Augury

Call me Kay :) ||| 20 ||| she/her ||| asks open ||| Multifandom

[the-auguer]

Hi!

My name is Kay!

This is a multifandom blog. I don’t know where my whims will take me next.

This blog will contain NSFW content! I will tag anything like that.

I'm open to writing requests, but fair warning, while I will venture into unhealthy relationships and the morally gray to dark, I'm not super into extreme kink or really dark themes. It's cool if you are, but it's just not my cup of tea.

Masterlist

[snifflingsnivvler]

Mammon x GN reader

Cw: period sex, Mammon eats out mc THERE IS BLOOD, pheromones kind of, semi public sex, GN mc but clit and uterus mentioned, demon form mammon appearance.

“Mammon! The fuck's gotten into you dude?” You yelp as he pulls you into the RAD bathroom. Your yell echoes loudly in the large space and makes you cringe. Two demons already in the bathrooms snap their attention to you and smartly take their leave when Mammon yells at them to get the hell out. He pushes you against the door as it closes, keeping you there with two hands on your shoulder.

“What's gotten inta me?? Whadda hell's wrong with you? Walkin around smelling like that around a buncha demons.” He continues to manhandle the hell out of you, frantic hands turning you this way and that searching for whatever's got him acting crazy. His head flicks around, bird-like in the way it’s scanning your body. “If you’re in trouble you gotta tell me dumbass!”. You feel a vein in your forehead pop when he lifts your arm and goes in to presumably sniff your pit, and manage to free another arm to slap at his shoulder.

“Hey!! Nothing's wrong with me, jackass, you’re the one acting nuts!” The slap, while harmless to him, earns you an offended gasp but also some space. “Mammon literally nothing's happened today, I have no clue what you’re so worried about.” You try to keep a calm voice, seeing as he’s still scanning you, eyebrows pinched with determination to get under your skin.

“That smell! Did you let Asmo use one of his dinky perfumes on ya? You know he’s always trouble-HEY!” His head snaps to face you when his brain finally catches up. “I ain’t worried about you, I’m just..Doin my job. As Lucifer so instructed.“ You roll your eyes at the overused excuse and run a hand over your head.

“What are you even smelling Mammon? C'mon I’m really not in the mood for this.” You attempt to fix your uniform and keep an eye on him at the same time in case he tries sniffing you like a dog again, dropping your bookbag on the floor to fix your sleeves. Mammon wasn't even the only one acting strange, just the loudest and most annoying about it.

First you wake up feeling like shit and having to run to the bathroom before you could leak period blood through your sleep pants and into your overly expensive gifted bedsheets. Then you enter the dining room and even Beel had paused in his breakfast inhaling to give you a curious look. A few wavering and carefully suspicious good mornings as you take a seat. You take the brothers questioning if you’re alright as a sign that you kinda look how you feel right now, shitty. They all kinda sorta continue the usual morning routine, just with more freaky demon staring, sharp eyes that don’t even blink as much as they should and lukewarm waffles for breakfast.

Luckily you had planned to walk over to RAD with Solomon, and your issues ceased for a bit, even with the occasional cramp the exercise was somewhat helpful. Solomon even handed you something that he said was homemade ibuprofen. You’re in pain but not desperate yet, so you had thanked him and pocketed it.

You had made it through first period before Mammon butted in to whisk you away dramatically. In the middle of the hall, where everyone watched you argue with him as he skittered away with you. Poor Luke even tried to rally for your release from the demons clutches but his yips fell on deaf ears.

It looks like your movements had wafted more “make Mammon crazy” smell around because he freaks out again. “THERE! Don’t ya smell that? It’s like- like one ‘a Asmos stupid attraction spell scents and and- blood but not blood blood!”

“You’re attracted to me?” You raise a brow and smirk.

“NO! Well yea but no just- you smell good- BAD! Terrible! We gotta do somethin about it now!”

But then you pause. Blood? Ohh it’s all coming together. Gross. “Ohh. Mammon don’t smell me anymore dude I’m alright. Just ignore it.” You cringe. He was smelling your period blood, maybe whatever hormones your cycle was subjecting you to. That explains the other behaviors from the brothers too, damn demons and their stupid embarrassing demon powers (and their audacity) that leave you with no privacy.

“I can’t not smell ya Mc.” His brows furrow, really his whole demeanor shifts into something more serious than you’re used to from him. “If you know what it is jus tell me and I’ll help. It’s driving me nuts and…the way people were lookin at you…”

He takes a step towards you again, and gives his best pleading face. “No shame if ya got hurt or somethin.” He juts out his lower lip into a stupid pout.

Ohhh my godddd this guy was killing you. Really kind of him to show that he cares about you without the tsundere brain take over, but did it have to be now? And about this? No way you were getting out of this without just spitting it out, maybe this’ll teach him for being so nosey. You cough awkwardly and look to the side. “Fine! I’m on my period Mammon. You’re smelling my period blood or something.” There’s a silence that sticks for a second after you awkwardly tack on that last little tidbit, until Mammon decides to open his big mouth. “Humans walk around just smellin like that??”. You make a strangled noise and look back at him, to see him looking down towards your lower stomach like he could see through your clothes and skin into your uterus if he looked hard enough.

“Humans don’t have intrusive, gross, demon audacity. Or that strong of a sense of smell. Mammon, quit staring.” You cant help but snap at the end. All this mess for what? Mammon to act more insane than normal? At least he listened, but a new strange look had fallen over his face.

“Well I’m not lettin you out there like this.” His hands on his hips to show his seriousness.

“What?! Mammon what are you my mom?”

“Even Beel was makin faces at ya, and you know Beel doesn’t make faces.”

“Beel also eats stone pillars.” You rebut.

“What does any of this have to do with anything man.” You’re getting genuinely frustrated now. “Listen Mammon unless you’re gonna fuckin…suck the blood out yourself or some shit there’s nothing I can do about it.” You huff and bend to pick up your bag, feeling red in the face and ready to bolt out the bathroom.

“I’ll help ya.” He says it with the same weight of entering a war.

“Mammon that's disgusting.” You may have been the one to bring it up, sure, but you didn’t expect him to roll with it.

“I’m a demon Mc. This is nothing.” Well this wasn’t nothing, this was blood coming out of your cooch. You’ve heard the way demons, even Mammon himself mind you, spoke about eating humans soul and flesh.

You let your doubts be known with a quick and exasperated “fuckin liar.” To which Mammon makes an offended “GUH!” Sound.

“I ain’t!! I’m serious, I’d be doing you a huge favor ya dumbass human, and you know the Great Mammon doesn’t just hand these out to any-!” You’ve decided to take the help, letting him know by yanking his head towards yours by his tie and sealing your lips over his for just a moment. Mammon stares at you with eyes wide as saucers, your kiss having stunned him into silence the only sounds between you was the hum of the bathroom lights and your heart beating erratically, which you’re sure he could hear too. He’s still so close you can see his eyes sparkle in delight before he grabs the collar of your shirt to hungrily kiss you back.

He’s back to his noisy self too, humming into the kiss and breathily chuckling when he just barely parts from your lips to let you breathe. Your hands come up to his hair to tug at the fluffy white strands eliciting even more happy little noises from him. In a weird way you can feel his power through the kiss, the way he kisses like he’s decided to eat your face, along with how brazenly he licks his larger tongue into your mouth. His hands slither down your chest eventually, down to your thighs where he lifts you up suddenly.

“Yea yea the Great Mammon's gonna take real good care of his human.” He unnecessarily picks you up from under your thighs just to walk two paces and place you onto the sink counter. Mammon looks like he’s about to start jumping up and down with glee at the sight of you sitting all flustered and with clothes already crumpling and falling in front of him, when you look down you can almost make out the half chub forming against his thigh.

“Mammon’ll take real good care of ya…” he repeats under his breath and quickly pulls your shoes off your feet, then tugs down your pants and undies in one go, throwing them to the side. Mammons takes such a cartoonishly deep inhale it makes you giggle both amused and nervous, he opens his eyes at the noise and blushes, before he looks back down at the bloody treat before him and smiles toothily. The combined smell of human blood and hormones hitting him openly makes him full body shiver, you can just make out the mirage of his demon form phasing in and out of reality for split second. little sparks of gold flick around him trying keep his demon form just under the surface.

“Are you just gonna sit and stare? C'mon this is already a biohazard.” His staring was getting embarrassing. You place a socked foot on his crotch and only manage to rub against his hard on once before you’re suddenly grabbed from underneath your ass and pulled up, making you yelp. Your feet are placed on Mammon's shoulders and he hunches just a bit so he can engulf your pussy in a slurping lick. The way it echoed through the bathroom would’ve had you cringing if you’d noticed. His fingers tense into your lower back and he groans loudly at the tang of blood on his tongue. “Mmh fuck!” He groans and laughs, his dick throbs where it’s trapped against his thigh but he leaves it to twitch and beg for attention all it wants in favor of squeezing whatever skin his hands can cover.

“Hey! Mammon- damn!- watch the teeth! Ah!”. You can only watch as he licks and sucks on your pussy, a sheen of red tinted slick sticks to the tip of his nose, around his mouth down to his chin. You can feel more than hear Mammon slip little swears against your cunt, along with small praises that all sound more like grunts than words. The hot flat of his tongue feels so good on your tender cunt, so sensitive already. One hand leaves your ass and slips under your leg, he leans his head back from your pussy and looks at you with heavy breaths. You’re already sweating, the pleasure from Mammon's mouth alone had you twitching against him. He licks his teeth of blood and swallows as he looks down at you . “Feel good Mc? “ he asks airily. “Think you’d feel even better if ya took that off.” He nods towards your shirt and jacket, you decide to treat him and unbutton both, going the extra step to make sure he gets a good view of your chest, nipples hardened by your arousal and the cool bathroom air. “ooohoo yea, that’s my good human.” He praises smarmily, you watch his eyes flick over your skin before he leans into lave his tongue up your chest, pausing to give each nipple a quick suck.

“Haa…Mammon careful your uniform.” Your warn, you’d die if you ended up staining his shirt with the spit-slick-blood mix he created. Mammon doesn’t seem to really give a damn about that at the moment, way more interested in the little noises you make when he bites and licks over your chest and neck.

“Poor little human woulda died without their demons help huh?”

“I never said that.” You chuckle.

He puffs some air out his nose and gives you the stink eye. “Didn’t have to, said it with ya dumb human face, ‘n this wet pussy.” He’s too eager to stop indulging in the human in front of him now, the taste of your skin and blood, the pleased sighs you make when he bites and whines into your neck. He can’t stay in one place for more than a second, greedy to get all over you. And you all over him, which reminds him of what he was supposed to be doing this for. One final smooch is placed on your nose before he pulls back and pulls your ass over the edge of the counter, simultaneously kneeling so he’s mouth level with your pussy.

You can feel him place little pecks along the insides of your thighs before he latches on to your clit, lapping at the bloody mess of your cunt as he slides two fingers into you. You can feel the cool ring on his middle finger softly tap against you as he fingers you, curing his fingers into your walls and making a even bigger mess out of the blood he’s supposed to clean. You’re beyond caring about it at this point, the pleasure and relief he brings you is well worth it and he’s more than enjoying getting to do something so disgusting, judging by the groan and laughs that he returns to making.

“So good ‘f me…’m good human.” He purrs between giving your slit slow licks with the flat on his tongue. The fingers inside you switch to a beckoning motion, you feel them repeatedly caress your gspot, making you genuinely whimper like some porno actor and buck your hips into his mouth. He looks so good when you meet his eyes, blue overtaken by fizzling sparks of gold framed by his smushed hair from the way your thighs squeeze and quiver around his head. Your grip on his hair gets tighter the closer you get to cumming, eliciting more happy groans from Mammon, the wet slurps get louder, and as much as you try to keep it down you do too. Mammon's free hand glides from under your ass, over your stomach, right to your hardened nipples, squeezing the bud and groping at your chest.

You don’t know if he’s doing that for his own greed or your pleasure but the extra stimulation is enough to water your eyes and make you cum on his face. Your head falls back and you squeeze your eyes shut, your hips jerk erratically as your thighs squeeze Mammon's skull, who groans with every moan and jerk you give him. The way you squeeze around his fingers and the echos of your moans around him have his dick twitching harshly in his pants now, so greedy to feel your right heat around him. He can only repeat his little mantra of “So good, good human,” between sucks.

A shakey sigh leaves you and your body relaxes, Mammon still happily licking up anything he can in the aftershocks making you hips twitch. Coming back to your senses you meekly lift your head to be greeted by Mammon's demon form, his horns spiral out of his skull and wings unfold and stretch from behind him like they’ve just woken up. His eyes keep closed until you can’t stand the overstimulation and your hand drifts from his hair to yank his head back. “Alright- alright Mammon have some mercy. Oh.” You laugh before your eyes widen when his meet yours again, it’s animalistic in the way they’re blown out, just a thin ring of gold surrounding black pupils. You shiver slightly at the loss of his fingers in you, or maybe its the sight of him licking them cum-blood fusion left behind, openly licking at his mouth and teeth again. The corner of your eye catches his other hand moving from your thigh to paw at his hard on.

“So good,” he praises “ bloody ‘n fuckin delicious.” You shake your head.

“Haven’t had human in a while, Mammon?” You tease.

“Nah, not like this…”

Before you can dig into that little statement more he goes to kiss you again. Your hand quickly pops in front of your mouth to shield it from his. “Mammon! Not on the mouth, gross!” He pouts at his denied smooch. “I’m glad you like how my blood tastes but I don’t. 'Specially not secondhand.” You try to reason when his pout remains, you give him a face full of small pecks as compensation, he accepts and leans further into you. “Better make it up to me…some ego you have denyin the great Mammon.” You can feel the breeze of his wings giving little excited flaps before he straightens up to free his poor dick from the confines of his pants, pushing his pants and boxers down enough to bunch around his thighs, just for a second though, too baggy to stay up it falls to his ankles with a wiff sound. You snort and he tsks mutters a small “shaddup.” as you watch as he gives himself a few quick strokes, spreading precum from his tip that peels out from his foreskin around his head, making it glisten dully in the light.

“Like whatcha see MC?” He tried to sound teasing and confident, but it comes out a little more shy than he intends judging by the way his lip curls back for a second, giving you a little peek of his canines. Of course you do, you assume being a demon comes with perks, one being a good looking dick- big for human standards, and you're glad it stops at that. You’d been curious as any other human would in another world's internet, and seen some of the lung puncturers some larger demons had. “Mhmm.” You hum, watching more pre form at this tip in excitement at your attention. “ Y' gonna like it even more in a second.” You can hear his smirk without even looking at his face, too busy watching one sticky hand thumb at your clit while the other guides his dick into you. The mix of cum,( from both of you.) blood and spit makes it easy enough for him to slide in, it has him whimpering little swears to himself, his eyes wide as he watches your cunt take his dick. “‘S so warm.” He breathes out. “Ahh fuck, so fuckin hot, so wet ‘f me.” He continues praising with pleased sighs.

The pressure and stretch of him sliding into you isn’t bad at all, not with all the previous prep and the thumb rolling circles on your clit. You’re grateful with his patience, you’d expect him to go nuts and fuck you like a rabbit but it looks like he really does want to make good on the promise of making you feel better. “Mmh, good- you’re so good Mammon.” Your hummed praises earn a twitch inside you. White pubes meet your clit as he bottoms out, moaning happily as he tilts his head back. “So damn good, squeezin me so tight.” He praises and you have half a mind to think hes about to bust right now- or maybe stopping himself from cumming already.

He gives slow, easy thrusts that slow both of you to see his shaft coated in red tinted slick, before he eases back in. It has your breath picking up much to Mammons glee, telling by the way his wings twitch and flap like a bird. Not wanting to be the only one moaning and mewling, your hands travel up his stomach, over his nipples, pushing the unbuttoned cloth out of the way until you reach his face. You can feel the heat of his blush in his cheeks as you hold him, he looks like a spoiled cat, so smug and happy, until your hands grip onto his horns and pull him close to you. He stutters in his movements and moans at the manhandling, staring at you wide eyed. “Keep going Mammon, please, a little faster.” You do your best whining plead, it’s always fun to rile Mammon up with puppy eyes, usually in regular circumstances like begging him to get you a drink from the kitchen or something but it gets you even better results now. Clipped moans escape him as he picks up speed, hips smushing into your clit and hair dying itself pink with blood with every thrust forward. You tug again and he swears, head ducking into your neck and wings giving great flaps that blow your hair back a bit, before they stretch out to their massive wing span, then arch over both of you. “Mine mine- fuck all mine Mc, begging for more, I’ll give ya more- damn!” Another tug earns you a groan and hot breath on your skin, sharp teeth grazing the surface before it turns into a cute little kiss.

Suddenly there’s a thud and you realize it’s Mammons foot steeling itself into the counter, maybe the angle looks a little funny, a little part of you wishes you could see his butt right now, though that's something you want anyway, but the way it feels has you keening at the heat of your orgasm building even quicker. Mammons barely separating from you now, more so grinding into your pussy but pulling back enough that the sound of his sac hitting your ass accompanies the rhythmic shlick-shlick-shlick of his little thrusts. You look up to his face and feel your heart jolt as your met with wide animalistic eyes staring right back at you. It’s little freaky, demonic if you dare say, but the effect is dampened by his heated blush and repeated “Love ya- fuck fuck I love ya so much!” Eventually he ducks his head back into your chest, panting into your skin and placing sloppy open mouth kisses over you. “Smell so good taste so good, so good ‘t me. Just! haah!‘f me.” You can physically feel the buzz of greed radiating off of Mammon, the magical properties of his sin electrifying the air as he feeds off his high of having your pussy grip his dick, like it’s just as greedy for him.

Your grip on his horns jumps to his hair as you cum, crying out and pulling at the soft white locks as you squeeze his cock with every wave of your orgasm, it’s more than enough to make Mammon finally let himself cum, he groans and whines along with you, his dick twitching as it pumps his load into you, greedily taking you as his. He shivers, as do his wings, as he gives his last few humps before his upper half drapes over you bonelessly. Both of you take a moment to cool down, breathing heavily in the aftermath of your class skipping session.

Mammon, still laid across you, awkwardly cranes his torso and neck towards the sink next to him, uses his face to activate the motion sensor and proceeds to gargle and spit a mouth full of water. You can only let out cramped laughs. “You’re fuckin ridiculous Mammon. Mm!” You’re interrupted in insulting your bathroom lover by a kiss, his hands come to caress your face and yours rub at the backs of his shoulders. You shiver into him at the feeling of his cum leaking out of you, faintly hitting the tiled floor. He finally parts to let you breathe, looking quite happy with himself.

“Feelin better now?” He purrs, and you can only groan and laugh again. “Yeah,” but at what cost… “dunno what I’d do without you.”

( this was also posted to Ao3 okay bye)

[the-auguer]

part 2 to yandere!alpha x beta!fem reader! Cw: lowkey stalking, breaking and entering, panty theft, and general perversion

If Xander gets close, really really close, he thinks he can smell you. Something not musky and not sweet, something fresh and oh so very faint. Like an orange still safely cocooned in its rind before it’s carved open and its sharp citrus sting spills into the air. 

Xander wonders how you can be carved open. What he has to do to press his nose to your neck, your stomach, your inner thighs, your pussy, and fill his lungs with the scent of you. There’s more, a secret bit of more that you’re keeping from him, holding behind a barrier. And all he has to do is dig his thumbs in and pull. 

It’s something like torture to sit next to you. He does it every time he possibly can. He stole the seat next to yours in the lecture— he got to class an unprecedented twenty minutes early to be certain he got it. Only when he got there, some uptight alpha wanted Xander’s seat. He’s had to growl her down for ten of those precious minutes, where you could walk in at any point and think he was just some aggressive alpha knothead and hate him and never want to talk to him again. Thankfully, she had moved on in a huff when you finally arrived. 

He also doesn’t let anyone else sit near you in group meetings. You’re the only beta there, and he can tell it raises your hackles. You usually sit next to one of the omegas (and their scent gets all over you, drowning out the faint smell of you and it’s always bothered Xander but he thought he just wanted to fuck one of the omegas), but Xander always times his arrival to be just after yours so he can steal the seat next to yours. 

And oh, it’s fucking good. You smile at him when he sits next to you. Ask him about his weekend. Talk about class. Fuck is it good. Granted, it does take Xander being overly on top of his portions of whatever project their on in the semester, doing his work well, and loudly agreeing with your opinions so the other two alpha’s in the group don’t even think of posturing to you (he’ll lunge for their fucking necks, he swears). But whatever, it’s not as if anything in this class is too hard to do. 

But it’s not enough. Once small talk is over, you turn back to your friend to speak to her. Once the class or the group meeting is over, you leave before Xander can get enough of your smell. Leave him salivating. He knows where you go and what you do and who you do it with, but it’s not enough. He wants to be there with you. He wants to lave his tongue over your neck, inhaling you with his mouth to understand your scent better. 

He’s desperate for it. So desperate he uses a hookup to get into your dorm building and blows her off with some excuse he doesn’t remember. He wanders every hall, scanning each door for your name plus your roommates’. And when he finds it, he (with no patience and much stumbling) picks the lock to get inside. 

Thank fuck, you haven’t done your laundry. Xander dives face first into your hamper, inhaling greedily. Yes, the salt of sweat. Yes, the musk of sleep clothes. And yes yes yes, fuck, the tang of something else, something more, just there— 

Xander pulls your underwear free from a pair of jeans. He swallows thickly and sniffs one more time. Fuck, it’s good. So so good. He tucks them in his pocket before turning tail to leave. 

He breathes it in all night. Fucks his fist to the thought of you really being there with him. He’d make his den up for you, he’s bought the soft blankets and the slightly firm pillows and the soft hanging lights so he can make it all perfect. He hasn’t built it yet, he got so furious the first time he made up his cozy den for you to lie in (so he can touch you, hold you, rub your neck and your back and your tits, and then slide his tongue into your pussy while you’re aching with want for him—) and you weren’t here. He tore it down aggressively and threw it all out. Then bought new stuff the next day so he was perpetually ready for when he did bring you into his den. 

As he lays in his half-done up bed, on the blanket he rubbed vigorously with your panties, and inhaled the mixing scent of you and him, he decides that maybe he’s in a good enough spot with you for the next step. It can’t be harder than all the omegas he’s pursued, can it? He’d even say that they were pickier than you. And he already knows so much about what you like.

Yeah, he thinks, idly stroking your panties with his thumb. Yeah, he’s gonna join you at lunch tomorrow if it’s the last thing he does. 

[the-auguer]

YOURE BACKKKK I MISSED YOU </3

I AM!!! Gonna pump out as much as I can before I go dormant again 🫡

[the-auguer]

yandere!alpha x beta!female reader. cw: lowkey stalking, but nothing crazy. yet…

Xander is the definition of a coaster. Raised as an alpha in a very traditional household, his alpha father a stern and unaffectionate man and his mother a sweet omega. In high school, he dated pretty omegas, had tons of friends, and made passable grades. Now in college, nothing has changed other than he’s in a fraternity. He’ll graduate soon enough and get a job at the tech company that his dad’s friend has a good position in. He’ll finally commit to one of the pretty omega girls (or the couple boys) he indulges in a few dates and be a father within five years or so. His life is one long, relaxing current that he just has to ride. 

Except for the fact that he really, really didn’t expect to meet you. Some beta chick that was in his semester-long group mate that sent increasingly frustrated text messages for him to get his work done before the day of the due date, smiled plastically at him in the few group meetings he attended, and was in general an annoying pain. He wouldn’t normally mind you really— you had great tits and pretty hair, even if you were stockier than most omegas and didn’t smell near as nice as one. But you just had to pester him all the time, didn’t you? Annoying. 

Annoying. So annoying. He caught glimpses of you everywhere on campus. That shouldn’t be possible with how many people attended. He saw you every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday in that dumb class with a mandatory attendance policy. He moved seats because he was under an ac vent and got cold, and coincidentally sat at an angle that let him see your face instead of just your hair. You left your pencil behind one day and he swiped it for no real reason. He was out of pencils anyway.

He was in the library one day, just chilling no real reason for being there, and there you were in your usual little private study room with a friend. The walls are thin in the library— they’re thin everywhere on campus really. He’s meandering to a seat kinda close to the study room— because it has to best light— when he hears faint, hiccuping inhales. 

He inhales sharply through his nose, because no it couldn’t be. But yes it could, there’s a salt to the air and you’re covering your face with your hands. He sees it through the tiny shitty window. His lips pull up from his fangs, flashing them uselessly. He itches to do something, to bite into something. What made you cry? What did it?

Xander presses his ear to the wall, just out of sight of the window. He’s breathing just through his nose. He’s never smelled you so clearly before. Salt from the tears but under it is just this little line of you that he’s chasing, trying to identify. Stupid betas smelling like nothing at all. He stops inhaling so hard when he hears you speak.

“H-he’s making me be so-some bitch that nags hi-him to do his wor-work,” you say, voice hitching. “I don’t want to-to be that. I’m not a bitch. Stupid alpha!”

Your friend makes soft, cooing reassurances that Xander doesn’t process. He can’t feel anything beyond the pounding of his chest. It wasn’t about him. Right? It wouldn’t be, because you don’t spare a thought for him outside of when a project is due. And maybe there’s something due in… in how many days? Xander thumbs open his phone and goes to your contact. He knows you texted recently and you would have told him when… oh. In three days. 

As he often does, Xander scrolls up in your message feed. All reminders to turn in work and update checks. He likes to go back to the first message you sent. It seems so tentative and polite compared to what you send now. He only ever sends you back a thumbs up. 

On a whim, for no real reason, he types out ‘finishing my part tn’ and then realizing that he hasn’t gotten it done yet, follows up with a ‘gonna send it to you in the morning’ and sends it to you. Waits. Paces around so he doesn’t look like a complete freak, suppressing a growl of impatience. He presses his ear back to the wall to hear when you make a small exclamation. You sound so relieved. You send him back a little ’Okay!’ and heart his message. Heart it. 

Xander imagines that as a reply to anything else he could have sent to you. Like ‘gonna be in the study room in 5’. Like ‘got you some coffee’. Or ‘come over and wear that blue tank top you wore last Monday pls, gonna fuck you in just that’. Or just ‘gonna take you out to dinner tn baby’.

Okay! And a fucking heart.

Fuck. The beginning of Xander’s rumbling purr chokes off in his throat. He scrubs his fist over the wall he was practically scenting and rubbing himself all over. Oh fuck.

[the-auguer]

More nonchalant!reader, but just a short drabble that I’ve been meaning to finish and post forever “Saw this today. Thought you might like it.”

Simon’s palm feels fucking sweaty, like a green boy holding his first M18 pistol in quals. The piece of paper in his hand is not a loaded gun, but his hackles are raised as though it is. He clears his throat to dispel the feeling and gives the flyer a firm shake to straighten it out. 

Being on the other end of your heavy gaze is a familiar feeling. Sometimes it makes the hair on Simon’s arms goose up in a way that’s all pleasant, but at the moment it feels like being in the sights of an enemy’s scope. Thankfully, you put him out of his misery by casting your eyes down to his rubbish little flyer, reaching your hand out to grasp the corner. 

“Mm, it’s this Saturday?” Your eyes flicker across the page, adverting some flea market with furniture and food. 

It was bright and loud enough to jump out at Simon at the corner store from the pole it was stapled to. He could imagine it— you scurrying from stall to stall to shift through the wares. Could almost see the pleased, smug expression on your face when you find something you want. You’d carry it yourself, no matter how impractical or difficult it is to carry, haul it off like a cat that caught a big, fat canary. Simon would like to see what you bring back to drag up the stairs after being set loose. 

“Yes,” he rasps. 

There some kind of makeup that makes birds eyelashes dark and thick. Simon suspects you might have some of it on right now because he swears he can count each individual lash on your lid as you regard him. Frames your eyes real nice. His stomach twists. Why the fuck is he thinking about that?

You nod slowly. “Alright. I’ll go with you.”

The tentative relief that had begun to unspool in Simon’s chest tightens right the fuck up. He opens his mouth to refute you, but good sense slaps him over the head before he can be enough of a nitwit to speak. 

Instead he says, “We can go in my truck. More space that way, if you want anything. I’ll drive.”

“Right. What time should I be ready?”

“Eight. I’ll knock.”

“Good.” Your lips quirk up into a smile. “I’ll see you then.”

Simon nods. You reach your hand out, slow and deliberate to squeeze his bicep. When you release him, yours fingers trail up to his shoulder as you walk away. He feels overly aware of every inch of him that you touched for the rest of the day, his skin feeling tight and heated. He has to be coming down with something. 

[vmpyry]

to die of love (mourir d’amour) and to die of asphyxiation (mourir d’asphyxie) are the same. i don’t think about it.

buffy the vampire slayer // this insane chocolate ice cream recipe

[the-auguer]

Johnny McTavish who loves a fussy, particular woman. He enjoys his weekly stint in the doghouse that he has to sweet talk and cajole his way out of. He likes waking up and being told that no, the world is not right-side up it’s left-side down and he’s wrong. Frequently spends his time figuring out her moods, what she wants, and why she’s cold shouldering him.

He loves her fussy little pussy too. Likes how he has to pet and kiss her just to get her nice and slick. Likes how he can’t just jack her with his fingers or pump into her, he’s gotta angle and caress and bully her just a little. It’s an effort thing. How will his hen know he loves her if he doesn’t give her his best?

[the-auguer]

inspired by @silverlullabies doing truth serum drabbles, here’s mine

Extraction went about as well as they were bound to go, which is something you can distantly appreciate. When Soap had needed one last time, everything went tits up and semi-scorched. Which is how anything involving a concussed Soap is bound to go. Concussion isn’t entirely off the table for you yet. Captain said he can hardly see the color of your irises, swallowed as they are by your dilated pupils.

“Sergeant,” Captain Price calls over the beating blades of the heli. “You broken?”

You feel your throat bob as you swallow. “Could be, sir. They stuck me with something.”

“Didn’t hit your head?”

“Yes, sir. But the side effects occurred after injection.”

“Sitrep. Now.”

You roll your words around your mouth with a thick tongue, holding them behind your teeth. Before more than a half second passes, a wave of nausea rolls down your spine, spilling the words from your mouth. “Elevated heart rate and body temp, blurred vision, nausea, muscle weakness, and compulsion to speak.”

“Compulsion?”

“Yes, sir. Can’t shut up, sir.”

“Seemed to be fine before.”

“That was before the questions started, sir.”

“Quit that, sergeant,” Captain says, but the corner of his mouth ticks up a bit. Fucker probably thinks it’s funny.

“Hey! Ye broken!?” McTavish shouts from the copilot seat, turned all the way around to look at you. Fat lot of good he does up there when Ghost’s the one piloting.

“A little,” you yell.

“Don’t ask her anything,” Captain shouts back.

“I’ll answer!” You add helpfully.

“Was it ye that broke the door outside the canteen?” McTavish asks immediately, the pissant. He’s been bothering you about that on and off for weeks. Pisses you off because you have literally broken the least amount of things on base. And besides—

“It was Garrick!”

“Negative,” Garrick shouts from where he covers their six outside the cabin window, eyes through the scope and hands on the M240.

“Positive! Saw it myself!”

“Ye bastard, Ah was stuck with the boot cause of that door!”

“Don’t distract cover,” Ghost grunts, doing the helicopter equivalent of jerking the steering wheel. Fucker loves doing that, and it makes you nauseous every time— even more so now. “Cover your face from my fucking fist, asshole,” you gripe back, holding your head.

Captain clears his throat, making your foggy head snap back to focusing on him as he leans forward, elbows on his knees, in the seat across from you. “What were they asking you?”

“The usual— where are we operating out of, our contacts in the area, operative names.” Sweat trickles down your brow as you speak. You are sweating like a fucking adulterer at the altar.

“Give them anything?” Captain asks, more perfunctory than worried.

Your cheeks heat a little from something that is not the drug. “No, sir. Distracted them, sir.” You don’t want to say it, you don’t want to say it, it’s so stupid and should literally die with you so you’re totally not going to say it— “Started ranking you all in terms of attractiveness, sir.”

Captain’s eyebrows raise slightly, leaning back again. Soap turns all the way around in his seat. Garrick and Ghost’s heads don’t turn— they’re too professional for that— but you know they’re fucking listening.

The words trip over themselves as they fall from your mouth. “Noted that there were no female soldiers around. They specifically singled me out of five targets and my position was harder to reach than Garrick’s, leading me to believe that they targeted me for being female. Further commentary confirmed my suspicions. I couldn't stop speaking right after getting the drug, so when asked about my team I latched on to whatever I could think of in the moment that would make them lose interest in questioning me. Best case scenario was that they thought I was knowledgeable but stupid and focusing on the wrong information.”

Captain digests this silently. His eyebrows are scrunched together. Fuckkkk this is such a nightmare. And it’s really terrible that you fucking mentioned it, you could have just said no and been done with everything. But now Captain has to worry about shit that is definitely not fucking professional and you should not should not should not fucking mention that—

“I’m sorry, sir!” You gasp out after holding your fucking breath trying to keep this in. Your vision spins with those familiar purplish dots. “I did share information on team operatives! I told them that Bravo-6 was too old for me— by fifteen years which is just too-too much, so even though you’re very attractive and around my height, weight, and personality preference, you’re at the bottom! And that you’re too hairy and I respect you too much as my captain! I did not specify what height or weight or any names, sir!”

You’re panting now, hands shaking from the muscle tremors that had overtaken you when the drug was first administered. Is this a fucking resurge? A response to your increasingly elevated heart rate? “And I— I told them that Gaz was too lean! Perfectly nice and handsome, and he should be with someone nice and attractive, but not me and I like men that are broader than just fit. Still no specific information, sir!”

Captain reaches over to grasp your shoulder. “Slow down, sergeant. If you didn’t tell them anything other than what they can see with their eyes, we’re clear.”

“But what if I slipped up sir?” You ask, breaths still short. “I don’t remember everything I said because I’m fucking feverish and probably fucking concussed. I didn’t mean to say a lot of what I said, I just started going and going and nothing they did made me stop. I told-I told them Soap’s haircut wasn’t all as bad as what people said and that it suits him even though I don’t like ‘hawks. But I didn’t say anything about ‘hawks while I was there, at least I don’t think so. But that’s the thing— I don’t remember. I think I told ‘em that his fucking neck is almost as big as my thigh and his biceps even bigger. And that he’s real fucking funny,so that’s why he’s number one.“

McTavish punches the back of his seat out of excitement. “Ah told ye lads that lassies like the hair.”

“You motherfucker, I’m fucking dying right now,” you gasp out.

“You’re not bloody well dying,” Captain says curtly. He shoves a canteen of water into your hands that you shakily drink and spill over yourself. “Not in the next twenty to base.”

“Yer holdin’ together well, lass,” McTavish tells you helpfully, seeming a bit sheepish now.

“Information about his bloody haircut doesn’t matter,” Garrick assures from beyond your limited field of vision.

“That’s good,” you say faintly. Everything is swimming again, but your heart rate has finally decreased. You droop, sliding down your seat. Fucking embarrassing, letting everyone know what you kinda maybe thought about how hot they are. Kind of. Sometimes, But wait, you hadn’t said much about Ghost— which tracks because you never say much about him, ever. You’re not meant to. But you should tell him that you didn’t. Tell him that—

“I— Lt, Lt, I didn’t say anything about you. Not really. I almost said something for a minute— no less than. I wasn’t trying to. I just said Ghost would be first, but he’s such a fucking asshole that his rippling traps and all the other back muscles and height and biceps and his dumbass harnesses don’t even matter. And that he’s funny too but it pisses me off because I shouldn’t be laughing when he’s such a shithead and he’s lucky he shuts up most of the time because it makes him more attractive but I kind of fucking like it when he’s smug— but only when it’s not me because it makes me feel like throwing all his shit in the toilet where it belongs.”

"...Rog." Ghost says after a moment. It's grunted. Almost normal. But you're a fucking freak just like the rest of them so you catch the slight upward lilt of his voice. Smug fucking dipshit.

"Gonna tell medical you're over-fucking-wweight so they cut down on your rations, you dick," you snipe. It's far weaker than you want it to be. Ghost's head cants to the side. Smug little--

"You did well," Captain says, cutting you off from rallying yourself to try again. Or haul your body up to the pilot part of the heli to give him a better piece of your mind. "Stay awake, we're close to getting you medical."

"Yes, sir," you reply, deeply miserable.

[s-ghost-r]

Simon Riley has no pictures of you.

He doesn't carry around an edge-worn, beloved photo of you slipped into the space behind his vest as if it were the idea of you waiting at home for him that would stop a bullet, not the kevlar. He has nothing of you he can hold when the nights get too dark and the gun steel gets too cold.

Simon Riley has no background on either his work phone or his personal phone, just a black screen. Not of your smile, your precious face. Your number isn't even saved. He has it memorized and any call or text logs with you will only show a string of numbers, not your initials, your name, an ambiguous emoji, or a one word moniker that carries more truth than you would ever believe: angel.

Simon Riley reads the notes you leave for him over and over again until the divots in the paper where your pen pressure carved lightly into the fibers are also present in his mind. He runs his thoughts over them like his thumb over the ink. Every note you write him is burned, held over his lighter until your words are nothing but smoke.

Because when he's in the field, he's responsible for the safety of his team, the mission, and you. The only way he can do that is by keeping you as far away from Ghost as he can. Because Ghost and the rest of the 141 carry a target on their back always. And if the ones with their sights on that target ever aim true then they will only get him.

Simon Riley has no pictures of you, no tokens of you, no evidence that you even exist.

Simon Riley who instead keeps every memory and reminder of you in a place in his heart he's convinced is what keeps it beating. Somewhere where no blade or bullet can reach. They can string him up, carve him to the bone, cut out that cold organ from his chest and they still wouldn't be able to get you.

Simon Riley carries nothing of you that someone else can take.

[theheightofdishonor]

sometimes Karasuno’s teamwork just has me going 🥺🥺. Like what is dedication if not Nishinoya perfecting the art of saving blocked balls because he couldn’t save enough of them when it counted? If not Tanaka calling for the ball one more time.

What is trust if not Kageyama sending a third tempo set to Hinata, again and again and again until it hits, in attempt to give him back the wings Kenma painstakingly tore out? If not Tsukki telling Kuroo he’s never once thought he could beat Kuroo on his own while Yamaguchi stands behind him, and yet one step ahead, whenever it matters. If not Kageyama demanding that Suga sets Asahi the ball as many times as it takes to break through a block?

What is love if it isn’t Daichi waiting in the wings to save a ball when the freak duo misses their new quick and Asahi’s favorite toss at the end of a 3-set match and Tanaka comforting Hinata after he throws up in his lap andmeat buns after practice and every spiker running for every ball no matter how tired they are?

Just like, Karasuno, y’all.

[ghouljams]

The thing you put in the tags about Nik liking the docile kind made me blush. I feel so seen <3

I have crazy respect for all the brats out there, because the idea of talking back or disobeying for fun mortifies me. All I want to do is take whatever I'm given and nod whenever I'm asked to. (Yes I am a major people-pleaser, how could you tell?)

So yeah, the idea of Nik fucking you until you've almost hit your limit and recognizing that it's time to pull you back down to earth makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. He could keep going if he wanted to, it's not like you would protest, but he chooses to prioritize what's best for you because he knows you won't.

Yeah you get it. He likes them soft and brainless. Likes having a pretty thing to smile at him, to tip your head as he coos his little praises and see the little shine of glass starting to gloss over your eyes. Brats are fun for men that feel like they have to prove they're in charge, Nikolai doesn't have to prove anything, if you don't understand as soon as he walks in the room that he has control then he isn't interested. He's too old to be chasing after pets when he finds it just as effective to sit and wait for a docile little doe to wander close enough to sniff his fingers.

He'd rather have you settled on a pretty pillow, wet eyes shining up at him as you cockwarm him with your throat, peaceful and sweet as can be, than punish you for mouthing off. He likes the type that'll cut out their own tongue if he asks, that cuddle close and pluck their fingers over his fly and don't ask why he smells like gunpowder. He's allowed to be gentle with you because you're such a good pet. You don't need to please him, you just have to do what he tells you to and he'll lay the praise on thick. All thick honeyed words and heavy hands molding you like clay.

[the-auguer]

ghost and you who are both dead fucking silent during sex. intense staring and heavy breathing only. maybe a sigh or a slight noise every once and a while. when questions are asked (“feels good?” “here?” “alrigh’?”) and answered (“yeah” “yes, right there”, “I’m almost there”), it’s done softly, as if you two are in a library and afraid to break the atmosphere. and when you’re done, you’re both chatting and cuddling like you weren’t clenching your teeth in silence minutes before.

[the-auguer]

what if dirt bike stuntman simon… in the leathers and the helmet/baclava… still goes by ghost… yeah 🤤

[the-auguer]

I had an ask for the COD boys ❤️

Can you write something for disabled / chronically ill / chronic pain? Fluff and it smut? 🥺

I’m sorry I let this sit in my asks for so long, and I really appreciate you liking my writing enough to request this!! But I unfortunately don’t know enough about chronic pain or disability to comfortably write about it. I would hate to get anything wrong and misrepresent the people who do face these issues.

thank you so so much for liking and engaging with my blog and I’m sorry again.

[the-auguer]

first time commenting! hello and thank you for a second installment of nonchalant reader, i fucking love you for birthing her. simon’s little indigestive thoughts have me so down bad, yeesh im so abnormal about him

if we get any future excerpts about them, please know that it’d make my week ❤️🍓❤️ her various side quests are so relatable, unique, and funny. ch1 was brutal with a huge sigh of relief at the end, so this was a sweet icebreaker from the hurt/angst of what comes with independence/adulthood/having to put justice in your own hands

love how nonchalant reader has moments of pure chaotic evil/lawfully evil? and love how simon loves those ‘worst’ moments from her!! so fitting to his character

merry christmas!!! 🎄

AHHHHH thank you so much!! their dynamic has a special place in my brain, I’m rotating them on a spit rn <3

I’m so glad you liked part 2, I was having trouble brainstorming things for reader to do that are just to the left of weird and relatively normal ways for simon to watch her without it being stalking. she is FILLED with side quests bc a lot of how I characterized her is being 1. an all or nothing type of person and 2. someone who hates hearing no after asking for help, so she never asks. And you described what I was conveying in the first part really great!!

if I end up writing anything else— I want to, but I have no solid idea of what yet— it’ll probably be about simon’s rampant cuteness aggression towards her. he wants to squeeze her cheeks, press his thumbs into the wrinkle she gets when she glares, put her in a little terrarium so he can watch her, etc etc.

thank you again and Merry Christmas!! ❤️

[the-auguer]

ghost gets a tattoo of some huge, fuck off roman numeral on his chest or his current tattoo sleeve. everyone stares at it and wonders if it represents how many soldiers under his command he’s lost, how many groups he’s destroyed, or something else equally morbid. but no, he’s a weirdo and it’s like how many freckles/moles/kinds of smiles you have (that he has counted after extensive observation).