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the-travelling-witch · 10 months

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𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐘 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐋

summary: having your period is already stressful enough and being in the devildom doesn't make it any better; luckily, these demons are here to help

pairings: mammon :: belphegor :: barbatos x reader

warnings: period-having reader (gn pronouns), blood, mild cramps

a/n: this is literally so self-indulgent, as everything i write is, but whenever i'm on my period thinking of scenarios like this helps me sit through cramps, so i thought i'd share the nonesense with you ♡

obey me masterlist || similar writing: twisted pains [twst]

𝐌𝐀𝐌𝐌𝐎𝐍

“Human! Open ya damn door!”

“No, please let me die in peace,” you whined from underneath your blankets as the banging against your door continued.

“If ya don’t let me in right now, I’ll kick it down, ya hear me?!” You could practically see Mammon pacing a ridge into the floor in front of your room, so you trudged over there and unlocked it, the demon almost colliding with you from how quickly he opened the door. His snow-white hair was sticking up from his head as if he’d run his hands through it without noticing. “What’s the big deal makin’ me wait so damn long, huh?”

“I told you I’m trying to pass away from this life,” you deadpanned, trudging back to your bed, groaning as another cramp twisted your lower stomach. “First, I have to deal with this shit in a house full of male demons who are absolutely not prepared to handle a human exchange student on their period. And second-“

You paused, for both dramatic flair and to take a calming breath. Then, you turned around and gave Mammon a saccharine smile dipping pure venom.

“I find out that apparently the entire Devildom can smell that I’m on my period if I step a foot out the bloody door.”

“Listen, I’m sorry.” Mammon held up his hands to plead his innocence. “I didn’t mean ta be so rude about it. But in my defence, I didn’t know it’s a normal thing for humans to just start bleedin’. I thought ya were dyin’!”

You painfully remembered how you had dragged yourself out of your room this morning, after luckily finding some hygiene products in the bag you had with you when you were whisked away to the Devildom unannounced (thank the sky guy you threw them into literally every bag and purse you owned). Already in a bad mood, you’d plopped down into your designated seat, ready to fight for your breakfast, only to feel six pairs of eyes on you.

“What?” You had asked, when nobody passed you the bread basket.

That had been when Mammon, eyes as wide as the coaster under your mug, almost jump-scared you into dropping your butter knife.

“WHY ARE YA BLEEDIN’?!” He’d already pulled you from your chair and started inspecting you for any signs of injuries, tugging your arms up and inspecting your head. “Are ya hurt anywhere?”

“Mammon, I’m fine. You can let go of me now.” You almost had to wrestle your arm back from him, heat already creeping up your cheeks.

“Clearly yer not!”

Exhaling deeply you said through gritted teeth “I’m on my period, if you have to know.”

The demons around the table had exchanged glances, but sadly only three of them had held a spark of understanding, those being Satan, Levi and Asmodeus. Mammon and Beel on the other hand seemed more lost (well, Beel actually had his eyes on his food but that was beside the point) and Lucifer’s face had been unreadable.

“Woah, periods are an actual thing?” Levi had asked incredulously, his voice somewhere between shock and awe. “I thought anime made those up for the sake of the plot.”

“I see,” Satan had given you hope. “I‘ve read about those before in some books on human anatomy but I didn’t think it was a big deal, seeing as it wasn’t talked about much.”

“Satan, pray tell, from when were those books?”

“The 18th century perhaps?” He shrugged, tilting his head.

“Well, that explains a lot,” you had sighed, whereas Asmo had just dropped his head in his hands.

“I’m sorry about them, hon. But demons don’t experience periods, so I doubt any of them will be much help,” he had squeezed your hand sympathetically.

Lucifer had cleared his throat then. “Well, it appears that we have some catching up to do, now that we are hosting a human exchange student. Given your…predicament, you are allowed to stay home from RAD as long as this affects you.”

You had sighed a breath of relief.

“In exchange, however,” Lucifer had continued, making you dread the next words to leave his mouth, “it will fall to you that my brothers are properly educated on how to handle this side of humanity.”

So, that afternoon, you had found yourself in the common room, holding a presentation on the menstrual cycle in front of the brothers… and the future demon king himself. Yes, of course, Diavolo had gotten wind of your situation and simply couldn’t pass up the opportunity to learn more about humans. At least, him being in the know meant you’d never have to worry about getting period products imported to the Devildom ever again.

Subsequently, you had locked yourself in your room, curled up under a blanket as you scrolled through Devilgram trying to forget this whole ordeal happened. A good hour later, Mammon had started pounding against your door like a madman.

With him standing in your room now, you could see the bag he was holding as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Sitting on the edge of your bed, you patted the spot next to you.

“I’ll forgive you. It would have been more embarrassing if I went to RAD without knowing,” you said placatingly. “Anyways, what’s that?”

“Oh, it’s nothin’…” Mammon trailed off, looking anywhere but you as he rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s just… Ya were sayin’ this stuff could help and we didn’t have any, so I went and got some for ya… Only because Lucifer would string me from the ceiling if ya went and complained! That’s all!”

Taking the plastic bag from him, you peered inside to see various types of human world painkillers, a hot water bottle and chocolates. Despite what the demon had just said, you noted that the chocolate brand he bought was the one you liked best, something you had only dropped in a passing sentence when you talked to Asmo about a new trending dessert.

“Thank you, Mammon,” you smiled genuinely. “That actually is really helpful.”

“Really?” He managed to suppress his grin before it curled further than the corner of his lips before clearing his throat and hiding half his face behind his hand. “I mean, I’m only doin’ ma job, ya know? So Lucifer gives me back Goldie!”

“Sure you are,” you laughed, the first time since your day started. “Does your job also involve staying with me and watching a movie?”

“Yeah!” This time he was too late to hide his excitement, then he caught himself and tried again, calmer this time. “I uh- I could fit ya in my super busy schedule. Gotta make sure ya don’t die after all, huh?”

𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐏𝐇𝐄𝐆𝐎𝐑

What a horrible way to start your day.

Well, under other circumstances, it would’ve been near perfect. Waking up snuggled comfortably in your boyfriend’s tight hold as he lightly snored into the crook of your neck, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

If it wasn’t for the unpleasant twisting of your lower stomach you might have turned around and slept the morning away. Still slightly groggy, you sat up in bed, hoping dearly it was just a fleeting stomach ache or hunger and not your period, despite the clear symptoms.

All hope was shattered however, when you shifted and you knew instantly that you could kiss this pair of underwear goodbye. With some effort, you wriggled out of Belphie’s vice grip, looking back at the sleepy demon as he groaned in protest only to see a large blood stain where you’d just lain. At your shocked gasp echoing around the attic, you watched his brows knit together and his nose wriggle, his forehead creasing as if he was deep in thought. Then, he blinked his eyes open.

“What’s—“ he cut himself off with a yawn, “What’s wrong? Are you alright? What are you doing over there?”

“Belphie… I’m so sorry,” you nearly sobbed, guilt bubbling up in you. In combination with your hormones being all over the place and your still sleep-addled mind, tears were threatening to form along your waterline.

In a heartbeat, the Avatar of Sloth was up and next to you, pulling you into a hug and bringing your head to rest against his shoulder, one hand smoothing over your hair, the other holding you close by the waist. You’d never seen him move this fast this early in the morning.

“Hey, hey, what’s up?” He gently prodded, voice still raspy with sleep but soft nonetheless. “Please talk to me, starlight.”

“It’s— Your sheets, I’m so sorry… I didn’t know…” You buried your face deeper in the fabric draping over his chest as you felt him turn his head towards the bed. Then, a beat of silence spanned across the attic.

“That’s what you’re fussing about?”

“Yeah, I mean—“ Collecting your thoughts, you began again. “It’s gross and a pain to clean. I really should’ve known that—“

“Hey, look at me.” Tilting your face towards his, your eyes met amethyst ones as you followed the guidance of his fingers underneath your chin. “It’s not gross, you hear me? No part of you could ever be.”

“But the blood-“

“I’m a demon, might I remind you. You’d think I can handle a little blood.” There was a caring seriousness in his gaze that made you weak in the knees, the love and adoration you found swirling within almost making you cry for a whole other reason. “You didn’t actually think I’d be mad at you about something so natural, did you?”

“It’s generally a bit of a taboo topic and conversations about it can be quite stigmatised, so…,” you shrugged.

“You’re telling me half the population go through this every month and the topic is hushed up anyway? You’re already stressed enough and people give you crap for something like this?” You nodded at his incredulous tone. “Well that’s just stupid.”

For a moment, Belphie just held you, his fingers tracing random shapes into your hip. Then, he pulled you towards a dresser in the corner of the room, never letting go of you completely.

With how much time you had started spending in the attic it was a somewhat natural course of nature that your clothes would gradually end up moving here as well. Pulling out a fresh pair of underwear and a pair of black sweatpants, you didn’t have time to reach for a sweater before a soft pile of fabric was already pushed into your hands. Upon closer inspection, you identified it to be one of Belphie’s hoodies.

“I know you like wearing them,” he merely shrugged off your raised eyebrow. “Now go and take your time washing up, but make sure to come back straight away when you’re done.”

Practically herding you out of the door, you almost had to snort at the irony of the Avatar of Sloth encouraging you to do something you might not have had the energy to otherwise. But you were incredibly thankful for it because when the shower’s warm water hit you, you noticed how much you needed this, feeling born anew after scrubbing your skin clean.

Climbing back up the stairs to the attic, you already felt a lot calmer than when you had woken up, swaddled in Belphie’s cloud-like hoodie (seriously, where did he find fabric like that?) and surrounded by a mixture of his scent and your body wash.

When you pushed open the attic door, you blinked at the new set of sheets Belphie was lounging on, the old ones nowhere to be seen. Even without you moving, the demon perked up at your presence, extending one arm to coax you back into bed.

“What are you still doing over there? Come here,” he said, voice already drowsy again. “There’s still some morning left to be slept away.”

Who were you to refuse? Sliding under the covers next to him, you turned and twisted into whatever pretzel position made you cramp the least before two strong arms wrapped around you. This was another perk of being with Belphie; if anyone could accommodate weird sleeping positions, it was him.

Warm hands found their way under his hoodie, his palms pressed flatly against your lower back where most of your pain was coming from, while the hips of his fingers slowly caressed the surrounding skin.

“Feeling better?” He mumbled into the crown of your head.

“Mhm, much better,” you breathed into the crook of his neck, sighing as his natural body heat slowly eased some of the constant pressure in both your lower stomach and back. “How did you know about the back pain though?”

“You always complain about it, especially on the first day,” he replied nonchalantly, as if it was the most natural thing to know.

“How did I get so lucky,” you mused, your tone playful but just as genuine. “Makes me feel even worse about ruining your sheets.”

“Literally don’t worry about it, you do too much of that anyway. I left them with Asmo, he knows how to get just about any stain out of stuff.” You tried not to think about the specifics of where that expertise came from, so you rolled your eyes at the very typical behaviour of the youngest to dump his work on his brothers. Then you stiffened. Work. Chores. You were on grocery shopping duty today. “What’s the matter now?”

“I have to go out soon and get everything we need for dinner,” you sighed. Maybe you could convince someone to trade it with an indoor chore for the week.

Before you could reach for your D.D.D, the arms around you held you a little closer to the demon you were snuggled up against, one of his legs draping over your thigh, careful not to put too much pressure on you as he tangled your legs with his.

“Well that’s too bad,” Belphie mumbled into your hair, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of your head. “Looks like Lucifer has to find someone else for the job. Because you’ll be busy all day.”

𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐒

Periods had the annoying habit of showing up whenever they pleased, which mostly meant whenever it was most inconvenient for you. Being well aware of that fact didn’t mean you were any more prepared for it to happen, though.

So, as you were running errands around RAD with Barbatos, it suddenly felt like your insides were squeezed together and wrung out like a washcloth, making you stagger and pause to steady yourself again. When your companion turned to ask if you were alright, you assured him everything was fine, hoping it was just one bad cramp that would ebb away soon.

But over the course of the next fifteen minutes, it progressively got worse and you had trouble focusing on the task at hand, shifting uncomfortably in your seat as you sorted through student council documents. As you reached for a new stack of files, gloved hands came to rest over yours, preventing you from picking up more work.

“You should not overexert yourself, dear,” a soft voice spoke close to your ear. On other occasions, you would have welcomed the way his hands smoothed down your shoulders when it was just the two of you for once, but you couldn’t think about anything but the pain you were experiencing. “Without meaning to offend, you’re looking rather unwell. Allow me to take you to the Demon Lord’s Castle.”

“What about work?” You mumbled but didn’t resist as he pulled you to your feet, steadying you with a hand between your shoulder blades. “And Diavolo?”

“Do not worry about that. There’s no rush to complete these files and the Young Master has given the explicit order for me to take care of you,” Barbatos smiled as he led you out of RAD, careful to avoid as much unwanted attention as possible. “An order I was all too happy to comply with, might I add.”

“So you knew,” you sighed with a smile, not actually too surprised at the revelation. “I did think it was suspicious to have you all to myself the entire day. Do I even have to ask how you knew?”

“Well, as you have come to learn, demons are far more perceptive to certain reactions of the body, hormonal changes included,” he explained matter of factly. “Aside from that, however, I have also made it a priority to learn the rhythm of your body to best care for you.”

“You track my cycle? Despite being so busy already?” You turn your head to look at him in surprise.

“Of course. Not only are you an honoured exchange student, you are also someone who is immensely important to me,” he said as he held the castle door open for you, his verdant gaze full of adoration. “Naturally, I aim to ease your strains and alleviate some of the burden you carry.”

“You really don’t have to—“

“But I want to.” Taking your hand in his, the fabric of his gloves soft against your skin, he brushed your knuckles with a featherlight kiss. “Please allow me to take care of you, my love.”

“I guess I can’t say no when you ask like that,” you laughed sheepishly. Your body seemingly agreed with you as it sent another wave of cramps to make your knees buckle.

“You must be exhausted,” Barbatos said, no doubt picking up on your unease immediately. “Let me draw you a warm bath to ease some of your tension.”

Said, done. Soon thereafter, you were sinking into a tub that probably cost more than a normal person’s house, the water the absolute perfect temperature to relax your muscles. You also noted how there were no strong scents present, only the hint of something floral and calming, but not overwhelmingly so.

After some time of soaking in the bath and with your permission, Barbatos stepped back into the bathroom. First, he wrapped you in the fluffiest black towel, carefully patting your skin dry so as to not irritate it. Then, he applied a moisturising lotion, gently kneading out any knots in your legs and shoulders with his skilled fingers before helping you into a new set of clothes which felt light as feathers against your skin.

He also showed you where to find any sort of hygiene product you might need and, to nobody’s surprise, somebody had stocked the guest bathroom you used whenever you came over with every possible product there was.

In your guest room, Barbatos guided you over to the sofa and lounge chairs underneath one of the high windows where a tea set was already waiting for you on the table in the middle.

“I took the liberty to prepare some tea and a few pastries while you were bathing. This blend has soothing qualities and is known to help with cramping. Given your usual choice of tea, I also think the aroma will be to your taste,” the demon explained and, as always, you were stunned by his level of attention to detail.

As he poured it, you noticed, however, that there was only one cup on the table and instead of getting one for himself, Barbatos went to fetch a hot water bottle.

Wrapping it in a cloth he warned you to be careful not to burn yourself before announcing he’d start preparations for dinner, letting you know he’d be making your favourite. But before he could turn to leave, you caught his wrist, a surprised expression flitting over his face for just a second.

“If it’s not too much trouble,” you started, holding his gaze, “would you join me for tea? It’s been a while since we sat down together.”

At your request his face smoothed over into a fond smile, the hand in your grasp coming up to brush over your cheekbone.

“I suppose dinner can wait a little longer,” he said, clearly as happy as you to spend time with you. “Then again, even if it couldn’t, I’d find it hard to leave you. Especially when your wish and mine are so closely intertwined.”

if you like my content, reblogs, comments and asks are always much appreciated ♡

#┊holly’s potions ೃ༄#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me x reader #obey me fluff #obey me comfort #mammon x reader #belphegor x reader #belphie x reader #barbatos x reader #mammon fluff #belphie fluff #belphegor fluff #obey me mammon #obey me belphie #obey me belphegor #obey me barbatos

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yanderemommabean · 4 months

Note

Hey Momma!

I like butterflies, ya got any Yandere Alien Butterfly scenario for me? Or everyone? Cause I'm sure we'd like a nice Yandere Alien Butterfly~ 🦋

“P-Please! Please you have to-Ahh!” You sob, wincing and jerking as more of their invasive fingers inspect your body. It wasn’t a sob of pain either, oh anything but. You’ve been handed over for these insect aliens to inspect as a sort of treaty and well, they’re being /very/ thorough with you.

Their wings flutter here and there as they murmur and whisper to one another, you assume to speak about notes and what they’ve learned but you can’t help but notice the clipboards and tablets have been set aside for over an hour now, and they simply haven’t bothered to test anything more than your limits on pleasure.

Weren’t you supposed to be tested on with other items too? Wasn’t this more or less a death sentence from your oh so cowardly government?

“They react nicely when you press right here-” The one on the left states a bit louder, something you can actually comprehend, but you’re focus is cut off as they demonstrate what they mean-curling their fingers inside you just right and making your body pulse with pleasure once again, your eyes watering as they begin to more or less abuse that spot and make your muscles tense and shake.

You can’t even catch your breath as the one on the right nods their head, but moves to grab something off of the table beside them. “Yes but do you think their anatomy could handle someone of our size? I think this mating tool is about as large as one of us, shall we try it?”

Oh god you can’t even bring yourself to look up. You try to catch your breath while you can, laying back on the cold table bringing you back to your senses even if just slightly. You aren’t sure you want to know just how big that toy could be, your mind would simply break.

“Oh not to worry! They’re quite resilient creatures! But we do have to be careful, I like this one” one says, amused as they grab the item and flick the switch. “We have to be slow, humans can handle sizes better when relaxed and sedated. Our little specimen here should be able to take at least half before we run into any issues”.

Your walls flutter and pulse once again, and you hate your body for being so eager to start after finally catching your breath. It’s as if your instincts are trying to tell you to just lay back and give in, and really, you can’t fight that urge much longer. That buzzing sound only makes your legs want to squeeze together tighter, but not out of fear this time.

Oh you’re slowly becoming a mindless toy yourself aren’t you?

When the head of that large toy enters you, your breath catches and it can’t be helped when you arch up and brokenly cry, that stretch seemingly both painful and blissful. That vibration was only making your fingers and toes curl as the two aliens watched with rapt attention, slowly pressing the toy in deeper and deeper, listening to your feeble noises and adorable moans almost nonchalantly.

If it wasn’t for the heady scent in the air and the fact you could see their own members sliding out in arousal, you’d think they were genuinely bored with experimenting with you. You catch a glimpse between weak twists of your body, and those dangerous eyes hold something more primal than they did when you first entered the room.

They were doing this for more than just research, that’s for sure. You’re at their mercy until they get bored, if they even do.

“Go ahead. Climax. We know you have more in you, we’ve studied your vitals and liquids, you aren’t dehydrated yet” the one on the right bites out, eager and needy as he leans forward to turn the toys vibrations up. “You look so good like this, human. Stuffed and needy, begging to be bred and made into the perfect mate. You must feel so neglected if you’re this sensitive to what we use”

You can only manage a whimper, eyes rolling back as your breath catches and that thick, pulsing toy hammers inside of you. It’s no use in fighting it, you couldn’t fight the multiple other attempts either. You cave, body lurching and head lolling back as you cry out and loudly gasp for air, feeling your hole clenching down and trying to make sure that large toy doesn’t leave, milking it for all its worth as you rock your hips to ride out the fifth intense orgasm of the day.

The two butterflies coo and croon in your ear, you think they’re praising you even but everythings so blurry and sounds like it's underwater, you can’t make any of it out.

“Good job human, such a good job. That’s it, deep breaths…When your breathing is back to a stable condition let’s see if we can’t fit in the rest of the device. I’m sure you won’t disappoint us”.

(-Mommabean, hiya! Sorry for any typos! Anyway I hope you enjoyed, feel free to tell me what you thought!)

#yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere exophilia #mommabean #yandere noncon #yandere dubcon #yandere smut #yandere alien bugs #yandere alien butterflies #yandere aliens #yandere butterflies #experimentation tw #experimental torture tw

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sobfultoast · 2 months

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•°~* Careful Touches *~°•

Prompt: Touching their demonic features (Wings/Tails).

(This is my first one. It ain't the best, idk. Lol)

Being human, it was only natural that you'd be curious about what makes the brothers different from yourself, like their horns and such.

Whenever they were in their demonic forms, you couldn't help but stare at them with fascination. You just had to say something...

"They're beautiful... Can I touch your wings/tail?"

• ° ~ * ~ ° •

Lucifer

"You want to touch my wings? I always knew you were brave."

Lucifer doesn't just let anyone touch his wings. They must be people he trusts and respects. Out of all three realms, there are only 4 beings who have laid a hand on his wings and are still alive: Diavolo, Mammon, Simeon, and now you.

Lucifer's wings are dense with soft, fluffy feathers. It's so thick with feathers that you can't see your fingers anymore as you sink your hand. Be gentle with your strokes, while his feathers are as resilient as him, it can still cause him discomfort if handled roughly.

As you pet his wings, he physically relaxes. Letting out a heavy sigh, his composure becomes less strict. He feels vulnerable, but he thinks that he is okay with that. It was an intimate experience for him as he doesn't particularly like his wings. they hold a painful past to him, but you said they look beautiful... Someone can see the beauty in something he can't. Someone can see the beauty in his past, and that means the world to him.

You'll see him letting his wings unfurl more often when it is just the two of you. A cursed record playing in the background, he is working on paperwork with you on his lap, stroking his wings. It's soothing.

Mammon

"Eh? My wings? B-beautiful? Of course, ya think my wings are beautiful! They belong to the great Mammon after all!"

Mammon went bright red, but that didn't matter to him. His human thinks his wings are beautiful! Damn, right! Of course, you can touch his wings, and don't stop until he says so!

Mammom's wings are smooth but rough like leather. He uses a certain wax to make them sleek and shine. He has to look good. He is a model, after all.

As you stroke his wings, he started to squirm? Laugh? He almost pushed you away in a giggle fit. Turns out, he is very ticklish on his wings. It's more sensitive near the base of his wings, and it's the easiest place to tickle him to tears. He has noted to himself to never to let you touch his wings when you have that mischievous look on your face.

He likes using his wings to get your attention, especially now that he knows you like them. He'll walk around the house with his wings out, and he'll try to make it look like he is naturally stretching them, but we all know he's forcing it. He'll wrap them around you more often, using it to guide you closer to him. If you ask him about it, he'll deny it in his tsudere fashion but continues.

He has also bragged about it to everyone. Everyone. "Hey, guess what! My human said these wings are beautiful! Ya hear? What did they say to ya? Nothin'? that's what I thought."

Leviathan

"H-huh?! B-beautiful? You think my tail is beautiful?! Y-you must be lying. This must be one of your normie tricks!"

Leviathan went straight to denial. No way do you like his tail! His tail is such an eye-sore, he tells himself, why can't it be as dangerous as Satan's or as cute as Belphagor's? There is no way— W-wait, YOU'RE SERIOUS?! Once you assure him that you're serious and you'd love to touch his tail, he goes bright red and quiet. Give him a moment, and he'll slowly lift his tail towards you. He looks away, still hesitant. You have a feeling that if you don't stroke his tail now, you might affirm his thoughts and make him cry.

Levi's tail is smooth, and your hand glides over his scales. The scales themselves give his tail a nice and unique texture. It rattles with nervousness, but once you praise it, he'll melt into putty.

Levi is more comfortable having his tail out now, which also means you will be finding that tail wrapping itself around you more, too. It has a mind of its own that always betrays his tsudere act. He'll swear he'll never fall for your normie tactics while his tail is slithering its way up your thigh and waist.

It gets more clingy to you the more you pet and praise it. He still has days where he hates his tail, but you are always there to adore it.

Satan

"I don't think that would be a smart idea..."

Satan's tail is as dangers as his wits. It has razor-sharp edges that have shown Satan its strength in fights and fits of rage. He hates the thought of hurting you, no matter how much you want to touch it.

Even if somehow you have managed to convince him that he won't hurt you, he is still hesitant. He keeps plasters and bandages on standby as you gently press your finger on his tail. The tales aren't false. A light press, and you can already feel how sharp it is. Press any harder, and you'll cut yourself. It makes a rattle noise when it moves, like two bones hitting each other.

After you pet his tail without hurting yourself, he'll be slightly more relaxed with it. He's still wary, though.

So, no tail hugs like Leviathan or Belphegor. Sorry :(

Asmodeus

"Oh, hon! I know they're beautiful! And of course you can touch them. You don't have to ask, I don't bite. Unless you'd like that~"

Asmodeus' wings are drop-dead gorgeous! Of course, you'd stare at their beauty. You don't ever have to ask to touch his wings as he'll probably ask you to touch them often.

Asmo's wings are soft and smooth, like his porcelain skin. They would have been like Mammon's leathery wings if Asmo didn't dose his own wings with skin-care and wing-care products. A very next texture to touch. His wings flutter with excitement when you pet them. He just can't help it!

Most times, when you pet his wings, it can quickly take a spicy turn. How can he not when you are caressing him so sensually?! But, he does slightly prefer the more domestic feeling of cuddling with his favourite person (other than himself) with them showering him in affection. The only thing he really ever wants...

He spends so long on his wings' care because he really misses his old wings. They were so pure and beautiful. Now they're dull... To make up with that, he has a 2 hour care routine, per wing, that he does every week. If you would like, he can show you his wing-care routine, and you can help him too! He'd love that! He has 4 wings, and caring for each of them is a time exhausting task. He appreciates that you take time out of your day to help him.

Beelzebub

"Yes. You can. Just... Be careful with them..."

Beelzebub's wings are delicate, despite the rest of him. His insect wings can easily tear, but fortunately, his wings regenerate quickly. It's still painful. Because of this, he very nervous at letting people touch them, but he knows you won't purposely hurt him.

Beel's wings are thin. It's kind of hard to pet them. Doesn't mean you can't have a closer look to something so different from anything else you have seen. His wings make a buzzing noise when he flaps them really fast. The same buzz makes most buffets in devildom have flashbacks.

His wings are also too weak to make him fly. Have you seen him? There is no way those thin wings can make that buff bloke fly! If anything, it might let him glide or hover for a short time for sports. He has to buzz them really quick to do that, so when he is attempting to hover, a big gush of wind happens and is able to send you flying.

Beelzebub is happy you like his wings, but he is sad that you can't really pet them like the other brothers. It is what it is.

Belphegor

"Really? Huh... You're werid. You can touch it if you let me use you as a cushion."

Now you have a lazy demon napping on your lap, and he is not moving no matter how much you try. I mean, a free nap spot and free pets!? How can he say no?

The base of his tail is rought fur, and the end is very fluffy, a perfect pillow, but it's really knotty as he is too lazy to care for it. Maybe you can brush it? He'll let you brush it. It saves him from getting scolded at by Lucifer or Asmodeus for not looking after himself because he was lazy. Once you've brushed it, it poofs up and becomes all fuzzy.

Unlike Satan's and Levi's tail, Belphie can't control his tail, so he can't use them as another arm or weapon. The most he can do with his tail is wag it like a cow would do.

Belphie also trips on his tail a lot. When Belphie falls over, he doesn't get up. He just lays there and waits. He waits until one of his brothers or you pick him up. It's the main reason why he carries his tail, not cause it's a fluffy pillow. It being like a fluffy pillow is just a happy little coincidence.

•°~* Have a lovely day! *~°•

#obey me satan #obey me: one master to rule them all #obey me mammon #obey me lucifer #obey me shall we date #obey me #obey me leviathan #obey me asmodeus #obey me belphegor #obey me beelzebub #om belphegor #om mammon #om leviathan #om satan #om lucifer #om beelzebub #om asmodeus

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flametrashiraarchive · 10 months

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No one asked but... I'm trash and it's Muzan Monday!

NSFW Muzan headcanons

NSFW beneath the cut obviously.

Now I know you're thinking "demon daddy is the ultimate top"

And you'd be right 99% of the time.

"I permit your continued existence solely for the purpose of my pleasure."

He fucks you when he's angry, stressed, disappointed...

So, multiple times per day.

The thing is, he can change the shape and size of his body

And that includes his dick.

So some days he's just a normal level of stressed out and just want a nice easy ride, listening to the symphony of your moans.

Wants you nice and wet so he can hear it slapping.

Other days he's beyond pissed and will make his dick huge, cramming it into you and pounding you until you scream.

And let me tell ya, that thing is not always smooth and human-looking.

Ridges... bumps... mouths

Making you cum is a point of pride. Knowing he can elicit a reaction from you with the simplest touch gets him off.

Sometimes he likes to experiment with new ways of bringing about your ruin.

And Muzan has a lot of tricks up his sleeve.

He can exert pressure on objects at will and manipulate vibrations in the air

Which is an ability he'll sometimes use on you.

You'll just be going about your day and feel a sort of tingly pressure down there

And notice Muzan is staring at you with a faint menacing smile

He loves to watch you try to keep your composure as he makes you cum with his mind.

Degrades AND praises.

"Oh, my pretty little slut is such a pathetic, whimpering mess."

"Mm, yes you're pleasing your king well. Such an obedient harlot."

"There isn't a single hole in your in your body I haven't defiled, is there? You belong to me, don't you? Say it."

But sometimes... sometimes...

The burden of command is too much

Muzan will, on occasion, permit you to top him.

"Speak a word of this and it will be the last thing you utter."

There isn't a restraint in the universe that can truly contain him, but he likes when you tie him up

Surrendering control makes him feel vulnerable and that's something he isn't used to feeling anymore. It's a thrill he only allows himself to feel with you.

Expects zero mercy.

Bares his teeth and growls as you fuck him.

Leaves claw marks in the floorboards.

and just milk his cock.

Moo-zan

But he absolutely cannot keep his composure when you go down on him.

Your mouth is his ruin.

The only time you will ever see his face flush is when you lick his tip and maintain eye contact.

Put the tip of your tongue in his slit.

The man's a mess.

His back fully arches and he starts to pant

His voice cracks when he's close

"Nggghhh damn you... m-more... I'm cu-ohhhh fuck fuck ffffuck..."

Likes to read to you afterward while you lay your head in his lap.

Acting all dignified and calm as if he didn't just whimper so loudly he alerted Kokushibo.

Gently twists your hair around his fingertips as you start to fall asleep.

"You belong to me," he says.

He means "I love you."

#muzan headcanons #kimetsu no yaiba muzan #kny muzan #lord muzan #muzan kibutsuji #demon slayer muzan #muzan x y/n #sub muzan #muzan x you #muzan my beloved #muzan mondays

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shirefantasies · 4 months

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A Headcanon For Each Member of Thorin’s Company

Mini post between full request posts! Just felt like jotting these down hehe

✧ Balin knows a little bit of Elvish, but never lets on to that because, quite simply, it’s infinitely funnier not to. What fun would it be letting the elves shit talk him if they knew he picked up on bits of it?

✧ Dwalin’s dream wife is someone super soft and sweet. He’d die before he admits it, but he loves the idea of being the hero for his princess even if he acts like it’s an inconvenience.

✧ Some of it is natural, too, hardening from many of life’s experiences, but part of why Thorin puts on such a tough act is because he actually feels really awkward in conversations. For example, thus man dwarf cannot flirt to save his life.

✧ Oin hates being dismissed because of his hearing, but also? It can so be used to his advantage. The younger ones are squabbling over something stupid and trying to bring him i to it? Oops, sorry lads, can’t hear ya.

✧ Gloin is the proudest father. He can barely go a few minutes without busting out his locket’s picture of Gimli or telling a story about him…or both! Practically ready to throw hands with Bombur, who isn’t even competitive, on who has the coolest son.

✧ Bifur was quite the heartbreaker back in his heyday. He’s still a great flirt, but less people can understand him now so his lines often go unnoticed.

✧ Bofur quietly envies his brother’s family. He may not want fourteen kids or anything, but being around the wee ones warms his heart and he especially lives the idea of having a little girl someday if Mahal so blesses him.

✧ I of course adore the fanon/cast canon that Bombur has a huge family, but also? By dwarf standards his wife is super hot, so the others may make fun of him, but can’t deny that he scores!

✧ Dori is a way better cook than he seems like he is. The role tends to get passed to Bombur as he loves it the most, but since he grew up taking care of his brothers Dori knows his way around the kitchen!

✧ Nori loves cats. If he sees a stray in a village he offers it food and coaxes it over. The others marvel at how much the creatures love him, too, like some sort of instinctive trust.

✧ The others talk big about the ravishing women they’ve seen and he tries to keep up, but Ori doesn’t really actually get it. That’s how he realizes that, even though there isn’t such a word for it, he is demisexual. He also is more attracted to human women, they just seem softer and sweeter to him.

✧ Part of the reason Fili carries so many blades is because he enjoys crafting them. It’s a skill he learned from his uncle Thorin, standing at his side and helping before taking up the craft himself.

✧ Fili was the one who defended Kili from derision by other young dwarves when he chose to learn archery, an unusual form of combat in their culture. From then on, Kili vowed to become stronger and faster so he could defend those he loves, too.

✧ Bilbo bonds with Ori over sewing and knitting, smiling as he learns he has company because quite frankly he never thought a dwarf would know such arts, let alone join him as they teach each other.

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peachesofteal · 9 months

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Which Witch

Painting by Joseph Tomanek Thank you to the lovely anons who's beautiful brains helped create this story. Part 1 - Part 2 here John "Soap" MacTavish/witch!reader 13k words - AO3 You do not need to read Mermaids to enjoy this fic, but it exists in the same world and for the full experience, I do recommend it. Warnings-tags: 18+ Minors DNI. Mature and dark themes. Fae!AU. Brief blink of smut. Blood Magic. Fae Magic. Violence. Killing. Human Sacrifice. Angst. Tenderness. Protective Johnny. "I'm not beat up by this yet, you can't tell me to regret, Been in the dark since the day we met, Fire, help me to forget." - F + TM

Johnny presses the heel of his boot into the cheek of the being on the ground, his eyes glazed with a vacancy he has seen more times than he cares to count, or remember, the bleakness of his irises meaning only one thing: the end of their life.

“Was it worth it to ye?” he spits, and the male shudders beneath his sole, twisting pathetically, a half attempt at getting away. Blood sputters and pools, lamely leaking from his body, drenching the air in an earth rich scent.

It does not matter, there is not where for him to go, nowhere for him to flee. He will be lost to the 141, just as almost every other being is this castle has.

The echo of his brother’s power, Gaz’s light magic, rips through the room and shudders down Johnny’s spine as he appears in the hall, his boots leaving red marks on the marble floor, remnants of lives spent squelching with each step.

“Where’s Ghost?” Kyle’s voice booms across the distance, and Johnny jerks his head northward, to where Simon is ransacking the library like a madman.

He is a madman, Johnny thinks, shaking his head, didn’t even stay to see the job through before he went tearing through those books.

He cannot fault him, his brother is a being possessed, tortured by his own heart, a heart that beats for a creature that does not even know he exists. He is miserable, and brutish, and half the time almost unbearable to be around, and Johnny really, really hopes it all comes to an end soon.

The being beneath Johnny’s heel gurgles, rubied ichor slipping down his face towards the floor before he spits and glares upwards at Gaz and himself.

“Mercenaries.” He snarls, and Johnny can feel him trying to pull a sliver of power, a desperate and feeble attempt that fails before he chokes again. “That’s all ya are. Mercenaries with no code, no honor.” Gaz rolls his eyes in a dramatic motion, rotating his neck before a dagger born from the shimmer of suns materializes in his hand, and the male on the floor whines in fear.

“Yes, yes.” Gaz sighs impatiently, and then in a blink has the point pressed to the being’s neck, right below where his pulse hammers. It sears his skin, burning away at the flesh slowly, filling the air between them with putrid smoke, the smell of incinerating sinew stinging in Johnny’s nostrils. “But how are we so different from you, then?”

“I don’t kill for money.”

“Just for sport.” Johnny follows up drily, and the male has no argument. His fighting rings are known throughout the realm. In the closest town over, one can make a fair amount of profit, or lose their freedom, if you knew where to look.

“As if you’re so appalled by it, MacTavish.” The being hisses, and Johnny stills. His power thrums in his blood, reacting to tense state of his body, churning in his mind, ready to strike. Chaos readies itself, pulsing deep, ready to blow this entire castle to the Netherworlds. “I know where ya’re from. I’ve heard rumor of what happens on the Isle, with it’s-“ Johnny’s magic bursts forward, twisting around Gaz to seek its target, tearing into the very essence of the male on the ground, ripping into the being’s own celestial connections and shredding them to pieces. The magic and rage combined electrifies Johnny, filling him with a heady power that pulses in every pore, every neuron existing in his body, and it’s a well fought effort to shove it down, to not give into the intoxicating feeling of the craze, the lust for battle and blood. He pulls and pulls the threads from the being’s crumpled form, draining him dry with each breath until there is no fight left, until he’s nothing but a carcass, an empty shell, eyes stuck wide in horror.

“Shite.” Johnny murmurs, finally releasing his heel. There’s not much left beneath it, just ropes of blood and bone, the body obliterated by the concentration of Johnny’s magic, dark red rivers seeping across the polished stone floor. Gaz chuckles darkly.

A ripple of power echoes towards them, and at the end of it, Price looms, arms crossed, mouth turned down in a huff of irritation.

“Job’s done then?” He motions to the pile of remains between them, Johnny nodding the obvious answer. Gaz’s dagger disappears, light seeping through his skin before it’s swallowed whole, tucked away for safekeeping.

“Simon’s finishing up the last bit.”

The three of them venture towards the library, a massive room with ceilings that stretch towards the moons, and shelves built from top to bottom. There are books of every kind here, books from every realm, even. Grimoires, from the witches in the mortal realm, and lost texts from its human inhabitants. Heavy volumes of history from the Netherworlds, sacred texts from a faraway realm that only Simon has been to. Books bound in human skin, books bound with being skin, books that only appear to those they choose. Books that possess their own spells, even if they’re not inherently magic. Books that contain the ability to give any being a gift, so long as they are willing to receive it. Johnny breathes deeply, filling his lungs with the scent of leather and paper, papyrus, and cloth, holding onto it for as long as possible before his lungs deflate with a whoosh. The taste settles on his tongue, and he tamps down the urge to start pulling volumes towards himself, eager to flick through them and devour what lies between their pages. He craves it, the knowledge, the magic that sits sleeping in this room. The bedlam that swirls in his bloodstream melds with his desire for new puzzles, new knowledge, and it creates a double-edged sword that only his brothers seem to understand. Maybe it’s because of his mum, and the deep, ravenous love of books that she had and instilled in him, the balance of his love for chaos and his love for puzzles lending well to learning, or maybe it’s because he’s lived too bloody long, walking the worlds with his brothers, seeking new truths like they were meals to feast on.

This is where they find Simon. He’s got a female sorceress of some kind, the one they were looking for in the first place, kneeling, in the middle of the room, arms pressed down to her sides, her eyes wild with fear. Johnny can smell it from here, the rank stench of her terror, the scent of her dread as the being in front of her walks in a tight circle, his eyes fixed on her quivering form.

“I cannot perform it.” She protests, and Simon makes a great show of sighing, like he’s tired, or exasperated. “That magic, it’s not of Faerie. We do not practice it here. Please-“ she sobs, and her desperation tugs at Johnny, just a bit, even though his sympathy is slim for this creature who cries pitifully in front of her soon to be executor.

“Simon.” Price intones from where he stands, a distance away, and her eyes flash to him, relief scrawling across her features as she mistakes John for one who may be kind to her, for a being who may help her.

She doesn’t know, that they know. That they’re fully aware, of the terrible things she’s done for the once ruler of this land, that they know the extent of her cruelty, her thirst for blood and pain.

Price crouches in front of where she sits on her knees, and cups her face between his palms, rubbing a placating thumb across her cheekbone.

“Tell us, love.” He encourages. “Tell us about the song. And perhaps, we’ll let you go.” It’s a lie, but she doesn’t know that, and it’s painfully obvious when she swallows, eyes darting between the four of them before settling back on Price.

“It’s blood magic.” She croaks. “The only way to capture the song is with the magic of blood and bone. I told him.” Price turns to Simon, who nods his affirmative. “There are few who still practice it.”

“Where?” Price urges, still soothing her with his touch, his words soft and reassuring.

“In the mortal realm.” Gaz rubs an exasperated palm over his face with a sigh, and Simon’s power pulses around the sorceress, tightening like a vice. She yelps in a panic, words rushing free like floodwaters. “There is a coven! There is a coven left, that still practices in the mortal realm, and they have a spinner, a blood spinner. She’s a witch, that-” She continues to babble, giving them everything, anything she had, where she believed they were located, what kind of witches they were, how long they’d been practicing. She gave and gave, until there was nothing left to say, and then she stared up at Price, with wistful hope on her face.

Hope, that dies, as she feels the slipknot of Simon’s power, twisting with torsion around her neck.

“No, no. You said… you said you’d let me go!” She cries, and Johnny feels his rage lash out inside him, distaste curdling his stomach. He can’t help but correct her.

“Is that what you told the mothers of the children ye slaughtered all those years? That you’d let them go? After ye sold them to fighting pits? After ye watched them die, and did nothing?”

“I wa-was only doing what I was told.” She sobs, flinging herself onto the floor in front of them. “Please!” Her fingers dig at her neck, clawing and scraping, but it’s pointless. The 141 has long had her in their sights. “Please… plea- please.” She moans, fragments of her life slipping through their fingers as it drains away, her body growing limp and her existence becoming futile by the moment. “I- ‘m sorry.” She tries, but it’s far too late now.

It's far too late.

The tavern is packed. Every one and thing inside gives them a wide berth, their eyes jumping from Simon, who walks in front, dark gaze glaring from behind the skull mask and hood he dons in public, to Price, who casually strolls behind him, hand in one pocket, the other swinging by his side, free and available, should quick intervention be needed. Gaz stands at the bar, flirting with a striking female who is leaning towards him, her lips parting to reveal shiny, sharp golden teeth.

That’s odd. What’s a Harpy doing all the way out ‘ere? If Gaz is taken aback, he hides it well, instead slipping her a note that more than covers the cost of a round, and then points at the table where they’ve settled.

“Bit out o’ place.” Price comments, and Simon grunts.

“It’s curious.” He agrees, and they all track Gaz on his way back, watching him until he plants himself on the bench, casual grimace lining his lips.

Simon shifts restlessly, and they all can feel the hot singe of his power, the frustration lurking in the air. Waiting as he hedges.

“If it’s true-“

“At what cost?” Price cuts him off. They hold a silent conversation with their eyes, arguments and counters flowing back and forth between them. Price is the natural voice of reason; he’ll convince him it’s a bad idea. The thought sticks in Johnny’s mind uneasily, souring as he turns it over. What if this is real? What if there is a chance? To end this madness?

Johnny was no fool, he’s seen the change in Simon, year after year. His fear and confusion, anger and dread starting to seep from his skin, coloring everything around them, affecting them all in different ways. His Nereid was at the end of her rope, and so was Simon.

“All I want, is a chance, Johnny. A chance to know her, without standing in the shadow, for her to know me. To hold her, to tell her she’s not alone.” He confessed, years ago, in the dark of an empty wing in his too big house. “I love her. I cannot give her up, I won’t allow her to die.”

He had returned to their realm frantic, distress wracking his body, seizing his power and twisting it until it nearly suffocated all of them where they stood. It took hours for Johnny to calm him, to get him to explain what had happened, for him to realize why Simon had been so distraught. His Nereid had nearly failed her task, botched her own hunt, and Simon almost stole her away in a moment of blind panic, without even stopping to consider that she might die as soon as steps foot in Faerie.

“What you’re asking, Simon, is a massive undertaking, it’s-“

“I’m not asking. I’d never ask this of you.” He snapped, magic fizzling through the air above Johnny’s head, explosions of grey and black lighting with power.

“Do ye truly believe we’d leave ye alone to face this? To spend a year in the mortal realm, as a merc, without us? Your brothers?”

“It is not merely a year, Johnny. It could be two, or three, or one hundred. I cannot take her until I know how to sustain her, and we’re still not closer to the answer.”

“I’m with ye Simon. Just as you’ve been with me through difficult times. I won’t turn my back now.”

“And neither will I.” Price booms from the doorway, the two of them whirling to where he stands with Gaz at his side.

“Sign me up. You know how I feel about mortal females. And their food.” Gaz gives them an impish grin, flourishing a set of light daggers and then lowering himself in a mock bow, an ode to his bloodline and ridiculous family. Johnny doesn’t say anything, but he watches how Simon’s shoulders ease, how he releases the breath he’s been holding, before giving them all a nod.

“I will go.” Johnny declares, and Simon’s eyes crinkle with relief. The sooner we get this all done, the sooner we can return home for good. Johnny was tired. They had been in the mortal realm for nearly a decade, coming back to Faerie now and then when something needed attending or when Simon had a lead. And now, with Simon desperately searching for the final piece of the puzzle, the end of all this finally felt close enough to taste. The only thing left outstanding was, how to get his blood to sing the Nereid’s song.

“I fancy a field trip myself.” Price relents, sigh expelling from his lungs with vexation. “Could use a change of scenery. Better than bloody Verdansk.”

“Or Las Almas.” Gaz mutters and Johnny protests.

“I liked Las Almas.”

“You just like Ale and Rudy.” Gaz ribs him, and Johnny laughs full throated. He did a soft spot for the two Vaqueros. They were smart, cunning humans who excelled in battle and cared for their community. Rare traits to find amongst the greedy, swamp like mortals that mostly roam their world. He respected them.

“Aye.” He agrees. The table goes quiet for a moment, words on the knifes edge, waiting, watching, until Simon clears his throat.

“Very well. We will go together then.” Price echoes him, while Gaz nods readily.

“Together.”

“It’s not optional anymore.” Your aunt’s voice vibrates through the speaker of the phone. “Your coven is your family.” She prattles on, unaware you’ve put the phone down and walked away from it to stack a few books together on the table.

“She’s nuts.” You mouth to Jet, who weaves between your legs before hopping up in front of you, rubbing her face against your fingers, seeking a scratch behind her ear.

“Are you listening to me?”

“Yes.” You sigh, and you swear you see Jet roll her eyes, right after you roll your own.

“You need to spend time with your coven. You can’t spend your entire life holed up in that shop with your familiar and your books.” Why not? You don’t say that, of course, lest she hex you through the phone, or worse. She doesn’t understand. You have a deep affection, a pure love for your connection to your power, for your magic, but that love did not extend to your coven, who were mostly still stuck in the darkest ages of time, who’s desire for power had pushed them to extremes. When you don’t respond, she bites out her directive before hanging up. “You must perform your duties. You’ll be expected on Samhain.”

And then the line goes dead.

You sigh, and Jet meows, like she sympathizes. Like she feels your pain. Maybe she does. You’re not sure. She is your familiar, but you don’t speak her language. You don’t know how she actually feels.

But you do know she dislikes your aunt, nearly as much as you do.

“I know, I know.” You give her another rub of your fingertips under her chin before pulling the stack of books towards you and carrying them through the back to the front of the shop.

Your day passes quietly. Mortals come and go, browsing the books in the front room, some choosing to stay and settle in the armchairs or the nooks with plush cushions, curled up with their selections for hours. There are places to tuck away here, corners between shelves where you could allow yourself to get lost in another world if you wanted, with no one to disturb or bother you, except maybe Jet. The black cat patrols the front room with high scrutiny, jumping to and from different heights while she ensures nothing is amiss in her domain.

You keep yourself busy with your daily tasks, organizing, counting, compiling, all while trying not think too much about the demand of your presence at Samhain.

You don’t want to go.

But you also don’t think you’ll be able to get out of it. You had already managed to dodge Lughnasa, and a fully body shudder rips through you when you recall the efforts of matchmaking that were done on your behalf before the festival had even started.

Not like anyone wanted to be matched with you to begin with. Not when there were effortless beauties by the dozen, witches and warlocks waiting with bated breath to be paired together.

Crazy, evil old hags. Crazier than the full moon herself.

By the end of your regular business hours, the store is empty, and you’ve settled yourself in the back room, the one that stays locked, the one where you keep all the things you don’t want the general public to see, ancient books bound with skin, grimoires with spells to summon demons, to kill lovers, to resurrect children. Books with magic of blood and bone, written by ancient witches from your own coven. Stories that come and go as they please. Stories of gods and monsters. Books that could open doors. Books that could trap you beyond those doors, forever. Banned books, by some’s standards.

Books you’re really not supposed to have but can’t help but collect. Your desire to absorb it all, learn it all unyielding, no matter how much information you consume, and it's become more than your livelihood now. The bookstore has become a place where others can come if they need something that their coven cannot provide, a place a witch can find a spell that’s long been forgotten, a place where answers can be found, if you knew where to look.

A safe place, for yourself, and for others.

A dangerous place, to some, and a dangerous place to you, at times. A place that made you known in magical communities, a place where you could be found.

And to your coven, nothing was worse.

Secret practitioners of blood magic, they were extremely closed off to outsiders. They stone walled others, refused friendships in magical society, kept to themselves as much as possible. It was their tradition, the only way they could survive and continue their practice, their devotion to blood, water and bone keeping them alive longer than others, keeping them young and fair when their counterparts aged and withered, kept them practicing for the entirety of their long lives.

And who would want to give that up?

You hadn’t been asked to be born into this complicated web of magic, hadn’t asked to become an orphan either, the loss of your parents forcing you into your aunt’s hands at a young age, where you learned all too quickly that your magic was different from other young witches, that you had been blessed with your coven’s ultimate gift.

Blood spinning.

Jet meows, leaping from the floor to the table to sit in front of you on her haunches, jet black fur shining under the dancing light of the candles. There are no lamps in this room, the bulbs too bright or too offensive for the books, some who’s pages don’t even show themselves unless they’re lit by magic.

You keep the flames in here lit by your power, day in and day out. Wax drips onto the mantle that sits over the fireplace, forming sand like castles on the wooden beam as the candles burn, staying in perfect stasis while the flames never go out.

You cast your magic out, just slightly, enough to straighten a shelf that was haphazardly arranged earlier, and then you wave a finger over a flame, just enough that it lightly heats your skin.

Fucking Samhain.

You can already feel the insistent pressure that will certainly be coming after today’s conversation, the demands of your participation in the Divination ritual and gods know what else.

Don’t these bats know you should stay home on Samhain? That’s when the Others get through.

You shiver.

You’re just about to ask Jet what she wants for dinner before you lock up when you hear a clattering smack, the sound of the broom that always stands so astute by the front door falling to floor, and your blood freezes in your veins.

Jet hisses.

Company’s coming.

“Hello?” A male voice calls, accent unusual to your ears, ricocheting past the shelves to where you sit in the back, hunched over a dusty tome. “Is anyone here?”

“I am!” You yell, standing up too fast, knocking into the heavy wooden table with your hip and letting out a hiss of air through your lips. Ow. Shit. That’s going to bruise. “I’m here, sorry.” You push away some hair from your face as you appear from the back room.

Oh.

Fuck.

There is a beautiful man standing in the front of the bookstore. A stunningly gorgeous, perfectly formed human being with crystalline blue eyes and a smile that practically beams. His hair is cut into a mohawk, a unique style that you don’t see too often, and his eyes glimmer with something mischievous, something wild. His bone structure reminiscent of the gods you grew up learning about, his face open, and handsome, watching you from where he stands, bolts of setting sunlight streaming in from the glass door behind him, framing him in the orange and pink goodness of dusk.

Just looking at him sets your body alight.

“H-hello.” Gods.. Get it together. It's just a guy. You've see plenty of mortal men before. His lips quirk, and you try not to look too closely at them, their sweet shape, perfectly pressed together while he cocks his head.

“Hello.” Jet meows by your feet, sharply, and you frown at her before looking back at the man.

“Hi, can I help you?”

“I’m looking for a book.” He starts, stepping closer, eyes roving over the floor to ceiling shelves that line the front room.

“Well, this is a good place to do that.” Wow. You wish you could pull the words back into your mouth as soon as they slip out, but you can’t. All you can do is cringe and try not to melt into floor. Smooth. So smooth. He doesn’t seem bothered by your obvious statement, and he smiles at you, again, nodding his agreement.

“It’s well… it’s a rare book.”

“Oh?”

“And I’ve been told, you’re a purveyor of such rare and curious books.” Your skin feels warm under your sweater, and you try to beat back the feeling of the heat by taking a deep breath.

“I… have some books. That are considered rare. Or unusual, yes. It depends on what you’re looking for?”

“It’s a grimoire. Of the Ulster Cycle.” You cover your suspicion with a cheeky smile, before shaking your head. What could a man possibly want with that?

“I don’t have anything that old here.” The lie slips through your teeth with ease.

“Oh, my apologies. I was told ye were a collector of sorts. The bloke I spoke with said there was a rare books room an’ everything.” Something prickles along the back of your neck, and your magic flares to life, zinging through your veins like fire.

Magic. There’s magic in here with you, magic that is unlike yours. Magic that hovers above the surface, like it’s waiting for something, waiting to strike.

Is it his?

Like he can sense it, he tenses for a split second before relaxing, and offering you his hand.

“I’m Johnny.” You stare at his waiting gesture, poised on the edge of a decision, uncertainty hanging in the balance.

Something is different here.

Something is strange.

But the way he looks at you, like he’s really looking at you, seeing you, noticing you, soothes the wariness in your mind, the strong beating of your heart drowning out your more cautious nature.

Still, you’re not one to give your birth given name to anyone outside the coven, whether they be friend or foe.

You've seen someone learn that lesson first hand.

“My friends call me Fern.” It’s not a lie, your friends, what little you still had, do call you Fern. Have called you Fern ever since you were all children, when you were more interested in laying on your back in the woods and staring at the clouds through the trees, then you were learning basic spells at anyone’s house. Strange, they used to call you. Odd. Weird. Their parents, bless them, had instructed their children not to be cruel to you, but the nickname had persisted, and then stuck, until it was what you were calling yourself all through Uni and afterwards.

“Fern.” He echoes, a ripple of something you cannot name crossing his face before it smooths, and he releases your hand while giving it a gentle squeeze. “It’s lovely to meet you.” The heat on your skin comes surging back, and your magic simmers inside your veins. You’re staring, up into his eyes, two perfect blue swirls of sea and sky, like you’re in a trance, unable to look way for a long moment before he’s clearing his throat and you’re blinking yourself free.

Odd. Your brain warns.

Enchanting. Your heart sings.

“Sorry, I uh. Don’t have your book.”

“It’s alright. Mind if I had a look around?”

“Sure!” you gush, over enthused, and then run your palms down the front of your skirt.

Calm down. He’s not here for you. He’s here for a book.

You try not to track his every move as he browses, instead staring at the blank computer screen at the front check out desk, clicking the mouse intermittently and shuffling some papers back and forth mindlessly while you sneak a look every now and then.

He’s fit, wide back snug in a t shirt and jacket that hangs loose over his hips, denim notched just right below his waist. You can’t help but stare when he reaches for a higher shelf, and his shirt rides up to expose a flash of his midriff, honey cream skin on full display that makes your mouth water, just a bit.

Jet meows loudly, and then makes an exaggerated point of licking her paw, pointing it in the direction of the clock that hangs over the door.

Welp.

“I’m actually closing up here, in a minute, is there anything-“

“Sorry to keep ye.” He turns, and you force your eyes away, the intensity of the eye contact too much, the pull of him practically overloading your senses.

“Oh, you’re not. I have other work to do, I just like to lock up.” You don’t know why exactly, but it feels like you’re stalling him. Like you don’t want him to leave. Jet jumps from the floor to the shelf behind you, and she growls as the man, Johnny, who takes a step away from the book he’s studying towards you. “Jet!” you admonish her. Johnny breathes a soft laugh.

“Smart, locking up, cannae be too sure about what’s lurking out there.” He jerks his head towards the door, and then flashes you another smile. It makes you dizzy.

“Uh, I do have some rarities, if that… if that’s something you’d like to come back and see.” What? What did you just say? Did you really just-

Johnny visibly brightens, like you’ve made his day. Like you’ve made him happy or given him a gift. The feeling warms you from the inside, trilling in your heart until it’s beating double time, and your magic is practically singing in your soul.

He tells you he’ll come back then, that he’d like to come back, and you nod numbly as you wave goodbye.

What the fuck was that?

Two days later, the bells that hang from the front door jangle and chime to announce his arrival, and the butterflies swirl in your stomach as you walk up front.

“Good evening.” He greets you, and you have to snap yourself to attention after nearly getting lost in the whirled sea glass of his eyes. “It’s Foxglove? Or… Sage?” Your eyes widen and then close to slits before glaring at him. “You’re named after a plant, right?”

“It’s Fern.” You deadpan, and he chuckles, lips splitting to reveal unnaturally white teeth.

“My apologies, Fern.” He does not hide the way his eyes trace you up and down, from your black boots to where your two times two big, button-down shirt is parted to reveal your clavicle. “Are ye well?” He asks, and you try to stutter out a response.

“Y-yes. Thanks. Yourself?”

“Aye, thanks. Excited to see what secrets you’re keeping.” He raises an eyebrow, and you gulp. Where has the air gone? Why does it feel so warm in here?

“I uh. Yeah, well. Let’s… it’s this way.” You punctuate the rambling sentence with deflated inflection, and his lips press together like you’ve amused him.

You pull your magic under the current of the atmosphere in the hallway to wrap around the lock and spring it free, allowing the door to open before the two of you and step inside. The room itself is a marvel, deep burgundy walls with more floor to ceiling bookshelves, and a giant table in the middle, it’s top carved from an ash tree far older than you. The candles dance in your presence, and you feed the wicks just a small sampling of magic, allowing them to gradually brighten so Johnny can see better. Mortal’s eyes were not known for being so sharp.

“And these are all…?”

“Varying. Some very old, storybooks about monsters and fairies and mermaids and such. You know, fairytales.” You laugh, but he doesn’t, only nods thoughtfully as he reads along the spines. “I’ve got some… old magic books. From when people thought witches were real. And some old religious texts. Nothing crazy, not museum worthy or anything.”

Definitely a lie, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“When people thought witches were real?” He turns, voice laden with skepticism, and something heavy sinks in your belly.

“Yeah, you know. Old pagan beliefs, that kind of stuff.” You try to play it off but can’t escape his gaze, can’t escape the way it feels to have him staring at you, reading you like an open book.

“And you’re usually in the habit of lying to customers?” You stare him, bewildered, your mind racing to come up with something clever, something snappy to throw him. Nothing comes. “I can feel you.” He explains, like it’s normal, or natural. Like you’re both speaking the same language. “Can feel ye from across the street, actually. Didn’t know little plants could hold so much magic.” He teases, lighthearted and sweet, but your fingers tighten into fists.

“I-“ you start, but abruptly stop when words fail you, and your chest tightens with panic. You internally scream at yourself, the strange feelings from when he first stepped foot in the shop coming back to haunt you, to teach you a lesson.

“Hey, hey.” He croons, and you stare at him vacantly, mind scrambling a mile a minute. “It’s alright. I mean ye no harm, Fern.” The way he says your nickname feels like a bite, like a mark against your skin, the word singed with some sort of magic, something flavorless that you cannot taste, yet you know it’s there all the same. You realize he’s staring at your hands, which are open now, pushed out in front of you like a barrier.

“What are you?” you challenge, and his lips twist.

“I’m no threat to ye.”

“Sounds like what someone who is a threat would say.”

“I promise, 'm just a low-level Wielder. You have more power in your pinky finger than I have in my entire body.” A Wielder. That explains the weird feelings. It’s an old term, one used to describe those born into magical families without marginal power. Wielding witches or warlocks usually have enough magic in them to cast minimal impact spells, some charms and enchantments, things of little consequence. “I ah, work in the military. I don’t practice.” He admits, and that takes you by surprise.

“The military?”

“Aye.” An impish grin splits across his face. “I like blowing things up. Work with a special ops team, around the world. We’re on leave right now, but. That’s usually what I’m doing.” That’s different. Magical beings usually stay far away from things like government, or military. Easier to remain undetected that way, and it was fairly known that mortals were left to their own affairs, without magical interference. You find yourself asking the question before you can smack your lips shut.

“But, your family must-“ not like that? Shun you? Worry about you? must hate you for that? You’re not sure why you blurted it out, or even where you were going with it.

“My mum’s gone. Da too. Got a few siblings left but, we mostly keep to ourselves.” Oh.

“I’m sorry.” Shame curdles in your stomach, and you grimace. “I wasn’t trying to pry, I’m sorry.”

“That’s alright, happened a long time ago.”

“I shouldn’t have-“

“Fern.” He says quickly, your name laden with the same feeling from before, the richness of some unintelligible power, and you draw a sharp breath. “It’s alright, I promise.” You duck your head in silent apology, and the room stays quiet for a moment before he’s speaking again. “What is this?” He’s pointing to a black book, its spine cracked and writing illegible, to most.

“That’s a grimoire.”

“It looks… old. Like it’s seen better days.”

“It is, and it has.” You don’t elaborate, because you don’t know if you should, or even if you want to.

“Where’s it from?” He pushes.

“Here. It’s uh… from my coven. From a very long time ago.”

“You lot been around a long time?”

“You could say that.” You could say that’s an understatement. There were only a handful of old covens left in the world, ancient powers that slept beneath the skin of their witches, only growing stronger and stronger through their lengthy history and connection to the earth. Dangerous.

He continues on with his inquiries, and you give him as much information as you can, pulling books from their resting places and cracking them wide for his eyes, pointing out little things of interest here and there while he stands in awe, time ticking away until the clock in the hall is chiming for ten pm, and he’s apologizing for keeping you so late as you click the door shut.

“You’re not keeping me.” You assure him. “I live in the flat upstairs. Short commute.” You laugh.

“Well, thank ye. That was a delight. Old books like that, the ones that most do not get to see are… special. I’m grateful to ye, for sharing the collection with me.” He makes your head spin, with how earnest he is, how easy and honest he confesses such things to you. It makes your knees feel weak, makes your throat feel dry.

“Of course. Um, anytime you wanna, you know. Come by and look, I’m here.” You stand by awkwardly, while Jet scowls at you from her perch in the window. Your heart sinks when you realize he’s going to leave now, the knowledge that he’ll step out on the street and possibly never been seen by you again twisting in your soul like a sour edged blade.

“I ah… was going to go for a late dinner, would ye like to join me?” You don’t even process it right away, just nod, numbly, like a robot in front of him. Dinner? With him? You, and him?

“Yeah!” you blurt and then try not to cringe at your over eagerness. “Yes. Yes, I’m hungry so… dinner would be great.”

“Know any good spots around?”

“Uh, yeah there’s a place down the street a few blocks that has a great curry. We could walk?”

“Sure.” He agrees, and then steps outside to wait for you while you lock everything up.

Jet complains the entire time, loudly, and you try to shush her multiple times.

“Oh, stop!” you scold over her meows. “It’s just dinner. He’s nice.” She watches you with keen eyes, green spheres that probably know far more than you, before slinking off to the stairs in the back, taking herself up to the flat. “Goodnight then!” You yell after her, to which she responds with a frustrated growl.

Familiars. You sigh and roll your eyes. So dramatic.

“I lost my parents too.” You tell him one night, a week later. He’s met you after closing, in a park where you like to walk sometimes, and the two of you slowly stroll along the walking path as you trade questions and answers about one another’s lives. It’s somewhat dark, sun already set, but the orange light of a giant jack o lantern that sits in the green space’s center glows robustly and bathes the twilight in autumn hues. “I uh, didn’t want to say anything, because it felt like, not the right time but, yeah.”

“I’m sorry.” He says earnestly and you give him a tiny smile.

“Thanks, I was young. There’s not much I remember about it.” Mostly true. You really didn’t know much, even though you were there. You had the memories in pieces, the woods, the moon, the Fae that took your mother’s life. The spell that ended your father’s. All buried deep in your heart, untouched. Unvisited. You both lapse into silence, and you fight the awkwardness by posing a question, hoping to change the subject without being too obvious.

“How many siblings do you have?”

“I’ve got one sister, who I don’t get to see as often as I’d like. And then, my brothers, who aren’t mine by blood but by we’ve all been best friends for far too long now, living together, working together, traveling together. We’re… very bonded.”

“That’s sweet.” His head tips back with a laugh, before looking back to you.

“Sweet isn’t what I’d call them, but it’s something.”

“They’re like your family then?”

“Aye. Closest some of us ‘ll ever get.” There’s a pang of something in your heart at that, the idea that Johnny has both blood and love, people who have chosen him, who love him. You’ve never really had that, and the concept is practically foreign to you. “Look, there. It's you.” He points to a bush off to the left and you turn to him confused. “Little plant.” He explains, bemused, clearly pleased with himself and his terrible joke.

“Piss off.” You elbow him playfully, trying to push away, and he grabs you, pulling you into his side with a firm grip, half holding you to him in an embrace as he chuckles and rubs your shoulder affectionately.

“Sorry, little shrub.”

“What are ye doing for Samhain?” He asks the following day during his visit to the shop, a week before the dreaded night, and you gnaw on your lip.

“There’s a festival. We burn large pyres and dance in the moonlight.” You tease.

“Nude?” he smirks, and you laugh, nearly dropping the volume you’re shelving.

“No, gods no. Fully clothed, thank you.” You don’t mention the Divination, the ritual that is your own personal hell. “We drink, and dance, and those who have lost loved ones try to find their spirits. There’s also matchmaking, done by the elders. Which I painstakingly avoid.” He hands you another book, and you pop it into place. “Would you… would you like to come?” Why not? It’s not like anyone is going to tell you not to bring someone. Especially not when they need you so badly. He’s quiet, holding another book in his hand, staring down at the cover like he’s reading it. He’s silent for so long you start to worry, start to second guess yourself, start to think maybe, you read this wrong. Maybe, this isn’t what you thought it might be. Maybe he’s-

“I would be happy to.”

“Be watchful of the féth fíada.” The witch who stands beside a roiling cauldron warns, before pressing a mug into your waiting hands. “Something else is in these woods tonight.” You give your beverage to Johnny and then take the second mug from her, before leading him away, down the hill and closer to the fires.

“What’s the féth fíada?”

“It’s the mist. On Samhain, the veil is particularly thin between worlds, you know? Spirits are usually here with us, until the sun rises but…” You sip the cider, spice and warmth coating your tongue. “We, the coven, believe the Others come through at the same time, and use the mist to cloak themselves.” You gesture to the wispy white fog that rolls through the forest like smoke.

“The Others?” He asks, and you nod.

“Yes. That’s what we call them. The Fae.” He raises an eyebrow.

“Thought the Fae were a myth.” You laugh and turn to face him.

“I assure you, they’re very real.”

“Oh? Have ye encountered one then?” You shudder, like you’re cold, frightening memories pooling at the forefront of your mind until you shove them away.

“Once. When I was a child.” He frowns then, head cocked in consideration, faraway look in his eye as he casts his gaze over your shoulder. Like he’s looking for something. Like he’s seeing.

“Were ye hurt, Fern?” Hurt? No. Traumatized? The echo of your mother’s screams ring in between your ears.

“No.” Someone lights a new pyre a second after your denial, orange embers leaping into the night sky with grace, and it draws your attention enough to distract the both of you. “Come on.” You tug him towards where a group has gathered, bodies moving together in tandem with a chorus of strings that sing through the air. “Dance with me?” You ask him breathlessly, emboldened by the sniff of fire whiskey that sits in your cup and he smiles before draping an around your waist and pulling you close to his body.

“I’d like nothing more.”

Your feet are light, moving around one another with an elegance you didn’t know you possessed, effortlessly shifting with the rhythm and time of the music, fingers grazing along each other in tentative, desperately seeking touches.

“You’re beautiful, little witch.” He whispers against your ear, words soft and saccharine, floating on the warm air around you as you sway together in time to the music. His hand cups your jaw gently, tilting your chin upwards until you’re both looking at one another, his blue eyes alight with the reflection of the bonfire behind you, lovely and bright, burning down into your soul like a love spell. “I’d like to kiss ye, Fern.” He murmurs, voice strained and tinged with an accent you cannot place, and you blink while your heart rockets off at superspeed, sending blood buzzing with excited magic through your veins.

“Okay.” You murmur, and he smiles at you like you’re the most stunning creature he’s ever seen, before slowly lowering his lips to yours.

It’s everything you’ve ever dreamed it would be. You’ve kissed some men in your life, some women, but nothing compares to this. There’s an explosion inside of you when his mouth meets yours, the gentle coaxing of the way he holds you melting you into a boneless heap while you breathe him in, his scent practically transporting you to another world, a mossy, emerald-green wood with lush plant life and giant ferns that blanket the forest floor. The feel of him, of whatever this is, mixed with your magic and the magic in the air is a powerful elixir, one that seems to make the world tilt where you stand, gravity disappearing and your body pressing into his as a result. The closer you get, the more you can feel something in him, something strong, something powerful, lurking in the shadow of this moment, waiting. Watching. He tastes like oak and dew dropped grass, earthy and rich and magical, everything wrapping up into one as you practically go limp in his arms when he parts your lips with his tongue and sweeps inside.

When he pulls away he’s still holding you steady, while you stare at him wordlessly, smile tugging at your lips. The world feels quiet, like everything has all but died down, like mostly everyone has left except for you, and him. A second stretches on for a minute, for an hour, and you can’t bring yourself to tear your eyes away from his, your magic arcing wildly through the night sky, snapping and hissing with the overflow of your emotions. You never want this to end. You want this to last forever... you want him in more ways than you've ever known. You want-

"Fern! Fern!" Someone's calling you, over the noise of the night, and you reluctantly step back, realizing it’s your aunt’s voice carrying over the music and revelry.

“I… I have to…” You nod in her direction, where she stands beyond the pyre, at the seam of the forest, sealed mason jar of something in her hands.

“Of course.” He answers immediately, and takes your hand in his, folding his fingers between yours and petting his thumb over your knuckles. He brings them to his mouth, carding his lips over your skin with a gentle kiss, before giving your hand a squeeze and relaxing his grip. “I’ll see ye soon?”

“Y-yeah. Still want to do dinner, on Thursday?” Thursday should be fine, enough time to recover.

“I wouldn’t miss it.” He vows, strong and certain. You hear your name again, but don’t release him, and it’s not until he’s asking you if you’re alright that you realize you’re clutching to him too tightly. Like he’s a lifeline. Like he could save you from this. His free hand moves into your line of sight, and then he strokes a finger across your cheek, eyes worried, face creased with concern. “Fern? What is it?”

“Nothing. I… I have to go. I’ll see you Thursday.” He opens his mouth to speak but you’re already pulling away, releasing him and bringing the cowl of your hood up over your hair, slipping into the crowd without another word.

You stumble around the dancing and celebrating until you break through and reach the tree line, your aunt and another standing in their ceremonial black robes. You swallow a gasp when you see the jar, it’s clear liquid a tell-tale sign of what’s to come.

Divination.

Your aunt’s lips purse when she sees you.

“Are you ready?” No. No, no. Please don’t make me. You take a deep breath to try to steady yourself, clear your mind and settle your magic. No. No, you’re not ready. The forest cracks and chants around you, cacophony of voices screaming and singing at the same time. No, you don’t want this. You don’t want to do this. This is not what you were meant for, you know it in your heart. You do not want to hurt; you were not meant for harm. “Fern.” Her tone snaps like a whip against your skin.

“Yes.”

You lay still for days, after. Unable to sleep, your eyes never close, your mind never settles, the adrenaline crystalizing in your bones as you drag yourself back and forth from your bathroom to bed, over and over.

You wash hands hundreds of times, but you still see the blood stains on your palms, under your nails, splattered up to your elbows.

Your power burns throughout you, magic heating the air with fervor and thrall, chanting voices culminating around you as you seek the vessels in his body and pull, drawing each drop through him and into yourself, ruby ichor spouting from his mouth like a furious volcano, blood dripping from his lips like the hallowed tears of the old gods. It’s everywhere, on your hands, your arms, your face, your neck, the earth. You imbue it with power, pushing your connections with the roots beneath the soil upwards, into the blood while the breeze sizzles and shatters, mist gathering around your ankles like shackles meant to drag you below.

You close your eyes thousands of times, but you still see the face of the man, still see his fear, still hear his pleas, his screams, his cries for mercy as you bleed him dry, scrying for the future with the litres of his blood.

The visions come quickly, splintering through your head with a sharpness that hurts, and you cry out amidst the pain, your mind being ripped into pieces as you scream. There are hands on you, arms cloaked in dark robes, holding you up, holding you steady while your magic vibrates through the ground and into your bones, filling your sight with the future. Clips of death, birth, tragedy echo behind your closed lids, the mineral scent of blood filling your nostrils until you think it will be burned there permanently.

Tears stream down your cheeks, cutting a path through the spray of red that paints your face.

Your cries join the reprise of the man who sits dying at your feet, the force of his life draining through your magic, bending and weaving with the power from the earth and your own blood until he’s nothing but a husk, a desecrated corpse that lays silently as you collapse in front of it.

The visions do not stop. They will not stop for days.

The elders extract the ones that pertain to them from your mind through their own spell, the process nearly as painful as the Divining itself. They hold you down to the ground to get what they want, pinning your shoulders with a bruising grip, cutting your skin to smear their fingers in your blood, holding your head still as you thrash. Their hands hurt. You will wear their marks for weeks.

Your aunt deposits you on your back doorstep in a heap as the sun rises.

No one calls. No one comes.

You lay alone in your bed, eyes peeled wide, seeing into endless futures, broken stories of other worlds, other beings, other places that you’ll never know. Places you’ll only ever read about in books Places that you’ll only see through this horrid act, or your restless dreams.

Your brain fractures into tiny little pieces. Your own understanding becomes non sensical.

You become lost between planes. Lost in your own mind. Lost to the Divination.

Jet never leaves your side. The shop stays shuttered, as it does every year after Samhain, no one coming or going, your lone employee enjoying her annual week after Halloween vacation.

Eventually your eyes close. You sleep fitfully. You dream of the visions, the screams, the sacrifice.

Finally, you regain enough strength to weave a weak spell that helps quiet your mind, and then you truly rest, for the first time in days. You rest, and you sleep until Thursday afternoon, when there’s a rapping against your door.

Johnny.

“Hey little sprout, what’s-“ the words die on his lips when you peek around the door, and the color drains from his face. “Fern.” He whispers.

“Hi.” You know how you appear. Strung out, most likely. Battered. Exhausted. Bruised. You try to fix the top of the knit shawl that you have draped over your shoulders, but it’s far too late. He’s already seen.

“What… what’s happened?”

“It’s nothing, I’m fine.” You try to play it off but it’s pointless now.

“Who did this?” The demand is harsh, and rage simmers in his eyes, fury crackling along his skin and into the air between you. He looks… different, something primordial reflecting in his gaze, something ominous etched in the lines of his face. The question holds a promise of violence, of punishment, and being so close to him in this moment makes your head spin. It makes you feel like the very fabric of this world is tearing apart, ripping to pieces around you as he stands there, an otherworldly feeling swirling in the air between your two bodies. It suffocates you, pushes you into the dark depths of waters that feel all too familiar, like the leftover scars on your mind from the Divination are being ripped wide open and plunging you back between celestial planes.

“Johnny," You manage to choke out, voice rough and trembling. "it’s fine, I- I’m okay. It’s just… the aftermath. Of Samhain.” Your voice breaks, the tenor of your sadness something that’s out of your control, tears caught in your throat. He stares at you, bewildered, a hand raised midair before it falls to his side in a fist, and he turns away. “Johnny?” He doesn’t respond, and you watch the smooth skin of his jaw flex and harden. He stares into the distance, across the street, into the sky.

Looking anywhere but you.

It’s because he can’t stand to see you.

You look awful.

You look monstrous.

You are monstrous.

“No one should ever touch ye like this.” He bites out, his knuckles tensing against the door frame. His eyes are angry, and wild, burning a hole into your clavicle, where your skin sits exposed, healing from a gash. You shift, a little uncomfortable under the scrutiny, and then he snaps his gaze up to yours, face immediately softening, lips parting, expression rife with unease. With worry. “Are ye… are ye okay?”

“Yes. Just a bit tired.”

“If it’s too much, to have dinner-“

“No! N-no, no. I want… to see you. I want to. Just not sure if I feel up to going out?” He understands, nodding sympathetically, brow furrowed with thought.

“I could go get a takeaway?” Your stomach chooses to rumble at that exact moment, and a small smile plays on his lips.

“That would be wonderful.”

“Alright.” He steps just a little closer, close enough for you to get a deep inhale of him, that woodsy, mossy, magical scent, and swoops down to land a gentle kiss to your cheek before pulling your hand into his and bringing it to his lips, eyes slipping closed with a shuddering breath when he presses a kiss to your palm. “I’ll be right back. You'll be alright?”

“Yeah, 'm fine.”

He feeds you until you cannot eat anymore. He plies you with noodles of too many kinds, different cartons that overflow spread out on the coffee table, in front of where you sit curled up on the couch. You’re still exhausted, eyes straining to stay open, and eventually, you’re sinking lower and lower into the cushions, legs sprawled across his lap, his hand smoothing up and down your calf. It’s warm, and comforting, and you swear you can feel little zings of magic moving inside you, lulling you into a peaceful rest, cocooning you in hazy feelings of softness and safety.

Hours later, in the dark, lips press to your forehead. Your body curls against something warm, face flush against the steady thump of a heartbeat. Someone whispers in your ear.

“Sleep well, little witch.”

“Tell me about your magic.” He asks one night, a few days after you fell asleep on the couch, when you’re finally back to your normal self, spending most of your time getting caught up on everything you let slip during your post Samhain recovery period.

Having Johnny around has seemed to help, somehow. He’s been here, every day since, like he’s unwilling to let you out of his sight, showing up in the mornings before you open the shop with a coffee and sweet, a baked treat that two of you usually split as you go about tidying things around the front room. He hovers, his fingers lightly tracing over your skin often, grasping your hand in his, pressing his lips to your palm reverently throughout the day. You’re not sure how, or why, but it seems your magic and mind have taken to having him around, and you feel better, more well than you normally would during the Divination healing process, your head clear and wounds mostly mended.

“What about it?”

“There were many witches, warlocks, magical beings at the festival, but I didn’t feel anyone quite like ye.” A keen observation. You hem and haw, debating how much to truly tell him, debating how to make it sound… less insane.

“There aren’t any witches like me anymore, really.” You say quietly, casting a mournful look to where he sits on the wicker sofa, legs spread wide. You’re both sitting on your flat’s back porch, enjoying the crisp weather that has a chill to it, the coolness of air refreshing against your skin. “I’m a blood spinner.” He gives you a confused look.

“What’s that?”

“It’s like… a special kind of witch, in my coven. We aren’t exactly… the most orthodox of our kind.”

“What do ye mean?” Ah, fuck. You chew on the inside of your cheek, hesitant to break your oath, to betray the promises you made to protect the secrets that rule your existence.

But it’s Johnny.

And you trust him.

“My coven… we’re blood witches. We deal in blood, water, bone. Living things and… such. We can craft spells that affect other forms of life. It’s generally taboo, now. There aren’t any covens left alive that practice blood magic, except us.”

“And what is a blood spinner?” At the same time as he poses his question, he taps his thigh meaningfully, and you rise from the chair that you were sitting in to lower yourself into his lap, edge of your dress sliding down your thigh when he tucks his arm under your knees. His palm skates up and down the back of your leg, and goosebumps raise the hair on the back of your neck.

“Every few decades, a witch like me is born. They call us blood spinners, which is really just a made-up name for someone who’s… connected.”

“Connected?”

“We rely heavily on our connection to the earth, and most of my coven cannot pull on those connections without casting some sort of spell. I can do it… naturally.” You take a deep breath, and then let it out slowly. “I feel connections to the earth, the elements, especially water, so intensely sometimes it feels like they’re a part of me. During our walk the other week? I could feel the trees, breathing. Could feel the grass growing. Could hear the rapid heartbeats of the ducks in the pond. All without using a single spell. Using my magic is not something I have to cast for, like most others. I can just… do it.”

“I’m still not following.” Of course he’s not. Because you sound insane.

“Right, sorry. Most witches perform magic by casting spells. It’s how they organize and harness their power, pushing the chaotic force of it into something that can contain it, regulate it, give it a purpose.”

“But not you.”

“No. If a witch in my coven wanted to, let’s say, cast a love spell, they’d need an incantation. They could do it, of course, because blood and bone are the primary targets of such a spell, but they’d still need one. They’d write it themselves or get it from someone else if they weren’t confident in their spell making. But I… could just do it. Could just manipulate the blood, enchant it with my own power. Straight from the source. No words. No chanting.”

“Just your power.”

“Yes.” You hesitate. Might as well, while you’re at it. “And, I can use blood to see the future.” He stiffens.

“Divination?” You nod, and he studies you before murmuring quietly, “I didn’t know mortal witches could practice Divination.” Mortal witches? What is that supposed to mean?

“They can’t. We’re not mortal.” His eyes narrow.

“What?”

“My coven has always used their gifts to prolong their lives. It is a blessing, and a curse.” He raises an eyebrow in surprise and you shake your head. “Not me, though. Not yet, anyway. I’m still my natural age.” You offer him a toothy grin, and while he nods thoughtfully, his brow furrows in contemplation.

“Well, aren't ye full of surprises, eh?” He hums, and then presses you closer, leaning forward until his mouth is waiting, just above yours.

“Kiss me.” You whisper, fingers clutched in his shirt, desperate for him, for his touch, for anything he could give you.

“Ye never have to ask.” He answers, and then seals his lips to yours, stealing your breath while his hand sinks into your hip, your body heating under his ministrations, your head dizzy with lust and affection for him. He shifts you in one movement, so you’re straddling him, and you can feel the outline of his cock in his jeans beneath you, can feel the heaviness that sits there. You sink down, just slightly, enough that your clothed cunt barely rubs over him, the contact sending little electric shocks through your body, and you whimper into his mouth. “Fern.” He murmurs, and you sneak your tongue past his teeth, lavishing him as much as you can, eager to soak up every piece he’s willing to give. He groans, and your hands drift to his waist, a thumb tucking beneath his skin and the button of his jeans, desperate to touch, to feel, to have him… when his fingers encircle your wrist and pull you away. “We canna’ dove. It’s late.” He says mournfully. Your heart sinks, soul cresting with sadness, and he strokes some strands of hair from your face gently.

Why doesn’t he want you? Were you reading things wrong? Have you done something?

He brings your palm to his lips, kissing you tenderly, and some of the bitterness leeches from your soul, your heart gentling it's disappointment, your dejection ebbing away on silken spun clouds.

“Right. Of course.”

He sighs, like he’s bearing the weight of the entire world, before knocking his forehead against yours gently.

“I’m sorry, sweet Fern. It’s not you, ah just… it’s late.”

“That’s alright, I understand.” You hoist yourself off his lap, and he scratches his head, more so in a way that seems to be a nervous tic than a necessary action, and you shrug. He stands, body held in stasis halfway to you, arm extended like he wants to touch you, grab you, but he’s holding back. You eye the porch door, and he frowns, something uneasy flickering across his gaze. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” you blurt before he can say anything, and he tenses.

“Of course.” He rushes to assure you, and you give him a nod before turning away.

“Goodnight.” You call over your shoulder, before slipping inside your flat and flicking off the porch light.

“You’ve mentioned… you ‘ave books about mermaids?” His fork digs through the container of noodles, lifting a perfect mouthful to his lips after the question, and you nod with your own mouth full of pad see ew.

“Sort of. They’re not really… mermaids in the sense like, Ariel and such.” You’re sitting opposite him upstairs, in the kitchen of your flat, with a window open, cool breeze flowing through your curtains. Your mind wanders to the ancient Greek text that sits on one of the shelves, it’s writing penned by the old gods themselves, words magicked by you to be hidden from most eyes. “They’re different.”

“The Nereids.” He says plainly, and you blink in surprise. “The ones who lure mortals to their deaths?”

“You know of the Nereids?” He nods, scooping another bite into his mouth, swallowing before he continues.

“My mum used to tell me stories about them. Said they were hunters, used blood spells to trap their victims.” You sigh into your wine glass. His fingers snake across the table and then up your forearm, tracing featherlight touches on the inside of your wrist.

“They don’t use blood spells.”

“No?”

“No.” You scoff. “Their magic is much more complex than that. The blood songs are not spelled. They’re naturally occurring. The Nereids do not choose who sings to them.”

“So, it could be anyone.” He muses, and you shrug.

“Yeah. I’m sure it’s pre-determined by something, somewhere. Some magical force but, the mortals… they’ve no idea. It’s not like they choose, to have their hearts ripped from their chest during sex.” Johnny startles on the stool, body shifting in a rapid movement, so quick your eyes almost don’t catch it. “You didn’t know?” It wouldn’t surprise you. Not much is known about the Nereids. You only hold this knowledge because your coven is well informed, due to the length of their lives, and because you possess one of the few texts left that references them in such detail. Both you and your coven hold the truth of what lurks in the sea close to your hearts. Another secret to keep, another truth never to be borne.

But the wine has made your tongue loose and well, you can’t help but give him everything he wants, anything he’s asked. His eyes flash, and he cradles your hand in his, stroking across your palm with his thumb.

Your words flow so easily, so uninhabited.

It feels so free, so right.

“No. Had no idea.” He watches you carefully, dancing candlelight spinning shadows along the walls and across his face. He looks handsome as usual, but something in the way he regards you now feels different. Dangerous. Thrilling. Your thighs press together almost subconsciously, low whirring of need humming inside your body, and your fingers tighten on the stem of you glass as you continue.

“Yeah, they need them… to live. It’s very… complex. The song creates a pull of sorts, I think.” You drain your glass before motioning to the wine bottle, tugging its contents into your glass with a little flick of magic. “It’s pretty sad. They fall in love with their victims for a night, and then harvest the organ and eat it before the sun comes up. It’s what sustains them. The love, the blood, the magic.” You gesture to the bottle and then to him, and he encourages you with a nod. “It all comes from the heart, you know?” You tap your own for reference, finger padding at the skin over your breastbone, over top where your heart beats just a little faster than normal.

“Aye, I guess it does.” He murmurs, fingertips light against your skin. His attention is focused on you, unwaveringly so, and you fidget under the scrutiny. He looks so… ethereal, in the dim candlelight, so otherworldly that you have to blink a few times to make sure you’re not seeing things.

You’re not.

He’s just really so, so beautiful.

It’s late when Johnny poses another question, clearing his throat over the low volume of a movie playing in the background. He lays behind you on the couch, the curve of your ass pressed into his hips, his arm slung over your belly, palm pressed to space above your navel. His breath fawns over your cheek, and he presses soft kisses to your temple in quick succession before you feel the vibration in his chest.

“I was thinking…”

“Yeah?”

“What if… it was someone you knew? The mortal, who had the Nereid’s song. Could you save them somehow?” It’s an interesting question, and you pause for a moment. His fingers stroke the back of your hand, before wrapping around your wrist and bringing your palm towards his mouth, lips pressing a gentle kiss to your skin before pulling you tighter into his embrace.

“I don’t know. I suppose you could, extract the song. You’d have to call it forth because it’s naturally occurring. You couldn’t just… cast a spell. You’d have to summon it, bind it to something, probably yourself, and then pull it from the mortal that way, but then you’d be dooming the Nereid to die. They need the heart, to live. I don’t think I could make that choice.” His hand skates along your ribs, under your t shirt, stroking up and down your skin slowly. Soothingly.

“I don’t think I could either.”

“That’s not what I meant!” You shriek with laughter, chest expanding as you rock backwards, leaning away from him and his devilish smile. His arm wraps firmly around your waist, keeping you close to him, fingers playing across your clavicle while you giggle.

“Aye but it’s what ye said.” He’s been taunting you relentlessly about last night, when you fell asleep on the couch and then proceeded to talk for a few hours, all while you were blissfully tucked away in a dream somewhere.

“Nooo Johnny.” You moan, mortified, and bury your face in his chest. You peek up at him, and your eyes betray you, even though it’s the last thing you want. You cannot hide it, the giddiness, the happiness you feel when you’re around him. It swamps you in glee, exuberance oozing from every one of your pores. Your power feels sweeter, feels lighter, feels more peaceful now than it ever has before.

You know it’s because of him.

You dread that it’s because of him.

Four days later, you’re cataloguing some new arrivals when the front door of the shop bangs open, smacking against the wall, nearly shaking the building, the sound alone bringing you to your feet in a panic.

Your aunt stands in the doorframe, body thrumming with spells just barely contained, anger flooding the space between the two of you.

“What have you done?” She screeches, eyes mad with rage, and you stare at her horror while Jet hides behind your legs.

“I don’t... what’s going on?”

“What’s going on?” She jeers with an acidity that taints the air. “You’ve always been such a foolish child.”

“I don’t understand…”

That male you brought to Samhain wasn’t a mortal, you stupid girl. He was Fae.”

“Johnny? No, he’s… he’s not. He’s-“ He’s not. He couldn’t be. He wouldn’t lie to you.

“Have you not heard? What’s happened?” she spits. She's confused. She must be. This can't be right.

“Heard what?”

“A Nereid has been taken, to Faerie. By one of them.” You laugh nervously in her face, the absurdity of her statement unsettling.

“No, that’s not possible.” Why would a Nereid leave their home? How would they leave their home? They need human hearts to survive, after all. How would that even…

The room spins. Your Aunt continues to scream, going on and on about how stupid you are, how foolish and naïve, how you’re lucky you’re the blood spinner because otherwise, the coven would have already burnt you at the stake. Alive.

But you cannot focus on any of it.

All you can hear, all you can picture, is the horrid replays of those conversations with Johnny.

All you can think about, is how easily your lips spilled those secrets. How free it all felt. How right.

“You know of the Nereids?”

“I didn’t know mortal witches could practice Divination.”

“I suppose you could, extract the song…”

“They don’t use blood spells.”

“You’d have to summon it, bind it to something, probably yourself…”

“It all comes from the heart, you know?”

“Oh, gods.” You whisper, mouth dropping open in shock. Your aunt finally goes silent, the whole room falling quiet as the blood rushes in your ears.

“You’re dead to us. You’ll perform your duties for Divination, when necessary, but outside of that, you’re to be shunned. No one is to speak to you, of you, ever again.” She pauses, glaring at you with contempt. “The jury’s still out, on whether you’ll be tried and burned.”

“I didn’t… I didn’t know… I didn’t do it intentionally.” You don’t even know why you’re trying to explain yourself, why you’re bothering. She won’t listen. No one will care. You broke your oath. You betrayed the thing you were supposed to protect. Your chest heaves, lungs fighting for air as the walls narrow in on where you stand.

All for some stupid attention. All because some guy, someone you thought was just a harmless mortal with a tinge of power, smiled at you and kissed you sweetly. Because he told you were beautiful, and held your hand, and went on walks with you in the park. Because he kissed you like you meant something, like you mattered.

Your aunt stops at the door, casting a parting remark over her shoulder as she leaves.

“Your poor mother, Fern. I hope her spirit never discovers what you’ve done.”

It doesn’t take long, to find him. You thread your power through the city, scrying your magic through every drop on blood on every street, every corner, ever floor of every building until you locate him, sitting at a two top table outside of a pub, a handsome male across from him. They’re speaking in hushed tones as you turn the corner, and you stop for a moment to take them in.

How could you not have seen this?

Those strange feelings, his scent, the shadow of something primordial in those eyes were all trying to tell you the same thing.

This male is not a man at all, but Fae.

You stomp down the rest of the block, urging mortals away, using your magic to push them, to send them scurrying in other directions, just as the one sitting opposite Johnny spots you, mouth dropping into an o of surprise before he’s speaking, lips moving rapidly.

Johnny swivels in his chair, but it’s too late. You’re already upon them.

Your rage, your shame overshadows your hurt, the fear that threatens to drown you, as you stand in front of him spitting mad, your magic swirling around you in violent hues of red and purple while he stares, dumbfounded.

“You tricked me, you Fae bastard.” He stands, hand outstretched in a cautionary gesture.

“Fern-“ He tries, but you steamroll him. He’s Fae. Don’t listen to a word he says.

“You used me!” You hiss, fist unclenching, raising in front of your body like a weapon.

“No, listen-“ The other one, like him, is standing off to his left, watching you warily while you yell, tears wet on your cheeks. He steps closer, coming to stand nearly behind Johnny’s shoulder before Johnny waves him off with a concerned look on his face.

“No! You listen! Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” Your power throbs through you, biting and gnawing to get out, to strike him down and hurt him, hurt him as he’s hurt you, betray him as he’s betrayed you. Your feelings and thoughts and magic all swirl together, weaving and bending into a chaotic mass of pain and sorrow and anger, surging forward, and then your finger extends, pointing right at him.

In the blink of an eye the air shifts and he drops his glamour, exposing the true strength of his power, the tips of his ears, the mighty weight of the magic he carries in his veins.

Your words die on your tongue.

His hand darts forward, strong fingers wrapping around your wrist and pulling you close, close enough that he can incline his head above your ear, voice razor sharp, lethal and cold when he whispers in an accent you've never heard before:

“Did ye just point at me, little witch?” You’re stunned for a moment, terror galloping through your heart before your sense of self-preservation kicks in and you wrench your arm away, stepping back as quickly as you can.

“Stay away from me.” You hiss. Johnny hasn’t reverted back to how you know him, with the soft angles and rounded ears, his glamoured state, you now realize, and staring him down is a feat in its own. It hurts, to look at him, and you know it’s intentional, you know it’s the way they operate. They aim to sow fear. To scare. Their blinding beauty is just another means to an end, just another tool for them to use.

Something shifts, and Johnny’s eyes move, the intensity of their gaze wavering as he regards you.

He looks… upset.

No. No he doesn’t. He’s not remorseful. He doesn’t care. He used you. He lied to you. He tricked you.

You step away slowly, afraid to show your back to him, and he takes a half lunge towards your retreating form but it’s too late, you’re too far away from him now, and when you finally turn to run, you hear his voice on the wind.

“Fern, wait!”

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virginsexgod69 · 2 months

Note

would die for a dom Daryl who’s absolutely weak for fem reader but displays that in the way that he craves hearing her beg for him, is obsessed with drawing things out and making her cum and LOVES cockwarming omg. Established but new relationship would be so cute!!! And since they’re still learning eachother’s bodies (and their own honestly because maybe neither of them have rly let their guards down in sex with others before?) Daryl makes the reader squirt for the first time and is absolutely amazed 🤭

(Wanna thank in advance because I feel like squirting is not represented very often in fics and it’s so nice to read it, as a human who experiences it myself!) <3 :-)

❝ Oasis ❞

pairing Daryl Dixon x f!Reader

cw smut, cockwarming, unprotected p in v, squirting, pussy eating

889 words

not proofread yet

You rested against Daryl’s chest as he took another drag from his cigarette. You lazily watched the way his pretty pink lips wrapped around the cigarette, wishing they were on your clit instead. He pressed a kiss to your forehead before going back to his cigarette. You were growing impatient. He’s had his large cock stuffed inside you for what felt like forever, yet he insisted on making you wait until he was through with his cigarette. You looked up at him pleadingly, but he didn’t give in.

“C’mon, Daryl, please?” You begged, squirming in his lap. His rough hands placed a firm grip on your hips, keeping you still.

“If you keep wigglin’ aroun’, ‘m not gonna let you cum,” he warned as he put out the finished cigarette. You sat up straight, looking him in his dazzling blue eyes. He put his hand behind your neck and pulled you down for a kiss, tasting your mouth with his tongue. You pulled away when the need for oxygen took over.

“I’ve been real patient this whole time.” You batted your eyelashes at him with faux innocence. You ran your fingers through his hair, pulling gently. You’ve come to find out that he loved it when you did that. A gentle grunt slipped from his lips. “Fine,” he said, finally giving in. Holding your hips, he guided you up and down on cock, thrusting his own hips up meeting you halfway. He pulled you into another kiss before sucking marks onto your neck and chest. You gripped onto Daryl’s shoulders for support, digging your nails into him though the fabric of his button-up shirt. The thick vein on the underside of his shaft rubbing against your velvety walls brought you close to the edge. The bowman pulled your tank top down, exposing your breasts to the cool air of the garage.

“So pretty,” he commented before taking one into his mouth. You tangled your fingers in his hair as your rhythm became sloppy. His dick was rubbing against that one spot that drove you mad. It felt so good, yet so strange, like you needed to pee and cum at the same time. But you didn’t dwell on it as you continued to ride your boyfriend.

“‘M gonna-”

“Go ‘head, baby. Cum fer me,” he encouraged, rubbing your clit for extra stimulation. Daryl held onto you as you threw your head back in ecstasy. The coil in your gut burst, sending a white hot orgasm flooding through you. But this felt better than your typical orgasms. A rush of liquid flowed out of you as you came. You and Daryl looked at each other with wide eyes.

“Did ya jus…” He looked down at his soaked lap with a flushed face. He prided himself in making you feel so good that you squirted.

“Oh my god, Daryl,” you said between pants. “I didn’t know I could do that.” His warm hand supped your face gently.

“Needa taste ya.” His eyes were so full of lust you could barely tell they were blue. Before you could reply, he picked you up off his cock and placed you on his work table, spreading you out. His flattened tongue lapped up your juices from your slit like a dehydrated man finding an oasis. Still sensitive, you let out gentle whimpers, everything felt even more heightened. He inserted his tongue into your tired, soaked hold. His hand groped your thighs as he ate you out, his tongue hitting you in that same spot that made you see stars.

“Yeah, right there, keep doin’ that!” You begged Daryl.

His fingers found your clit and began rubbing rapid circles on the swollen nub. Your back arched off the table as your hips chased his mouth and thighs clamped around your head. His tongue continued licking around your smooth walls, eliciting wanton moans from you. You tangled your fingers in his hair, pushing him deeper between your thighs. His own hand found his achingly hard member, stroking it as he brought you to your second orgasm. The same feeling overtook you as that coil burst once again. Feeling your juices squirt onto his tongue brought him to his own orgasm as he drank them up. Reluctantly, Daryl pulled away from your abused cunt. He licked the remaining liquid off the inside of your thighs before helping you off the table.

“You taste so good, Sunshine,” he praised as he cleaned you up with his red rag. You pressed a kiss to his cheek as a way to thank him for making you feel so good.

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jokingmisfit · 6 days

Text

I Just (Don't) Need Help (Part 1/2)

Yandere Batfam x Disabled Female Reader

Warnings- disabled reader, manipulation, reader is in pain, very light yandere themes

Notes- The disability isn’t named because I wanted to make it as inclusive as possible, although it is heavily based on my experiences because I only really know what I’ve experienced. The reader and Damien are both high school seniors, cause I said so. Reader lives alone because who needs parents?

It was the pain. That God awful pain that made you unable to eat, or sleep, or think. Everything in your body screaming at you to quit and give up, but also begging for help. In the end, however, there was nothing you could do.

You've tried, God did you try. You tried to work through it. You've tried to get help, but person after person, and doctor after doctor ignored your pain, ignored your symptoms and left you stranded in this unbearable hell.

You just wanted peace. You just wanted to live without this unending pain. You found it confusing how a human can constantly go through so much pain and not die from it.

You were behind in school. You've lost another job. You were so goddamn tired.

You pulled the phone off your in-stand. Sending a quick text to your friend Damien. You ask him if there were any important notes you missed at school and if he felt like sending you a picture of them. You let him know you’re fine, just sick, and hoping that’ll calm the quantity of texts he has sent you.

You have to be careful with him, Damien, he's easily irritated and highly intelligent. You’ve told him about your disabilities, but you try to not let the pain show. You know he knows something, because he'll press you for information on yourself and stare you down when you refuse to do certain things. He knows it’s worse than you let on, but he doesn’t press like the others.

The text was only slightly changed from one you sent a few weeks ago. You didn’t have the energy to write a whole new text so you copied an old one, only changing it so Damien didn’t catch on and think the flare up was too bad.

Despite only taking a minute or so, it already took all the energy you had left in you. Throwing your phone to the side, you tried to get comfortable, and you drift right back to a restless sleep.

A loud pounding woke you from your queasy rest. You wondered if you could slip back into that sweet dark nothingness, but with the noise being made you knew it’d be useless.

You’d gathered all the bearings you could, and a blanket for good measure, and made your way to your front door. Before you even got there, however, it was already opening. You stood there deadpanned as Jason looks up at you from his bent position; clearly finishing picking your lock.

Dick smiles at you with an awkward laugh and greets you. “Heya… sorry for the intrusion, princess.” He chuckles nervously again. “Damien said you skipped school and stopped answering his texts and everyone got pretty worried soo, here we are!”

“Yeah, okay.” You say with a sigh and go sit on your couch.

Jason and Dick share a concerned look at your exhausted form. Frowns perching on Jason's face, and a worried smile on Dicks.

“Sooo,” Jason started. “You feelin alright there, doll? Ya look pretty… bad?” He awkwardly asks you.

He and Dick sit on the couch with you while Dick quietly scolds him about telling you, you look bad. If it was for the lightness in your head you’d laugh a little at the brotherly behavior, but for now you opt to lay your head on Jason's shoulder once he’s settled on the seat.

“t’s jus a flare up…” You whisper out to them.

You really didn’t want to have a whole conversation. The urge to down all of the pain medicine in your cabinet comes back up. The need to just get the pain to go away. No, you didn’t want to die, but you wanted the pain to stop. You wanted to be able to appreciate your friends coming over to check on you. With all the overwhelming symptoms you couldn’t appreciate much.

With your eyes closed and head on Jason's shoulders, you had missed another look Jason and Dick shared. A mixture of annoyance, concern, and dark thoughts showing clearly through their eyes.

“Didn’t you go to a doctor for that?” Dick asks you with an irritated tone.

“Said he doesn believe me…” You tell him. “Think I wan drugs or somethin.”

Jason scoffs loudly at this. “You’re a drug seeker now huh?”

“‘Mm parently.” You reply.

Dick moves closer and rubs his hand lovingly across your back. You humm with appreciation at the action. Your exhausted form relaxes a bit more into the soft cushion. You move your head and hide it a bit more into Jason's chest.

“Maybe,” Dick starts softly. “You should come stay with us for a while?”

You sigh in frustration. “Already told you guys ‘m not gonna use you like that.” You state angrily. “You’re my friens not a resource for me ta use.”

“I know, I know!” Dick defends, throwing his hands up in defense and laughing nervously. “It’s just, we’ve got tons of money and can get you an actually good doctor. Y’know one that’ll actually listen to your needs, birdie.” He explains passionately.

“Besides,” Jason chimes in. “You’re like family, hunny. We want to help you out. And Alfred has been dyin to see ya again.”

“I don’t wan to…” You tell them.

Jason scoffs. “Why not?”

This situation was too much for you right now. The pain you felt weighed you down and made it harder to hold yourself together. The little bit of poise you had was bubbling off you like melted flesh leaving you at the barest version of yourself, and that self was angry and confused.

You didn’t get why every time you got sick or had a flare up they got like this. Urging you to come live with them ‘cause “it’s easier” and “they can help” or because “you a kid” and “you shouldn’t be living alone”. What do they know? They were adopted by a billionaire and have a huge family. They don’t know what it’s like to feel the way you do. Of course some things they understand, but a lot of it seems they don’t.

It was irritating for them as well. They want to help you, but you always refuse. It always ends in an argument and you push them away for a while until you forget why you were mad in the first place. It was a tiring loop that everyone was becoming sick of.

You lean forward and out of both the mens touches. “I don‘t know why!” You sluggishly shout. “I jus don’t wan to. I don’t know why it’s always a fight with you guys… Jst let me rest please! I’m in pain ‘n all you wanna do is try and hold a conversation that we all know will only end in irritation.” You breathlessly tell them.

You stand on unsteady feet and start walking back towards your room. The stiffness and anger making you feel even worse.

Why can’t they try and see things the way you do?

Of course, they were wondering the same thing. Dick stands up to follow after you. Matching glares enter the brothers eyes as they mirror your steps. Determined to not give up this time when you clearly need them.

You’ve already buried yourself in the bed by the time the two come to your doorway. Honestly you were a bit surprised when they came to sit on the edge of your bed. Well, at least Jason did. Dick crawled over and layed propped against your headboard next to you.

“Okay… Maybe we’ve been a little too pushy.” Dick says.

“Maybe?” You ask glaring up from your covers.

He laughs at you. “Okay, okay, I get it! We’ve pushed too far… It’s just- it’s just that we can get you the help you need, and it’s not like you’d be staying forever. Just long enough for you to get a proper diagnosis and medicine or whatever to make things easier.”

The change from joyful to melancholy in Dicks voice had you feeling guilty. The way he poured out his heart into people never ceased to awe you. You shift to sit up more against the headrest. Jason’s hand found its way to your calf where it rested casually.

“You know we don’t want to force you to do anything. We’re just so concerned for you. We know you’ve been alone for so long, but you don’t have to be anymore.” Dick says love shining in his eyes. “I know you think needing help makes you weak, but it doesn’t, and what’s family for but to be there for you when you are. Can’t tell you how many times we’ve been completely consumed by worry for you.” His brows furrowed as he explains.

“Just long enough for you to get to feelin better. That’s all we ask, doll.” Jason adds on.

“Jus a little while? That’s all?” You ask hesitantly.

“Just for a little while, princess.” Dick answers.

You nod slowly and whisper an “ok”. The two men were immediately in motion packing you a bag. You sat up more and assured them you could do it yourself but they hushed you in excitement. Jason asked you if there were any specific things you wanted while Dick filled a bag with clothes.

All in all time moved swiftly as the two moved like practiced dancers. Within minutes dresses and sentimental items were pulled from their proper places placed into bags and moved out of your home. Dick picked you up despite your demands to walk and brought you to their car. The two of you were followed closely by Jason who carried the last bag of items you’d be taking with you to their homes. Claims to come back for more were made by all three of you as you left the rest behind.

It didn’t take much for you to fall asleep in the back of the car. The rumbling and pain induced heaviness lulled you to sleep like a baby in a cradle. Because of your peaceful rest your arrival at the manor was kept relatively calm so as to not wake you. Bruce coming out to carry you to your new room while the other two grabbed your items. Tim checks the camera placed in the bedroom to make sure it’s operating and Alfred prepares a simple snack for you to eat once you wake up.

#batfamily #yandere batfam #platonic batfam #platonic yandere batfam #batfamily x reader #jason todd x reader #dick grayson x reader #damien wayne x reader #tim drake x reader #batman x reader #disabled reader

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yuri-is-online · 15 hours

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Hi hi so can we have an expansion of middle school Floyd completely being his unfiltered self around yuu (maybe even octotrio going like "Oh please don't believe that merculture is like this" because middle school Floyd is embarrassing them in front of their crush) PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

Hmmm

So Floyd says morays are cowards right, but my experiences with little kids tell me that they don't always have the best sense of self-preservation. I picture little Floyd as one of those kids on crack. He thinks this human is cute! Especially because they don't have the sense to be afraid of him at all and are calling him cute, that's real funny. What if he just takes a big chomp outta ya, will you still think he's cute? As for the embarrassment, well...

Azul

It comes from how blunt little Floyd is.

He's got even less patience for Azul's plans than big Floyd does, and the complete inability to see the value of waiting for the pay off. He's actively getting angry at him and throwing temper tantrums every time Azul tries to smooth things over with Yuu.

"No you can't get the ability to breathe underwater from kissing a mermaid Floyd is making that up. And no not all merfolk are obsessed with legs that's just a him thing-"

"Nah Azul really likes your legs and pretty much everything you do with them!" Little Floyd is loud enough that other people than just you are looking at him in confusion (Azul is convinced it is overwhelming judgment) because he's choking on a mixture of spit and air because how did he pick up on that already?!? Azul thinks he's so subtle when he admires you, he's got to be so you don't think he's weird.

He can't wait for this to be over, he can handle being made fun of by the twins now since they've got a good rapport and he can give as good as he gets but little Floyd is like a sea otter with a clam, he just won't let this go because he thinks octopus courtship is boring and he's not above saying that. Outloud. In front of you.

Jade

It's from how willing he is to throw Jade under the bus.

Floyd knows Jade pretty well, even if it's a younger version of him so he knows just how down bad stupid Jade is within 15 seconds and he is determined to "help."

Said help is mostly just humming a very specific song while swimming around you in circles and doing little tricks to "set the mood." Or asking you what you think about Jade when he thinks he's out of earshot, something he's never once been since little Floyd got summoned.

He thought this would be fun, Floyd is always so delightfully unpredictable and now there's two of him! But instead of bothering Azul he's decided to torture Jade and ruin his carefully cultivated image instead. He sort of gets why Azul was so determined to get rid of all his childhood photos now, you're never going to look at him the same after this.

When his efforts don't work because Jade is too much of a coward little Floyd starts just telling you a bunch of stuff they got up to as kids in an effort to embarras him. It clearly works from how quick Jade is to shove him to the side but you're polite enough to keep the laughter to a minimum. For the most part

Floyd

It comes from how much of a coward he is.

Floyd is waiting for the right time to speak with you, when he's extra sure that you feel the same as he does. When he knows you'll accept everything he wants to give you and more.

But no. Little him has to say everything that comes into his mind. "Are your legs soft? Why are you leaking seawater? Do all humans really only have ten toes and can I count them-"

If you find this funny, I think it might depress him somewhat. He wants you to see all the ways he's smart and not brush him off as an unserious joke. If you think it's cute, well that's a mix of emotions. He doesn't want you to see him as cute now, but it's ok if you find morays cute, and even nicer if you find baby morays cute. That thought alone perks him up.

Until little Floyd starts telling Yuu he thinks they're cute. Then he gets possessive and starts competing with himself like a looser. Probably by picking Yuu up and carrying them away since his legs are longer and he can get away faster.

#<3 asks #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #floyd leech x reader #jade leech x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #I'm writing this on my phone so apologies if there's any typos #I'm thinking about getting soup #or pizza #... probably just gonna have some cereal though

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aroseinasnowstorm · 7 months

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Could you possibly make headcannons for Alucard being affectioned and tender to his human female S/O?

And here I thought and feared I already make the vampire kind too somft! But no! You guys want more smoochie and cuddles?! YOU SHALL HAVE IT!

(Psst, always gender neutral reader unless we have something specifically related to sex and gender like a reader being pregnant, being trans, etc, just so everyone can always feel included, love ya guys)

TW: YOU ASKED FOR FLUFF AND YOU SHALL RECIEVE, mention of Alucards past

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

Alucard Being Affectionate

He´s a killing machine who has been experimented on for many, many years. My man has gone through horrors and so much pain but with you? He can allow himself to be vulnerable. Soft. Gentle.

He can nuzzle into you, he can just take in your scent and allow himself to enjoy your warmth. Alucard is touch starved beyond reason at this point. You cup his cheeks? He sighs happily. You kiss him? Oh boy is over the moon!

At the beginning he was almost a bit shy touching you back. He was afraid of harming you. Of being too rough. But with some reassurance and some time passing by he would not want to depart from you EVER.

You have to work? Tough luck, you won´t be going anywhere. I hope you can do home office because you ain´t leaving his lap.

He´s eager to kiss and hold you, always. If you enjoy it when he´s vocally praising you or telling you how much he loves you he will just do that.

Alucard loves being wrapped around you, just nuzzling into you and sighing dreamily as if this is heaven because to him? It is. He adores you so much. You give him the feeling of peace.

He is all over you, whenever he can. Soft kisses, lingering touches. He is so soft with you that it might confuse everyone else.

The vampire purrs. No I take no criticism on that. As mentioned in previous posts he purrs when he´s content.

So just imagine the confusion when someone like Integra or Walter hear that man PURRING out of his basement. A happy little smile on his face while he´s holding you so tightly against his chest that it might hurt just a little.

Just tell him to ease his grip and he´ll do it but he prefers to hold you as close as possible. It makes him feel better about all this.

He loves to just stare into your eyes while telling you all the little details he loves about you. And if you don´t mind additional hands, he will totally wrap you in a cocoon of seemingly endless hands.

You can lay on his chest, listen to his purring while the space around you darkens with his shadows and he engulfs you in comfortable darkness. Little forehead kisses and soft giggles are going to fill up your space as Alucard for once feels... alive.

You need something to drink? Hungry? You want a blanket? He can BE the blanket but yes, fine, you may get your stuff. As long as Integra does not need him he would be willing to lay there for hours.

No matter if you want to sleep, just cuddle, or watch a movie, whatever you wish shall be yours little lamb.

He feels not like a predator in that moment but more like a guardian and he absolutely loves the trust you give him.

He´s going to tell you that you take such good care of him, that he´s proud of you and thankful for your presence. You´ve never seen the vampire so peaceful than when he cuddled you and displays his affection for you.

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

Check out my blog for more Hellsing headcanons! I even have a masterlist, fancy, I know Like, Reblog, Comment- honestly do whatever you want, I just hope ya enjoyed this!

#headcanons #x reader #hellsing x reader #hellsing #hellsing ultimate #alucard headcanons #hellsing headcanons #alucard x reader #hellsing alucard

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itsthatmff · 4 months

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How would opm saitama, genos, and garou react to having an monster female s/o but is very docile and kind and just wants to live a normal life and has a human disguise

This ones so cute o mah gad immediately had to do it

Opm guys with a Monster S/O

Included: Genos, Saitama, Garou

fem!reader

Requests are open !!

Genos

Very wary about you at first

The first time you two meet is around noon at the Ghost town of city Z when he returns from getting groceries for Saitama.

In an alleyway he hears a commotion and goes to check it out when he sees that there are two monsters getting into a fight.

Of course he immediately goes into combat mode thinking that you two could be a threat for the citizens.

But it’s when you save him from that other monster you were fighting with that he’s completely startled.

“So not all monsters are driven by malice…interesting..”

He feels a connection between the two of you and can relate very much as you two have had similar experiences before with not fitting in to society due to not being full humans.

is VERY intrigued and interested by you therefore he decides to stick by your side to analyze your art and nature for research purposes. Those hangout’s eventually turn into dates.

He likes you both in your human and monster form and encourages you to like every part about yourself too.

Will support you 100% in wanting to lead a normal life and fit in with the humans. Even though his knowledge about what humans his age do is very limited as well he tries to teach you what he knows.

“I have heard that it is quite popular around young people to visit crepe shops. Shall we try them?”

Honestly best bf to ever have. Will love you even if you’re a worm. (Doesn’t show it a lot though)

Saitama

I’m telling y’all this guy DOES NOT CARE wether you’re human or not.

He saved you in your human form once (some monsters attacked you because they could tell from your smell that you were a monster as well) and thought you were so attractive from the get-go.

He did have his suspicions as he could sense a different kind of aura from you but did not question it.

A week into dating it was that you came clear to him about your “true form”, already expecting that he’d immediately break up with you.

“Oh really? Yeah that’s calm.”

Doesn’t feel betrayed or alarmed because he’s known you for long enough to tell that you were a good person, monster or not.

He does ask you random questions sometimes though

“So like..do you eat human flesh? Monster flesh? No? Oh okay.”

“Is it true that you turn into your true form every full moon? You’re telling me only werewolves do that?? Geez I was just asking..”

Whenever you feel insecure he reassures you and comforts you.

Always takes you out to go grocery shopping with him because he can tell that you enjoy doing regular things such as these.

Gets judged big time by Genos for dating you but he doesn’t care.

Garou

Thought of you as his rival/opponent for the longest time.

Whenever he’d see you around in your human form he could sense this aura coming from you assuming that you were a strong fighter when not knowing that you simply were a monster.

He’d bother you every time and ask you for a fight and every time you’d have to kindly decline saying that you had no idea how to fight.

“Don’t lie to me I can sense that you’re powerful. One fight won’t hurt ya cmon..”

Around the 6th time you came across him you decided to just come straight with the truth.

“So you’re telling me..you’re a monster..but ya dont fight?”

Is hella confused but just rolls with it. He decides to stick by your side just for the sake of it. And he couldn’t deny that you were absolutely gorgeous at that.

Would ask you out in the most blunt and straightforward way.

You’d both be talking about how it was so hard for you to find any love interests because most of the human guys would get scared if they were to find out you’re a monster

Which he would straight up answer with “why dont you date me then?”

Very overprotective boyfriend. He prefers you in your monster form actually and encourages you to just be yourself but the moment ANYONE dares to give you a wrong look he’ll beat them to a pulp

Even when you’re in your human form he just assumes that people might stare at you because they know you’re a monster so he cusses at them (he isn’t the smartest guy out there)

Doesn’t really know what personal space is so he will be all up in your business as a monster and a human.

#one punch man #garou #genos #genos one punch man #genos x reader #headcanons #opm genos #garou opm #garou x reader #genos x y/n #saitama x reader #saitama one punch man #saitama opm #saitama #garou x y/n #one punch man garou #garou headcanons

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magicxc · 2 months

Text

Safe Word

Pairings: Survey Corps x Reader - how they react to the safe word being called

Word Count: 2967

Warnings: cuteness overload

A/N: This is how I think our bois would react to the safe word being used. Everyone is respectful and fluffy in this so enjoy and tell me what ya think!!

If you’re up to it, check out my headcannon with aot x safeword ignored. Its as it sounds - a darker version of this, so do proceed with caution.

Safe word - sparrow

Eren - Maybe it was the emotional toll of the day or the sensitivity right before the start of your period, but you just couldn’t keep up. Normally when Eren got a little rough with you it was an enjoyable experience but today just seemed rather, off. Legs curled around his waist as he steadily drove into you left you with nowhere to go; taking everything he was giving your body. And suddenly it became too much to handle, the pressure of it yielding more discomfort than pleasure. You tried to hold on, for him, but the tears that pricked at your eyes had Eren slowing down before your words did.

“Sp- sparrow,” you heaved, the waterworks now in full effect. Halting completely Eren pulled out of you, thumbs wiping away at your cheeks as he bombarded you with questions.

Apologising for something he didn’t yet understand, he engulfed you in a bear hug until you were ready to express yourself; slowly rocking you both back and forth as he kissed along your temple. After explaining to him how you felt overwhelmed with everything, he’d made you promise to always tell him when you weren't feeling like yourself, especially if it was at the expense of his pleasure. Nodding in agreement, you’d watch as he left to get you a bottle of ice cold water; cuddling you to a peaceful sleep once you’d both settled down.

Levi - being humanity’s strongest soldier meant that Levi had to be extra careful when it came to everyday people. Certain things like a friendly game of arm wrestling or even cracking eggs for breakfast had to be approached cautiously. And while you did allow him to let loose in the bedroom, even that he conducted to a certain extent; always holding your safety in high regard. However, his idea of taking it easy and your idea of taking it easy were vastly different and while you two were still trying to gauge his strength in the early stages of your relationship, there was a safe word put in place.

“Sparrow,” you’d weakly cried out, eyelids heavy and limbs flaccid from the sixth round you and Levi had found yourselves in. While the sex was great and the orgasms mind numbing, six rounds on your poor body was beginning to take its toll. You’d felt weak and the heated feeling building in your belly to signal yet another explosive finish was borderline sweltering. No longer did those black dots that danced around your vision feel fun and soon the empty contents of your stomach threatened to rise. It was like a HIIT workout for a beginner but without the prep.

Sweat prickled at your forehead and body moist enough to stick to the sheets you were all too eager to tap out, revealing to Levi just how wrecked you were beginning to feel.

After hearing the safe word he stopped immediately, eyes bulging out of his sockets at the idea that he’d hurt you beyond repair. He tended to be a bit drastic in thought when it came to you, but that didn't stop the apologies that tumbled from his lips. Levi would go on to make you a cup of green tea to calm down your symptoms and would keep you up in conversation until the sun rose; much like a mother making her child sing in the bathtub to ensure their safety while she left the room for a towel. How your quiet boyfriend managed to talk you into the wee hours of the morning surely surprised you, but you’d gladly indulge at the efforts he’d go through to make sure that you were okay.

Erwin - Erwin was a generous lover, sometimes too generous as his tongue worked wonders on your clit. Tongue flat against the nub, he’d let enough drool gather at the tip to rub around the bud as effortlessly as possible. Coupled with the two finger combo he’d drive into your pussy had you seeing literal stars. Erwin had come to learn that not only did this garner powerful orgasms for you, but it also garnered quick ones. It was something about his skilled body that would have you unraveling in three minutes flat. And much like the Commander of the Scouts appreciated when his planning yielded successful results on the field, so did the Commander in the bedroom appreciate when his woman yielded successful results from his ministrations; so much so that he’d barely hear the word leave your mouth.

Stopping, he’d uttered “what?”

“I said sparrow,” you panted.

“Baby, I- I’m so sorry,” he apologised.

Thankful for the break, all you could manage was to catch your breath before Erwin began interrogating you with questions of how you felt, where’d it hurt, when did it become too much, what do you need, why didn’t you stop him sooner, etc.

You literally had to shut him up with a finger to his lips, clarifying to Erwin that while it was more pressure than pain, you were fine now. Did it stop him from hurling ten more questions your way? No! And while you were initially annoyed, you were appreciative that he’d cared so much that he was willing to nail down the exact line of no return so he’d know never to cross it again.

Connie - “thwack” was the loud echo of your skin crackling against Connie’s palm. Bent over his knee, he found himself ‘punishing’ you for whatever roleplay you guys were currently in the middle of. Eight spanks in and the fiery ache to your ass cheek had you quickly forgetting exactly what scenario you two were acting out. All you could think of was how soon you wanted it to end.

Apparently you’d stop counting which meant that Connie had to start from the top and maybe it was the soreness of your ass, but his hits seemed to rain down even harder on your puffy skin - no doubt leaving behind a handprint. And by the third count you were effectively tapping out, croaking out your safe word before his hand could connect again.

“Sparrow, sparrow, sparrow.”

Hand halted high in the air, Connie quickly turned you over and wrapped you in his arms, begging for your forgiveness. The pleading never ceased and when you were finally able to gather your thoughts, all you wanted was to call it a night.

You’d forgiven him rather quickly especially considering you both were trying something new. But after he’d rub your skin down in aloe vera gel, you two discussed the idea of a middle word, much the same as a yellow traffic light signals that a car should slow down, this middle word would signal that whatever act is being done should continue with caution.

Plopping down next to you, Connie had showered you with kisses, apologies, and now snacks; even managing to slide in a joke or two. While this was an uncomfortable experience for you both, his love language was definitely laughter, trying his best to keep the atmosphere light but also working towards making sure that something like this never happens again.

Jean - While you and Jean tried to keep sex relatively fresh, nothing could ever really beat the classics - good ole fashion head. It was fun and oftentimes turned you on just as much. Face lodged between his thighs, the floor beneath you was a slobbering combination of your spit and Jean’s fluids.

His hand guided you on the exact pace he wanted you to go, muttering out instructions of how you should please him in the process. The better it felt, the more aggressive he tended to get, hands cradled around your neck as he bobbed you along his shaft.The words you attempted to say came out mumbled and instead sent vibrations to all the right places; and what he thought was you amplifying the experience only made him thrust his hips toward your face more forcefully. Spit bubbling out the corners of your mouth and tears streaming down your face, Jean couldn’t have felt more turned at the sight, his brows crinkling to confusion once your fists began to beat against his thighs.

Halting his movements, he helps you up to which you breathlessly utter your safe word - “sparrow.”

Jean’s face instantly fell and regret filled him to the brim at the idea that he’d been so caught up in his own pleasure that he didn’t realise just how uncomfortable things were getting for you.

Of course you knew Jean would never hurt you on purpose but you couldn’t help but feel a little frustrated with him. Opting to talk about it some more in the morning when you’d be more emotionally settled, you watched as Jean ran a bath for you; delicately washing the stress from your body and carefully preparing you both for bed. In between it all, he’d profusely apologised, promising to be more attentive the next time you found yourselves sexually active.

By the end of the night, you were pretty much over the incident and insisted on being the big spoon to Jean to allow him a bit of vulnerability in a moment that no doubt left him feeling distraught.

Onyankopon - It was safe to say that Ony was above average. While sex with him was definitely mind blowing, it had its moments of discomfort and today seemed to be one of them. Fresh from date night, you guys burst through the front door, lips glued to the other as fingertips slid along heated skin. Clothes were stripped and scattered throughout the room, with your foot slamming the door close behind you.

Soon enough, you’d both ended up on the couch with you atop Ony, riding him into oblivion. And boy was he excited to help you, thick hands tightly secured around your waist as he grinded you into his hips; a nice rhythm that was slowly picking up in pace. His deep thrusts only added to the sensation, dick at the tip of your cervix, as you tried to ride yourself into creating more moisture for the friction.

You were eager to have sex with Ony and you still wanted to, but sometimes it took a little more work to get you as ready as he was. Even though you were turned on, your body needed more time to catch up with your mind. And try as you might, you had to call it quits for now.

“Ohhh my gosh, Ony!! Sparrow, please sparrow,” you’d chanted.

Carefully dislodging himself from you, Ony carefully sat you on the chair, tucking loose strands of hair behind your ear before landing a soothing kiss to your forehead.

“I’m so sorry pretty,” he lamented.

He’d thank you for speaking up and went on to inspect your body for any bruising. This wasn’t the first time you and Ony had gotten caught up in the moment and it surely wasn’t the first time your body was slower to catch up to his; but it would be the first time you’d felt all too tender to proceed.

You were still ready to go, but you definitely needed a little more prep and after confirming that you were okay to continue, Ony insisted on adding to the moisture with his rigid tongue - ensuring that you’d come at least twice before entering you again. He’d even let you ride him, after much convincing, and was hell bent on taking things slow tonight and for the next several days to come.

Reiner - Maybe his boss had pissed him off. Or maybe there was a discrepancy with one of his coworkers. Hell, maybe he’d woken up on the wrong side of the bed, but for whatever the reason Reiner was not giving you any moment's reprieve. If the head board that viciously slammed against the wall wasn’t indication enough, your sore pussy surely was.

Not that it happened often, but you didn't mind when Reiner lost himself inside you. In fact, you’d insisted on it; insisted that he mold your body to his will all in the name of relieving his frustrations. But today felt different, felt unfamiliar. You watched as his lips came together to let out grunt after grunt - looking on as his eyes stared straight through you, dark and obscure. You’d even noticed the way he handled your body so carelessly, tossing you around as if you were a rag doll.

And you’d begun to feel exploited. Like a stranger using your body to get himself off and the lump that bloomed in your throat had made the safe word almost impossible to say; but somehow you’d managed, and thankfully he’d heard.

“SPARROW,” you’d yelped.

Reiner’s thrusting had slowed to a complete stop, confusion etched into his every feature; and finally you’d begun to see cracks of your boyfriend, almost as if his spell of anger was lifted.

He’d been mortified when you explained to him how you felt, dropping to his knees as he clung onto your torso in a fit of apologies. He stayed like that for a few minutes and when you both came to, you assured him that you’d be fine and encouraged him instead to talk to you before he decided to use your body as a sole source of relief.

Reiner agreed, but things between you sort of fizzled out over the weeks to come. It felt like he was walking on eggshells when it came to you in conversation and physical touch alike; gently kissing you or even hugging you, almost like he was afraid that you’d break at the slightest pressure. No matter your efforts to assure Reiner that you were fine, you decided to let it run its course.

And over time, he’d learn to do a lot of self work and reflection in terms of getting to the root of his problems all the while being more open in discussing his true feelings and thoughts with you. You were overjoyed that he was finally taking the necessary steps toward improving his mental health. And when he finally felt comfortable enough to effectively communicate with you, to have sex with you, and to even get rough with you, well, it was divine.

Armin - Nipple play was Armins latest obsession. He’d gotten into it after a sexy session between you two and what started out as initial embarrassment turned into full fledged enjoyment. So much so that he’d encourage you to get in on the action as well.

Although nipples were an erogenous zone for everyone, you couldn’t help but feel that yours were a little more delicate; or at the very least Armin had a higher tolerance for pain. Clamps latched onto each nipple, Armins hand was firmly wrapped around your throat as he drove into you again and again. There would be the occasional tugging of the clamps and what started out as hypersensitivity very quickly turned painful.

You’d tried to utter the safe word, but with Armin’s hand around your neck, the best you could do was mouth it and fortunately for you he was an attentive enough lover to catch it. Unwrapping his hand, you murmured the word once more for good measure.

“Sparrow.”

Still inside of you, he’d come to a standstill, peering beneath wet eyelashes in what you could only describe as panic. Fat teardrops hit your cheeks from above as he works to unlatch the clamps and pulls out of you entirely; the apologies never ceasing.

Seeing Armin so riled up had gotten you equally as emotional and before you knew it tears were sliding down your cheeks as well, arms flying around his neck as you held him close. The night grows quiet save for your hearts that beat against the others chest and when enough time passes by, you both decide to get some sleep, still wrapped tightly in each other's arms, choosing to discuss it in the morning.

Floch - Floch had turned you all the way out. You’d become perfect in every way for him and that included sexual. Ass hiked into the air, you bounced into the mattress each time he drove into you. And it’d felt great, it always did. But somehow you just couldn’t get into the groove of things this go round. To put it simply, you weren’t in the mood and it wasn’t until he was balls deep did you realise. Were you turned on? Yes. Was your body responsive to his? Absolutely. But your mind wasn’t in it and you’d wanted this session to end just as quickly as it started. No matter how far along you and Floch got into sex, let alone penetrative sex it was always crystal clear between you two that consent could be revoked at any time; and you decided to do just that.

“Sparrow,” was the safe word you so tiredly whispered.

Immediately Floch stopped thrusting, removing himself from you as he kissed up to your spine until he’d reached your neck, sorry on the tip of his tongue in between each peck. He’d carefully flipped you over and proceeded to shower your face in butterfly kisses, apologies continuing to spill from his mouth until you were able to speak.

Worn out, you’d go on to tell him how you felt and he’d mildly chastised you for even letting it get this far. After all, he is a grown man and would never put his pleasure before your well being. Softly smiling, you thanked him and leaned in for an open mouth kiss.

To seal the deal, Floch went on to massage your entire body down with your favorite oils until your light snores lured him into his own slumber; eager to get a full night's rest so he could treat you to your favorite breakfast in the morning.

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