soft moan escapes you. “My sweet girl,” he murmurs against your throat and your blood runs cold.
That isn’t him, he sounds a thousand miles away, and so empty. “I thought you weren’t ready for this.”
A thumb brushes over a nipple and his teeth dig into your flesh just hard enough to thrill. You swallow the cry you almost make, not wanting to encourage this. “I’ve been thinking it’s time to move on, let go of the past,” his voice tremors and you can tell he’s lying even as he tries to kiss you again.
“Astarion, stop,” gently you push him away and see the panic in his face. “Why are you doing this?”
He looks anywhere but right at you, eyes hazy and unfocused “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Astarion…”
He sighs heavily, breaking down at last. “Well, I thought after today, perhaps you were tiring of me, and that I should do something to win you back. And I can’t seem to get this right either.”
Pain slices through your chest and you feel as though your heart is being torn in two. Carefully, you put your hands on his cheeks. “Look at me,” it’s not a command, but a plea, and he finally brings his eyes to yours. “I love you, and I’m not going to tire of you. Understand?” Wordlessly he nods. “But you are never to try to buy me again with your body, you are worth so much more than that.” A loving kiss on his forehead punctuates your words and you hear him sniffling again.
“I can try, it is so hard to leave behind.” Arms open, you beckon him to you, and you both collapse into the waiting blankets. “It feels like the only thing I know, the only thing I’m good for. And I just want to keep you but I don’t know how else to do it sometimes.”
“Just love me, that’s all I need.” You yearn for nothing but to cover him in soft kisses and hold him forever, so he can know how loved he is, how cherished. “My Starry Sky.”
With his face buried in your neck, he murmurs softly, sounding like his true self again, “my Sunlight.”
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merakiui · 2 months
Text
never-ending noctuary; love forevermore.
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yandere!malleus draconia x (female) reader cw: yandere, nsfw, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, somnophilia, non-con, overblot!malleus, obsession, breeding, baby-trapping, malleus is written to have two dicks, spoilers for part two of book seven note - and sitting powerful on his throne of thorns, omniscience at his fingertips, the lord of malevolence takes a bride.
An eerie, all-consuming quiet has fallen over Sage’s Island.
It is frigid and unfriendly like winter. Harsh and oppressive like silence. Painful and abrasive like brambles. Time has come to a swift halt here, and with it the people fall into never-ending euneirophrenia. Delights so dreamy shall inhabit the minds of all who sleep, the grandest gift granted to those unwilling. Like fate itself, wound around every living soul, it is inescapable. Inevitable like death—unfair and unforgettable.
But then it is also peaceful and secure. Quaint and warm like a blanket. Fluffy and floral like spring’s first kiss. Solace is far sweeter when spent in oneiric solitude, and so it will seem for one-thousand years. Forevermore, stretched taut into the future, the dream persists.
Is that not the best blessing? To those who wish to savor a fleeting moment just a second more, is this not a wish granted generously tenfold? Rather than immortalizing the past with photographs, it shall never come to pass. There is no need for bittersweet recollections or tearful farewells. The present will persevere, lived out in endless dreams.
Surely this is the correct course. Not just for Malleus, for he is a gentle, kind creature who recognizes the mutual desire for interminable merriment, but for the entirety of the island. Although in hoping for love forevermore, he has shackled himself to selfish, Epicurean pleasures. The type which normally lasts as long as a vision spent on cloud nine.
Currently, sitting proud and alone on a cold throne, Malleus knows of no greater joy.
The party may have fallen still as the grave, bodies slumbering in stiff propinquity, but it hasn’t finished. The food may have congealed, inedible and decaying, but it is there. A testament to spirits kept aloft, if only to ensure no one ever knows the desolation of endings.
Paradise is what you make of it. Thus, should you hope for it, you can walk on the clouds in your mind and never know of Icarus’s plights. You can shed insecurities and anxieties and taste delectable metamorphosis. You can be anyone and anything. You can be strong and wealthy. You can be fearless and heroic. You can be an impossible ideal.
You can be loved.
Malleus watches your seemingly lifeless form splayed on the sofa, limbs draped over that of Ace and Deuce. It’s a tranquil sight, a marionette freed from the strings of somber, suffocating life.
Under a roof of thorns, you are reborn.
Paradise is wondrous for Malleus, albeit a touch silent. He wonders what you might say if you were to stand at his side and observe this eternal slumber party. Would it fill you with awe? With appreciation? With abject terror?
Perhaps there is no use in theorizing. He doesn’t need to know, for you will love him even in sleep.
He rises, taking each step at a time. Thorny branches and roots part to make way for him, a groom traversing the aisle in search of his bride. You lie still, secrets sealed behind pretty, plush lips, and if he was not the cause for your current state he might assume you were late.
But there is no death here. It cannot reach. It will never reach because Paradise knows not of death or suffering.
Paradise is the garden before the infestation. Paradise is the body before bacterial devastation. Paradise is love before departed lamentation.
Malleus gazes at your restful face, leaning down to trace a clawed, blot-tainted finger along your cheek. There are no tears; you are a doll incapable of such sorrow, sculpted to portray perfect neutrality. He is most pleased with this development, his chest rumbling with a triumphant chuckle. Now you shall never know an ending ever again. Now you shall remain here, safe and stagnant in his arms, far from the mirror that may allow you to return home.
Gathering your body in his arms, he lifts you from the cushions. You crumble in his grasp, head lolling and arms noodling at your sides. Sagging dead weight, but he places his ear to your chest to listen to the melodic thrum of your heart. You’re alive, frailty shielded from the horrors of the world. Here, in thorny idyll, you will live forevermore.
Historically, all rulers must have someone to call their own. Whether it be by way of arrangement or convenience, strung together for the sake of conjoined power or out of obligation, this is an irrefutable fact. Historically, all rulers must bear an heir—someone to carry on the glory of an ever-present lineage.
Malleus refuses to bring a child into the world unless they are given the blessing of the one thing he was deprived of since birth.
A mother.
You fit in his embrace, a puppet tugged into a one-sided waltz. He steps over fallen bodies as he holds you against his chest, following the routine even though you aren’t awake to reciprocate.
Historically, a married pair must share the first dance. Or that’s what he’s read in fairy tales.
There are no rings here; promises are left unspoken. He won’t entertain rejection because there is no room for it in Paradise. Every unsavory, horrid thing—pestilence and pain, death and destruction, and sadness and sin—is packed away in Pandora’s box and shelved. Malleus won’t risk opening it to release the tiny shred of hope desperately clawing for escape. It’s not worth it.
He will foster his own hope if he must, and she exists in his arms—beautifully motionless.
The steps are executed with care, up the stairs and towards a lonesome chair. He attempts a twirl, lowering you into a dip. Your arms hang limply, eyes shut in permanence. Brimming with fondness, Malleus tugs you back up to press his lips to your forehead.
“Dearest one,” he mumbles, “may you know many fruitful fantasies in the arms of Morpheus.”
He reclaims his seat and situates you to face him while perched on his lap. You slump against him, near-boneless. He smiles at you, imagining the ruckus that would certainly come about from such a daring gesture. Sebek would squawk at you to have more respect and dignity. Silver would tut and shake his head. Lilia would look on in amusement.
These are small pleasantries, little wishes he hopes to witness someday.
Historically, a married pair must consummate their bond.
Malleus’s fingertips flit across your figure, feeling fabric beneath his palms. He tries to exercise restraint and take it slow—everything in moderation, Lilia would remind him—but he can’t contain his nympholepsy. Your clothes are discarded at once, shredded to scraps in his haste. He moves clumsily, following the searchlight of intrinsic ardor. You’re softer when bare, he observes, peeling your bra from your skin. A pallid hand presses down onto your breast, the pudge of which caves beneath his fingers. He withdraws and it bounces back to its shape.
Fascinating, he marvels with wide, enchanted eyes.
Claws tweak at your hardened nipples next. He’s careful because you’re notably weaker. Even in sleep, he must mind his hedonism. Too much and you will break. Too little and he’ll be left unsatisfied. Malleus watches your expression. It was mostly neutral, but now your eyebrows are twitching in response to his touch.
In sleep, you are the most vulnerable.
He knows this because he’s peered in from afar, admiring you through a glass barrier while you slept unaware in Ramshackle. He would never do anything without invitation. Though it may not be in writing, your body is oh-so-inviting. And he indulges because he’s only known this fervor in the deepest, darkest dreams.
Curiously, in his pursuit of passion, Malleus happens upon the special space between your legs. Delicate like a flower, it’s the prettiest part of your anatomy. If he wishes to connect with you, to tie himself to you in unholy communion, he must acquaint himself with this sliver of seventh heaven. He’s never seen one up close; the sight is foreign but very welcome. He drinks it in, burning your form into his retinas. Two fingers trace your labia, stroking along flowery folds in V-shaped strokes. You twitch in his arms, an unconscious, knee-jerk reaction.
At some point, in the middle of his experimental exploration, Malleus begins to hum. It’s a soft, genial lilt. Low and soothing, the lullaby fills the silent halls of Diasomnia’s common room like poison gas.
He contemplates whether this is enough. Can you feel these sensations even when you’re so deep in your dreams? Perhaps so, for when he brushes back the hood protecting your clit to rub at it you soak his fingers. Lubricious, your wetness shimmers on his fingertips when he pulls them away to admire the very essence of you. Without hesitation, he places his fingers on the pad of his tongue to clean both. It’s a divine taste, proof of pleasure.
You cannot speak, so instead your body does so for you. A most bewitching behavior.
Malleus’s hand slithers back towards home, his fingers sliding in with surprising ease. Gummy walls cling to slender digits, embracing the intrusion as if it’s meant to be. With each pump of his fingers, your body warms. The sinful squelch of scissoring fingers joins his humming in a salacious song. Every now and then, you spasm in his arms, your lips parting ever so slightly to release a sigh or a breathy moan. It’s musical, a whimsy he’s only just discovered.
“My beautiful bride,” Malleus croons, “you will know love in my arms. Love forevermore, here in this sanctuary. Fear not, for I have done away with all that may terrify and traumatize.”
Pressure is straining beneath the belt, an itch that must be promptly dealt with. Removing his fingers, he shifts you on his lap so that he may free his cocks from confinement. Twin monstrosities curve towards his stomach; perhaps you’d have been frightened if you were awake to behold them. His hand settles on the small of your back, steadying you as he lines one of them up with your body. The tip just reaches past your navel. For a moment, Malleus ponders whether he might break you.
Careful now, he can hear Lilia’s chiding. Impatience will lead to injury.
He heeds the unspoken warning, lifting you with both hands until the head of his cock is kissing your pussy. And then, slowly, he lowers you down onto him. Your pussy stretches around him, a snug squeeze that only grows tighter with every inch swallowed. Malleus pulls you flush against his chest when he’s halfway slotted, his breathing staggered. Your body quivers, walls fluttering around him, while his other unsheathed cock presses against your navel. Pre-cum smears on your stomach.
He’s determined to cherish you, thrusting all the way to the hilt after a few determined tries. It’s a firm fit, but it’s still bliss. Hissing through his teeth, brows knitted in concentration, Malleus wraps his arms around you and fucks. Mindless, mostly, but with the intent to reach the only acceptable end here: orgasmic ecstasy. He makes up for the lack of motion on your part by moving his hips to meet yours as he rocks you up and down. Whimpers slip past your lips; he shushes you with song, humming through groans and grunts.
This is love.
Malleus thinks so when he positions your hands over his other untouched cock. The illusion doesn’t last long because your hands are quick to fall away. Instead, he grasps your hand, guides it back to his shaft, and pumps himself using your precious palm for friction.
You’re bounced up and down in a parody of consensual copulation. Malleus dwells in imagination, picturing you in a wedding gown. He considers what you might say, the vows you would undoubtedly swear, and the sweet nothings you’d exchange late into the evening. He’d twirl you across an elegant ballroom while everyone looks on with tender adoration and reverence. He’d show you the stars hanging just within reach, and when you’re swept up in riveting romance the sky is tangible and dreams are spun from sugar.
He’d place you on his bed, stripping you of your dress, hands trailing up to tug the frilly garter from your thigh, and you’d smile at him, open your arms and welcome him with mutual affection. You’d bloom for him like a moonflower, your heart beating in sync with his, as he fulfills the final promise—one so bodily imperative. An oath to disturb desolate halls with noise. To hear the pitter-patter of tiny footfalls upon stone floors—he can’t imagine anything more harmonious.
You would soften throughout the months, bright with that foretold pregnancy glow. He would press his hands to your rounded belly and feel squirming within, restless kicks and nudges. You’d discuss potential names over breakfast, and he would hover even though he knows you’re plenty capable. But he worries because you’re so fragile and fleeting. So pretty. So round with child. He wouldn’t leave you alone for a moment; you’re far too enchanting. Perhaps, in some distant future, he’ll lower to the height of your stomach and sing to the baby.
A smile would tug at your lips and you’d reach down to pat his head, running your fingers over his horns. And then— 
Malleus cracks his eyes open, his breath hot against your face. His chest heaves as he comes down from the high of domestic daydreams to find your stomach spattered with cum. Swallowing thickly, he peers between your bodies at your pussy stretched around his other cock.
Oh, he came inside.
Unexpectedly. Or perhaps not, for this was his intention. But once is not nearly enough, and he must fill you until you’re fit to burst—until it’s biologically certain you’re pregnant.
An emotion flickers on your face. Malleus mistakes it for jubilation, the type which calls forth a sunshower on your cheeks. He kisses the tears trailing down your face, ending at your lips for a chaste peck.
This is not the finale. It is simply the beginning.
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enbesbians · 4 months
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Hiii I’m requesting on this blog now! Ellie strapping you and choking you, telling you to hold your breath until she gives you permission to breathe right before your orgasm hits and it’s euphoric as fuck and makes you cum so hard which makes her cum. And she praises you for being such a good girl, kissing you all over and giving the best aftercare
why of course.
“TAKE IT”
degrading! ellie x pathetic reader
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MINORS DNI
there’s no plot to this, just pure fucking. ellie is just really into making you her slut, loving the way you’d react to any and everything she does. i hope you do enjoy this. there may or may not be misspelled words and i truly do apologize if there is any.
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ellie was engulfed in pleasure. the sense of bliss conveyed with her animated stare and the way her body reacted. her chest tightened and her muscles tensed while the silicone of her strap continued to slowly push itself inside you. the sight of your folds surrounding it’s girth made her growl in amazement— the grip you had was ravenous, she felt as if the silicone was apart of her, feeling how hot your pussy was, feeling her cock being molded by your insides— your wall’s texture, roughly brushing up against the silicone, with the clench of your cunt overwhelming her completely.
“god… you’re so ready for me….” she grunted, almost cooing, feeling herself lose her mind at the sight of your body taking her in. her hands roamed the softness of your body, feeling the burn of your flesh as she let her nails dig deep. she let them rest on your breasts, fondling them in her grasp, pushing them into your chest as she steadied her hips. “you feel me inside of you, baby?” she breathed.
you nodded, holding the backs of your thighs as they dangled cutely in the air. you watched her, the hunger that crafted inside of her green eyes you fell so deeply in love with. she viewed your body as an art piece, adoring at every inch and fold that made up of you.
she let each of her fingers hold your neck, pressing themselves deeply into its flesh, feeling the vibration of your moans tickle her hand, and the desperate swallows you gulped every so often. the slow push of her cock felt like it lasted for a lifetime, as if your pussy was deeper than the length of the silicone, but she stopped just before she could enter fully, giving you some grace even though she felt as though you didn’t need it. not now anyways. her face hovered yours, her eyes glaring into yours, analyzing your face as you tried to take the form of her cock. “look how good you’re taking my cock, my pretty little cockwhore…” lips giving you a loving kiss.
moving her hips, she felt herself pull out, then push in, feeling your folds grip themselves whenever she moved her hips away. she lifted your head, pressing her own forehead against yours as she stared down at where you both connected, “watch how my cock comes out… watch it baby. your pretty pussy… it’s hugging so nicely around my dick, pretty doll.” with that, it was pretty evident that she wanted you to at least warm up to her. her thrust were teasingly slow, and her words wore like soft, elegant silk, allowing you to feel more pleasure at every slow thrust. she owed you that much since she always wanted you to cum harder than you ever thought you could.
several seconds passed of you both staring down at her cock and the way you gripped her— your wet slick tattooing the sides of her shaft— making the decision that her caring aura was coming to an end— her pacing and her choice of words. she slammed your body down, watching you bounce against the mattress as well as your chest, lifting her body up to set herself up on her knees. you gasped at the abrupt movements, feeling yourself clench tighter around her. she replaced the hands that held onto your thighs with her own, her nails digging into your soft skin, lifting the lower half of your body off the bed. your pussy was on full desolate for her, seeing how your slick made it glisten.
it was like a switch for ellie. she knew what she wanted and what she was capable of and what was going to happen, pure destruction. before you could speak a word, her hips snapped and your body jerked with an immediate reaction, seeing your breast obnoxiously knock against on another, making her eyebrows knit with gratification. she gritted her teeth, with an angry with utterance, trying to keep your limp legs held tight within her grasp. her lower half, winding in a forward circular motion, as she felt the harness pound against her own aching clit. “my dumb fucking mutt, take this cock.” each word cutting from the vigor of every thrust.
“im your… im your dumb…” you tried to say but couldn’t. your breathing erratic as if the air had been bunched in clumps, swallowing it down with moans that burned at the throat.
“poor baby… can’t even speak?”
stopping for a little, she pushed herself further, seeing her cock fully disappear in you, grinding her pubic bone against your folds. a vein growing on the side of her neck, holding her breath as she couldn’t keep her eyes still. it scattered itself all around your frame, seeing how pathetic she made you appear but how beautiful you looked dressed in torture.
“fuck…” was all she could mutter. the room was hot, and smelt of lust, as you could feel the comforter melt against your damp back. “take it you stupid fucking mutt, take my fucking cock like the dirty slut that you are— take it… fucking take it.” chanting, throwing her head back, moaning sweetly in the air.
her breathing was inconsistent, unstable and eager. stopping in her tracks, she wiggled herself into you, as your pussy vigorously throbbing on the silicone. you loved it, so fucking much. especially when she’d stop her hips and tried so hard to push herself further if there was any more of the silicone left to be inside, feeling the tip of it poke against your walls, making your back arch from the depth of her.
setting your legs down, she grabbed your jaw, shaking your head, giving you a tired smile, laughing at how pretty your stupid pretty face looked. “look how idiotic you look. such a good little bitch, taking dick like an obedient slut. that’s all you’re good for… you were made for my cock… this pussy is mine…” sliding three fingers in your opened mouth and plunging them down to the back of your throat, hearing the graceful sound of you gagging with the bubbling of your spit washing her digits. with her vacant hand, she pinched your nose, knowing it was already hard for you to catch your breath, seeing the struggle in your eyes. she was content, the strain in your body and your voice, knowing it was probably hard for you to pay much attention to yourself— you were choking on her fingers and the source of airway from your nose was blocked.
your fingers clasped around her tightening wrists, eyes rolling the the back of your head as you felt yourself grow dizzy from the lack of air. her cock deep inside, ramming your walls without an ounce of remorse, hearing the sinful squelches of your leaking pussy. her hips slapped against your lifted ones, legs trembling with her silicone slightly outlining at your stomach.
leaning her face down, she let the grooves of her teeth bite softly against your cheek, “oh my pretty baby…” her tongue now rolling against the imprint her teeth left. “god you feel so fucking good.”
it was harder and harder to breath, you needed an exit. with how hard she was fucking you, there was no way you’d last long holding your breath. your muffled moans called out to her, almost giving her nothing, eyes asking for a release while enduring the pounds she gave. “oh you need to breathe?” she laughed against your ear, letting the tip of her tongue run down the outline of it.
you nodded and that only made her laugh louder.
“come on baby just a little longer… can’t you do it, hmmm?” she cooed. your untouched clit swelling at her tantalizing words, loving how she treated you with the upmost disrespect. you nodded again, earning a kiss in return as she let her hips loose.
“one… two… three..” she counted in between kisses, signifying the time you had without a constant airflow was going to be granted. she knew with this much stimulation of your mouth being fucked by her fingers and your nose being pinched that it would be possible to pass out. she was experienced in knowing when she needed to stop. “four…. five…” her counting was slow and baleful. she loved the sound of your struggle, the spit that gargled in your throat and your nostrils fluctuating as if that could help you try to breathe beneath her fingers. seeing that you looked like you were at your end, rewarding you by removing her fingers from your nose.
you gasped desperately, letting out a loud pornographic moan as the spit that wrapped around her fingers fell down on your chin. she let her hand cock back, striking you against your cheek, pressing gentle kisses against the tingling sensation.
“say thank you.”
“tha…thank y…you.”
“louder!” she demanded earning yet another two slaps. you obliged, screaming thank you as well as her name that she loved hearing come from you.
you were close, faster than you had intended, your thighs mindlessly closing in with ellie’s fast response to grabbing them and pinning them down. “no.” she grunted, knowing you did that out of habit. she wanted you to feel everything at all times, her strap plunging into your cunt with no intention to stop. she felt the soreness rise at her lower back and thighs— sweat sliding down her aching skin.
letting go of your thighs, they now occupied your neck again — oh how she loved how they looked around you. the tightness was intense, blocking your airway once more, knowing that you were getting close by the way her hips staggered at her silicone being gripped by your walls. she basked in it, seeing the same need to breathe in the form of your moaning expressions. “cum on it, cum on my cock you filthy fucking girl.”
your body moved and slithered, trying to get away from her but also needing more of what she was giving you. she fucked like monster, angry and precise. no one had given you this good of a fuck in your life.
with your hands hovering hers, you felt yourself cum against her silicone, hands now allowing you to breathe once again as you inhaled deeply. “oh… my… god…” you exhaled, your moans muted at the overstimulation, body twisting and turning with her hips no where near it’s end.
“that’s it…” she cooed, allowing you to feel the intensity of the orgasm she knew you deserved. “take it…”
it just wouldn’t stop. the shock of your orgasm made your eyes clench closed as you let your high take over you. it had been the longest high you’ve had, even after it had ended. your body went limp, humming and moaning inaudibly. ellie finally let herself rest, her cock getting hugged by your pulsating cunt, laying herself on top of you as her hands loving stroked the sides of your face.
“shhhh shhh… it’s okay..” she breathed, “i got you.” her now monstrous lust falling into care. she pressed gentle kisses at your breathing lips, stroking her thumbs against your skin as she smiled which made you lazily smile. “you did so good princess.”
she let you rest there, her caring hands running down and up your damp, trembling body, pressing her lips on every part of your face and shoulders. “want me to make us a bath?”
“yes..” you finally spoke, “please.”
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peachesofteal · 3 months
Text
The Pit
COD masterlist Part 1/2
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Ghost/Soap/female reader 6.3k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI, dub con, kidnapping, manipulative hurt/comfort, whump, the guys shave you, humiliation, forced orgasm, predator/prey, medical inaccuracies. Clothed males/naked female. The Pit by Silversun Pickups. Horror-ish. Misery inspired.
Winter in the mountains can be cruel. 
This is something you’ve always known, even as a child. You were raised with it. Chose to return to it after school, decided to make a go of it, of a life here, as an adult. You knew what you were getting yourself into, long cold winters that felt both bleak and promising, unblemished blankets of snow possessing the ability to be stunning, while also lethal. Winters were dangerous, silent killers that left corpses in their wake and no amount of lupine or paintbrushes, glacier fed lakes or springtime moose calves could make up for the hell that winter wrought. Winter brings most living things to the knife’s edge of survival, forcing most to bow beneath the weight of its fury, backs breaking with the burden of just existing in an environment that truly acts, and feels, inhospitable. 
Although, there are those who do more than survive the cold, violent stretch of winter.
There are predators who thrive. 
“You closin’?” Your coworker, the new one, asks from where she’s settled across the dark wood bar, two amber Budweiser bottles empty in front her idle hands, eyes wandering to guys posted up by the loneliest pool table in fifty square miles. 
“I am.” She casts the only window in the entire place a surreptitious glance, fingers peeling away at a label. It’s snowing, has been for hours, flakes fat and wet, fluffy enough that the density of the snow on the ground is light, but dangerous, as it hides the real risk underneath; packed snow sitting with a slick sheen of ice on top. 
“You still trying to make it over Fall River pass tonight?” You nod. 
“Yeah. Supposed to see my brother and his new place this weekend.” 
“Fall River? Is that even open right now?” Andy, a regular who lives a few streets over from you, chimes in, twisting an empty rocks glass in his fist. You pull the bottle of Jameson from the rail and tip it vertical, honey brown liquid sloshing like a wave until his glass is halfway full, and he gives you a flirty kind of smile, the same one he’s been giving you for a year now. Yeeesh.
“It is. I could go around, but it just takes too long. And it’s Friday. I’m not trying to be stuck on the highway with weekend traffic.” You complain, and they both commiserate your opinion. The traffic is brutal, especially in the winter. Driving in hazardous conditions is considered to be a talent more than an innate ability here, and people often overestimate their aptitude for it, causing crashes and delays that get the highway shut down for hours, or even days, at times. You shrug. “I’ve had my snow tires on for weeks. Might as well get some use out of them.” Andy snorts. 
“Like you haven’t been gettin’ good use out of them? First real snow was before Halloween this year.” You nod. He’s not wrong. You did get dumped on two weeks before the end of October, twenty-three inches piling up within two days, before half the area was even ready for it. You throw him a polite smile, one that you hope reads like ‘okay thanks for the concern, we’re done now’ and he sighs. “Well, drive safe.” 
Fall River pass, it turns out, is not open. It’s closed by the time you split off from the interstate and start the windy, switch-backed trek in your jeep, flashing orange and yellow lights dotting the top of a barricade just barely visible through the speckled snow flying by in your headlights. 
Fuck. You could have sworn the DOT website said it was open. You take a deep breath, quelling the anxiety that roils your stomach. Okay. Not the end of the world. There’s another road. A less maintained option, but… you’ll be fine. You’ve driven in worse. 
The other road, a sharp, narrow, desolate path that cuts through a large swath of unmanaged forest just outside the national park, is easy at first. You’ve been driving the same jeep for years, a 2007 two door Wrangler, and you know how it handles like the back of your hand. With snow tires, it could pretty much cut through anything, even unplowed, fire watch roads like this one. 
Which is why, after the first few miles, your nerves fully settle, and you allow yourself to relax a little bit behind the wheel, easing the jeep across the dips and slicks in the road as you cautiously build speed, snow falling fast through night, growing thicker the higher you travel into wilderness territory, and the farther you left modern civilization behind. 
An hour creeps by, and then two. Long enough that you’ve now realized you’re the only one using this road, fresh snow blanketing the woods around you, topography and vegetation starting to change as you encroach on what you assume must be eleven thousand feet. You’ve seen this road on google maps once, or twice maybe, having noted it for future travel just in case of a situation like this. It runs perpendicular to Fall River, and eventually meets another, one that must be similar, on the other side of the range. The secondary road is one that takes you along the ridge, and then down, you’re pretty sure, although you can’t be one hundred percent certain, because you lost cell reception before you even turned off from Fall River.
Still, won’t hurt to check and see if you have this area downloaded. 
You pull your phone from the center console, thumbing at the screen, allowing your eyes to linger too long without looking back up through the windshield. No one else is out here. It’s not like you need to worry about oncoming traffic. The little SOS insignia blinks at the top corner, and you tap on the map icon, hoping it will bring up your geo location so you can glance at the satellite image of the area. 
You’re so fixated watching the little circle of death try to load, that by the time you look up and see the tree laying across the road, it’s far too late. You do the first thing you were always taught not to do in winter conditions, and slam on the brake, shoving the pedal to floor, heart rate sky rocketing as you panic and lose total control of the jeep. You spin, shoulders and chest jamming against the seatbelt, headlights flashing off into the woods, illuminating an endlessly dark web of trees, bark and branch scratching across the paint as you careen off the road, tipping too precariously onto two wheels and then rolling. 
Time, your life, stands completely still for a moment. You see every individual fiber of the pine needles, every uniquely designed snowflake, every single droplet of blood that floats away from your face and through midair as you crash through the forest, your grasp on consciousness slipping farther and farther away, the jeep finally coming to a stop on its side, your head cracked against the driver’s window, stars and streaks spawning out across your vision, headlights finally blinking out completely, leaving you alone in the dark. Your head spins like you’re still rolling, and the only sound in the dead silent snow is your harsh breathing, frantic terror bubbling up through your throat as pain surges through your body. 
It's freezing, but you feel surprisingly warm. 
You’re going to die out here. No one knows you took this road, you don’t have service, by the time they find you, it’ll be too late. You’ll be a bled out, frozen corpse, long gone and- 
You lose your train of thought quickly. Everything starts to fracture, fissures forming in your consciousness, part of you already losing the battle to the inevitable, darkness pulling over your eyes like a knit hat, lungs heaving just a little harder with each breath. 
You could just close your eyes. Just for a moment. 
Light sweeps across the ground, flashing across your face. You think, if you were truly with it, in your right mind, you’d think it was too bright. You’d say it was blinding. 
But you can’t formulate anything of the sort, mind too busy slipping away, falling into an inky black depth, just barely on the verge when you feel a gloved hand on your skin, the lilt of an accent on the wind. 
Sleep. 
You’re drifting. Falling through a stardusted, molasses filled haze, your mind ebbs and flows with consciousness; soft and warm feelings contrasted with sharp pain that bites through your body as if it’s slowly trying to eat you, chipping away piece by piece.
There are words, voices. There are hands too, fingers walking across your skin, limbs being moved, arranged, always with pain that’s followed by a hushed whisper of apology, a confusing sentiment in the dark. Your eyes won’t open. Your mouth won’t work. Your head is stuffed with cotton, wispy strands of connections that can’t quite get there, scrounging along the walls of your skull, trying to meet in the middle. You’re drowning, sinking to the bottom of a macabre pool, the one that’s infected your synapses and kept you just inside the shelter of delirium.
You try to call for help, but you can’t.
You try to swim to the surface, but the grisly black of your mind is never ending.
You’re dying, the tiny sliver of rational thought assures. Or you’re already dead.
Despair swells, and if you could feel your face, you’d think you were crying, lost to the sweeping desolation of your pain. It steals your breathe. Your sense. Everything becomes secondary to the obliterating agony that you feel. 
Something touches your cheek. Your eyes fight to open, straining against the heaviness that weighs on them, just barely blinking wide enough to let some light in, your vision fuzzily trying to focus.
Wood beams come into view. A ceiling? Where-
You try to turn your head but an electric shock rattles through your brain, forcing you to slam your eyes shut again, world spinning on an uneven axis as something on the edge of your sight shifts. A monster. A man?
Something is said, whispered, and then everything fades away, your mind and body slipping beneath the waves of darkness.
The next time you surface, you manage to cling to consciousness long enough to take stock of your surroundings, realizing you’re tucked into a soft, warm bed almost immediately, something hot near your feet, pillows fluffed beneath you. A hand stitched quilt is spread across the top of copious other blankets and sheets, and your fingertips scratch against the fabric. Flannel.
You’re also awake long enough to truly experience the pain you’re in.
One thousand tiny knives rattle around in your skull, slicing into the soft matter of your brain, tearing you apart piece by piece, everything in you unmoored and off balance. Searing pain radiates up your leg, through your arm and wrist to your head and neck, and when your instinct urges you to try to move, your body screams in protest, the pain so intense that you cry out.
That’s when you see him.
A man steps towards you from the edge of your peripheral, and you freeze in terror.
“Shhh. We’re not goin’ hurt ye. Ye had a terrible accident. Pure luck we found ye when we did, dove. Ye would’ve died out there.” He coos in an accent, inching closer, and you manage to get a better look at him, recognition failing immediately. An accident? An accident… memories come flooding back, broken clips of the jeep spinning, rolling, the woods, the fear. Who is he? Where are you? Brilliant blue eyes look down at you with concern, handsome face tweaked into worry, furrow in his brow partially covered by the long strands of an overgrown mohawk. He’s pretty. “Can ye follow my finger?” He presents one in front of your nose, but it splits into two, and then three, just the attempt to focus enough to make your head throb, and a whimper escapes from your throat. “I know, I know.” There’s a ceramic mug in his hand, and he carefully lifts it to your lips, encouraging you as he tips it back, warm, sweet liquid washing down your throat. You can’t even move your arms to push him away, and when he seems to be satisfied, his thumb wipes the corner of your mouth. “Good love. Well done.” You feel woozy all of the sudden, maybe even a little nauseous, and you think you could be hallucinating when another man appears at the foot of the bed, handsome, but in a rugged way, watching you with honeyed brown eyes, the broadest, biggest thing you’ve ever seen.
“Those bones need setting.” He says, and the pretty one grimaces, fingertips trailing along your cheek.
“Maybe tomorrow. I’m still worried about the concussion.” His thumb cards across your brow.
“It’s been three days, Johnny. Can’t put it off too much longer.” Three days? Your brain latches onto the time. Three days of what? Since when? You’re starting to fade, trying to focus on what they’re saying but losing the battle horrendously when the blankets shift, warmth tucking down around your waist and shoulders, unable to react or even speak when they both press a kiss to your forehead, affectionate and longing touch that startles you until you’re losing the battle to sleep.
It's snowing.
You don’t have to see to know. There’s something about how it hangs in the air, how the world sounds during a snowfall that blankets everything: houses, trees, mountains… your mind.
You love the snow. Even as a child, winter was your favorite. Winter brought you a sense of calm, of peace. It’s what brought you back here, kept you here, even amidst the perils. The feeling of a forest, lying still beneath the soft spun expanse of white, the crisp smell of the air the morning of a big snow, the eternal quiet that exists in the night when everything is dampened by the weight of a million, billion, uniquely crystalized webs of frozen water.
This snow feels different. It doesn’t feel like a velvety white, candy-coated dream world; but a nightmare… one filled with pain, anxiety. Where are you? What’s happened? 
And why do you hurt so fucking bad? 
“You’re awake.” A deep voice says from your side, and you flinch on instinct, immediately wishing you hadn’t as lightning sharp pain zings through you, your voice breaking with a cry. “Easy.” He cautions, and your head stops swimming long enough for you to realize it’s the brown eyed man, the bigger one. He’s sitting in a chair that looks far too small for his width, watching you with an intensity that makes you feel exposed.
“Where… am I?” You manage to choke out through stiff lips, your head spinning and the world tilting at the same time. It sours your stomach, more than you thought possible, and you try to swallow the burn of bile that’s racing up your throat.
“Are you going to be sick?” He strokes your face, the touch nearly sweet, but confusing, and you hold your tongue, unsure. He sighs, expression shifting into disapproval, and then a frown. “Tell me.”
“N-no, I don’t-“ You can’t even finish your denial before your stomach is heaving and he’s springing into action, shifting you onto your side where a clean bucket sits right next to the bed. You wail in misery, pain shooting through your leg and arm, your ribs, bile and spit leaking from your mouth.
“It’s alright, that’s it.” A hand soothes up and down your back as you dry heave, sputtering on nothing, tears dripping to the wooden floorboards with a splash.
“Nnrgh-“
“I know, I know. Poor thing.” He coos, and it sounds… endearing, so sweet yet… frightening, like the poison of a predatory, a pretty display meant to draw you in before it snaps a set of jaws shut around your face.
Somewhere, nestled inside the last shards of your sanity, an alarm bell whistles, but the intensity of your pain quickly drowns it out, and you cry aloud.
“Hurts.” He rolls you back to your original position, arranging you like a doll. “It hurts.”
“I know it does, sweet girl, I know. We’re going to fix it.” A cloth dabs at your forehead and then down to clean your mouth, just as the man with the mohawk appears on the bed, one knee down, leaning over you, worry rife in his features.
“Poor baby. Were ye sick again?” Again? You blink up at him. What is going on? He presses a glass to your lips, urging you to drink, and then pulling it away after you’ve had a few sips with a gentle “not too much.”
“Who are you?” The water is cold, refreshing, but a ting acidic, and you wonder if it’s well water, maybe?
“I’m Johnny.” He’s setting up something beside you, organizing it, but you can’t turn your head to look, and can’t quite catch it from your peripheral. “An’ this is Simon. Or Si, but ye probably willnae be callin’ him that quite yet.” Quite yet? What? Did they find you? Did they rescue you? Why can’t you remember? 
“What happened.” You try again, gritting your teeth.
“Ye had an accident, remember? We talked about it yesterday. Ye rolled off the road, ended up nearly down the mountain, in the thick of the trees. Ye’re lucky the one didnae impale ye.” Impale?
“And you found me?” You're starting to feel tired again, all the sudden, woozy and weird, exhaustion pulling at your limbs. Shouldn't you be in a hospital? Why haven't they taken you to a doctor?
“Aye, we did. Pulled ye out, brought ye home.” Home?
“You don’t have to worry.” Simon, the bigger one, tells you. “We’re going to take care of you.” Take care of who? Everything is foggy, clouded, and you try to shake your head in confusion.
“I don’t… why-“
“Storm is pretty bad. One of those, once in a lifetime types. Pass is closed.” You close your eyes. Of course. The pass is closed. You guess you’re lucky. They could have left you to die, and you could have never been found. You could have frozen to death. Bled out.
“Thank… thank you.” Johnny hums, and then you ripple in shock as he leans forward and brushes his lips against your mouth in a kiss. This… this is not normal? Are Scottish people just… more affectionate? 
“Want ye to know, if we didnae have to do this, we woudnae.” What?
“Do what?” Simon casts you a mournful glance, rising from the chair. He’s got piece of leather in his hand, like a cut from a belt, and your eyes dart between them, fear freezing solid inside your pores. Do what?
“Bite down on this, precious.” Simon instructs, placing the swatch against your bottom lip, and you jerk away in protest, pain burning through your body.
“Do what?” You try to sound strong, demanding, but it comes out a little less than timid, and he gives you a sad smile.
“Your femur is broken.” A warm hand rests on your leg, over the covers, and you try to click the pieces together. “And I suspect your radius is, too. We need to set them.”
Oh. Oh no. 
“N-no, no, you… you ca-can’t.” You stutter. They can’t. A doctor should be doing that, shouldn’t they? Johnny hovers over you, placing his palm on your belly, stroking upwards to the middle of your chest, the other holding firm across your collarbone. His touch is gentle, but strong, and his thumb rubs in a cautious motion against your skin, lightly grazing the underside of your breast. It feels weird, and wrong… intimate in a way that makes you shiver. “Please. Please, please… don’t-“
“It’s alright.” He shushes you, and the pressure increases against your body as Simon wedges a thick finger between your teeth, slipping the worn leather in your mouth, bracing around your wrist, his other hand holding your elbow. You gasp for air, adrenaline fueled by pain and fear coursing through you, and Johnny coos, telling you ye’ll be alright, that ye’re with them now, and they’ll take such good care of ye. 
“Take a deep breath.” Simon urges, and you stare at him, wide eyed, pulse thundering in your ears.
“Ye’ll probably pass out, bonnie. We’ll get the second one done while ye’re down, and I already gave ye somethin’ for the pain.” He assures, like it’s supposed to relieve you, and your nostrils flare as something tightens against your arm. Simon’s grip. 
This can’t be happening. This has to be a nightmare. How can this happen? No, nononono-
There’s a crack. A crunch. Burning, obliterating torture rockets up your arm, exploding inside you like a shot. You scream and bite down at the same time, raw misery trying to claw it’s way out of your throat. You think you’re crying, hallucinating from the pain, having a heart attack, fucking dying, all at once. It hurts, it hurts so bad, stop, please-
“We’re sorry, we’re sorry.” Simon soothes, thumb wiping your cheek, but you can hardly hear him, your brain starting to sever itself from reality, floating away as you slip inside the dark tomb of your mind, losing yourself to the fog as they both stare down at you, sickeningly saccharine concern layered overtop the faces of wolves, predators licking their maws in preparation for a meal.
You sleep and wake in a haze.
You sleep. Your dreams are torments, visions of being chased through the mountains by monsters, being pinned to the ground, teeth tearing into your throat with no preamble, or nightmares of drowning, being swallowed by the ocean, lungs sputtering with concrete laden sea water.
You wake. Your vision blurs, mind scrambled by pain, vaguely aware of being moved, carried to the bathroom, held upright over a toilet, gentle touch soothing up and down your back, heavy palm cupping curve of your skull when your head is tipped back and something is dribbled past your lips. You blink blearily with stone weighted lids, taking in the room bit by bit, the wrought iron bed frame, crackling flames sparking in a fireplace, mountain of pillows sagging with the imprint of your body. Your limbs are wrapped and unwrapped, immobilized, and shifted, and the pain is enough to make you gasp for air, tipping you over into the decaying depths of unconsciousness again and again.
You sleep. Restless, chilled. Ice spreads from the nerves in the tip of your nose to your brain, your fingers, and you try to burrow it deeper, seeking the comfort of the pillows, but finding warm skin and muscle instead. In your sleep, it’s lovely. It’s comforting. Even when you’re rolled to your side, something sticking under your tongue, you chase the heady thick heat that seems to roll off the limbs around you.
You wake. There are voices, deep and rumbling, bouncing through the room. Warm water dabbing down your neck, your belly, your legs. You’re too hot, uncomfortable and smothered until you hear a sharp pitched snarl accompanied by a yank, and then there’s a void of emptiness around you.
You sleep.
You wake. The pain starts to change, melting into something that’s consistent, throbbing, but a little less sharp, unless you move, and then it shrieks through your nerves like an electrical shock, vibrating your jaw shut.
You sleep.
You wake. They’re there. Simon is dabbing a cool washcloth across your forehead. You try to flex away on instinct, but firm hands stop you, holding you in place.
“Hey there, dove.” Johnny whispers, smiling. It’s a shy kind of smile, sweet, and the world spins. You grapple with reality, trying to remind yourself where you are, what happened. The fire snaps and pops behind Simon, who stands at his side, massive hand on his shoulder. “Made ye some breakfast. Think ye can eat somethin’?” Breakfast? A steaming bowl of oats sits cradled in his hand, spoon at the ready. Nausea roars, enflamed by the pain in your bones, and you shake your head. “Ye need to eat. Been givin’ ye soup for the past few days, but ye need more carbs.”
“I- I don’t understand.” You try to explain your confusion, hundreds of questions brewing on your tongue, trying to spill out.
“You’ve been in and out consciousness for the last week.” Simon explains, and your eyes widen.
“What?” Panic knots, twisting you up tight, heart fluttering in your chest.
“We had to sedate you. Needed to keep you still through the first part of the healing process.”
“You… you drugged me?” You stammer, and Simon smiles, but it’s not sweet like Johnny’s. It’s severe. It’s dangerous.
“Soft calluses form around fractures, after they’ve been set.” He sits down on the other side of the bed, across your hips from Johnny. “Your breaks aren’t in casts, so we needed to minimize your movement until the calluses could strengthen.”
“Ye willnae be able to walk on the leg, or lift anything with that arm, but we’ll help ye.” Johnny assures. “We’ll be here for ye, as ye get better.” The words don’t compute, and you look at both of their faces, sweeping back and forth, blue eyes to brown, brown to blue, until the only thing that you can think of blurts out of your mouth:
“Where’s my phone?” There’s a flash of discontent in Johnny’s features, but it’s quickly smoothed away, and you wonder if it even there in the first place.
“I imagine it’s somewhere near where your jeep rolled. We weren’t exactly concerned with finding it, considering we were trying to save your life.” Simon’s hands flex in the sheets, and then relax, serious look on his face, and guilt swamps you. Right. They saved your life. You could have died. And the pass is closed. Maybe this is all… as normal as it can be, given the situation. Calm down. 
Still… 
Didn’t Johnny kiss you? 
The spoon clinks against the bowl, jolting you back to the moment, eyeing the scoop of oats as it drifts closer to your mouth, lips parting on instinct.
The first bite is difficult, an insipid, unsavory lump sliding down into your stomach, toothy grin stretching across Johnny’s face as you swallow. The second bite is easier. So is the third, and you manage a few more after that until you start to feel wooly, head fuzzy and stomach sick. “I can’t.” You bleat, and he nods sympathetically.
“Alright, ye did good.” Sleep tugs, insistent again, strong surge of fog pulling at your eyes, and you yawn.
“Tired?” Simon’s already moving, hovering, patiently adjusting your pillows and lazily urging you into them. “You should rest.” You’re too weak, too miserable to argue, so you let yourself fade to black, easily falling back into the webbed slush of sleep.
You drift in and out for days after that. A bright spot of consciousness here and there before it dissipates and you fall into oblivion, and you find yourself embracing it as often as possible, trying to escape into yourself, away from wooden beams and potential predators that flank you.
You’re content to let it stay that way, hiding away behind closed lids for as long as possible, until the morning you feel the washcloth.
“Sh-sh-shhh.” Johnny hums when you garble out a distressed question, tipping a glass to your mouth. Cold liquid rushes across your tongue, and you have no choice but to swallow, confusion webbing across your thoughts. Simon has the blankets pulled away, chilled air nipping and your skin, and you moan. It’s strange, like you’re exposed, half floating like you’re high, and half spiraling through your pain.
“It’s okay, we’ve got you.” They’re repositioning you, arms and legs like a little doll, and you frown. “Jus’ need to get you clean.” Clean? The washcloth coasts across your neck and down to your chest, warm water soaking a trail down your breasts. You’re naked, fully, a hot palm against your hip, skin on skin contact registering as you blink fuzzily, watching the way Johnny focuses on you, concentration shining in his stunning blue eyes.
Water sloshes. Squeezing and dripping, and then the warm, nearly hot cloth is being pressed against you, stroking over your nipples, washing the underside of your breasts. It feels nice, and you whine a little when it pulls away. Simon chuckles.
“Do ye like that?” Johnny coos, reapplying the cloth to your belly. “Does that feel good?” Does it? Is it supposed to? Your vision doubles then realigns, and you stare at the underside of Simon’s jaw, mesmerized by the scar on his chin, the width of his neck. He readjusts you, again, slowly moving your knees apart, spreading your legs, and heat climbs through your bones to your cheeks.
You’re naked. They’re fully clothed. 
“We’re goin’ clean this up a bit.” Simon murmurs, a thick finger tracing along your slit, through the soft curls between your legs, and you balk. Clean what? How?
“My… my-“ you can’t even get the words out, too embarrassed, and he nods, sliver flash of a razor twinkling in his hand. The air in your chest sputters.
“Your hair.” Johnny works the washcloth back and forth, water dripping down your skin to the towel that’s been placed under your hips, you can only lay there in mortification when you feel yourself getting wet, tepid arousal roaring to life between your legs. “If you’re a good girl for us,” Simon continues, spraying a big glob of shaving cream into Johnny’s palm, “we’ll give you a treat afterwards. How’s that sound?”
“A treat?”  You squeak, and then whimper, Johnny’s fingers creeping down your slit, rubbing the cream across your pubis and labia, heel brushing against your clit. You make a noise of a protest, but it falls on deaf ears.
“Ye’re alright.” He coos, bumping against the swollen bud again, and you try to stop the moan that builds in your chest with no success, slamming your eyes shut and trying to disappear into the pillows. “It’s natural, dove. Ye dinnae need to feel embarrassed.” He leans forward, slotting his mouth against yours, lips soft and fragrant in a pillowy sweet kiss that lasts too long, his eyes blissfully closed in front of your almost crossed ones. 
“Please…” you whisper, but you’re not sure what you’re asking for, and Johnny coos at you, bending at the waist to get a better vantage point between your legs. You shake your head, eyes wide with disbelief, with fear, your mind trying to catch up, trying to rationalize what’s happening at the same time as your body is betraying you, slicking the cream that’s lathered between your thighs, clit pulsing with desperate need.
“I- I don’t want you to… shave me.” You whisper. You don’t want them to touch you… there, and the panic that’s pulsing between your ears continues to rise as your protests go unnoticed. Just saying it out loud makes you want to die of embarrassment, and Simon clucks.
“We have to take care of you, sweet girl.” Simon grips your thigh, fingers pressing into flesh, and the cool blade of the razor moves against the grain with a flick of his wrist, drawing back to a bucket for a rinse before a repeat, breath frozen in your chest as he slowly eliminates the curls of your pubic hair. “It will be easier to do that, to see what you need without all this.” He hums, the smile of a wolf coy on his face. “Stay nice and still for us.” They work in tandem, perfectly synchronized, and your unwanted arousal starts to overpower the pain that’s radiating from your broken bones. It’s been so, so long since you’ve been touched by anyone, and your body does not care that you didn’t want this, or agree to it, too eager to be satisfied, to be touched in anyway it can get, and it gets worse, more intense the longer it goes on, the precise movements of their hands, the slow and methodical approach to your cunt. “Almost done.” Simon tells you, and the side of his finger passes over your clit unintentionally, and you whine. “I know, I know. You’re bein’ so good. Such a good girl.” Your good hand is shaking, gripping the sheets, and when he finishes, Johnny wipes you down with a clean cloth, passing over your clit again and again, electric shocks sparking in your belly. You’re paralyzed, helpless, and yet… soaked. Desperate. The warring emotions tear at you, shame and fear and desire rendering you speechless.
“I think ye need some relief, dove.” Johnny hums, looking from your pussy to Simon, both of them tilting their heads to stare between your legs. “Poor thing is so swollen, Si.”
“Do you want to touch her, Johnny? Give her a reward?” Simon asks him, so sweetly, and Johnny shimmies down to be eye level with your pussy, tongue darting out to lick his lips.
Half of you screams no. Half of you shouts yes.
All you can do is watch, helplessly, as they settle themselves between your legs, Simon over Johnny’s shoulder, tempering his frenzied excitement with assured patience. 
“Will ye show me how?” He’s eager, and you frown, confused.
“Johnny’s never made a girl come before,” Simon tells you gently. “You’ll be his first.” Oh my god. “Will you help him? Tell him what feels good?” Your brain melts. You don’t know what to say, mouth half open, staring at the both of them, and after a few seconds, Simon sighs like he’s exasperated with you, before ducking back down next to Johnny and murmuring softly to him, probing along your cunt, finger dipping into your hole, swirling in the wetness gathered there and then moving up to your slit. You gasp, eyes nearly rolling back in your head.
“She likes that.” Johnny groans, breath blowing over your exposed flesh, and Simon takes his hand, thumb over thumb, guiding him in small circles around your clit.
 “Nice an’ slow at first, when you’re rubbin’ her clit. Feel how hard it is?” He instructs, pressing a kiss to the side of Johnny’s head, and he nods enthusiastically, looking up at Simon with wide, puppy dog eyes, sappy and saturated with love. It’s sweet, and affectionate, like they’re the only ones in the room, in the world… and you’re intruding on a private moment between these two men and your body. Like you’re a bystander. Or a doll. It’s confusing, your brain trying to sort everything that’s happening into neat little boxes that keep overflowing or falling apart, fracturing under the weight of your helplessness, the shock and fear that’s nearly made you dizzy. “See how her little hole is clenchin’ like that? It’s ‘cause she’s empty, needs to be filled up. When she comes, she’ll get real tight.” He explains, your body enflaming in mortified heat. They’re pushing you closer and closer to an orgasm, and Simon increases the speed as your hips jolt.
“Fuck.” You hiss.
“That’s it.” Simon coaches. “Are you close, sweet girl? Gonna come for us?” You shake your head, but even if you wanted to close your legs, you couldn’t. You’re trapped, lost in a sea of wild waves that break directly over your head, one after another until you’re drowning, gasping, muscles so tight they burn, pain in your arm and leg a secondary concern behind the pressure in your belly, the zap of your clit as they drag you too easily to the bottom, before sending you breaking through the surface.
You come with a distressed moan, hips jerking, and then a raspy plea for them to stop, telling them it’s too much, you’re too sensitive, to which Simon wraps his hand around Johnny’s wrist and pulls his hand away.
“We can’t overwhelm her just yet. Gotta wait until she’s healed up, hm?” He murmurs, reaching for the cloth. You blink at the ceiling, drifting, floating away, little boxes in your mind broken up into gnarled pieces that don’t make sense.
What just happened?
You stay silent, blank, as they settle you, cloth cleaning between your legs, blankets being fussed with around your body, pillows plumped. Simon curls some of your unruly hair behind your ear, swooping down until the breadth of his body blocks out all the light in the room, lips brushing over your ear. “What a good girl you are, dove. Did so well, letting Johnny give you an orgasm. So sweet for him.” He tucks you in a little tighter, and Johnny ducks around him, kissing you gently, like you’re made of glass, thrilled smile tugging at his cheeks, unfettered joy the last thing you see before your eyes slip shut.
The next time you wake, Johnny is in bed with you. It’s dark, a flickering orange glow casting shadow across the room, and you startle at the weight of his arm stretched across your chest, cradling you close, half curled around you like a cat. You turn, face to face, his mouth slightly agape, breath blowing over your cheek. You can’t get enough leverage on one leg to slide out from under him, and when you squirm, he only tightens his grip, pinning you to the bed. You’re overheated, and when you peek over his shoulder to get a look at the fire, you see Simon instead, sitting upright in a chair, fully awake, watching you. White hot fear shocks your system, forcing your eyes down in disbelief, surprise, his chair creaking in the night. Your breath stops in your chest, and then there’s a hand smoothing over your forehead, as he leans past you to brush his lips against Johnny’s, and then rough stubble presses against your cheek with a jagged whisper.
“Sweet dreams, little dove.”
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Steve grows up thinking that love can be earned. That it has to be earned. That if he is quiet and polite, invisible most of the time and puts on his too-tight white button-downs without making a fuss, his mother will call him good and while she won't say it directly, Steve takes her approval for love.
His father is harder to please, for a while it's winning sport trophies and talking about taking out pretty girls. But as time goes on, Steve learns that disappointment is far quicker and far more willing given than love. Love can also be taken away like a toy from a naughty child.
Despite trying his best to keep earning his parents' love it keeps slipping away from him more and more often, like smoke through delicate fingers. Steve doesn't know what he is doing wrong, just assumes that he isn't good, that he doesn't deserve their love. It never occurs to him that they simply might be incapable of it, hollow, cold, harsh caves that echo where their hearts should beat.
So Steve tries to get it elsewhere. Tommy and Carol's love is easier to earn. Drive them places, pay for their food, get them booze and let them throw parties at his pool. Be mean and arrogant, laugh at jokes that make him feel sick to his stomach and do it all with a smile. Keep them happy and they'll keep loving him. He never quite figures out how he earned Nancy's love and it makes him antsy. Not knowing how to ensure that she'll keep loving him. He only realizes once they break up that the reason he never knew how to make her keep loving him was that she never loved him in the first place.
The kids are easy: be a human shield for them, beat monsters with a baseball bat, get tortured by Russians for them. If danger isn't around the corner it's driving them to the arcade, paying for their food, letting them hang out in the cold, desolate house that once they are gone echos just as much as the caves in his parents' chests. It's not that different from how he kept Tommy and Carol loving him. Only that it feels different, better. Steve doesn't have to force smiles, still recognizes the person in the mirror when he hangs out with the kids. He has fun too, would still do all these things if it didn't earn him the kids' love.
It's nice. Almost. If it wasn't for the constant fear that one day he'll say the wrong thing, bring them the wrong snack and all of that love will go poof.
Robin just like Nancy, Steve can't figure out. And it's fucking terrifying because he doesn't think he's ever loved a friend hell not just a friend, anyone, the way he has loved her. There are days he wants to crawl into her skin and make a home hoping it'll be enough to make her stay. Though a home never made his parents stay either. He knows the day he is going to lose her love, he will completely fall apart.
Eddie, Steve is slowly figuring out. Or at least he thinks he is. It's hard to tell with Eddie sometimes. On one hand, it's easy, Steve knows how to please partners in a relationship, knows how to be a good boyfriend. And Eddie clearly seems to enjoy the way Steve keeps trying to earn his love. On the other hand being a good boyfriend had already once not been enough.
It all comes down to it when Eddie and Steve end up in a stupid fight. Steve can't even remember what it started or who started it, all he knows that when Eddie says, "I need a smoke," and moves towards the door, panic closes around Steve's throat like a hand and squeezes tightly. If Eddie goes out of the door, if he leaves, he might not come back. It's been over six months since Steve last saw his parents.
"I'm sorry," he yells, tears already spilling over the corners of his eyes, running down his cheeks and pooling at his chin. He reaches for Eddie's wrist and Eddie instantly stops.
"I'm sorry, don't leave please! I'll make up for it, I promise. I'll be good. Perfect. Let me earn it again! Please!"
Eddie looks startled by Steve's outburst. He tucks his cigarette back into his pocket and pulls Steve into his arms.
"What? I'm not leaving! Steve," he says and cups Steve's wet face. Steve can't stop trembling. "What do you mean 'earn it again'?"
"Your love," Steve sniffs and buries his face in the crook of Eddie's neck, hoping, praying that it wasn't the wrong move. He knows he can be too clingy and he knows he can't afford to lose more of Eddie's love.
"My love? Baby," Eddie tightens his arms around Steve, "I'm not gonna stop loving you just because we're fighting. I love you even when I'm mad at you."
It draws a whole new wave of tears out of Steve and he does feel a bit like drowning. "And you don't have to earn my love, it's not fucking conditional," Eddie continues and presses a couple of soft kisses to Steve's hair.
"All my love is freely given. Not because you cook me dinner or let me pick movies or offer to blow me all the time. But because I love you, just you Steve. You don't even have to do anything. Just be yourself."
Eddie is crying now too, horrified that Steve went through his life in constant fear of love being taken away from him. Having to constantly bend and twist himself until he was broken just to earn crumbs of affection. It's a first step, one I love you doesn't undo years of trauma and fixes everything in an instant.
But Eddie vows he'll do everything he can to convince Steve that he is loved, so, so, so loved without having to grovel and beg for it. Without having to always be good and perfect.
And Robin and the kids make the same vow, heartbroken when they find out how scared Steve has been of losing them, how he thought they only kept him around in case of danger and because he had money.
It takes a while, but eventually, Steve starts to believe them. And if he ever has doubts or forgets everyone in his life is quick to remind him just how loved he is. Free of charge and indefinitely.
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cheapshrimpysheep · 9 months
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You... Cheater? - Demon Brothers
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SUMMARY: They saw you making out with some random demon. But only after talking to you will they find out that it wasn't you after all. It was a demon impersonating you. But how did they feel before realizing this and how did they react to the relief that it wasn't really you they saw?
(This takes place before the events of Nightbringer.)
CHARACTERS: Demon Brothers (Lucifer; Mammon; Leviathan; Satan; Asmodeus; Beelzebub & Belphegor)
TAGS: Fluf; GN Reader; Comfort; Kiss, Tears, a little Angst (I think)
WORD COUNT: An average of 470 words per character.
👉 You… Cheater? - Side Characters
COMMENTS: I was looking for prompts and saw something like “cheating” or “How would they react to being cheated on?” But I don't like cheaters, this would be to sad. However, they thinking they were cheated on, but in fact they were deceived and you comfort them, that looked like a better option to me.
I hope you enjoy ;)
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CONTEXT: He was walking the streets of Devildom, maybe out shopping for dinner. And he saw you! Or at least someone he thought was you. The appearance was exactly like yours! And you were making out with some random lower demon, that was unmistakable. That he could see clearly without a doubt.
This takes place before the events of Nightbringer.
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Lucifer decided to walk up to “you” and have a conversation with “you” right there. But when “you” and the other demon saw him, both ran away. He didn't follow them. He stopped right there and it only took a few seconds for him to realize that something was wrong. That couldn't be you. It does not make sense. You wouldn't cheat on him. Who would?
Part of him doesn't believe it was you because he knows you and your character. But the other part that doesn't believe it was you is his Pride. Cheat on Lucifer? With someone like Diavolo he could understand, but a lower demon? No, that wasn't you, you're not that stupid! However, he can't help but have a very small fear that it really was you. But that one is irrational, it can't be right.
He asks you to go talk to him in his office and, of course, you have no idea what he saw. So, you don't know what he wants to talk to you about.
“Where were you while I was away?” is the first thing he asks after telling you that you can come in. You are confused, but the truth is, you've been playing with Levi in his room. Then some of the other brothers also showed up to play, so you have a lot of alibis.
“Did Solomon ever teach you how to duplicate yourself?” If you respond with "Is that possible?!" and an obvious face of surprise, he will burst out laughing. “I wouldn't be surprised if it was.” he continues and tells you about what he saw on the street.
Your reaction tells him everything he needs to know and confirms his suspicions. “Don't worry, I knew it wasn't you. I just wanted to confirm with you.” he lifts your chin and kisses your lips “I would never fall in love with a cheater.”
And then, he hugs you. It starts out like a normal hug, but after his arms are around you, you feel them tighten slightly. As if that little irrational side of him that worried him was showing how relieved he was that it really wasn't you. As if that little irrational part of him, that told him what he'd seen could be real, was showing you how relieved he was wrong.
“I don't know who those demons were.” He says, slowly breaking the hug and looking at you. “Yet.” You see his eyes, a look very similar to the one he usually has when he wants to punish his brothers. But this one was worse. “I will find out who they were. They need to be reminded why they shouldn't deceive us. Of course you are more than welcome to join me, after all they had the audacity to impersonate you.”
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We all know Mammon is the emotional type not the rational one. So... he’s completely desolate, devastated, he’s heart shattered in pieces. It didn't even cross his mind that it might not be you, despite the number of times he said to himself "No, no, no, no, no, no..." He didn't have the courage to face “you”. He even dropped the purchases he made. One of the items he bought was a gift for you. And he run away.
He didn't come home. After all, you were there and seeing you would be too painful. But nobody knew about it. But nobody knew about it. Well, actually he went home, without the groceries and without listening to anyone. He just went straight to his room and left again, but this time on his car. You haven't seen him.
It's when everyone else goes to talk to you about not knowing where he is and being his turn to make dinner that you decide to go to his room and summon him. I mean, you have no idea where he is either. He doesn't respond to your messages. Summoning him will bring him straight to you, straight to home.
He appears and falls on his butt. “OI! WHAT THE-?!” he looks at you. His eyes were reddish and his cheeks wet. You ask what happened, worried. “You... I... You know what happened!” But you don’t. “Yes you do! I saw you! I saw... you two...”
“Us two? You mean Asmo and I? Of course you saw us. You came with us.” You remind him that the three of you went shopping together, but Asmo wanted to buy a new perfume and wanted you to go with him. So Mammon went to buy the rest of the stuff.
He is clearly embarrassed. “W-wait, s-so you were with Asmo the whole time?” Yes, you still even smelled like the perfume he bought. “S-so... you weren't sneaking kissing another demon on the street?” What the heck was he talking about?! Of course not! Does he really thought you would be kissing a random demon on the street when you could be making out with him? Your first?! And you tell him that. He's such a dummy!
He hugs you desperately. And he starts to cry again, but this time with relief. His face on your shoulder, he can't even speak, just sob. As if you just woke him up from a nightmare. You hug him back and kiss him on the forehead.
He really needs some time with you now. He's not really the vindictive type. He just wants you, your love and affection, although it took him a while to admit it. So you two cuddle for a while on his sofa. Until he remembered his car was parked somewhere.
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Levi is also a very emotional person but worse: he is the Avatar of Envy. Just like any other sin can blind you, this one is the worst for what he saw. And even even worse, we know he doesn't have a good self-esteem. Put it all together and he never felt worse in his life. He won't talk to "you", he will run back home and lock himself in his room.
You had agreed that when he arrived you would go to his room to play the new game he had gone out to buy. But he didn't tell you he was back. It was one of the brothers who told you that he had seen him arrive and enter the room.
You go to his room, knock on the door, but he doesn't answer. You try as many times as it takes until he says he wants to be alone and doesn't want to talk to anyone. Messages don't work either. Only when you threaten to break down the door does he let you in.
The lights are off and he's hiding under the covers in the bathtub. You ask what's going on and again he takes a long time to answer you. He’s more the type of avoiding talk and/or see you. Listening to you is painful enough already. Worried, you slowly approach and ask again, in your sweetest voice, what was going on.
“I SAW IT, OK!?” he exploded, without coming out from under the covers, his voice cracking. “I... saw it... I saw you... on the street...” He saw you on the street? Was he talking about seeing you and Satan on the book store? “WHAT? No!” He got up, uncovering himself from the blankets. His eyes were reddish and a few tears were still falling down his cheeks. “I saw you kissing that demon on the street.” he calms down a bit and starts talking about that shouldn't surprise him. Even a lower demon was better than him. Of course he would never be enough for you. Someone like him? Of course not. You deserved better. You would even deserve the crown of Devildom...
Well, you don't remember kissing Satan on the street, so you have no idea what he's talking about. You tell him you went out with Satan to the bookstore and you were with him the whole time until you got back home. Levi could ask him. Whoever he saw wasn't you.
It takes a while for him to process that and realize that who he saw really wasn't you. And for him to throw himself into your arms. He's not afraid to cry in front of you, and on your shoulder. His hug is tight, desperately and lovingly tight.
He tells you again about his fear of losing you, of you leaving him. You end up getting in the bathtub with him. Cuddling with and reassuring him. Saying you would never leave him, how much you love him. He needs you now, he needs to recover from the shock that luckily wasn't real.
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What have those two demons just done? Envy is a very bad sin to be the avatar of in a situation like that. But even worse is Wrath! Satan instantly assumed his demon form, throws the groceries to who knows where, and walked towards the two. They noticed him approach by the heavy and determined steps and fled. He stopped. “You” looked at him with such fear in “your”eyes, it shocked him.
He didn't mean to hurt “you”, he never would! But “you” hurt him. How could this be happening? You weren't like that, you were so kind and lovable... Wait, you're not like this. Something is wrong. And he only realizes this after stopping and calming down a bit. Something he learned from you. No! You wouldn't do this. Something was really wrong and he needed to talk to you now!
As soon as he gets home, he asks the first brother of his he sees if you are there. And after hearing a yes he runs to your room. Ignoring the "Why? What's going on?" after that yes.
He knocks at your door while calling your name. You open the door and he rushes into the room, closing the door behind you and practically "Kabedon" you against the door. “Have you been here the whole time?” he seems to contain some kind of anger. It worries you a little, but at these times you know you need to be the calm person. And yes, you were home that whole time. In fact, you spent a lot of time helping Mammon with his studies. He practically begged for your help to avoid another punishment from Lucifer.
You seemed sincere, but still: “So, you never left the house? Not even to go shopping?” You think for a moment. But no, pretty sure you never left the House of Lamentation. And the hours of study were very long. You both know what a bad student Mammon is.
He sighs, lowers his head for a moment and then drops down to hug you. It is a tender and relieved hug. “I’m sorry.” he whispers in your ear. “I just... wanted to make sure..." you hug him back and finally feel like it's the right time to ask what's going on.
He tells you what he saw on the street. The shock on your face is further proof to him that it wasn't really you he saw. As he thinks about what that could have been, his expression change. The expression of the true Avatar of Wrath.
“The only explanation is that someone impersonated you. I don't know who they were but I'll find out. And I couldn't care less if there were any reason for them to do that. Nobody tarnishes your name! I will find them, and when I do I'll make them regret even the air they breathe today.”
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Asmo doesn't think you are cheating on him. After all he’s the Avatar of Lust, he better than anyone understands the concept of One-night stand. But he can't help but get a sour feeling in his stomach. He used to do one-night stands, but that was before he meet you. After that he couldn't do it anymore, he just wanted you. And he thought you only wanted him. What was happening to him?
He thought of going to you. Ask if he could join. That would look like him, but no, he can't, that's not what he wants to do. It's nothing related to his sin that he wants to do. He felt more like... Levi? Could it be jealousy? Him?! He needed to go home. ASAP!
He does his best to pretend that nothing is wrong, that he just came back from shopping and didn't see anything special. Maybe he'll come up with some story about a purse he saw, just to keep up the facade that everything was fine.
He'll avoid you for awhile, flashing you a smile you knew was fake. It was at dinner time, after he sent a message to the brothers' group saying he didn't feel well and therefore wouldn't have dinner that you decided to go to his room and check on him.
He is reluctant to let you in, but he still wants to show you that everything is fine, so he gives in at the second or third knock. He is sitting on the bed. And not even all the make-up he could put on his face would manage to hide from you the sadness that was really in his eyes. Despite his smile. He tells you not to worry, but it's when you insist that you can tell something is wrong that he decides to tell you the truth.
“I... I wanted to ask you.” he puts back on his everything is fine mask “Who was that new demon friend of yours?” You look confused at him. “I wasn't snooping, I promise. I just ended up seeing you two. You know, even if you try to hide yourself well there is still a possibility that someone will see you making out on the street.” he was forcing a smile, as if wanting to look like he was giving you genuine advice. But you got even more confused. What the heck was he talking about?
“Aww, don't worry hon, I'm not mad. I... think...” he mutters to himself and then goes back to talking to you. “You don't need to hide it from me. I saw it with my own eyes, you know?” you see his eyes water slightly. He's trying so hard not to cry.
But you weren't on that street today. “What?!” he widens his eyes, as if seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. You tell him you've been with Lucifer at RAD most of the day, helping him with paperwork. And even when you came home, you came back with him. And that was it. That and you wouldn't making out with a random demon on the streets. You have standards. and they only skyrocketed after you met Asmo.
He believes in you, he always believed in you and you really seemed to be telling the truth. He finally breaks down in tears and jumps out of bed to hug you desperately. He is so happy to know that that wasn't you! But he's still confused about what he felt. He really needs to talk to you about this. But after dinner. His appetite has returned and he is starving.
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Beel doesn't know what to do. Should he pretend he didn't see anything? Should he go talk to you? He was so confused. You're not like this. what was happening? He... shouldn't interrupt, should he? He just grabs the groceries and heads home.
None of the groceries survived the trip. He ate up his feelings along the way. Or at least he tried. Lucifer was about to scold him, until he saw the look on his face and he just decided to let him go to his room and talk later. But the truth is, he would ask you to talk to him. And that's because even Belphie couldn't.
Belphie went to the attic to let you two talk alone in their bedroom. You knocked on the door, but Beel didn't answer. He didn't tell you to come in, but he didn't say you couldn't either. You walk in and see him lying on his bed with his back to you.
You slowly walk up to him and ask what's going on. He still doesn't respond. You sit on the bed and when you touch him, he flinches a little. Ok, now you're really worried. You ask him to please tell you what's going on, in your sweet, understanding voice.
He takes a deep breath and then slowly gets up to sit on the bed beside you. He still can't look at you. He doesn't look upset, just sad and confused. “I saw you on the street.” he calmly explains, with a sadness in the voice that breaks your heart “With that demon.”
What demon? What street? You haven't even left the house today. “What?!” he finally looks at you. He hadn't cried yet, but he was close to it. You tell him you didn't leave the house. You were even in the Planetarium with Belphie while Beel went shopping.
He believes in you, he always did and he never had any reason not to. And the same goes for Belphie. “So it wasn't you I saw on the street kissing another demon?” What? Of course not! What was he talking about?
He doesn't explain, he just smiles hugely and gives you one of his bear hugs. He tells you what he saw while hugging you. He doesn't care what he saw. He doesn't want to know who did it. The only thing that matters is that it wasn't really you. The real you was there, with him, hugging him back and letting him kiss you and kissing him back.
Then you hear his stomach rumble like a beast. His appetite had returned, and with a vengeance.
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What the F*ck was going on?! Did that filthy lower demon make you do that? Were you under some spell? Belphie was going to put an end to it NOW! He assumed his demon form, throws the groceries away and rushed towards “you”. But when “you” two see him, “you” run away. He runs after the two, but unfortunately for him, the demon manages to outrun him.
He comes back home looking for you and without the groceries. When Lucifer sees him and prepares to lecture him for not bringing the groceries, Belphie stops him and asks if you are at home. It’s important! Something might have happened to you. Lucifer says you're in your room and lets Belphie run to your door.
You hear him knocking urgently at your door. You open the door, and seeing the seriousness on his face you ask what happened. He stands still in silence for a moment, looking at you, analysing. Then he comes in and lets you close the door.
“Did you leave the house today?” he asks calmly. You say yes. “Where did you go?” That was weird, he wasn't the stalking type, he was too lazy for that. That and he was never like that, much less with Beel. You went with Beel to a new pastry shop that opened to try their drinks and sweets. Needless to say, you spent a lot of time there. You had to drag Beel back home because it was getting late. You two had only arrived home shortly before Belphie himself.
“You never left his side?” No. Why would you? You love hanging out with Beel. By the way you speak and your confused expression, he knows you're telling the truth. And his straight face instantly turns into a reassured, lazy laugh. “Ha ha ha. I knew that was weird. It wasn't even you.” And now that his good mood was back, you could safely ask what the heck was going on.
“Ummmmm... I'm too tired to tell. At least standing. You know, I saw something that made me worry about you, so I ran back to see if you were all right. I'm so sleepy right now. What if I told you while we cuddle in your bed?” That sly bastard, taking advantage of a subject like that for cuddles.
He tells you what happened while the two of you are in bed. But even though he's relaxed in your arms he doesn't fall asleep. “That was probably some demon impersonating you with some shapeshifting spell.” he says “If they had done that to me, I wouldn't care. But since you were the one they did this to, I'll make sure to find them and break their neck.” he said with a cute smile and already half asleep, which only made the threat worse. And then finally fell asleep in your arms.
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If you would like to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX
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