my least favorite literary smut turn of phrase is when a guy is like “im gonna ruin this pussy” “im gonna wreck this pussy for anyone else” like stop.. thats not yours…!
Prompt: You've been kidnapped by a man who lives deep in the woods. You guess that's on you, for trusting someone who grinned too wide to take you back to civilization. Imagine your surprise when you manage to stab him in the chest and he doesn't die. You'll need to do better than that, angel.
M Yandere x F Reader, reader is cis, reader is aggressive, stubborn, freaky, yan is devoted, condescending, inhuman
CW: yandere, major obsessiveness, mentions/descriptions of animal death, mentions of cnc, extreme gore, guro, smut, temperature play, monsterfucking
I feel like this should be a separate warning, but reader is the one into the guro and cnc, so tread with caution if that stuff squicks you out
18+/Explicit content
8k words
Read pinned post before following
(🍝 A/N, this got really long, lol. I'd make it longer, but I have other stuff to be working on 😔)
Next ->
You struggle against your bonds, cursing yourself for being so stupid. You're wrapped up nice and tight, though, trussed up like a pig. Of course, you had to get lost in the forest and of course, you had to meet the one person who was a fucking lunatic and a kidnapper. That was just your luck, wasn't it? God forbid you have faith in humanity.
You twist and turn, but you can't loosen the rope at all. You have the feeling he's tied up many a person. You breathe hard for a moment, thinking. You know there's no use in screaming. You're deep in the forest, having gone on a hike at the behest of your friends. How were you supposed to know that the path you took on a whim wasn't an actual trail? That's the last time you do that.
The floorboards creak under the weight of your kidnapper. He's massive, burly with thick muscles borne from years of hard labor. He tilts his head at you, long, dark purple hair swaying. His eyes are dark, deep set with thick eyebrows. He has full lips and a roman nose, with stubble scattered over his jaw. His skin is greyish, like he's been dead for a few hours. He wears a grey flannel shirt under a pair of overalls, leather gloves on his hands.
You glare at him, resolving to never trust some random mountain man again. He kneels down, his movements slow as he unties you. He's humming some jaunty tune, wholly unconcerned that you might take the chance to run. Oh, you're going to take a chance alright. Once the ropes are free, you lunge for the hunting knife on his belt.
You stab him in the chest, using your weight to force the knife as deep as it will go. The man blinks at you, vaguely surprised that you stabbed him, but mostly amused. You twist the knife, the horrible squelching noise echoing in the space. He doesn't react nor does he start bleeding. You wrench the knife out, staring at the black substance on the blade.
"Most people start begging, you know."
You pull the torn edges of his shirt aside. The flesh inside the wound is black, and it slowly drips out, more a sludge than anything else. It heals right before your eyes, the edges stitching themselves together. You notice that his skin is ice cold and he doesn't breathe. You press your hand to his heart and don't feel a heartbeat.
"What the fuck are you?"
"Dead."
"What? Like a zombie?"
"Sure. You're awfully calm, angel."
"You want me to start crying?" you raise your brows at him.
He cups your cheek, rubbing his thumb over your cheekbone.
"How fascinating."
"Don't touch me," you spit, slapping his hand away.
He laughs, the sound rumbling in his chest.
"Why did you kidnap me?"
"Hm? Well, I was going to eat you."
"Was?"
He makes an odd chirp noise, grabbing your head to rub his cheek against your hair.
"You and I are going to get very well acquainted with each other."
"Let go, you freak! I don't want to be acquainted!"
"Now, now, that's not very nice, angel."
"Quit calling me angel!"
"But you're just such a sweet thing. How can I not?"
You scoff. No one has ever called you sweet.
"Are you fucking insane?"
"What a mouth you have."
He curls an arm under your ass, lifting you into the air as he stands. You must weigh nothing to this man.
"What's your name, angel?"
You keep your mouth shut. You're not telling him shit.
"Come now, don't be shy," he coos.
You narrow your eyes at him, flipping him off. He grabs your hand, turning it to press his cold lips to the back. You yank it back, rubbing it on your jeans.
"Angel."
You turn your head away, refusing to tell him. He sighs.
"So stubborn. Well, my name is Valentine."
"Really? Of course it is."
He smiles warmly at you, ignoring your snarky comment. You have a feeling you've accidentally endeared yourself to him. The universe must be having a laugh at your expense.
You hate this man. You've been forced into yet another dress, the man humming happily as he adjusts a bow. In just the span of a few days, Valentine has bathed you, dressed you, refused to die when you try to kill him, made you sleep in his cold embrace, annoyed you to hell and back, and generally just pissed you the fuck off. Nothing you say or do phases him. It's like he's living in his own little world. Your already thin patience snaps and you rip the bow off the dress.
"Oh dear, what was that for?"
He kneels down to pick it up and you smash your knee into his face. He stands up nonchalantly, fixing his nose back into place. He tries to reattach the bow, but you slap it away.
"Will you fucking stop? Are you really just going to play dress up with me?"
"What's wrong with that?"
You grit your teeth.
"You're fucking weird."
"Angel, you swear so much."
"Fuck you, you piece of shit."
He sets his hands on either side of your face, mock frowning. You shiver at the coldness. You're not one to be squeamish, but the exposed bone of his hands is still quite weird. There's not a scrap of flesh on them, only the tendons and a bit of muscle. You have other, less normal thoughts about his bone fingers, but you're not allowing yourself to think them.
"Dear, oh dear. We'll have to fix that little habit of yours, won't we?"
He steers you toward the bathroom sink, pressing his body to your back. He forces his fingers into your mouth, holding it open. He picks up a bar of soap. Seeing what he's intending, you try to turn your head away. He shoves the soap in your mouth. You cough at the taste.
"I do love your brash attitude, but all the cursing is a bit much, don't you think?"
He washes your mouth out with the soap, looking for all the world like a disappointed father. You bite his fingers to no avail. You're just hurting your teeth. He leans down to kiss your temple.
"You'll do better, won't you, angel?"
You glare at him in the mirror. You're not the least bit scared of him. He continues, tutting at your stubbornness. Finally, you nod when he asks again if you'll do better, anything to get that blasted soap out of your mouth. He lets you rinse your mouth out, his bone fingers tapping on the porcelain of the sink. He steps back when you're done, tilting his head at you when you immediately whirl on him and punch him in the gut.
"Do you even have any nerve endings?"
"I do. But I can't feel pain."
You glance at his crotch.
"Not at all?"
"Not a thing," he chirps happily.
You punch him in the crotch; he's too tall for you to knee. He groans, leaning over you.
"Angel. If I don't feel pain, what do you think that did?"
You sneer at the growing bulge. Fucking freak. You step around him, leaving the bathroom. He follows you.
"Angel."
"What?"
"You're just going to leave?"
"I'm not touching your dick."
You walk faster, ending up in the main room of the cabin. There's nowhere to go, so you just flop down on the worn out couch. Valentine pouts at you, but leaves you alone, his heavy footsteps echoing away from you. You sigh, leaning your head back on the couch.
What the fuck did you do to earn this? You tried to be a good person, help people out when needed. You couldn't help that you swore like a sailor or that you were grumpy. Surely nothing you'd ever done had earned you the affections of a fucker like him.
Sure, he hasn't forced himself on you or hurt you, but it's only a matter of time. No one has an infinite amount of patience. One day, he'll snap and you'll see his true colors. He was already so irritating. You can't imagine what he'll be like when he loses his cool.
You wonder if you should run. You're deep in the forest, though, high in the mountains. It's freezing cold at night, you don't know where you are, and you've heard wolves howling. You're not about to stumble about like an idiot without some preparation.
Eventually, Valentine comes back to the main room, not even noticing that you're waiting with his axe in your hands. You aim for his head, the crunch of the axe making you wince. His head nearly splits in half, his body slumping to the floor. You lift the axe again, severing his head from his body. Black sludge slowly drips from the wound, pooling on the floor. He doesn't move. Holy shit. Did you kill him? You breathe hard, waiting for him to get up and laugh at you. You poke him with the handle. Not even a twitch.
You laugh in bewilderment. You weren't even really trying. You guess it's a lot harder to reattach a head. You glance at his split skull, wondering if you should remove his brain. No way. You're not putting your hands in there. Removing the head should be enough. You scrounge around the cabin, putting on one of his thick coats and taking his hunting knife and a flashlight. It's early morning still, so you should make it a fair distance.
You should probably look for a few more things, but you're afraid he'll get back up. You want to get out of here. It won't take you that long to get back to the trail. He didn't walk for all that long when he took you, so you're sure you'll be fine if you just walk for a couple hours.
You leave the cabin, taking one last look at the unmoving corpse. Jackass got what he deserved. You head east, knowing that you were wandering somewhat westward when you were caught. He'd just picked you up and slung you over his shoulder after you asked if he knew the way back to the trail head and you'd been able to see where he was going.
The going is rough, the forest floor littered with roots and giant boulders. You walk for hours, belatedly realizing that you should have grabbed some food and water. You'd been so eager to leave, you hadn't even thought about it. Part of you still thought you were going to hear his heavy footsteps behind you, coming after you to scold you for running off.
You ignore the pangs of hunger and your dry mouth, trudging on. You'll come across a trail eventually or someone hiking. Something. You try not to think about how many people go missing in forests every year or the sun descending toward the horizon. You'll make it out of here.
. . . . .
You are not making it out of here. You're going to die in the middle of nowhere and no one is ever going to find your body because you're going to be eaten by wild animals. You glance down through the branches of the tree, into the eyes of a very large bear. You know that bears can climb trees. But what were you supposed to do? Stay on the ground where it could definitely outrun you? Damned if you do, damned if you don't.
The bear stands up on its hind legs, putting its huge paws onto the trunk of the tree. It sniffs at you, letting out a small roar. Maybe you should start screaming. Someone might hear you. The bear starts to climb the tree, eyes fixed on you. It looks quite thin, which is probably why it's after you in the first place. You scramble further up the tree, onto branches that are barely holding your weight.
The bear keeps following, evidently too hungry to care that it might fall. You climb higher, a few branches snapping under you, until you're perched on a branch that is creaking ominously. The animal is several feet below you, using the trunk to climb instead of the branches. Oh fuck, oh god, you're going to die. You shimmy away from the trunk, heart pounding in your chest. And then, that dreaded sound. SNAP.
You tilt backwards, wind and branches whipping past you. You almost seem to fall in slow motion, like a tense scene from a movie. You swear you can see yourself falling, see the way your body will land on the ground, mangled and broken. You close your eyes, not wanting to see anymore. You don't ever hit the ground, though, strong arms catching you.
"What a troublemaker you are, angel."
Your eyes fly open, your heart skipping a beat at the sight of Valentine's rugged face inches from your own. You stare at him, half relieved and half pissed off.
"God damn you!" you snarl.
"Would you rather I had let you fall? I can piece myself together, but a little human is a tad harder."
"What if I'd died?"
"You would be dead then."
You shut your mouth, his honesty putting a dent in your anger. You almost died. You were seconds from it. No matter how much you hate your life right now, you don't want to die. You're sure as hell not thanking this asshole, though. His gaze slides past you, eyes growing cold. You turn your head to look, seeing that the bear has climbed down the tree. Despite yourself, you wrap your arms around Valentine's neck, clinging to him.
"My, my, what a bold animal, to dare to try to harm my angel," he says rather cheerfully.
He raises a hand, a strange, intricate gold circle forming before it, casting a glow over his arm and chest.
"Rend."
The bear explodes, blood and viscera splattering everywhere. It falls apart like it was sliced by a sword, its guts spilling over the ground. None of it lands on you, a perfect semicircle of blood around you, like there was a forcefield. You gape at the scene, suddenly very aware that the man who is holding you so gently could kill you just like he killed that bear if he so wished. He draws his hand back, turning your face towards him.
"Shall we go home, angel?"
You nod once, sharply, not trusting yourself to not babble nonsense right now. He turns around, leaves crunches under his boots. You shiver, tucking yourself closer to him, even though he's colder than the air.
"Why are you so cold?" you complain.
"I'm dead, remember?"
"If you can explode a bear, can't you make yourself warmer?"
"I'll warm up if you keep leaning against me," he says.
"I don't want to lean against you because you're freezing cold."
"I'm sorry, angel. We'll be home soon."
"I was walking for hours. What do you mean soon?"
"You got yourself turned around at some point."
"….What."
He smiles up at you fondly.
"It's not your fault, angel. You ran into the spell I set out in case you decided to run off. Clever, isn't it? You didn't even realize you were going back towards the cabin."
"I'm going to cut your balls off while you're sleeping."
He laughs.
"They'll just grow back."
You hang your head over Valentine's shoulder, not wanting to look at his stupid face anymore. Did god just put the whole shaker of bad luck into you when you came into existence? You'd never been especially lucky, but this was on a whole 'nother level. Your eyes start to flutter shut, lulled to sleep by the gentle sway of Valentine walking. You doze off slumped against his broad shoulder, missing his light chuckle of amusement.
You wake up sweating like you just ran a marathon in ninety degree weather, your hair plastered to your skin. You struggle out of the blankets piled on top of you, pulling your shirt off as well. You sit up, noting that it's the middle of the night. Pale moonlight streams in through a crack in the curtains and the air is so cold you can almost see your breath. You look down beside you, to where Valentine is nestled against you, an arm over your hips. You watch in amazement as he breathes. You lean closer, but he only breathes once.
"Mm, something the matter, angel?" he murmurs sleepily.
"You breathe."
"Every once in a while, yeah. Go back to sleep."
"It's too hot."
You set your hands on his arm, mildly peeved that he's nearly as warm as you are. His face is still cold, though, as you soon discover. He blinks at you, still half asleep. You suddenly have a thought. The question slips out before you can think twice about it.
"Is your cum cold?"
He raises a brow at you.
"Usually, yes."
"Would it be warm right now?"
"Are you trying to imply something, angel?"
"No. I was just wondering."
"I don't mind if you want to find out," he teases.
"I mind."
You snuggle back under the covers, now too cold. Valentine pulls you into his chest, nuzzling the top of your head. He lets out a sleepy hum of contentment. You guess it isn't too bad cuddling with him. At least you weren't awake when he first put you to bed. That's the worst part of it, waiting for his body to slowly warm up. Although, he'll probably be nice in the summertime.
What are you thinking about? You won't be here come summer. You shouldn't be thinking how nice and cold his body will be when it's a thousand degrees outside. You need to be thinking about how to escape. You need to figure out how to get rid of his misdirection spell and how to kill him. Never mind that he's the gentlest man you've ever met or that he treats you better than any partner you've ever had. None of that matters in the face of the fact that he kidnapped you and is holding you captive. You've also seemed to have forgotten that he washed your mouth out with soap.
You wriggle against him, trying to get away. His hold tightens on you. You press your hands to his chest, pushing hard. You're no match for his strength, so you start yanking on his hair.
"Angel. What are you doing?"
"I don't want to sleep next to you."
"Why not?"
"Because I hate you, you fucking asshole."
"Language, angel," he scolds gently.
"What are you even doing? Are we just going to play house forever?"
"You seem to have a hard time relaxing. It's like you're forever waiting for the other shoe to drop," he says.
His dark eyes are soft as he gazes at you, reaching a hand up to brush over your cheek.
"You're going to snap eventually. No one has infinite patience."
"I've been here a long, long time, my angel. I have far more patience than you think I do. Do you think my behavior is a façade?"
"Isn't it?"
"You won't believe me even if I say it isn't, will you?"
"Of course not. I trusted you once and look where that got me."
His eyes grow sad and he shifts forward to kiss your forehead.
"I hope one day you'll grow to trust me."
"In your dreams," you scoff.
"For now."
You turn so you're facing away from him, huffing when he presses against your back. What are you even doing here? You have a life to get back to, friends, your family, your job. You don't have time to sit around twiddling your thumbs while an undead man does everything for you. You have obligations, deadlines, bills to pay. Your life sounds pretty bleak when you put it that way, but it's the same for everyone, isn't it? You sigh. You're not tired at all now.
"Valentine?"
"Yes, angel?"
"Are you actually a zombie?"
"What do you think?"
"I think you were lying."
"Oh?"
"I haven't seen you eat anyone and I'm pretty sure zombies don't have magic powers."
He chuckles.
"Well? Are you?" you demand to know.
"I'll let you think about it, angel."
His hand slides to your stomach, pulling you flush against him. You grab his hand, intending to fling it away, but ending up pulling it off his wrist with a wet crack. You glance down, weirded out when his fingers wiggle even though they're no longer attached.
"That was rude."
"I didn't mean to," you say hurriedly.
You take his hand and place the stump back on his wrist, relieved when it reattaches itself. You can't help but have another inappropriate thought, about whether you could stick his fingers in your pussy while it was detached. God. What is your problem tonight? You close your eyes and will yourself to sleep, refusing to think about anything to do with the man behind you and your private parts.
You watch Valentine expertly bleed and gut a deer, then slice the hide away from the flesh. You're sitting on his worktable out in the shed, kicking your legs back and forth. He begins to carve large sections of meat off, the backstrap, the hindquarters. He talks as he works, pointing to each part of the deer and naming it. You never knew so much went into preparing a deer. It's kind of cool watching him work.
You've more or less gotten used to living with him after a few weeks. He's still annoying as fuck and you haven't given up on killing him, but it could be worse. You haven't tried to escape again, the image of that bear climbing after you still fresh in your mind.
Lately, though, you've been having thoughts. Dirty thoughts. You hate to admit it, that this man is your type, bar the kidnapping and his attitude. You admire his muscles from under your lashes, watching the way they flex as he cuts away at the deer. He's pulled his shirt off today and tied his long hair up, giving you full access to his muscular back and bulging biceps. He has a patch of missing skin on his side where white ribs show through, the black flesh glistening under the light bulb that hangs from the ceiling.
You almost want to stick your hand in between his ribs, see if he likes it. You've always had a fascination with anatomy and gore, reading medical books in your free time and browsing through guro art. He doesn't feel pain and nothing you do can kill him so surely he wouldn't mind if you wanted to do a little dissecting. You imagine how it would feel to slide your hand between his ribs, the squelch of his cold flesh, the feel of muscle and fat. You press your thighs together, snapping yourself out of your thoughts.
Your core aches something awful, aroused from thinking about a dead man's flesh of all things. You've never told anyone about this particular kink of yours, not wanting your friends to look at you differently. It was one thing to like it in fiction, but in real life? Nobody would want to be around a gross freak like you. That was just one of your many kinks too, not even the most taboo of them. Imagine the look on someone's face if you told them the idea of being raped was hot?
Your eyes drift back to Valentine. He's taking the bones apart now, still rambling on. He hasn't noticed that your thoughts are elsewhere yet. You feel bad for not listening; he seemed genuinely interested in teaching you about what he was doing. You try to listen, shoving down your lustful thoughts. He packages the meat, writing down dates and what each cut of meat is, setting it aside to be placed into the cellar. He turns to you when he's done, giving you that gentle smile of his.
"Why don't you go inside, angel? I need to put away this meat and get rid of the bones and guts."
"Uh, alright," you say, suddenly nervous that he can somehow tell that you're horny.
You hop off the table, dusting your ass off. You head inside the cabin, going to your shared bedroom and burrowing under the covers, laying on your belly. You have a strong urge to slide your hand between your thighs, to relieve your ache. There's no way you're doing something like that when you could get caught so easily. You groan. You haven't been able to masturbate in weeks. You're going to go crazy from being so horny. If only he would leave for a while and you knew how long he would be gone.
You hear the cabin door open at some point and then Valentine rummaging through the closet and heading into the bathroom. The shower turns on. You poke your head out, sorely tempted to quickly get yourself off. You spend so long agonizing over it that he finishes his shower and walks back out. You try your hardest not to stare at the droplets of water that drip down his neck.
"Are you cold, angel?"
"No."
"Then why are you in bed?"
You glare at him, pulling the blankets over your head so that only your face is peering out.
"Can you come here?" you ask.
He walks over, a worried expression on his face. You reach your hand out, sliding it under his shirt. His skin is warm from his shower, the flesh soft underneath. Below the layer of fat is a wall of muscle that tenses at your wandering hand. You crawl out of your cocoon, pushing his shirt up until that patch of exposed flesh is visible. You glance up at him. He tilts his head at you.
"Angel?"
You swallow hard, teetering between sticking your hand in there and just acting like a normal person and kissing him or something. Ah well. Fuck it.
You place your hand on the flesh, curling your fingers over a rib. You dig into his flesh, a fresh rush of heat in your groin when he shivers at the intrusion. You don't dare look up at Valentine again, don't dare to see his undoubtedly disgusted expression. Your hand slides easily for a bit, aided by the fact that there's a bit of fat here. You manage to stick half of your hand in there, flexing your fingers.
"Oh, angel. Hm, that's—"
You yank your hand back, scrambling away from him until you have the bed between you and him. You pant, feeling slick in your panties.
"I'm sorry," you blurt.
"Why are you apologizing?"
"Because it's gross, isn't it!?" you shout.
You look down at the floor, your chest tight with emotion. Valentine is quiet for a moment and you fear the worst. That he'll think you're disgusting or leave you to the wolves. Literally.
"Angel, look at me," he calls softly.
You shake your head.
"Angel."
He walks around the bed slowly, like he's approaching a frightened animal. He tilts your head up to look at him.
"I don't think you're gross."
"You don't?"
"Of course not, my angel. For a moment, I thought you were going to rip my rib out, but this is an…interesting turn of events."
"What did it feel like?"
"Mostly just as if you were massaging my skin."
"Oh."
"You sound disappointed," he laughs.
You slap his hand from your chin, stepping away from him, throwing your walls back up.
"Whatever. It's not a big deal."
You brush past him, going to the bathroom to wash your hand off. That was just a moment of a lapse in judgment, the result of you thinking too hard about it. Valentine tries to talk to you, but you shrug him off, walking to the living room and flopping down on the couch with an old paperback. Time to forget that ever happened and pretend that you don't want to do it again.
"Aim a little higher, angel."
Valentine adjusts your grip on the gun, murmuring in your ear. You focus on the target, breathing out just like he taught you, then pulling the trigger. A sharp retort echoes in the trees. You lower the rifle, seeing that you actually managed to hit the target this time.
"I think you could hit the broad side of a barn now," he chirps.
You elbow him in the side.
"Asshole."
"Now, now. Let's see if you can manage to get a little closer to the bullseye."
"Again? My arms hurt from holding up this stupid gun," you whine.
"Hm? What was that? You want to tell me about what happened the other day? I'm all ears, angel."
You grit your teeth, aiming for the target again. You forgot about the stupid deal for a second. Valentine had suggested it after you had been especially prickly after the incident. If you managed to hit the bullseye before the day was over, you could continue to mope around, but if you didn't, you had to tell him what was up with you. The sun was just beginning to set; you had about a half hour left.
You fire again. You miss. You let out a string of curse words, Valentine gently chastising you. You try again and again and again, but the closet you get is one of the inner rings. The sun sets and you've lost the bet. He takes the gun from you, looking a bit smug, cheerfully telling you to wait inside for him.
You stomp inside, pissed that you're apparently the worst shot ever. You flop down on the couch, crossing your arms. After a minute, he comes in, taking a seat next to you on the couch. You look away from him. You have to tell him, but you're not going to make it easy for him.
"Now, angel. What was that all about the other day?"
You press your mouth into a thin line, intent as being as difficult as possible. He sighs, leaning over to pull you into his lap. He sets his hands on your hips, adjusting you until you're straddling his thighs.
"We had a deal, angel."
You glare at him.
"Are you going to go back on your word?"
His thumbs rub your hip bones, his gaze less amiable than before. He tilts his head at you, the gesture more intimidating than usual. You hold his stare, full of spite for him forcing you to talk about your feelings.
"Don't make me force it out of you. I don't wish to meddle with your mind," he warns.
"My mind? You can do that?"
He leans closer.
"Angel."
You shift on his lap, your hands playing with the hem of his shirt. He's more serious than you've ever seen him and you're beginning to think that it's because of you. He takes your feelings seriously, something no one has ever done. You've always been the tough one, the one who is never bothered by anything. No one ever asks you how you are or how you feel about something. You swallow hard, a strange lump in your throat. You tuck your head under his chin, unable to look him in the eye as you speak.
"People think stuff like that is gross."
"Did I not tell you I didn't find it gross?"
"Yeah, but, getting turned on by that sort of thing…it's weird, isn't it?"
"Why would it be weird? People like all sorts of things. I have to admit, I don't understand what appeal there is in sticking your hands in my cold body, but I'm certainly not going to judge you for it, my angel."
You're quiet for a long moment, his words soothing you. What nonsense that a lunatic dead man should be less judgmental than the majority of the people you knew.
"What's with you?" you grumble.
"Hm? What do you mean?"
"Why are you being so nice to me? What do you want from me?"
"You."
You pull back, looking into his dark eyes.
"Me?"
Valentine takes your hand in his, bringing it to his mouth to kiss your palm, dark eyes soft with emotion.
"I just want you, my angel."
Your face flushes bright red at his honesty. You open your mouth to say something, then shut it with an audible click. He chuckles at your flustered expression, nuzzling his cold cheek into your hand. You yank it back, your heart skipping a beat.
"You're crazy," you say.
"What fun is life without a little craziness?"
He smiles warmly at you, leaning down to kiss your forehead. He pulls you against his chest, tucking you under his chin.
"I can't believe that was what you were worried over," he sighs. "You must really doubt my affection for you."
"I'd rather you just fuck me or something," you say dryly.
"Oh? Well, that can certainly be arranged."
He slips a hand under your shirt, bone fingers tracing up your spine. You grab his forearm, suddenly shy. How can he be so nonchalant after saying something like that? I just want you. Who does he think he is?
"What's the matter, angel? I thought you wanted me."
"I'm tired," you lie.
You lean back, hand still gripping his arm.
"Really?"
His lips curve into a knowing smirk.
"You know, I've been wondering if I should say something about this, but I can smell arousal, angel."
"What?" you say, startled.
Your face begins to burn with embarrassment, a rush of heat in your groin. Oh my god. So he's known this entire time and he didn't fucking say anything? He tilts his head at you.
"My, did you think I didn't notice that you were practically drooling the other day when I cleaned that deer?"
His eyes sparkle with mischief as he continues.
"You've had such a sweet scent for days and now you say you don't want me? I suppose I should just let you continue to suffer alone?"
He stands, setting you on your feet. He releases your waist, sighing dramatically.
"Well, if that's what my angel wants, who am I to say otherwise?"
He walks away from you, shaking his head like he's disappointed.
"Wait! You asshole! Come back here!" you shout.
He pauses in the doorway, glancing over his shoulder at you.
"Hm? You said you were tired, didn't you? Then don't you think you should get some sleep?"
"I'm not tired!"
"So you were lying?"
You freeze. His smirk grows wider and you can see the points of sharp teeth.
"My, my, angel. What a naughty girl," he purrs.
You flush again, the words causing you to tingle.
"As much as I'd like to indulge in your sweet scent, naughty girls should be punished, don't you think?"
"What? Valentine, please—"
"Ah, ah, ah," he wags a finger at you.
He brings the finger to his lips, shushing you.
"You'll be good for me, won't you, angel?"
You tremble where you stand, clenching your fists so hard you can feel your nails in your palms.
"I hate you," you hiss.
He chuckles, turning his head away. He pauses again, seeming to remember something.
"Oh, and angel? Do keep your hands away from yourself. I would hate to have to punish you further."
He disappears down the hallway, leaving you shaking with rage and so horny you can feel your heartbeat in your crotch. That fucking prick.
You're going to kill this asshole. You're going to chop him up into a million billion tiny little pieces and scatter him for wild animals to eat and crush his bones into dust. It's been three days. Three awful, horrible, no good days. You didn't realize that when he said punishment, he meant punishment. He's constantly touching you, running his hands over your body and murmuring in your ear, only to pull away once he's riled you up, smirking smugly. At this point, you're ready to beg on your hands and knees for him to fuck you senseless. But you have a feeling that that's exactly what he wants and your pride won't let you.
The bastard seems to know exactly when you're up to no good too, knocking on the bathroom door right when you about to rub one out or grabbing your hand when it sneaks between your thighs at night. And then when you glare at him and call him a prick—rightfully so—he just laughs and tells you to be a good girl. You never thought you'd be so desperate for sex or even just to cum.
You roll over yet again, huffing. You've been laying on the bed for the last hour after getting pissed at Valentine and telling him to shove a pole up his ass. You hate him so much. What kind of man kidnaps a young woman and then refuses to part her legs when she wants? He should be jumping at the opportunity to fuck you. Instead, he's teased you so much that you're beginning to think you'll never not be wet.
You press your thighs together, whining at the pressure on your clit. You roll your hips, desperate for any sort of friction. What a cruel man, leaving you feeling like a bitch in heat. Your hand slides between your thighs, rubbing yourself through your pants. You bite you lip to prevent yourself from moaning at the delicious pleasure.
"Naughty girl."
You nearly jump out of your skin at the deep purr next to your ear. You turn your head to find Valentine leaning over you.
"I see your hand is somewhere it shouldn't be again," he smirks.
You glower at him.
"I see you're still being a huge asshole."
"Language, angel."
You sit up sharply, nearly headbutting him.
"For the love of god, just fuck me!" you snarl.
"You haven't finished your punishment, angel."
You clench the blankets in your fists, well and truly fed up. You can't take it anymore.
"Valentine, I swear to fucking god if you don't put your cock inside me right now, I'm going to walk out into that forest and find another bear so it can put me out of my misery."
He tilts his head at you, eyes narrowing. Fuck, he really is going to make you beg, isn't he? You swallow down your pride, shifting on the bed so you're on your knees. You do your best to put a pleading expression on your face.
"Valentine, please," you beg. "Please fuck me. It's been so awful these past few days. Haven't I been a good girl?"
"Good girls don't touch themselves without my permission."
You grab onto his shirt, giving him your best puppy eyes.
"Please, please, Valentine! I'll be good, I promise!"
"You lie so easily, angel."
You stand on your knees, pressing your chest to his stomach. You take his hand, guiding it between your legs.
"Valentine," you whine.
You hold his hand to your crotch, rolling your hips into it. He squeezes your mound, smirking when you moan like a whore.
"Well, angel. I suppose since you begged so nicely."
He grabs your waist, lifting you until you're standing on the bed. Even at this height, you're barely eye to eye with him. He unfastens your pants, which are his actually, pulling them down to your ankles. He hooks his fingers in the waistband of your panties, pulling them down as well. You kick them off onto the floor. He grabs the back of your thigh, lifting it, then shoving you backwards onto the bed. You let out a surprised yelp at the sudden change in position, your thigh still in his grasp. He holds it out to the side, his other hand parting your folds to examine you.
"My, you're just sopping wet, aren't you, angel? How pitiful," he mocks.
He drags a finger through your folds, flicking your clit. A jolt of pleasure sparks through you. You moan, moving your other leg to give him better access. His finger circles the bundle of nerves, enough to make you feel it, but not actually touching it. You whine, bucking your hips.
"Valentine."
"I don't believe you ever told me your name, angel."
"Huh?"
You give him a confused look, more focused on the way he's teasing you. He flicks your clit again.
"Your name, angel. What is it?"
"You already call me angel. What does it matter?" you scowl.
He removes his hand from you, looking down at you expectantly.
"Fine, fine! It's Y/N. Y/N L/N."
"Y/N," he croons.
You shiver at the sound of your name in his mouth. He rubs your clit and your head falls back in a soundless moan. His bone fingers feel wonderful on you, so different from anything you've ever felt. He works your clit masterfully, pulling and pinching the sensitive nub until you're coming undone with a scream. You lay there shaking, your orgasm intense after days of being denied. Then his fingers are plunging into your soaked pussy.
"Ngh, Valentine!"
You buck your hips, meeting every thrust of his fingers. Four of them sink in and out of you, twisting and curling inside of you. His thumb rubs deep circles into your clit. You moan and shiver, your hands fisting in the blankets. Valentine watches you intently, aware of every minute expression on your face. You flush at the attention, not used to someone being so focused on your pleasure instead of their own.
He makes you orgasm again and again, until your cum drips from his fingers in long strands. He licks it from his hand, eyes laser focused on you. He's no longer playful like before, his dark eyes boring into you. You turn away, not able to hold such an intense stare. Good god. The man looks like he wants to devour you whole. He leans down over you, long hair tickling your neck. He presses a kiss to your throat. You squirm in his hold as he sucks hickeys into your neck.
He pulls away, lifting you and scooting you back on the bed. He settles between your thighs. He brings a thigh up to rest on his shoulder, opening his mouth to set his teeth around your soft flesh. They're deadly sharp, short at the front, lengthening about the canines and then becoming pointy molars. It reminds you of the sort of teeth you'd see in the skull of a dinosaur like tyrannosaurus rex. He doesn't bite you, just rolls your skin between his teeth. You can tell he wants to, though.
It's kind of erotic, the way he's threatening to bite you, but isn't. You hope he doesn't. As much as you're a fan of his show of dominance, those teeth look like they'd hurt. He lets go, his cold tongue swiping over your skin.
"Are you sure you want this, angel? I won't ever let you go after this," he asks, voice husky.
"Well, it's not like my life was that great before this. I probably have so many bills piled up," you joke.
"Y/N. I'm serious. You'll never be free from me. I'll hunt you down to the ends of the universe if you leave me."
He kisses your thigh, eyes locked on yours.
"Is that a threat?"
"It's a promise."
"Good."
You yank him down by his collar, your lips crashing into his. He growls deep in his chest, a staccato sound like that of an engine starting. He deepens the kiss and you can taste yourself. His hands slide under your shirt, massaging your breasts. Your hands tangle in his dark purple hair. The kiss is intense and you have to turn your head away for air. You pant.
"You're mine, Y/N. Mine forever. I won't let you go even if you beg and cry and scream," he snarls.
He unbuttons his jeans, pulling his huge cock free from his boxers. Your eyes widen. Is that going to fit? He presses into your entrance, entwining his hands with yours. He thrusts into you in one swift motion, your back arching as some unintelligible noise falls from your lips. The difference in temperature is shocking, like an icicle was just shoved into you. He stretches you out so much, you feel like you've been split in half. No wonder he spent so long with his fingers in you.
He draws back, cock sliding slowly against your walls, then drives back into you. His pace is punishing, thrusting into you so deep you swear you can feel it in your throat. You gasp and moan, clenching around him. He leans down to kiss you again, sucking your tongue into his mouth. Your heartbeat speeds up when he lightly bites your tongue. He could tear it out if he wanted.
He pounds into your pussy as he kisses you with all the fervor of a starving man. You wrap your legs around his hips, bringing him closer. He presses his weight down into you, nearly crushing you for a second. He pulls away from the kiss to let you breathe, attacking your neck. His teeth scrape against your jugular and you fear he's realized you like it when he threatens to bite you.
His ability to read you like an open book makes your heart pound harder. Never has one of your partners bothered to learn what you like. What a strange turn of events that you're willingly letting a dead man fuck you and promise to never let you go. He better not. You'll be the one hunting him down. You're not letting this man get away from you, not after he showed you such devotion. You'd be a fool to let this chance slip away.
You let go of his hands, wrapping your arms around his neck. He grabs your hips, tilting them up. The change in angle makes you mewl in pleasure. You clamp down around his cock hard, another orgasm ripping through you. He hisses, a deep, throaty sound like that of an alligator. The sound makes you flinch.
"Angel, you feel so heavenly," he groans.
Valentine quickens his pace, fucking you through your orgasm. His thrusts are deep and hard, pounding against that one spot that has you scrabbling at his back.
"Fuck, fuck! Right there!" you gasp.
He nips at your jaw, kissing you again and swallowing your wanton moans. You feel his muscles tense, his cock twitching inside you. You clench down as hard as you can, earning a nip to your tongue. He drives into you one last time, sinking fully into your warmth as he comes with a fierce growl. You shiver as ice cold cum splashes inside you, filling you so full it pours out of you even though he's seated inside you. His hand reaches to your clit, twisting it until you come again with a sharp cry.
You break the kiss, breathing hard. You feel lightheaded, your body shaking from the pleasure. Valentine rubs your hip bone, nuzzling your jaw. A deep hum rumbles from his chest. Your pussy aches sweetly from the intense sex, still spasming around his length.
"You're a beast," you pant.
He chuckles.
"You have no idea."
He leans back, looking over your glassy eyed expression. He smiles at you, pleased that you look so satisfied. The smile turns to a smirk as he adjusts you, sliding his knees under your ass.
"Wait, wait, Valentine. I need a bre—"
"Hm? Are you complaining now, angel? Didn't you beg me to take you?"
"Yeah, but—"
"Come now, surely you can give me a few more orgasms. You've been taunting me for days," he fake pouts.
You stare up at him, feeling a smidge of regret for your words earlier. The pout becomes a devilish smirk at your worried face.
"Don't worry, angel. I'll make sure you get a nice massage later," he chirps.
"Valentine!"
"Shush, my lovely angel. Let me have you."
(🍝 A/N, almost forgot to spell check the last section...)
Happy pride month peeps! I’ve been working on some more of these illustrations recently, here’s intersex pride! 💛💜 I had a really clear idea for this piece ever since I started working on this series and I’m glad I finally got round to this flag, I hope you like it hehe
the difference between men who hold you still in their lap and fuck up into you vs those who bounce you in their lap vs holding your hips and grinding you down on them
Hey, man, c'mere. Listen. Get in real close, this is important.
You're gonna make stuff again. You're gonna make stuff you're proud of. You're gonna make stuff you're excited to share. You're going to feel that overwhelming drive to create, not just the frantic I want to want to you're stuck in now. You're going to have awesome ideas, and you're going to make them into reality. You're going to create again. You're still an artist. You're still a writer. You're still home to the same passion you had before. You'll find it again. It's not gone. It's just resting. Let it rest. You're going to make stuff again. I promise.
Are you having fun? Do you want to keep scrolling or are you just on autopilot?
Have you eaten today?
Have you consumed water today?
Do you need to go to the bathroom?
Have you slept recently?
Do you have any chores in process that you've forgotten about or are putting off? (Laundry that needs taken out of the machine, a dishwasher full of dishes that need put away, etc.)
Have you taken all your meds?
If the answer is "All good," feel free to keep scrolling!
But if any of these reminded you of something you need to do, please take care of yourself. 💕
MC who goes about the Devildom as a human, but reverts back into a little sheep when their body perceives stress.
It's very inconvenient when you lose your DDD and are worried sick trying to find it, but your hands turn into hooves and you shrink into a tiny bovid creature. When you catch a cold, it can be a struggle to even crawl into bed. Watching really scary movies, getting chased by massive beasts, and using far too much magic at once have all triggered it.
Your professor at RAD once began collecting homework and you realized you forgot to do it. Mammon laughed so hard when you transformed that you both got extra homework that night.
You accompanied Barbatos on some errands despite feeling under the weather. "Are you alright? Would you like to rest?" he asked in genuine concern in the middle of a grocery store.
"I'm fine," you answered, mere seconds before your body betrayed you and you bleated in shame.
You escaped a long, excruciatingly tedious lecture from Lucifer by turning into a sheep as he glowered at you. The callous way he glared sent shivers down your spine and your body reacted accordingly. Lucifer determined your fear was punishment enough and let you off easy. Satan and Belphegor were not so lucky.
Beelzebub ate the snack you were looking forward to eating and you got so upset that you turned into a sheep until he found a store that was open in the middle of the night and bought a replacement.
You almost missed your final exams of the semester because you forewent proper food and sleep for a week in favor of studying as much as possible. You were in a perpetual state of sheep. Diavolo nearly banned you from the campus until you were calm enough to turn back.
You and Leviathan were about to defeat the hidden boss of Dark Spirits 3, known for its legendary difficulty that only 0.5% of players can beat. It happened while you were trying to avoid the boss's last attack.
Asmodeus gave you a hug that was so tight you poofed right into a sheep. He proceeded to hug you harder (all while exclaiming, "You're just soooo cute!") and had to be pried off by his brothers.
One time you sneezed. It made you turn into a sheep.
50% funded!! The dream is Real! Anyway, Pasha NSFW Alphabet :3
A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)
Hook-ups: He'll thank you, put his clothes on, and go. He'll give them/share a cigarette first if they seem up for it.
Relationship: He's a huge cuddler and he often feels falls asleep right after lol.
B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)
Probably his arms or his ass. (He has a firm, shapely ass from exercise.)
A bit corny but his favorite feature of his partner are their eyes and lips/mouth. He stares at those the most. He'd love it if they spat in his mouth.
C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)
He likes it? He will swallow? LMFAO
D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
He often gets into sexual relationships that are ill-advised almost as a form of self-harm. He's slept with married people or people in relationships. He's slept with Bishop who hurts him every time, and Dyno despite knowing he's in love with someone else, etc. It's definitely a trait he's ashamed of, but he's so desperate for love and companionship even if fleeting that he'll stay in dynamics like that even if they're doomed to fail. He doesn't think he's ever destined for commitment considering how volatile his life is, anyway, so he might as well indulge in the crumbs before they stop being offered to him.
E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)
He's very experienced and he enjoys servicing his partners even if he doesn't cum!
F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)
Uhh, he likes a lot. Sideways face to face and cowgirl for both bottoming and topping. He loves bottoming prone bone.
G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)
Depends entirely on the context, LMFAO. He's down to have intense sex with eye contact and giggly sex in the car.
H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)
He showers regularly, but he doesn't shave unless necessary. It's not a preference, he's just entirely neutral about his body hair.
(Although, he likes fucking sweaty, smelling like smoke, or covered in blood... So ig that'll depend on his partner how much they like that...)
I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)
Like I mentioned before, he can very intense and intimate. He's a very sensual person. He loves kissing, eye contact, and touch. He'll shower them with compliments. But, he can also just shamelessly rut and fuck in a stinky motel/gas station bathroom with barely any eye contact. He's a man with dimensions, LMAOOO
J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)
He jerks off a lot, probably more than he likes to admit. He's usually thinking of his partner or his crush. He prefers doing it while smelling their shirt or looking at their pictures but he also has a very vivid imagination…
K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)
Umm… He likes sneaking around and having sex in inappropriate places… He likes praise and romance, but also likes CNC, getting strangled, general violence, degradation, and humiliation (receiving end). He also used to be trained to endure torture so any positions where he's strained and uncomfortable, he's very into. Dangerous scenarios also attract him, like handjobs/oral while driving, perched over a ledge, pressed against a hot pipe, or getting drowned… Also, he gets extremely horny after missions so I guess, in general, high adrenaline scenarios really turn him on.
L = Location (favorite places to do the do)
His lover's bed.
M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)
Praise, adrenaline, danger… He gets really horny when he's drinking and doing drugs too. And when he's really sad.
N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)
Maybe scat… And losing body parts… (He needs those for work!)
He doesn't like being cucked. That will not give him a boner…
O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)
He loves giving oral & is very good at it. He likes receiving it too but he's not expecting it.
P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)
Depends on the day… He likes both. He's not as rough as he could be topping, though. He feels bad!
Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)
Loves! Random times throughout the day ideally…
R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)
Yeah, he'd love to experiment, just bring it up to him. Also with baby risks, he's worried he might knock women up, so he wears condoms but… when he doesn't have any, he thinks he can just cum outside, so that's pretty risky…
I will say he will not be opposed to kids if his partner wants that… but he's not going to assume that's their position by default.
S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)
Typically around 10-15 minutes? He can do about 2 rounds consecutively, more throughout the day/night.
T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)
He jacks off with just his hand like a real man! He wouldn't mind using more if his partner wants to. He would enjoy handcuffs (either way :3).
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)
When he's comfortable, he likes to tease a lot! He'll touch his partner's waist or ass while they're talking, and then in bed, he likes it when they squirm.
V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)
He gasps and whimpers a lot. He'll start sobbing when overstimulated.
W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)
Goofiest fact about him is that he's never had TV growing up so when he got assigned to be a spy in New York and he worked as a sound guy at a Late Night show, he ended up getting really into celebrities because they think they're so good-looking and charming??? In lieau of a crush, he will jack off about a celebrity… Yes, Megan Thee Stallion, he would love to make love to you on your yacht… Yes, Orville Peck, you can keep the mask on…….. 😳😳😳 (He's SO ridiculous)
X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)
I've alreadyyy posted his topless sprite around here. I guess you'll see his cock in the sequel if it's funded? LOL. But it's shy of 8 inches and slender with a prominent vein.
Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)
He has a stupid high libido that he likes to play coy about that Gwyn thinks it's ridiculous. Just admit you're a slut???
The sequel's 25% funded! Here's Pasha's SFW Alphabet :3
A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)
Pavel is very, very affectionate. He gives compliments easily and is very physically affectionate!
When he was younger, they weren't allowed to interact much in the barracks, so now that he's out, he thinks being able to touch and be affectionate with people is a gift he never wants to take for granted, especially in his line of work. He could lose that person any day! He should hug them whenever he wants because who knows when he won't be able to?
B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)
Pros: Pavel would be an extremely loyal and affectionate best friend. He would do anything for his friends, even when it gets hard or stressful. He has a soldier's mindset where he believes that you should be able to rely on each other no matter what.
Cons: He would be really co-dependent and overbearing. Due to poor socialization and his specialization as a spy, he has extremely poor boundaries. He thinks stalking, breaking and entering, and oversharing are all normal. You would have to tell him off like he's a bad dog, and he will get extremely embarrassed LMAO.
C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)
Pavel loves cuddles. He clings to his favorite people all the time, and casually too.
D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)
He wants to, but he also has no idea what that's like or if he's even "allowed" to want it. It's practically just a fictional ideal to him.
I think he'd be a decent cook because he's good at following instructions, but in general, he doesn't cook or clean… He eats out or gets takeout, and garbage just piles in his home. Dyno told him to get a cleaning lady so he got a referral from Bishop. His mess was so bad that he felt so ashamed he tipped her $10,000 and she used it to skip town because she was terrified of Bishop.
E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)
I think he's the type that would never break up once he's committed, even if you abuse or neglect him (he would just think it's his fault). You'd have to break up with him and, depending on how close you two were, he might shoot himself if you do!
F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)
I'm pretty sure the would be okay with getting married the moment he gets in a relationship with someone, but he would try to gauge if that's what his partner wants because he's okay being just a boyfriend or just a lover or a hook-up or something. Honestly, his partner will have to decide what they want with him because he wants everything they want to give him and is unable to articulate it… and he's okay with being abused and not being treated right if it means he can stay around them.
G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)
He's an extremely gentle and sensitive person who has been taught his entire life that these traits are either weaknesses or weapons to exploit others with. Part of why he's such a good spy is that he is often sincere in many scenarios, but that sincerity is worth absolutely nothing. He will go deep undercover in enemy territory, form genuine intimate bonds with those people, kill all of them when the time comes, and be unable to sleep for months. He will betray himself over and over to see his objectives through and it turns him into an emotional wreck and shatters his cognitive function. He gets a lot of grace from his teammates because his brain is "pretty much soup."
H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)
He's a big hugger. He hugs people casually a lot, but he gives them big hugs when big things happen.
I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)
He's absolutely terrified of saying it directly. He'd say he loves certain things and how he loves your company, but he's scared of the power it has over him. He'd be terrified of saying he loves someone and losing them eventually like he lost everything else in his life.
J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)
He gets really, really jealous but he doesn't really understand it and he can't rationalize it. He's prone to self-harm when he feels jealous more than acting out against others (smoking and putting cigarettes out on his arm, getting drunk, making bad sexual decisions, putting himself in harm's way, etc). It's his way of punishing himself for his extreme, irrational emotions.
K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)
He loves kisses. He would kiss his partner the usual places, but mostly lips and cheek. He's a sweet, sensual kisser.
L = Little ones (How are they around children?)
He likes kids! I think he'd be a decent parent, but it'd be very easy for him to be enmeshed with his child. He doesn't realize that not every child's emotion should be treated 100% seriously.
M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)
He is a zombie in the mornings because he stays up way too late overthinking so he would likely just get dressed, go to work, and nap on the couches unless MC wants anything from him.
N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)
He likes visiting his favorite hole in the wall places for dinner, then cuddling, having sex, watching stuff, or just sitting in the same room together.
O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)
He's very slow to open up both for safety reasons and because he finds himself so shameful and embarrassing that he thinks telling people more details about himself would make them like him less. He wants to center conversations around his conversation partners because he's certain that they won't disgust him, but he's not so sure he won't disgust them.
P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)
Very rarely. Pavel doesn't feel anger as much. He usually feels fear or melancholy. His anger is cold, calculating, and highly vindictive, though. When he accepts the rage he's feeling, he's terrifying, almost possessed. He will hunt that target like a bloodhound that doesn't feel pain or exhaustion. Bishop aptly calls him a 'demon' when he gets like this.
Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)
He would have an almost encyclopedic knowledge about everything their partner told them, and even things they didn't. He is a spy and he absorbs everything automatically. He would have a special part in his mind for his loved one too.
R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)
In reference to the game, it was their rooftop date.
S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)
Extremely protective. He never defends himself, but he would be a terror to anyone that hurts his loved ones.
Him being protected would surprise him, because he doesn't see himself as worthy of protection… He's often on his own, sneaking around by himself or going on missions on his own.
T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)
Moderate by default, but I think it would depend on how much his partner wants from him. He's extremely concerned about pleasing them. He would spend his life savings on his partner if that's what they want, LMFAO. He can get taken advantaged of so easilyyy if someone evil seduced him. Luckily, he has broke janitor aura.
U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)
He is extremely obsessive. He's thinking about the subject of his fixation over and over and over, wondering how to fix things, etc. He would expose himself to stuff that he knows would upset him because pain's better than wondering.
V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)
Not even remotely. He wears his hair long because keeping his hair short needs to be maintained more often. He's only on top of it when he needs to maintain a certain look for undercover operations. He would shave it all off in a heartbeat.
I think he's very susceptible to what his partner likes, though. He doesn't really have any self-respect so if his partner prefers certain things, he would adjust to it if asked. He wouldn't mind because he'd see it as a way for them to love him more.
W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)
Yes, but he's used to feeling lost and incomplete, so he's not sure it matters.
X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)
He loves sour and acidic foods! Pickles, herrings, sardines, salt and vinegar chips… Stinky eating habits haha.
Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)
I think he's so open and loving that he'd accept most things about people, but I really think he wouldn't enjoy someone being cruel to small children or animals regularly. It might send him into a disassociative fit where he might have to kill them.
Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)
He's a light sleeper, but he sleeps deeply and soundly at the same time. He can sleep almost at will and wake up just as fast. He loves napping all day like a lazy cat. He always feels sluggish and sleepy.
LI’s with an MC who came home extremely late at night drunk out of their mind?
Andre checks your person for any injuries, bruises, just anything out of the ordinary. If you can't sleep, he'll stay with you until you eventually do. He would rather not have to deal with a drunken person but he would heavily prefer that it was him over anyone else in case something were to happen.
Casey wouldn't know what to do other than try to get you to sleep but he's bothered by how drunk you are. If he can't get you to lay down, he will try to keep you at home so you don't go out and do something stupid.
Chrys tries to control the situation and get you to calm down- unless you are already calm- really depends on what you act like when drunk. She's not happy about having to deal with this. From her perspective, this isn't a habit of yours so why go through all this? She'll have a conversation with you tomorrow but for now she needs to make sure to watch your condition and that you don't pull something.
David feels a bit envious- You were drinking without him? Really? And now you're burdening him??? He wraps you in a blanket and sticks you on the couch while he watches the Golden Girls.
Eddie honestly might knock you unconscious if he thinks you're too annoying while in this state. Other than that, he sticks by you to ride out your state.
Kieran seems disturbed. He likes getting drunk as much as the next guy but it's different when it's you. Why did you feel the need to get that drunk? He makes sure you're not hurt- he actually seems a bit frantic by your state too. He asks a lot of questions but he's talking too fast. Eventually he just lays on the couch with you, holding you while you watch movie marathons. His mind seems to be elsewhere though.
Noble might find this moment to be perfect for him. You're malleable, vulnerable, and suggestible. Whatever happens, he claims it's your fault since you decided to get this drunk in the first place. You should have been prepared for what would happen next. Besides, what he does is from a place of love.
Zach might use smelling salts to sober you up a bit if you're acting too wild. He's pretty irritated with your state, lecturing you even when you're too drunk to really understand what he's saying. Theoretically, he could use his powers to sober you up, but then you'd have the worst hangover in an instant or you might get sick. It might be best to ride it out but he can't help but question what lead you into this state? If you were troubled- why not talk to him?
Always Screaming Siren @alwaysscreamingsiren - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
