#slow the fuck down you demon. jesus.

[altschmerzes]

people who are loud and proud about how they always speed and will never stop should be stripped of their drivers’ licenses and i am not exaggerating or joking in the slightest. driving is a privilege not a right and if you can’t prioritize the lives of everyone around you as you hurtle down the road in your 2 tonne metal death machine you need to get your ass off that road.

the parents of the two kids a friend of a friend once killed in an accident because she was speeding 80 in a 50 sure would’ve thanked her for taking a few extra minutes to get to her destination, i’m sure.

[bigfatbimbo]

Take a Bite

1.5k words,, Bill Cipher x Reader

summary — Bill and the reader have sex, which has proven to be very difficult seeing as he isn’t doing anything, and, of course, things are never easy with that insufferable brat.

warnings — SMUT, bill being annoying and toxic, dom!reader, sub!Bill, heavy pain kink, bill’s human form, the fat fuck not the twink

a/n — Admittedly, this fic only happened because I never see Bill sub in fanfics and i’m very interested in what the dynamic would be. You’d be like… domming with a risk of death.

“Well, slick,” Bill leaned back and gestured up and down his body, “Give it your all.”

Amusement was thick in his voice, along with bubbling giddiness. He fumbled with the seams on his pants, not out of nervousness, but as if he had forgotten how to take them off and was looking for some kind of zipper. One, admittedly, that he would not find on slacks. 

“Wow, human clothes are just as bad as the fleshbags. So needlessly complicated,” He sounded on the verge of a laughing fit, “Oh, and toots? Before you dig in, remember to leave marks. I wanna see how durable this thing is.” 

His amusement was not matched on your part. The situation invoked dull curiosity at best, in your opinion. The idea of harboring a wanted criminal, ex-overlord, god-like demon in your house challenged your idea of a good time. Having sex with that demon was even harder to swallow.

Then again, any situation with bill warranted an ungodly amount of stress. 

“Whatcha’ thinking about over there, sweet-cheeks?”

You smiled at that; of the few advantages you have, being in gravity falls for weirdmageddon proved to be one of them. You know of his powers, and with that, vague guesses on how to prevent them.

Tinfoil-lined bobbie pins were one of them. A guess, granted, but a good one at that. Really, not that complicated when you recall every alien movie you’ve ever watched. 

“Upset you can’t tell?” 

He laughed, “Upset for you, maybe. Trust me, it’d be so much easier for both of us if I could just read your thoughts. I’m already your roommate, how much closer could we ge- Ah.”

You brushed his pants crotch, and began to unbutton. For all his mightiness, the guy couldn’t work pants. “Careful, human body’s are touchy.” 

“Touchy,” He repeated, “Tell me about.” 

Getting his pants off was a task harder than it should have been, no thanks to Bill, who seemed to have taken to just lying there, occasionally flicking you, and then himself. 

When you finally peeled all of his clothes off, you warned him to brace himself, to which he ignored you. On top of that, the entire time Bill had been talking, droning on about ‘the last time he’d been in a human body.’

You wondered vaguely if he’d ever done this with someone else. In the time he’d been at your house he’d mentioned some ‘sixer’ ex-thing-ish of his. But you doubt he’d done anything with him.

As he’d mentioned, he hadn’t perfected his human form until very recently. Perfected is a strong word, he was pudgy and short, remanisent of a human peanut. And his teeth were terrible. 

Either way, you’d gotten him ready, and began your work. Laying a light finger on the tip of his dick, and running it down the base of his length, you got Bills first reaction: a short sniff.

Recovering fast, he adjusted his seat, “Yeah, tick tock, toots. This better be good.” 

It was his idea, you thought, but continued. Your fingers wrapped around the entirety of his cock and you began to stroke it. 

A sigh left Bills mouth, “Oh, this does have a kick to it. Maybe you’re not so bad, after all.”

Over the course of the next few minutes, you’d grow angrier and angrier. Although you were clearing making him feel good, he’d never shut his snide mouth for two seconds. 

“Jesus, slow down, pal— I just perfected this flesh-bag, at this rate your gonna break something—“ 

You didn’t realize how much your hand sped up. You thought for a moment, before completely stopping. Bill looked taken aback.

“Hey! what’s the—“

Without warning you grabbed his dick with full force and squeezed. He yelped, before giggling at the hurt.

This made you more mad, “God, do you ever shut up? I wish you’d lost your voice when you lost Gravity Falls.”

He stopped giggling. “I’d watch what you say, if I was you, kid.”

You threw your head back and laughed, running your hand slowly up his dick and then slamming back to the base of his cock. Finally, a reaction other than knowing bliss: anger. Weakness.

“Oh dear god, rearrange the features of my face then, Billy. See if I give a shit when you don’t have a place to live.”

His face turned red with rage, and he recoiled at the mention of your upperhand. And then, finally, at the slowing of your hand, a small, wavering whimper. 

You both caught it, and he was quick to put a hand of his mouth, “Sensitive human bodies - Hey, don’t look at me like that, that was not my fault.”

“God, you’re such a brat.”

“Oh please, what are you gonna do about it?” And he was completely serious.

Without much hesitation, you took the moment as an opportunity to abruptly sink yourself onto his dick. He sucked in a breath but you didn’t give him much time to do anything else.

“Ah- Now we’re talki—“ You slapped him hard across the face, and grabbed his cheeks with your hand, squishing them together, mockingly. Stifled laughter from Bill. 

“This is the form you spent all that time perfecting? I can barely feel anything. It’s worthless!” You sped up riding him, loosening your face to give the illusion you were bored, “You’re worthless.” 

His eyebrows arched down and his eyes widened, “I can kill you with a snap of my fingers! You think I need this sex— You think I need this hous— ah, ah—“

The unknown pleasure was getting to him, making his brain foggier than usual, and it was showing. Human senses were a key factor in your ability to keep the high-ground. Just as long as it felt good enough, he wouldn’t go back to his original form and… well. 

You wondered vaguely if you were actually going to be in mortal parole after this. But then again, the look on his face was almost euphoric, despite the anger. Thankfully, Bill was selfish, he’d probably chase the high again

You sighed, “Oh, you do need this house, Billy. Where else would you go? Everyone else in town has already forgotten about you, and your little maniac friends are no where to be seen.”

You sped up once more as your hands danced up his body, and continued, “With this whole out-of-sight-out-of-mind routine, i’m giving you something you won’t be getting anywhere else: attention.”

“You— Ah, curse this feeble human body! I’ll make your life a living hell-“ He whined, actually whined. 

Slamming yourself down on him, he cried out and then scowled. You raked your nails down his chest, deep enough to bleed, drawing out a  giggle from Bill as he felt the littlest bit of blood start to pool.

“You’re lucky this meatbag is— ah— funny enough—“ He was cut off with a gargle as a your hand sharply wrapped around his throat, and squeezed tight. 

“It’s not luck, i’m good at what I do, Billy. Not that you would know what that’s like, you pathetic shitbag,” although that insult wasn’t particularly true, you didn’t give him a chance to snap back, and instead put your other hand on his neck as well. 

You rode him with more speed than ever now. His eyes fluttered open and shut slowly, and he leaned into your hands. 

His face flushed, but a dreamy smile spread to the edges of his face as you made sure to leave bruise marks on his throat, still slamming against him. 

Although, you didn’t want to actually break him, so when his face began to turn purple, you let go. He gasped for air and let out a raspy, crazed giggle that went on for too long, and ending in a moan.

“I’m— “ Bills eyebrows furrowed, as if he was trying to decipher what the amusing thing the human body had planned next, “Somethings— somethings happening.”

His voice was broken, neck bruised, cheek red with a slap mark, eyes foggy, and chest bleeding from your nails. 

Before you dig in, remember to leave marks. I wanna see how durable this thing is.

Clearly you’d kept your end of the deal, and from what you’ve gathered it was time for the finale. You chased your own climax now as well, even though, admittedly, you hadn’t been thinking about it the whole session.

Annoying as it was that Bill still managed to make something all about him —and he definitely knew, mind reading or not— you still kept up your pace. 

“You’re close?” 

He smiled blissfully, and nodded.

What the hell. You smiled, “Good boy.”

His reaction was… startling. He leaned his head back, let out a small half-whine half-laugh, and arched off the bed. Finally, he released.

[hazbinwhoree]

Pls could i request a fix it of Adams death where reader saves him (somehow, i dont know *magic* 😭) and its hurt/comfort but ends up happy 🥺 because my soul hurts and needs comfort 🫠 pretty please and thank you for writing him so on point 😍

Not Today

A/N: Reader is a demon overlord with magic abilities.

(Name) had told Adam that attacking the hotel was a dumb and dangerous idea. So she watched the attack from afar in case something went wrong. And something went wrong. She could feel it. She rushed to the scene of the battle’s aftermath.

She wasn’t seeing Adam anywhere, until she saw him lying on the ground in a pool of his own golden blood.

“NO!” she screamed, sprinting over to him. She dropped to her knees and rolled him onto his back, panicking. “ADAM!” Adam’s eyes fluttered open and he smiled when he saw (Name). “Fuck, what did I tell you, what did I tell you?” Adam opened his mouth and blood trickled out. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

His eyes closed. “No no no, Adam, ADAM!” (Name) shook him before placing her ear on Adam’s chest. His heart was slowing.

(Name) sat back on her knees, taking a deep breath. She closed her eyes and placed one hand over his stab wound and one hand on his heart. Her hair began to float around her head, and her entire body glew green. Adam’s wounds stitched themselves back together and his heart restarted.

Adam suddenly shot up into a sitting position, gasping. He hands ran over where his injuries had previously been, finding no stab wounds. “Hah!” he exclaimed, slightly shocked but mostly excited.

(Name) collapsed.

“I’m alive! I’m alive, you fucking did it– (Name)?” Adam turned to find (Name) unconscious on the ground.

“No, what the fuck, no!” He pulled (Name) into his arms and shook her. (Name)’s eyelids fluttered open, eyes half-lidded as she stared up at him, a grin stretching across her face. “Adam,” she whispered.

Adam let out a massive sigh of relief. “Jesus, don’t fucking do that shit, bitch. Scared the fuck out of me. What happened?”

(Name) tried to sit up but found herself too weak. “It’s just exhaustion. I’ve never used magic that strong before.” They were both brimming with relief. (Name) reached up to cup his bare face in her hand. Adam leaned into the touch.

“You’re alive,” (Name) said in awe. “Thanks to you, babe,” Adam grinned. He created a portal and stood, picking (Name) up. “You were just stabbed, I can walk,” (Name) insisted. Adam shook his head. “Shut up.” He carried her through the portal.

Back in Heaven, (Name) finally managed to convince Adam to put her down. Her legs were only a little shaky, but Adam held onto her until she kissed his hand and steadied herself.

(Name) received stares from every angel around as she was very clearly a demon. Adam held her against him and took flight to get to his home faster. He landed on his balcony and ushered (Name) inside.

Once they were inside, (Name) threw herself at Adam, hugging him as tightly as she could. Adam chuckled, hugging her back and wrapping his wings around her. “I thought I was going to lose you,” (Name) mumbled. “Never be that stupid again.”

Adam smiled softly. “I won’t, I promise.”

Their moment was interrupted by a pounding at the door. Word of seeing Adam had spread to Lute, who came to see if her beloved commander really was alive. Adam let her in and she simply stood and stared with her mouth slightly agape.

“You– how?”

Adam stepped aside and gestured towards (Name). Lute stared at (Name). After a long moment, she suddenly rushed forward, hugging (Name) with her one arm. (Name) was surprised, realizing Lute was hugging her and not attacking her.

She awkwardly hugged the angel back. “Thank you,” Lute muttered. “Thank you so much.”

Lute pulled back and turned to Adam, teary eyed. “Don’t be a pussy, Lute, I’m fine,” Adam teased. Lute sniffed and wiped away her tears. “It’s good to see you, sir.” She left without questioning why (Name), a demon, was in Heaven, grateful enough to turn a blind eye.

As soon as she was gone, (Name) and Adam embraced again.

“You’re never allowed to leave me,” (Name) said, slightly muffled by her face being buried in Adam’s chest. “Don’t tell me what to do, bitch,” Adam joked. (Name) was so happy she didn’t even have a retort.

“I love you,” Adam admitted after a moment.

“I love you too.”

[kaylopolis]

Alastor's Shadow (18+) Chapter Five

Alastor x F!Reader, Alias: Thestral

Synopsis: There’s a new Overlord in town and it isn’t the Radio Demon. Six years after you fell into Hell, you have finally earned your seat at the table as Pentagram City’s newest and baddest and with the Extermination coming six months sooner than planned, it is now time to implement your ultimate endgame. Afterall, who doesn’t love a bit of power and chaos? Your plans brings you to the doorstep of the Hazbin Hotel as Charlie’s newest Redeemer, but who you find waiting for you will not only turn your entire plan upside down, but also challenge your grab for power… 

Tag List: Slow burn, rivals to lovers, eventual smut

Masterlist Link: Masterlist

____________________________________________

Author note: Dear Hoteliers, This was my first attempt at smut (I giggled posting this, I am so excited!). I am new, but any advice is welcome! I tried something different with formatting (you'll see when you get there). I didn't want anything to be spoiled while ya'll rode the emotional rollercoaster that is this chapter. Let me know if it was weird and didn't work (or if it did that would be great!). I also added a link to the music found in a later part of this chapter in case you wanted to listen while you read.

<3 Stay smutty

Chapter Five - Night's Mistress

Content Warning: Blood, Blood Play, Murder, Choking, Graphic Sexual Scenes Involving Violence, Smut, MINORS DNI! (let me know if I missed anything else!)

The pull behind your navel felt foreign. 

It didn’t come with the taste of honey or the scent of daffodils like Rosie’s summons normally did. It didn’t come with a hint of sass or flood your mouth with spice like Carmilla’s. Crimson’s tasted of red pepper flakes and copper - a disgusting combination - but he was no longer an issue. 

This pull, however, was new and terribly, terribly… boring. 

Has one of your cards fallen to a rogue with sticky fingers? Has one of your holders died and a new holder taken their place? 

Whomever it was, the pull made you pause atop your perch overlooking V Tower. With Vox’s new Angelic Security soon to be released, you didn’t know how close you could get to the media demon’s headquarters. So you sat a few buildings away, scanning the horizon for any newfound technology that might impede your nighttime endeavors. 

There was another tug. 

Jesus, impatient much? 

You stood, stretching the stiffness from your legs. It was late, you’ve been out here for hours watching absolutely nothing happen. All the Vees like to do is sit, drink, and talk shit. Seriously what did they get out of their friendship? Was it friendship? Or were they all fucking? Ugh, you did not want that picture in your head.

Okay, time to go. 

You jumped, allowing the smoke to envelop your form. Feeling the pull, you headed toward the inner part of the city. Circling Heaven’s Clocktower, you broke off back toward the Magne District - the district that held the Hotel. Except you weren’t headed for your new home. The pull brought you left, almost to the border town but not quite, to an old tower.

In a plume of smoke, you landed on a balcony, the black swirls twirling about the landing before pooling over the sides. You were probably twenty stories up, the tallest building around. Not nearly as tall as V Tower - which the balcony gave you a great view of - but still, Pentagram City was striking. 

The balcony was connected to an apartment, reachable to the world only by an elevator at its center. Behind you was a wall of glass, heavy curtains preventing you from peering inside. On the balcony sat a small table, framed by two iron chairs. The setup was empty, except for your card which sat atop the table, a single drop of blood at its center. 

You took a step, your feet finding a puddle of red before you finally noticed the body. It was face down, scarlett flooding from a wound which wasn’t visible to you. It didn’t appear to be anyone you knew. Definitely a Human Sinner, but not one particularly interesting. 

So who in Hell summoned you? 

As if on cue, a zip of static runs across the back of your neck. 

Of-fucking-course…

“Ah, there you are,” Alastor emerges from the darkened apartment, shutting the door behind him with a kick of his heel, a smooth jazz playing on his radio.

Your heart skips a beat as his eyes find yours. Half-lidded, he smirks, a bottle of wine in one hand and a pair of glasses in another. 

Your eyes flit between the dead Sinner on the floor and the red demon before you. “You did not use your own blood?" This was a first. Cardholders always used their own blood. Although not directly stated, it was implied. 

“Heavens, no!” The demon places the glasses on the table, next to the obsidian calling card, as he uncorks the bottle using the tip of his claw. “We barely know each other. That would be too…” His eyes slid to yours. You feel his gaze rake over your form eliciting a blush beneath your cloak. “Intimate.” 

Jesus. 

You stifle a sharp intake of breath. 

Get your shit together. You’re a fucking Overlord for Christ’s sake. 

You drop his gaze, eyeing the half-dead pile of blood beneath your feet. 

“Ah, apologies for the mess,” Alastor snaps and the Sinner, along with the blood, disappears. “Wine?” The red demon holds a glass out to you, liquid sloshing in its basin. 

You look at your boots before moving, noticing he even wiped the blood from their leather. How thoughtful. 

Goblet in hand, you finally join the Radio Demon in the chair adjacent to his, and gaze out to the City. 

It was quiet, the hustle of Pentagram City’s nightlife drowned out by his jazz. Funny, you thought it almost peaceful. Could Hell be peaceful? No. That would be an oxymoron. Hell was designed not to be peaceful by definition. Yet all the way up here, tucked far back from the rest of the chaos, you could pretend it was. 

The demon sits back in his chair, crossing his legs at his knees. You hadn’t noticed it before, but his shoes have a print on the bottom - a deer’s hoof. How fitting. 

The obsidian calling card sits between you, a drop of scarlet crusting on its surface. Letters in white slowly fade from the card’s edge, signifying the death of the card owner. Whoever the Hell Stanley Jenkins was, Alastor had killed him and used his blood instead. Smart actually, for the card comes with its own parameters…

And to the Sinners without a card? That was a bit trickier. Only a handful of obsidian calling cards were in circulation, and only cardholders could summon you at will. To the lower rung demons without the honor, they had to go through back channels. That’s what you used Rosie for. The Cannibal Queen knew all the best gossip in town, her network of information reached every edge of the Pentagram. She was your starting point for potential hits - you took care of the rest. 

“A toast,” Alastor holds his glass out to you. “To power and chaos.” 

You freeze.

The demon clinks his glass with yours.

You had not heard that phrase in a very long time. 

You look to the Radio Demon and watch as he sips his wine, the red liquid kissing his lips as he drinks.  

More importantly, where had he heard that phrase? 

And then it clicks. 

Lilith. You last heard that from Lilith. 

“It isn’t poisoned. I assure you,” Alastor purrs, bringing your thoughts back to the wine. “If I wanted you dead, you’d already be dead.” The demon chuckles.

You shudder at the sudden static vibrating through your bones. 

You put a pin in this conversation - a mental note. You had more homework to do. 

You swirl the red around the glass, noting the alcohol crystals sticking to the sides. It was an older wine, a heavier red by the color. The liquid wooed you in scents of dark berry, cloves, and cedar. You could taste the tannins on your tongue before the liquid even hit your teeth. God, was it a thick red, so dry it left your mouth parched for more. Alastor couldn’t see your face beneath the hood, but if he could, he would see the moan you stifled behind closed lips. 

God, it was almost Heavenly. 

“One of my more everyday favorites,” Alastor smiled at the world below, his eyes sparkling with the reflection of City lights. “Although, I have far better in my cellar.” 

In my cellar. Your ears perked up at that, although you tried to hide it, the twitch of Alastor’s lips told you he had noticed. The Radio Demon knew something about you now: you liked wine. 

Was that what this meeting was all about? He wanted to gather more information on the Shadow? The way he made it seem at Carmilla’s was that there was a deal to be made. He thought you two could benefit from some sort of… partnership. Yet, you sit here and drink. 

This wasn’t how your deals often went. Usually, you showed up, and Sinners demanded action straight away. They practically begged you for your help, all too eager to make a deal. Lesser demons were pathetic, demons thinking themselves anything more attempted to look strong or intimidating, but the second they saw your eyes, they cowered. You’d like to think it the same as Zestial’s situation but you didn’t dare compare yourself to someone as great as him. 

Alastor, however, sat before you as an entertainer, a flatterer, a narcissist obsessed with his image. He didn’t just want to make a deal with you - if he did at all - he wanted to put on a show. Offering you a drink and a lovely view of the City communicated to you that he didn’t see you as a threat, but you already knew that. The question then was, did he respect you, and why did it bother you so much not to know? 

You turned the bottle to read the label: Stag’s Leap. How fitting. 

“Have you read the Allegory of the Cave*?” Alastor posits. 

You nod. Of course, who hasn’t read Plato? 

“When the man leaves the cave and makes it to the surface and is finally disenchanted with the shadows below, why do you suppose he returns?” Alastor takes another sip, waiting for you to answer, because he genuinely cares as to what you have to say. 

“To free the two he left behind,” your voice growls. 

“Hmm,” he ponders. “I supposed that as well, but never understood. To have the power of knowledge and to then share it… To not take advantage when it benefited him so. I see it as a tragedy.”

“Perhaps it is the Humanity in all of us.”

Alastor’s eyes flashed. “And if there is no Humanity left?” 

“Return…” Your lips curled, “and kill the other two.” 

Alastor tipped his head back and laughed, a deep chuckle from his chest. No laugh track followed. Was that genuine? A real laugh from Alastor and not the façade of the Radio Demon. Your heart skipped a beat in your chest at the thought. 

Focus! 

“Alastor, why have you summoned me?” 

The Radio Demon’s lips faltered ever so slightly, his cheery attitude hardening. He thought a long moment before answering. “It seems we have found ourselves in quite the predicament.” He places the glass on the table and folds his fingers in his lap, his attention on the City below. Your eyes follow his, all the way to V Tower. 

Ah, yes Velvette and Vox. 

“Velvette can be quite the troublemaker.” 

“And Vox can be quite the thorn.” You counter, taking another sip. 

God, the wine was so good. 

“I have… information worth your while.” His teeth shined. 

“And in return?” 

“A quid-pro-quo. I have been gone a long time, but my relationships with those I am… close with have held strong. That is the perk of being as old as I am. I am tried and true. You are new blood, officially worth a seat at the table. That seat will be tested.” There was an edge to his words now. “Do not take Velvette’s silence for inaction.”

You did not. 

Yet, what could Alastor know that you have not yet uncovered yourself? After all, you have been watching them these past few days. Surely something would have come up by now. 

You scoffed, finding the underlying meaning in his words. “Is that what happened with Vox?” 

The Radio Demon stiffened. There it was, a hint of that barely contained anger. Oh, how you would love to see it unleashed.

You sniffed, searching for the scent of rage, of jasmine green tea - the main reason why you loved the drink. Yet there was nothing. Irritation prickled your skin. You have never been able to not read someone before. What made this Sinner so special? 

“That is what you want from this… partnership, is it not?” You prod, hoping he will give away something, anything that might clue you in as to why you are here. 

The demon returned to his wine, a muscle in his jaw flickering with agitation. He didn’t like appearing weak. 

Narcissist. 

“The plans I have in mind are far bigger than that poor excuse for an entertainment system.” 

You snorted. 

Alastor’s strained smile softened. 

Hmm, a quid-pro-quo, huh? Still, he hasn’t said what he wants out of this deal. 

You took another sip to think, noting your glass was already empty. 

The Radio Demon cleared his throat, wine bottle in hand, gesturing for your cup. His fingers brushed yours as you handed him the glass, sending a wave of static through to your core. You pulled back too fast, bringing your arm to your chest. The demon’s eyes gleamed in amusement. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! You are not afraid of the Radio Demon, so why were you acting like an idiot? Never let your weaknesses show and you just gave him a clear indication that he intimidated you. You are a FUCKING OVERLORD. 

Why was this not easier with a mask on??? At the Hotel, you didn’t back down, but still, you let him think less of you. Not here. Here you are the fucking Shadow, you didn’t have to pretend. You had no reason to be so nervous. 

So why was the smile on his face and the look in his half-lidded eyes making your heart do backflips in your chest? Why was it when he handed the glass back you were conscious to not let your fingers touch his? Why were you so grateful for the space between you two yet also so, so irritated by it? 

“You still have not told me what you seek to gain.” You prayed your voice didn't sound as unnerved as you felt. 

His smile went cockeyed. “A mutual agreement. We stay out of each other’s way, yet seek out the other when we can benefit equally.” 

That didn’t sound like a partnership. That sounded like an alliance. Is this the same type of deal he had with Rosie? Interestingly, they seemed more like friends than something so surface-level as an alliance. Perhaps it started out that way and blossomed into one? 

The butterflies in your stomach kicked up in a flurry. The Radio Demon thought you were worth his time. Your cheeks heated. He thought you could help him - in some sort of capacity. God, why did that make you wanna squeal like a small child? 

“I will not be signing a contract,” you warned. 

Rosie informed you of Alastor’s contract crafting abilities. The demon was meticulous, bordering on obsessive when it came to exacting details. Line-by-line he would work and when it was finally done, the deal would appear flattering in what it would have to offer. Somehow, Alastor always made it seem like it was you who was the one to benefit. Yet, that was never the case. It was a trap, a beautifully disguised ploy which demoted you to a creature privy to his whim. Alastor was a master and the signee his pet - he would have it no other way. 

You’d die before you signed anything he authored. 

The demon laughed. Yet, underneath, there was a hint of irritation. “Oh, no. I did not expect that, I assure you. Ours will be one of a verbal agreement.” 

You let that marinate. He won’t be getting your name, but an agreement will still be made, and in Hell, that was a very powerful thing indeed. You’ve made plenty of verbal agreements before. Fuck, every hit you contracted was a verbal agreement - silence and the contractee’s soul in exchange for murder. The terms you set were quite simple, actually, yet strong enough to have kept any hint, any suspicion of who you are and how to find you, out of the mouths of Pentagram City’s most powerful. Yes, the media did try to track you down, even attempted to hunt you at one point, but they haven’t gotten very far. And they never will if you had anything to do with it…

You took a sip, letting the flavors melt off your tongue one final time, before standing and offering a hand. 

The demon’s eyes lit up with a crimson fire, his lips curling at the edges. He looked far too eager for this deal and that made you hesitate. 

Dealing with Alastor was like dancing - a dance you both pretended not to be leading but also refused to be the follower in. It was a game of power, you see. Yes, dancing had its steps and rules - a waltz is a waltz after all - but the direction it was going, the added flare to the spins, the story the choreography told - that was where you battled. Thus, you needed to be a half-step ahead of Alastor at all times - without him knowing, of course - until either the dance ended or you found a way to end him. 

The Radio Demon took your hand, and as you gazed into his eyes, you watched his pupils dilate. The glow of your yellow irises reflected in their dark center, an aura of red encircling your hooded form. A river of blue and green exploded from where your hands touched, twirling about you like the eye of a beautifully destructive hurricane.

The wind whipped Alastor’s hair about his face, his smile never faltering, his eyes never leaving yours as a connection snapped between the two of you. Like a thin string bridging your souls, you could, for a moment, feel Alastor on the other end, feel his static radiating from his core before the connection faded entirely.  

It was done. 

“A pleasure,” he purred. 

You attempted to step back and break away from his grasp, but the demon responded by clamping down and pulling you to him. You stumbled, your other hand coming to his chest to prevent your fall. The hood atop your head shifted back ever so slightly, but not enough to reveal your face or to give away anything underneath. 

The shadows engulfing your feet twirled and twirled about you, yet you remained frozen. Alastor was a solid wall of muscle beneath his suit; even with gloves on, you could feel the marble from which his chest was sculpted. You took a breath before you pulled your hand away before your brain finally caught up with the rest of you.

“Beautiful,” Alastor’s voice deepened. 

You dared a glance from beneath your hood and found the demon’s eyes locked on the silver embroidery of your cloak. With his other hand, he ghosted over the trim, his fingers tracing the hard edges of the stitching. Yet, at no point did he actually touch the black fabric. If he did, his fingers would phase through it, just as Velvette’s had at the meeting. 

Without saying anything, he dropped the grip on your fist, freeing you from his clutches. You stumbled backward, grasping your hood and pulling it forward to ensure it stayed in place. Alastor couldn’t remove it, but that little stunt he pulled almost ruined everything you had worked for. 

Your body grew cold as you backtracked to the railing, your little meeting coming to an end. You watched as Alastor’s grin turned into a lopsided smirk as he shoved his hands in his pockets, nonchalantly watching you flee.

Your instincts were screaming again, but this time, they were telling you not to let the demon out of your sight. 

Passing by the table, you noted the obsidian calling card. He would use it to summon you from here on out, but he would never be using his own blood. His real name would be made to you then, and he would never risk that. 

Take advantage of the power given, was what he recollected from Plato, and use it to slaughter others. 

“Velvette is using a third party to buy weapons from Carmilla Carmine,” the demon finally spoke, breaking the tension. He turned to the skyline, absentmindedly analyzing V Tower as he talked. “The female Vee, however, is not the fighter of the group, she leaves that to Vox and Valentino. Velvette destroys by reputation. She is not much to fear if armed, but if privy to certain information, she will use that to destroy her enemies.”

A.K.A do not let her find out who you are. 

You paused as your back hit the railing. You let your shadows build beneath your feet before you jumped in order to conceal your form as you flew. “Vox’s Angelic Security is in place but not online. It expands two blocks from V Tower. If anyone were to make a move, he would see it coming.” 

The Radio Demon nods. He pauses a moment before adding, “Carmilla killed the Angel.” 

You freeze, your heart skipping a beat. How the Hell did he know that? 

“Carmilla is monitoring the Vees,” The words tumbled out of your mouth as you grabbed hold of the railing. “She doesn’t want them making a move against Heaven.” You needed to get away. This meeting was getting dangerous. Losing your cool and almost losing your hood in the span of minutes? You were never this sloppy. Alastor made you sloppy. 

“Interesting,” his voice stopped you again. 

You spun, raising an eyebrow in question. His lopsided smirk only grew. “You didn’t ask me how Carmilla killed the Angel.” 

Fuck. He knew. He knew you already knew. He didn’t have to look at you to see the surprise in your eyes, he had figured it out by your response alone. 

“Goodnight, Alastor,” you gave a shallow head bow before jumping off into the night, Alastor’s fucking grin following you into the sky. 

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It was late when you returned. You took a few extra spins about Pentagram City before heading back, trying to collect your thoughts on everything that had just happened. 

You had surmised two important things: One, Alastor’s absence wasn’t just about Lilith. The demon somehow knew Lilith. Perhaps it was because of her that he left in the first place. Which you already somewhat suspected, but this confirmed it. Two, Alastor wanted the Vees dealt with, but he knew he couldn’t do it alone. 

A quid-pro-quo in taking out the Vees. Now, things were getting interesting. This didn’t derail your plans, however, little Ms. Morningstar was still heading in the direction you needed her to go for everything to work. You didn’t need the Vees for the endgame - you had other powers in your back pocket with far more influence than the three of them. Plus, the connections you were making at the Hotel were going swimmingly. Soon, not yet, but soon, you’d implement the next phase. 

Oh, if only Father could see you now - wherever the Hell he was. Did he fall to Hell or was he somehow topside? No. You’d know if he was down here with you. You’d feel it in your bones. Wherever he ended up, you were going to find him and you were going to make him suffer for everything he put you through. 

You weren’t just going to kill him - oh, no. He didn’t deserve a quick and clean death. It was going to be slow and torturous. You were going to make him feel every ounce of the pain he put you through and more. You’d take your time, after all; why rush? Hours, days, months, years; what use was putting a timeline to his punishment when it would never make up for what he did? No. You’d take your time pushing him to the edge, and when he was on the cusp of eternal darkness, you’d heal him and start all over again.   

Perhaps you did have a flair for murder like the Radio Demon. Your creative outlets were just significantly more specific - lying in wait for the perfect muse. 

Wrapping your fingers around the edge of the window pane, you quietly slipped inside. With a snap, your leather gear and cloak slipped into the Void, replaced with a silk pajama set: a tank top and shorts bordering on just too short. Scandalous, but you enjoyed burying yourself beneath layers of blankets while you slept. Any more clothing and you’d wake up sweating. 

Going for the bathroom, you turned on the light and paused. In the reflection of your mirror, you saw it: a red box wrapped in black ribbon. Your heart skipped a beat. 

Someone had been in your room. 

Hesitantly, you made your way before the coffee table and found a card perched atop the neatly wrapped bow. 

You leaned in and sniffed the package - Nifty. You were going to have to touch base with the Hotel cleaning lady after breakfast. From day one, you had made it quite clear - to her great disappointment - not to clean your room, let alone enter it. Perhaps you weren’t clear enough, for she felt it acceptable to leave this here as opposed to outside your door.

Doing a circle about the space, you inspected the sealing runes which kept certain individuals out, eyeing the shadows just in case. You had hidden the ancient magic in concealed places, even buying a rug to cover the one at the base of your door, and kept your most important things in your Void. It wasn’t the best place to store your leather and cloak - especially after the moth infestation a few years back - but it was a necessity at the moment. 

Then you went for the present. Pulling the black ribbon atop, you jumped back as the box split into fours, revealing a small radio. It was of a classic design and cathedral in shape, carved from mahogany and detailed in yellow and red. The device was simple, with only two buttons: an on-and-off switch and a volume dial. No tuning dial to change the channel? No chord to plug it in?

Fuck. How did he know? You racked your brain trying to figure out when and to whom you talked to regarding your sleepless nights. Rosie knew, but you hadn’t specifically discussed it with her lately. Did you say something to Husk in passing? To Angel while you were bitching at breakfast? 

Hesitantly, you turned on the device. A pleasant, smooth jazz echoed through the speaker: Paul Whiteman’s “Sleepy Time Down South.” Hilarious… The Radio Demon has a sense of humor. At least it wasn’t the screams of blood-curdling murder. 

After inspecting the radio three times over, you deemed it not a threat - although you kept it far away from your bed as you crawled beneath the sheets. With a snap of your fingers, the bathroom light turned off, plunging you into a cocoon of darkness, enveloped by the lullaby of sweet jazz…

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At some point in the night, you awoke, your mouth parched and throat dry.  

🎶 It’s not the pale moon that excites me 🎶

Alastor’s radio switches over to a new song, the music seeming to follow you as you make your way to the kitchen. The hallways were silent, the Hotel Natives snoozing away in the late hours of the night. 

🎶 That thrills and delights me 🎶

You pass by the library as a zip of static runs its way down your spine, stopping you in your tracks. Alastor stood before the fireplace, flames roaring in its hearth, casting an eerie glow throughout the room. The demon faces the fire, his attention on the crackle of the logs as they whittled away into ash. He was still dressed in his three piece suit you saw him in only hours ago, his ears pressed flat against his head in irritation. Something was bothering him. 

🎶 Oh, no. It’s just the nearness of you 🎶

He pretended not to notice you standing there staring at him from the hallway, but his shadow didn't. It zipped around your feet, twirling about your ankles in greeting, before practically dragging you inside the room. And when it had you well within the confines of the space, it flew to the doors.

🎶 It isn’t your sweet conversation 🎶

The shadow slammed them shut. CLICK! Then locked them. 

You were trapped. 

🎶 That brings this sensation 🎶

Alastor tilts his head over his shoulder, his half-lidded eyes landing on you. The demon looked royally pissed. 

This was it, this was the moment.

Alastor had figured out who you are. Your hood had fallen farther than you thought and he had seen your face and put the pieces together. He knew you were the Shadow, the mysterious new Overlord, here to challenge his grab for Princess Morningstar’s power. 

And he was going to kill you for it. 

🎶 Oh, no. It’s just the nearness of you 🎶

You didn’t hesitate to summon your blue flames, preparing for a fight, yet he moved faster than your mind could comprehend. Between one blink and the next, Alastor appears before you, his hand wrapping around your throat so tight you choke on the lack of air. Grasping at his arm, you dig your claws into his skin, your demon form summoning, as you melt the red fabric with your flame. But he is unphased by the heat, pulling back and slamming you so hard into the wall that spiderwebs crack across the plaster. 

🎶 When you’re in my arms 🎶

You try to summon more flame to burn him down to the very core of his soul like you had done to thousands of Sinners before, but the blue fire does nothing to his skin. It singes the red fabric, turning it black, but his skin beneath is unharmed. 

Shit.

🎶 And I feel you so close to me 🎶

The demon leans in, a low growl emanating from his chest, his teeth glinting in the firelight as his eyes hone in on your neck. As the blood pumped through your jugular, you watched his pupils dilate and fixate on the vein. He was a Cannibal, a predator, a killer whittled down to pure instinct. Everything within him was screaming kill, kill, kill.

🎶 All my wildest dreams came true…🎶

Your lungs screamed as you choked out, “Alastor.” It was weak, barely a whisper, but it was enough to draw his gaze from your neck to your eyes. In his pupils, you saw yourself desperate and bordering on losing yourself to the darkness threatening to close in. Despite the fight you felt in your bones you looked terrified.

🎶 I need no soft lights to enchant me 🎶

His name slipping from your mouth, the quiver he saw in your lips, had cracked something within him.

🎶 If you would only grant me 🎶

His grip disappeared, allowing you a breath of air. 

🎶 The right to hold you ever so tight 🎶

You bent over, coughing onto the floor, sucking down breaths in gasps that make your eyes water. 

🎶And to feel in the night🎶

Standing, you held onto the broken wall, forcing yourself to stay on your feet, despite your knees threatening to collapse beneath you.

“Alastor, what the fuck…” And before you had a chance to finish your question, the demon wraps his claws around your chin and forcefully slams his lips into yours. 

🎶The nearness of you🎶

The kiss was anything but soft, anything but patient. The demon was hungry and starving, and only you could satiate his appetite.

His other hand presses your hip back against the wall as he kicks your legs apart, drawing a gasp from your lips. Alastor takes the opportunity to run his tongue across your bottom lip before snaking it into your mouth. His tongue finds yours, prodding, testing, tasting.  

He pushes you flush against the wall, his knee pressing higher and higher until it finds the pocket between your thighs, eliciting a gasp that turns into a moan as he pulls you onto him, forcing your clit in line with his leg. 

The demon smiles against your lips, finally releasing your chin to grab your waist, his fingers bunching in the thin material of your pajama bottoms. You take the opportunity to find the lapels of his jacket to give you something to grab onto as you arch into him, pulling him closer as you press your breasts into his chest. The demon growls, a deep rumble emanating from within as he bites down on your bottom lip. 

Copper floods your mouth, turning the kiss sweet, but for Alastor, it’s a frenzy. He was no longer satisfied with just tasting you. He had to devour you.  

The silky material of your pajamas was oh-so thin. No underwear or bra beneath them, you were practically naked as the tips of his claws sank into the meat of your hips, beads of red pebbling on your skin. 

God and the pain only added to the pleasure building between your legs, only made your head swim as his lips slid over yours, capturing every drop of scarlet flooding your mouth. 

The demon helps guide your hips as you ground your clit into his thigh, wetness seeping into the silky material before pooling onto his pants. The room flooded with the scent of warm vanilla.

This man had you soaked, had your lips dripping as you ground into him faster and faster, your pleasure building with each roll. Alastor finally released your mouth, his teeth finding your neck, but he didn’t bite. Instead, he teased. He ran his tongue along the dip of your collarbone, tracing it to the spot where your shoulder met your neck, before finally running it up to your ear.

You moaned when he took your lobe into his mouth, nipping at it with his teeth. Alastor instinctively rolled his hips, his cock tenting his pants, grinding on nothing but air. 

Suddenly, it wasn’t enough. The friction wasn’t enough. You needed more. Needed more of him to push yourself over the edge. 

“Al…” You breathed into his ear between moans, your fingers trailing down to the twitch in his pants, but stopping when you hit his belt. “Please…” You tugged.

The demon laughed, capturing your groans with his mouth before answering, “No.” 

You blinked. “No?”

The demon puts a hard stop to your hips, pausing your grinding and the build in your pleasure. He grabs your hand on his belt and captures two of your fingers in his mouth. Sucking with his lips, he circles your fingertips with his tongue, wetting them before guiding your hand back down to your clit. 

“I want to watch,” he smiles against your cheek before he wraps a finger under your chin and brings your face up to his. “Fuck yourself,” he commands. 

And you obeyed.   

Your two fingers find the apex of your pleasure beneath your shorts, and you moan, wetting your clit with his spit as you circle the bud.

You barely have to touch yourself, you’re already so close. 

Alastor does nothing to help, save for his gaze, save for his breath which matched yours. The demon’s eyes glittered with heat and desire as they bore into you. He could feel the pleasure radiating off of you, could feel it as real as you could feel his static on the other side of the bond you formed today. 

“Good girl,” he growled, his cock twitching in his pants with each moan that escaped your lips. 

“I’m close,” you whined, twirling your fingers faster and faster, feeling the pressure build between your legs. 

Alastor dug his claws into your skin, his gaze soaking up every look of pleasure on your face, his ears absorbing every moan, his cock hardening with every swipe of your fingers against yourself.

“Cum for me, darling.” The demon’s lips curled as he swiped the hair from your eyes, sticky with sweat. He wanted to watch as you sent yourself over the edge. He wanted to miss nothing.

And just as you reached your climax...

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...you wake up in bed, your screams of pleasure drawing you from sleep. 

Your orgasm spasmed through your body, your legs twitching as you rode the wave, your pussy clenching on nothing but air…

Fuck, it was the best orgasm you had ever had, nevermind that it was your first.

And when it was over and your mind sobered, you realized it was all a dream.

You never woke up for a glass of water.

You never found Alastor in the library. 

Grabbing a pillow, you launched it at the radio on the coffee table but missed by a mile. Burying your face in the sheets, you screamed. You screamed until your lungs burned because anything was better than acknowledging the truth.

Anything was better than acknowledging that you just had your very first wet dream, and it was of Alastor, the Radio Demon.

Muahahahaha! Remember it's a slow burn ;)

-> Chapter Six

Masterlist Link: Masterlist

*Plato's Allegory of the Cave

Tag List (Let me know if you want to be added):

@sirens-and-moonflowers @wonderlandangelsposts @saccharine-nectarine @goyablogsstuff

[griefabyss69]

Blown A Wish

Written for @steddiemicrofic!

[ AO3 ]

'STUFF' wc: 483 | rated: E | cw: The mild breath play that sometimes comes with oral sex

A little love letter to men who love to suck dick; Steve finds out he's one of them.

While Steve’s always been pretty good with his mouth, learning fast when it came to whistling, the perfect smile, and eating people out, Eddie beckons him onto grass of another shade of green.

It's newness. He hasn’t experienced anything like it since he lost his virginity in his teens. Instead of the earth cracking open to let in demons, the stagnant path of his sexuality has split into fresh forks.

"There you go," Eddie says, one hand on Steve's cheek, the other in his hair. "Ease into it."

Steve thinks about the closest he's gotten to this; an adventurous date sitting on his face. He'd open his jaw as far as it'd go, but it’s still so different. Eddie’s stuffed inside of him; he's never been filled like this in his life.

His palm presses harder to feel his cock through Steve’s cheek, and he melts, starting to get the hang of not choking as Eddie carefully pushes him further every time he thrusts.

It's been very slow, one step at a time, but he's patient; happy on his knees.

"Jesus, you’re too good," Eddie groans, his fingers twitching against his head. “It’s unfair.”

Nobody’s fucking kidding when they say Eddie doesn’t shut up, but Steve's bathing in the praise, the gold-medal glow in his chest; If dick sucking was a competition, he'd train daily. The fact of the heavy throb on his tongue makes it sweeter, even as Eddie works past Steve's soft palate to bump into his throat.

It’s like floating underwater, a mermaid guiding their mouths together in a life-saving kiss; he's drowning, but not really, even if he can't breathe like this.

Eddie hisses, his hips pushing until Steve feels his pubes against his face. He could die happy with Eddie's fingers rubbing absently through his hair, with his dick resting so deeply.

"Getting close, you doing okay?" Eddie asks in a hazy mumble.

Steve gives him a thumbs up. He needs to breathe, but all he wants is to kneel here and feel Eddie's heartbeat inside of himself. He pulls back and Eddie slides out of his mouth.

"Gotta breathe," he says, palms on Eddie's thighs. "Then you can come in me."

Eddie’s eyes shut as if watching Steve is unbearable. He wonders if he looks as messy as he feels; tears, spit, deeply flushed.

"How are you so good at this?" Eddie asks, almost complaining about it. “Insane.”

"Hotdog eating contests," he jokes, and settles in as Eddie laughs. "I'm ready."

Eddie cups his jaw and guides his dick to Steve’s mouth, making hot eye contact as he pushes in. He's gentle; Steve notices how hard he’s holding back, so he shoves forward until he's stuffed full again. Eddie chokes and shudders and he starts thrusting, shaky and uncoordinated, grinding up against Steve’s face until he’s coming down his throat.

Steve melts while he drowns in it.

[blkkizzat]

PLSS KALI i need a whiff of those balls right after a workout. sweaty , musky testicles to the bridge of my nose im not kidding. can you imagine what those pits smell like after the gym 🤤🤤🤤. my mouth is watering in real time. but the way i wanna play w his balls in my mouth like two marbles swishing around im FERAL for that fictional dick. when im ovulating all i can think ab is toji doing me dirty in prone bone OH MY GOD i need that massive man fucking me into the mattress. like i need his balls to tense up when im around. he needs to know im his BEST eater. need his libido saying SLOW DOWN BITCH. i need him abusing my gspot just once 🤓☝🏽 and ill be set for life 😩. thank u gege for creating my baby daddy, now creat a scene in the manga where he comes back and breaks my fucking back and bed. this is very incoherent but jesus seeing yall talk ab tojis gooch made me wanna rant.

can i be 🦷 anon? pretty please?

HIII 🦷 nonny welcome pookies!! dflhjkadskfj prone bone toji yasss with like a foot on the back your head keeping you down...dfjklhsfdkjs gege needs to deliver toji doujin porn istg.

also you got me writing... smellygym!toji thots... imagine toji gets home from the gym and you just immediately attack him. he always works out hard so he lets you pretty much do your thing and love him and all his stinky down.

you do just that as your drag him to the couch, already having a beer open ready for him the second you heard his car in the driveway. haphazardly, you toss him the remote so he can watch whatever game was on while you straddle him.

toji turns on the game and takes a sip of beer while you grind on his thick daddy sized thighs. needing more sticky wet contact, you peer off his sweat soaked shirt. toji grins at how eager you are scent yourself on him rubbing your body against his. uncaring how "gross", he was, in fact he was almost sure you preferred him better a lil sweaty.

spoiler alert—you do.

toji can feel how warm and moist your lil cunny is getting through his gym shorts. especially as you burrow your head into the musky fold under his shoulder. swirling patterns of slick sweat over his ribs and biceps as you grop him desperately while you gasp like you've never breathed air before while inside his pit.

toji can feel your hips pick up speed and your thighs clench around his muscular one.

"ya gonna cum already, mama?"

muffled affirmations fumble from your lips, he smelled extra potent today. the pheromones lacing his scent making you lose your own goddamn mind.

"did extra sets today just f'er my nasty lil slut, made sure to get nice and sweaty."

"f-fank yoou dafdy, fuk!" you cry out into his pit.

toji takes another swig of beer before placing it down on the table next to the sofa, his free hand now guiding your hips even faster on him. leaving a slime trail of your depravity lingering on his shorts.

wanting to taste him your tongue flattens to lap at the musty sweat, not caring that his this thick hairs scrape over your tongue. you gasp as the bitter taste of his musk stains your throat and you nearly choke from the loss of air as his heavy bicep presses you deeper into him. toji twitches, ticklish from your nasty lil tongue. the jerk of his body drives his thigh further up into you and smashing your sensitive clit and that's enough from your orgasm to rack threw your body as your muted moans resound from his pit.

you take a moment, dizzy as you heave, sliding your head out and onto his chest.

"ya still want more, my freaky lil' mama?"

you can only weakly nod as your body replenishes itself with the much needed untainted oxygen.

toji lifts you momentarily chuckling at your whines as he pushes his shorts down his hips just enough to bring out his dick and balls. "well you better get to it then mamas." toji smacks your ass. "these dirty balls ain't gonna gargle themselves."

.....lmfao nonny u got the toji demons coming out of me right now. cause wtf is thiskdshfsjkdhsdjhk 😭😭😭 consider this welcome present.

[lynn-tged-posting]

tged webtoon ep 161 spoilers with thoughts below the cut u know the drill

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THIS IS MY FAVORITE PANEL OF JAVIER EVER. IN THE ENTIRE MANHWA IM LOSING MY MIND HAHAHAHAHAHA

HE JUST LOOKS SO FUCKING UNHINGED I DIDNT EXPECT IT AT ALL HHAHAHAHAHAAAA

anywayy back to the top

honestly maybe i shouldve seen the fact that his own singing would fuck him up coming LMAO

their matching dazed expressions when they both realize PLEASSEE LOL

raphael also calls the start of his singing demonic sounding lmao

and then they start fighting again and JESUS holy shit they're so overpowered this is so cool to watch and also as i was reading i was VERY scared for javier

genuinely i really really love whenever they draw action scenes they look very cool while also not being terribly hard to follow i like that

like oh my god?? he's swinging that hammer around like its nothing its very very terrifying, esp cause its been a while since javier has fought something thats his match yknow, or at least it feels that way

AND THEN. THE LEADUP INTO THE NEXT SCENE IM LOSING MY MIND JAVIER YOU SCHEMER

the feigning being down and then the peek and the slow getting up im giggling so so bad AND THEN

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHA JAVIER YOU CLEVER ASSHOLE I LOVE YOU SO FUCKING MUCH

like i knew that line raphael said about how the halo would continue protecting him so long as he's pure and just or whatever would come into play BUT I DIDNT THINK JAVIER WOULD BE THE ONE TO DO IT SO DIRECTLY TOO HAHAHAHAAA he's learned so much from lloyd <3 LOL

i also think its interesting that the halo keeps track of this with like points or smth, not much to say about it i just think its an interesting gear; the ultimate defensive tech but it's based on how "good" you are thats just really interesting to me hehe

ALSO ALSO i think it's really really silly funny that raphael was this very intimidating and menacing figure that was super scary right up until the moment javier played dirty and then the moment that happened that image/vibe immediately crumbled WAHHAHA he's just a silly guy and the halo does the work i like him a lot

i really like these panels of them being evenly matched, raphael is still holding his own even with a penalty like that, their expressions here are really good too its so tense,,,

AND THEN LLOYD BEGGING THEM TO STOPP AAHHH

AGHHGHGHHGHGH AAAHH JAVIER STARING WIDE-EYED AT LLOYD IM CURLING AND SHRIVELED ON THE FLOOR

like okay i know lloyd is scheming or whatever. but my heart wants to believe that some part of this was very real okay . let me cope let me believe this . one cannot act/lie effectively without some of it being real. RIGHT???

AND THEN WHEN THE POPUPS APPEARED I STARTED SHOUTING OH MY GOD I FORGOT ABT THE RP SYSTEM IM SO. LLOYD YOU BRILLIANT MOTHERFUCKER YOUUU

HE CAN JUST SKIP THE PROCESS AND THEN BECOME A SWORDMASTER HE HASNT DONE THAT IN A LONG TIME OHHHH MY GOD

also. everyone else's bonus RP was +10. but only javier's bonus RP was +45. which could mean nothing.

WHAT DO I EVEN SAY ABOUT THAT LIKE. JAVIER WHAT YOU. WHAT. YOUUU im gonna lose it im gonna LOSE IT

top ten photos taken moments before disaster HE LOOKS SO EVIL THE ART HERE IS SO GOOD HAHAHAHA OHH MY GOD

and how he says "YEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSS" ohhh lloyd you asshole you i love you so much

THIS PANEL TOO LIKE WOW THE FUCKING EFFECTS THIS IS INSANE HE LOOKS SO FUCKING MENACING THE VIOLENT LINEART HES POWERING UP HIS SINGING OH MY GODDD HAHAHA

when i saw these panels i immediately thought of that one song from princess and the frog god i wish i could like tween or something itd be so cool to see This drawn to That

thats all i LOVED this ep i had so much fun RAPHAEL JAVIER LLOYD FIGHT PART THREE NEXT WEEK HERE WE GO

[waynes-multiverse]

Plastic Hearts – Part 24

Pairing: Director!Dean Winchester x Actress!Reader

Series Summary: Los Angeles, 1985. Y/N’s a young actress without any success, hopping from one failed audition to the next until one desperate mistake brings her to her breaking point. Dean Winchester, on the other hand, is a grade A asshole and washed-up director at the end of his career, known for his godawful slasher movies in the 70s and his love for blow, booze, and women. Lost in the toxic Hollywood life, their paths cross when one hopeless little wrestling show changes their trajectory.

Chapter Warnings: +18, language, weed, smut, fluff, angst, more heartbreak

Word Count: 6.9k

A/N: Can't believe this is the second to last part. Our boy has come far 🥲🤍 If you look closely, you catch a couple of throwbacks. Also, tons of funny moments ahead with some severe stabbing of the heart on the side (last time, tho – I promise 🤞)

<< 23 || Spotify Playlist || Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

24. Don't Dream It's Over

“Smoke that bong! Smoke that bong! Smoke that bong…”

Y/N hears the girls chanting and giggling as she hops into the common room of the motel on her crutches. She laughs a little as she finds the women in a circle, strewn all over the four couches as they pass a bong back and forth between them. The air is filled with smoke and reeks of reefer – a typical Friday night at the Dusty Spur.

“I thought this was a team meeting about finale ideas,” she teases with a slightly scolding eyebrow and finds a seat on the dingy carpet next to Jo, leaning her crutches against the couch and clumsily lowering herself to the floor with a grunt.

“We are. We just needed a little help with the brainstorming,” Ruby assures innocently and holds the bong out to her with a daring smirk. “Pipe down, Captain!”

Y/N snorts in amusement, shaking her head. “Guys, no. I don’t do drugs.”

“C’mon, last chance. You’re gonna be a cool kid and finally smoke with us or not?” Ruby’s grin widens as she seductively wiggles her eyebrows with a demonic glint.

Y/N sighs, sending her a raised look that’s a bit playful in nature and less chiding than it usually would’ve been. “That feels like peer pressure,” she notes but then smiles coyly. Honestly, after the night she’s had, she could use a little fun and forgetting. “But alright. Gimme that bong.”

Some of the girls holler and cheer as Ruby passes her the bong and even lights it for her while she takes a deep inhale. Jesus fucking Christ, the cloud of smoke blows straight to her head, her throat scratching with a cough. She already feels lighter as if she’s floating through the fabric of the universe.

“You’re a natural. Never been fucking prouder,” Ruby says with a dirty grin and hands the bong to Alex next. Honestly, that girl might have escaped straight from hell.

Jo snorts as she looks at Y/N’s widely blown pupils before her eyes land on the blue and green bruises that decorate her neck and clavicle. “You’ve got something there,” the blonde deadpans, gesturing with an arched brow to Y/N’s throat.

Flustered, Y/N swiftly pulls the collar of her jeans jacket higher, trying to hide the evidence on her skin. “Probably just fell weird or something…”

“Fell in what? A pit full of leeches?”

Y/N bashfully ignores Jo’s teasing and clears her throat. “Sorry I’m late. Those crutches really slow me down.”

But Jo throws her a knowing look. “You’re late ‘cause you’re boning Dean. Own it.”

“What, no…” Y/N scoffs. It’s probably her worst performance to date.

“You haven’t slept here in four weeks. Everyone knows,” Jo says bluntly, watching her friend’s cheeks redden with embarrassment and a trace of panic.

“They do?”

Jo then looks to the group, speaking louder. “Guys? Who here knows about Y/N and Dean?”

Several hands raise without a twitch of surprise on their faces. In fact, they even seem bored by the news.

“Duh,” Ruby says to drive the point home.

“Wait, Dean?” Charlie seems bewildered for a moment before she sighs and pulls out a $50 bill, handing it to a victoriously grinning Ruby. “Dammit.”

“Thank you,” party girl says happily and pockets the money before a few other girls hand her money as well. “Pay up, bitches!”

Y/N’s brow furrows in suspicion and some offense. “Were you guys betting on me?”

“No,” Missouri sings in nonchalance. “We were betting on who you were doing it with. Some of us thought it was Benny, some Dean.”

Y/N gasps as she watches Billie pull out her money as well. “You too?”

Billie shrugs unapologetically. “For the record, I thought your slutty ass was doin’ both of ‘em. Donna even thought you were doing them at the same time.”

You gape at the blonde in shock. “Donna!”

“A girl can dream,” is all Donna says with a twitch of her shoulders.

“I knew it was Dean,” Meg tells you. “I could smell his cologne on you. You also smelled like dick and sex.”

“Unbelievable,” Y/N mutters under her breath, feeling quite speechless. Another part of her feels relieved, though. No one seems to be mad at her. In fact, the girls all seem to digest the news quite well.

There’s suddenly an odd feeling festering in her heart, and her mind wanders back to Dean and the dance, wondering what he’s doing right now. But she fights the part of her that urges her to go back and be in his arms again. Has he been trying to tell her what she thinks he has? Was he about to say–

“You okay?” Jo’s voice hauls her back into the present moment.

“Fine,” Y/N says quietly, shrugging it off. Her eyes then search for Ruby. “Can I have that bong back please?”

Ruby smirks all too happily. “Of course. Look at you!”

As Y/N takes another hit to blast her sorrows into a cloud of reefer, Bela storms upset into the commons. The girls look at her worriedly as she plops down on the couch next to Cassie and pouts.

“I’m getting deported. Your government told me to leave the country in thirty days. I don’t want to go back to England and my awful parents,” Bela groans with a miserable look and crosses her arms as she sinks further into the couch cushions. “What am I going to do?”

“You could marry an American,” Donna suggests half-jokingly.

“Who?” Bela asks wryly with a roll of her eyes and throws her arms into the air. “You think it’s that easy to get a man to marry you?”

Y/N’s eyes widen, the weed hitting her fully. It feels a little like she’s floating outside of her body. “Oooh! Chucky!”

Jo lifts a brow at her suggestion. “Her pathetic stalker fanboy?”

“No! Fuck no!” Ruby huffs, vividly shaking her head. “I mean, perfect solution and no, I don’t have a better idea, but fucking no! The guy is a weird loser.”

“Yes! Marry the weird stalker loser and then divorce him once you’ve got your green card,” Y/N proposes, her red eyes only growing wider. She then gasps as if a giant lightbulb went on in her hazy brain. “Oh my God! Our final show! Season 1, it’s time for a wedding!”

“Not the worst idea,” Billie agrees and glances at Bela, who purses her lips in thought. She doesn’t seem convinced yet, though.

“Cambridge, heartbroken after she discovers Mick is a mannequin after all, finds true love in the arms of her number one fan, Chuck Shurley,” Y/N pitches excitedly, while Jo stifles a laugh next to her, hiding half her face in her blouse. “We’ll pull out all the stops, and you guys get married in the ring! You’re Chucky’s bride! You can finally ride in on a horse!”

Bela sways her head pensively from left to right. “Loving the idea a little more…” She giggles in nervous excitement. “I’ve always wanted a horse. You think Dean will go for it?”

“I’ll make him!” Y/N promises eagerly. Jo’s lips part for a moment, wanting to say something, but then she closes her mouth again.

Ruby raises a brow and deadpans, “How you’re gonna do that? Blow him?”

Y/N almost laughs hysterically. “Yes! This is our finale, you guys! I’m so fucking high! I’m overflowing with genius ideas! Now, I know why Dean does this all the time. Can I have more?”

Jo snorts a laugh, greatly amused. She shakes her head. “Oh no, you’re cut off…”

Even Ruby nods in agreement for once.

Y/N’s been MIA for two days when Dean strolls back into the gym on Monday morning after a really shitty weekend. Claire left with Lisa, but at least he managed to convince her to let his daughter visit during summer vacations and some holidays. He insisted on Halloween, which didn’t receive any protest from Lisa, and promised Claire they’d watch tons of slasher movies together. And when his kid left with tears in her eyes, he might have cried a little, too. Not that he’d admit that to anyone.

Y/N, on the other hand, hasn’t called once or even sent a damn smoke signal, so neither has he. She hasn’t slept over for the first time in goddamn weeks, leaving him cold turkey. So, Dean drank till he passed out on the bed and forgot that her side was depressingly empty while Phil Collins’ A Groovy Kind of Love played on repeat. It was a fucking new low for him in terms of musical taste. He didn’t do drugs, though, and was real proud of himself, considering all the emotional turmoil he’s currently going through.

His skin tingles, nerves sizzling with every step closer to the bleachers. His heart jumps out of his chest with excitement as soon as his green eyes spy Y/N in the ring with Billie and Donna. She looks absolutely stunning. For a moment, he forgets how to breathe before he shakes it off and finds a seat next to Jo, who’s already been impatiently waiting for him.

“We know what you’re thinking, ‘How can she wrestle with a cast?’” Billie throws out rhetorically, all of it feeling eerily like a high school presentation. What’s next? A fucking diorama? Dean knows they’re trying to help Y/N, but he’s already anticipating a bit of a disastrous train wreck.

“I’m the novelty act!” Y/N announces and tries to sell it with a proud grin. God, she’s so fucking cute, and it’s hot all the same. He loves when she gets all nerdy and desperate. It feels a little like a throwback to the time he met her.

“Yes, people love watching someone beat the odds. It’s an underdog story,” Donna adds. Honestly, Dean feels slightly like he accidentally switched on the home shopping channel, expecting them to sell him some broken crap shortly that he doesn’t need and will then rot in a closet somewhere in his house.

“Alright. Take it away. Let’s get this over with,” Dean tells them with a small sigh, ready to placate his not-girlfriend, who actually might not even be his not-girlfriend anymore. She’s his not-not-girlfriend.

The girls then start, and Jesus fuck, it’s not good. Dean can hardly believe they have even worked on this for weeks, but he knows they did. Y/N’s told him as much. He then notices how Jo sinks lower in her seat, her brow creasing and twitching, jaw clenching and lips pressing into a thin line.

“Oh my God, it’s all so slow and weird,” the blonde whispers only loud enough so he can hear. He usually doesn’t agree with her, but…

“Yeah, that’s why I tell her to just lie there whenever we… Never mind.” The green-eyed director clears his throat when Joanna sends him a chiding glare.

But truthfully, having sex with Y/N in a cast has been a bit of a challenge. He mostly just pushes her into a position and makes her do a little role-play without moving around too much. Fuck, he can’t believe he won’t get to nail her in all her moving glory once that cast comes off. It feels a little like a cosmic joke. Yes, you can finally have her but only with broken parts. Dean can hear God laughing upstairs.

“Anyways, she really wants to wrestle,” the director explains sympathetically, keeping one eye on the atrociously dreadful match in the ring for show. Sometimes, he smiles through his pain, too, and nods politely. The three seem to buy it so far. Maybe he should become an actor. “And the girls really want her to be in the ring, too…”

Jo groans under her breath and rolls her eyes quickly, not longer than a blink. She does her fake Miss America smile at her colleagues every once in a while. It’s not as good as Dean’s, though. “You’re weak,” she hisses snappily. “Y/N’s gonna be fine. She deserves the truth.”

Well, by that logic, Dean should also tell her he loves her, and that’s just a ridiculous idea.

“We can’t deliver a match like this. We’ve got network executives coming,” Joanna reminds him and makes a little more sense now. Dammit. Her eyes flicker to the ongoing match with a shudder. “Dean, make it be over, please.”

Dean takes one more look, too, and sees Y/N clumsily tumble to the mat in slow-motion. “Yeah, alright!” Dean jumps up from his chair and raises his voice, taking a few steps closer to the ring. “I’m sorry, ladies, but it’s not… It’s just not working,” he says apologetically and sees Y/N’s face fall.

Oh God, he used to enjoy seeing that face once, all sad and disappointed, but now he just wants to hug her and tell her he’s here for her. Kiss it better. Maybe run her a bubble bath. Just make her happy, you know?

What the fuck happened to him?

“It’s about to pick up steam, I swear!” Donna exclaims, all panicked. At least, Y/N has found great and very loyal friends.

“What if I rip my cast off and land one last move?” Y/N presents her next idea with a dramatic hand gesture and an elevator-pitch smile. It’s like a villainous salesperson trying to sell snake oil. Ah, there it is – the desperate twinkle in her eyes is back.

It’s like walking down memory lane today.

Of course, Y/N would break every idiotic bone in her body to be in this stupid, stupid, stupid show one last time. But don’t worry, Dean’s not going to let her do that. He’s not as insane as you think he is.

“Yeah, let’s not do that.” He shakes his head, his lips pressed into a thin line.

Y/N blinks at him with puppy dog eyes and a fucking pout as she hops to the railing and leans on the ropes in her tiny leotard. “I might never wrestle again. I don’t wanna go out like this. Guys, please.” More pouting and begging. Where the fuck is he? Hell?! “Dean?”

The director glances back over his shoulder at Jo, close to whimpering. His eyebrows draw together, however, when the blonde mouths, “Weak.”

She shoots a small glare at Dean and clears her throat, looking at Y/N. “If we have a good enough show and get another network to sign us, you’ll have plenty of opportunities to tumble around the ring again,” Jo argues with a convincing smile. She’s so wise all of a sudden. Dean wishes he would get that much clarity from a single line of coke. Since the accident, she seems like a whole other person.

Well, a smidge different.

Y/N seems to accept that bit of wisdom as well, although she lowers her head with a sniffle. Dean even recognizes a few tears brimming in her eyes as she nods defeatedly.

Internally, he sighs. That used to make him happy, too. Back then, when he cut her during auditions and she looked like he was destroying all her hopes and dreams. Back when she hated him so much and that hatred lit up her eyes, stoking the glowing embers of fire inside them. But now, he doesn’t see that hatred and recognizes something else.

That something makes him smile. His heart flutters. She loves him too, doesn’t she? She might never say it, but he can feel it without words.

Dean then rubs his palms together, an idea hitting him. He knows his Alma, after all. She wants to be needed, so he’ll need her. “Alright, how about you’re with me, huh? Co-directing!”

Her face lights up like the brightest spotlight beam. He's this close to hanging her over the ring and save some money on electricity. “Really?”

Dean purses his lips, hiding his smile underneath it. She’s so fucking cute. “Yeah, I mean, you’re gonna do it anyway, so let’s just make it official, alright?”

“Okay, imagine I’m the bride,” Dean says as he swoops through the ropes into the ring.

“Alright, picturing you in a white dress,” Y/N closes her eyes and teases, the tip of her tongue sticking out between her pink lips as she leans on her crutches.

The two of them had been working on the final episode for the last day, Y/N filling him in on her vision of a wrestling wedding. Then, Dean got to work and tried his hardest to make the magic happen. One good thing about co-directing with Y/N is that he can call as many meetings as he wants to under the pretense of the show.

The young actress still hasn’t stopped by his house yet or slept over, but at least he gets to spend the days with her. He actually loves the idea of a wedding. People surely are into that kind of shit – the love shit. And what’s a finale without some satisfying romance?

Dean scolds her with a look, playfully warning her. “Could we take this directors’ meeting seriously, please?”

Y/N hides her grin and gives him a nod. God, he’d love to spank her defiant ass right now.

“Okay, so, I’m the bride, standing right here underneath this beautiful arch in the middle of the ring, being all nervous…” Dean hears her snort a giggle before she stifles it when he sends her another admonishing little glare. The prop department (aka some of the girls) has built an obnoxiously pink balloon arch. “Alright, zoom in, and then bridesmaids are coming out one by one, sliding into the ring.”

“Bela will be riding in on a white horse, by the way,” Y/N declares more than she asks permission. “We’ll make it look like a unicorn.”

Dean curls his lips. “Is that negotiable?”

She firmly shakes her head. “No.”

Y/N’s not usually this confident or disagreeable, so he knows she has most likely conjured up a character role inside her head. Dean probably could tear it apart and make her cave if he really tried, but he doesn’t care enough about a fucking horse to do so. Guess he’s gotta make someone rent a horse somewhere and bring it to the gym.

Benny.

“Okay, I’ll allow it. Keep the horse,” Dean agrees, smirking like the devil on the inside. “So, who’s gonna give the bride away?”

“Why do we need someone to give her away?” Y/N shrugs. “Kinda sexist. She’s not a possession.”

“C’mon, you’re a pastor’s daughter. This is weddings 101.” Dean shakes his head in incredulity. You’d think a woman knows something like that.

Y/N snorts in amusement. “You would know, Mr. Divorced Twice.”

“Ha ha.” Dean narrows his eyes with a warning look. “I thought you girls fantasized about this shit your whole life.”

“Not me. That’s a gross generalization,” Y/N says and holds herself up by the ropes as she slides her crutches into the ring and follows them shortly after. Dean waits patiently till she’s back on her feet and sticks, standing next to him underneath the balloon arch. “I think we need a platform and some stairs leading up with an aisle through the bleachers.”

“Yes!” Dean agrees eagerly as they play off ideas and plan a fucking wedding of all things. He never would've thought they'd do it this soon. However, brainstorming with his Alma has always been his favorite part. Y/N’s still and forever will be his goddamn muse. “A platform, so everyone can get a good look at what true love looks like.”

His heart twinges as he looks at her and the way she smiles and gnaws on her bottom lip, swaying on her crutches. When has she gotten so close to him? He can smell her deliciously seductive perfume and feel her inviting and irresistible warmth. She’s so goddamn close that he could kiss her right now if he really wanted to. And fuck, does he want to.

The director subtly clears his throat, continuing, “Alright, next is, you know, vows… declarations of love… how they can’t live without one another.” His forest-green eyes find hers. He swallows thickly and takes a step closer. His heart skips a beat, and he can tell hers did, too. She sucks in a breath. “You know, fiction,” he adds and grins wryly. Y/N tilts her head, throwing him a look that says she doesn’t buy into his cynicism. Probably for the best since it’s all bullshit, anyways. “And then…”

“They kiss?” Y/N beguilingly smiles up at him, her eyes flashing to his lips. This time, it’s her who steps closer, her body only inches away from his at this point.

A soft smile forms on his freckled face. He dips his head, his fingers reaching underneath her chin and lifting her lips to his. They brush against each other for a few palpitating heartbeats before she parts her mouth and lets him slip inside. His massive hands roam from her cheeks to her neck and down her sides and waist and back up again. Her crutches fall to the mat by her sides as she locks her arms around him and seeks support on his body instead.

He kisses a path along her jawline and back to her ear, his teeth scraping her lobe. His hands hold her close by her waist and dent the taut flesh there. “Little risky, isn’t it? Since when are you okay with gym PDA?” he teases, his gravelly voice sending shivers down her spine.

Y/N chuckles softly and seeks his lips again, kissing him once, twice before she looks into his eyes, the tips of their noses touching. “They kinda already know.”

Amused, baffled, and most of all happy, Dean arches a brow. “Really?”

His heart melts onto the fucking butterflies in his belly till they’re screeching. Maybe he doesn’t need a wrecking ball and a bulldozer to conquer her heart by force. Maybe all it takes to win her over is just a billion tiny baby steps and a plethora of patience. The only problem with that is that Dean can hear the clock ticking away his precious time. There are only two days left till the final show and an impending goodbye.

Y/N nods without a sliver of panic. “Yeah, it sorta came out during our finale meeting. I took drugs.”

Dean blinks in sheer amazement. “I’m sorry, what? You were fun for once, and I missed it?” he teases, earning him a playful slap of his arm.

“Yeah, I smoked a bong and got high,” Y/N tells him with a clandestine grin like she’s sharing a secret only meant for his ears alone.

The green-eyed director snorts, however. “A bong? Reefer? Sweetheart, that barely counts as a drug.”

Y/N gasps, bewildered. “Sure it does! It’s illegal, Dean.”

“You’re such a nerd.” He grins down at her and cups her cheeks, pulling her back to his lips. His mouth wanders down to the column of her throat and the fading bruise there, sucking a new one into her skin. He’s so busy he doesn’t even hear the gym door open.

“Hey boss, might wanna focus that Hoover vacuum somewhere else. Like her clit,” Ruby hollers, laughing loudly as she passes the ring with a few other girls on their way to the changing rooms.

Y/N snorts into his chest, laughing as well. She tries to curb it, but her whole body is shaking in his arms. For weeks, Dean wanted the girls to finally know about them, so he could kiss her whenever and wherever he wanted to. He should’ve known that wish would come with a steep price.

The director heaves a sigh and caresses her cheekbone. “Wanna continue this meeting in my office?”

“Fuck,” Dean groans, his breath tickling the shell of her ear. He slows his thrusts a little, trying to rein himself in before he blows his entire load. He adjusts her legs around his waist and pulls her a few inches closer to the edge of his desk with a bruising grip on her hips.

“You need to hurry up. The show starts in ten minutes,” Y/N reminds him, giggling softly.

Hungrily, he claims her lips and kisses her breathless. “You need to come first.”

Y/N shakes her head before it falls back with a moan when his lips trail a wet path down her throat. “I already came four times. I’m tapped out.”

“Nah, I don’t buy it. I’m not stopping till you wet my dick again, sweetheart,” he threatens with a playful smirk. “So, if you want us to be punctual…”

Dean’s hand dives between them and pushes her leotard further out of the way till his fingers reach her clit properly. Although she’s not performing tonight, he still made her dress up in full hair, make-up, and costume. One, so he could fuck her exactly like this. And two, he still has a surprise in store for her that will surely get him his cock sucked later tonight.

He pushes deeply back inside her, slow and steady strokes of his cock that match the circles on her sensitive flesh. Y/N’s whimpers grow louder, her pussy grips him tighter, and her nails dig deeper into his shoulders.

“Oh shit, Dean! Fuck, that’s it…”

Y/N’s last orgasm is violent as she screams. He can tell it even hurt a little by the sheer force her cunt squeezes his dick. It’s not the small, regular pulses that happen with the first few. This climax feels more like an epileptic spasm, almost causing her to pass out as tears sting her eyes.

Dean can’t restrain himself any longer and spills into her throbbing pussy with a primal cry. When she’s steady enough, his hands let go of her hips and brush her cheeks, pressing kisses to her panting and pink lips.

He rests his sweaty forehead against hers and smiles crookedly. “Last night… You wanna come over to my place after the show? Have dinner with me, enjoy a few drinks?”

“Sounds good,” Y/N agrees and kisses him softly.

As soon as he slips out of her, the young actress then eagerly puts on her headphones and makes herself comfortable in his chair by the monitors, Dean taking a stand behind her. He honestly can’t help the proud grin on his face as he watches her. She’s come so fucking far.

“It’s a full house today. I think we’ve made something that people really love,” Y/N notes with a smile curving her features. It’s almost melancholic in nature. They both know it’s make or break tonight.

“Good. It’ll look great for the suits,” Dean says and leans his palms on the backrest of her chair, looking over her head at the screens.

“Crowley’s here, too.”

The green-eyed director groans slightly at that. “Maybe he came to apologize for being a spineless dickhead. Still can’t believe he left you alone in that hotel room. Probably should’ve bashed his car, too…” he grumbles.

Y/N’s brow raises as she finds his eyes over her shoulder. “Who’s car did you bash?”

“Uh…” Shit. “Dickbreath’s,” he confesses.

Y/N’s face softens. “Really? Why?”

Dean only throws her a look that says, ‘You know fucking why.’

“For me?”

“Yeah. Of course for you,” Dean tells her and pecks her crown affectionately. She smiles gratefully up at him, her eyes watery. He rolls his at her sentimentality, albeit his heart bawls in his ribcage out of sheer happiness. “Get to work. Don’t fuck this up.”

Y/N only snorts at his feigned sternness, not taking him seriously in the slightest. “Alright, boss.”

The music then starts with the classic Wedding March as the first bridesmaids slide into the ring in matching pink and gold leotards. Joanna’s character is, of course, the maid of honor and comes in last before Bela slowly rides down the aisle on a white horse with a pink glitter cone on its head.

“That horse better not shit in here,” Dean mutters and crosses his arms with a sternly knit brow.

“Oh, it’s definitely going to,” Y/N says with an amused chuckle.

Guess Dean will have to find some poor soul to clean all that shit up after the taping.

Benny.

“Where did you guys get that wedding dress from?” Dean asks curiously as he eyes the pompous and puffy princess puke with disdain.

“Oh, it’s Jo’s old one. We agreed to burn it in a dumpster in the parking lot after,” Y/N quips, laughing.

“So, you guys are really friends again?” Dean suspiciously quirks a brow. He hasn’t seen or heard anything to the contrary, but with these two you never know.

“Yeah, better than ever, actually.” Y/N smiles brightly. “She even offered to drive me to my audition in San Diego three days ago.”

“Hey! I was supposed to do that!”

The actress only shrugs. “You were busy.”

Dean purses his lips, his head bobbing. “So? How did it go?”

“Good, I think. They didn’t hate me straightaway. They even smiled. That’s-, uhm, that’s good, right?” With an insecure lip bite, she glances up at him.

Dean twitches his shoulders and gifts her a small smile of encouragement. “Yeah, maybe.”

He’d love to tell her she would surely land that role and hype her up like the best cheerleader in the country, but truth is, he doesn’t want to see her get crushed by the cruel machinery of Hollywood again. There are some things he can’t know nor control. Y/N’s career is one of those things. He wants to protect her heart, and in a way, he’s shielding her from too much disappointment.

“Yeah, I mean, I know I’m not gonna get it, so it’s fine,” she says as casually as possible and gulps, focusing back on the monitors in front of her. But Dean knows it’s a lie. She really seems to want it.

“What’s the part, anyway? You never told me.” Dean smiles interestedly. It feels a little surreal that, come tomorrow, she won’t walk through the doors of this gym anymore and work for him.

“Oh, uh, they’re doing a reimagining of fairytales. It’s pretty cool. I auditioned for Cinderella,” she tells him with bright excitement before trying to rein herself in again.

Admittedly, it sounds like the perfect fit. Evil step-sisters torturing her? She certainly has some experience in that department. Fucking great. Now, Dean’s got to muzzle his own excitement. He believes she might honestly get that stupid role.

“I object!”

Y/N and Dean stop the chitchatting and turn their strayed attention back to the sudden commotion in the ring. All they see is Bela standing with her fanboy underneath the balloon arch. Rufus is dressed in a priest costume and officiating, but then there’s also Cas, who swoops between the engaged couple and pulls Bela to the side.

“Garth, tighten up on this,” Y/N orders one of the camera operators as Dean puts his own headphones on, listening in.

There’s some vivid back and forth before Bela announces she won’t be marrying stalker fanboy Chucky, after all. She’s marrying Cas, instead.

“Fuck you! Fuck all of you! Love is fake, just like wrestling!” Chuck screams before the bridesmaids tackle him and throw him out of the ring. The crowd then does the rest and boos the guy out of the gym.

“Granted, this is some amazing television,” Dean notes but then shakes his head, furrowing his brow. “But what the fuck is Cas doing?”

“I don’t know.” Y/N snorts a laugh, amused, her eyes transfixed by the show below. “But Bela’s about to marry a millionaire without a prenup.”

Dean groans. “Oh Cas, you fucking idiot…”

As soon as the vows are exchanged, chaos ensues. The rules for tonight’s battle royal are: Whoever wins the bride’s bouquet, wins the plastic crown. It was Y/N’s idea.

“Y/N, stop humming Dammit Janet,” Dean warns her as soon as he hears the familiar melody again. She’s been doing it this whole week.

The girls then fall out of the ring one by one until only three remain: Joanna, Donna, and Meg.

“Hey, Benny, I want a close-up of Donna’s face as soon as she wins the crown,” Y/N commands into her microphone.

Dean laughs a little, his grin widening. “Oh, Donna’s not winning the crown.”

Her eyes dart to him, brow questioningly creasing. “Is Jo keeping it?”

Dean doesn’t answer her directly. Instead, he grabs her crutches. “Take your headphones off. That fuck before was enough warm-up, right? Ah, never mind. You'll be fine...” He quickly helps her to her feet as she keeps blinking at him in utter confusion. “C’mon, let’s go!”

Dean leads her outside the office and shows her to a zip line with a pulley, leading straight down to the ring. “Alright, don’t do some fancy shit and hurt yourself. Don’t make me regret this. Just catapult in with your foot out, okay? They all know you’re coming, so crown's yours.”

Y/N doesn’t say anything, but her lips begin to quiver before the first sob follows, a few tears escaping her eyes. She then hops over to him and slings her arms around his neck, crying softly into his chest.

“Okay, alright… Don’t fucking cry. You’re gonna be on TV. Get it together,” he reminds her firmly but can’t help the smile that flickers alive on his face. He rubs her back, hugging her briefly before he lets her go again.

But Y/N only stretches her neck and captures his lips in a passionate kiss. She steals his air right out of his lungs, her wet cheeks brushing his skin and beard. As she withdraws, her eyes find his, shimmering with words she can’t say out loud, although, for a heartbeat, Dean thinks she might. But she pecks his lips instead, her hands grabbing hold of the pulley.

Dean helps her onto the wooden railing and, upon her determined nod, gives her a little push. Cast first, she flies into the ring, the girls tumbling to the ground and rolling underneath the ropes like pins in a bowling alley.

Triumphantly, Y/N grabs the bouquet and takes a few victory laps around the ring before Rufus places the glittering plastic crown on her head. And while she jokes around and does her bit in full Russian persona, her grateful eyes never truly leave the director.

She flashes him a smile, and Dean knows then that he can’t keep it in any longer. It’s all or nothing, make or break tonight.

“This is the best night ever,” Y/N sighs and snuggles herself deeper into his arms, her head lying on his chest as they sit on the loveseat on Dean’s backyard porch and enjoy the quiet chirping of cicadas and splashing of sprinklers on the suburban grass.

“Yeah,” Dean agrees with helter-skelter heartbeats. His fingers grasp her a little tighter as he rests his chin on her crown and inhales her scent, trying to memorize it in case he won’t get to smell it ever again.

It feels like they’re an old married couple, cuddling on the porch under blankets. If he didn’t know better, he’d think they’d been doing this for thirty years. And as Y/N pointed out, he’s already been married twice, so at this point in his life, he truly knows when something feels real and unique. When something needs to be cherished and protected. None of his previous marriages have felt anything like this.

“You think the meeting with the network executives tomorrow will go well?” Y/N asks, glancing up at him as he thoughtfully nurses his beer.

“Maybe, we’ll see,” he sighs and pecks the top of her head. “You girls still planning on going on that insane camping trip tomorrow?”

Y/N giggles. “It’s not insane! It’s supposed to be relaxing. Just us and nature. It’s our last hurrah if you will.”

“You know what else is relaxing? A spa,” Dean retorts. “You guys are no campers. One or more of you is gonna be eaten by a mountain lion or a coyote come Monday.”

“Wow, thanks for the vote of confidence.” Y/N laughs. “How can you still underestimate us after all this time?”

Dean only chuckles in amusement. “Sure you don’t want me to book you something in Palms Springs?”

“No,” Y/N insists, laughing. “I’m actually looking forward to this. I even got a trail map. I wanna go hiking.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s a sound decision, considering you’re on crutches.” Dean snorts, rubbing his temples. At least a rattlesnake won’t be able to bite through the damn cast on her leg.

“A small hike,” Y/N adjusts her answer. She then twists her head back and cups one cheek, bringing his lips to hers. As she pulls back, she bites her lower lip, a smirk visible underneath. “I think I’m ready for dessert now.”

Dean smiles gently but stops her hand from crawling down his jeans. Fuck, he should get a medal for this. “Hold on a second, okay?”

“Is everything okay? You always want sex.” She looks the same amount baffled as she does worried – like he just ran into the middle of the 101 completely naked after escaping Betty Ford.

“Yeah, no, I-, uh, I just wanna talk for a second, alright?” Dean swallows harshly but is by far not courageous enough to look at her yet. His hand covers hers, drawing small circles with his thumb on the back of it. It’s more for his comfort than hers.

“Oh-kay…” Y/N chuckles nervously, lifting an eyebrow.

“I don’t want this to end, Y/N. I wanna give this a shot,” Dean confesses bravely and finally meets her eyes. His shoulders feel a million tons lighter as the words rush out. He’s caged them for so long in his heart, it almost feels odd to set them free now.

“What d’you mean?” Y/N straightens in her seat a little, her brow creasing more and more with every passing second. He knows it might go horribly wrong at this point, but he needs to get it all out in the open. Shoot his goddamn shot before it’s all too late. Dean wants to be buried with as little regrets as possible.

He has already accumulated enough of those over the years. His first two wives, not seeing Claire grow up, the drug addiction, and one godawful movie. He doesn’t want Y/N to be among those things.

“C’mon, sweetheart, you gotta know at this point.” Dean looks at her, gauging her reaction. But all he sees is a sea of confusion and denial.

“Know what?” Y/N starts to get defensive, so he does as well.

“That I’m in love with you,” Dean grits with some bark in his voice, which is probably not the best way to deliver a love declaration.

Y/N’s mouth parts, but no words come out. She looks shocked, but Dean can’t tell whether it’s because she really didn’t know or because she didn’t ever think he’d say it.

“I didn’t know…”

“Yes, you did,” Dean snaps, the anger and frustration inside of him surging. “Is this really how you’re gonna play it? C’mon, I know you want this, too.”

“I-I don’t, okay? I’m sorry if I misled you,” Y/N retreats further and blinks at him apologetically.

“Oh, you didn’t.” He lets out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head at the audacious incredulity. A part of him hoped she would just admit it and say it back if he pushed her hard enough. But if anything, he knows she’s a stubborn one. “I mean, Jesus fuck, Y/N! Would you just stop being a fucking idiot?”

“I’m not being an idiot,” Y/N defends. “Why are you being mean?”

“You are, and I’m not! You’re just fucking frustrating me,” Dean huffs and takes a deep breath to calm down a little. How the hell is he supposed to get through that thick head of hers? “You’re really gonna throw all this away? You and me… what we have… Do you know how fucking rare that is? ‘Cause I fucking do. I’ve looked all my life for this… for you.”

“I-I thought this was just sex for you… You said this was just fun,” she argues.

“Do you really think that? Y/N, if all I wanted was easy fun, I would’ve kept fucking Bela,” Dean tells her bluntly and watches her gaze fall into her lap where she fumbles with her fingers.

“I don’t wanna lose you as my friend,” she says quietly.

“Well, you’re gonna. I can’t keep doing this with you. Either you love me, or you don’t. This is it,” he says plainly. Maybe an ultimatum isn’t the best way, but Dean can’t do it anymore. If he plays this game with her any longer, whatever is left of his plastic heart might disintegrate for fucking good. “I love you. I fucking love you.”

Y/N’s eyes begin to sting with tears. Her lower lip trembles as she swallows. “I-… I should go. I’m sorry.”

Clasping his mouth with a palm, Dean defeatedly falls back into the seat and stares up at the dark night sky above him. He nods, tears brimming in his green eyes. “Mhm, yeah, you should. Go. Fucking leave…”

Dean doesn’t look at her. He can’t watch her go, so he willfully keeps his eyes trained on the few stars that weren’t swallowed by light pollution till he hears the front door softly shut.

Fuck.

25. Dare

You're probably screaming right now, and I get it. But let's give our girl some time to think, alright? I have a feeling some stinging desert sun will help with that. After all, you can't have a finale without some satisfying romance 😏

Focus on the good and funny! What was your favorite moment of this part? 👑💖

TAGS:

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@deansbbyx @foxyjwls007 @ladysparkles78 @roseblue373 @zepskies

@agalliasi @yvonneeeee @hobby27 @iamsapphine @globetrotter28

@mxltifxnd0m @lacilou @feyresqueen @suckitands33 @onlyangel-444

@syrma-sensei @perpetualabsurdity @deans-baby-momma @yoobusgoobus @jessjad

@hunter-or-the-hunted @k-slla @just-levyy @mrsjenniferwinchester @illicithallways

@muhahaha303 @ultimatecin73

[hikarry]

Crowley orquestrated the Cesar stabbing

We own a whole ass Tumblr holiday to that mf

He did! You're so right, sweetie!

"You stayed in Rome after I left back then, didn't you?"

"Myeah. For some reason Beelzebub considered Rome the epitome of evil back then. Guess they found it very ironic when they adopted Christianity."

"Hm." Aziraphale fiddles with his cup of tea, clearly trying to say something, but falling short of it.

"Alright." Crowley puts down his expresso in the table and crosses his arms over his chest. "Out with it, angel. You look stupidly distress every time you get like that."

"I am not distressed! I just-"

"Want to ask something but don't know how. Yes. I'm aware. So, out with it. I'm giving you a free opening." He gestures with his hands between them. "Take it."

"Right." The angel clears his throat, laying his hands on his lap. "Crowley." He pins the demon down with his gaze. Eye to eye. The sunglasses were Jesus knows where. Probably downstairs in the horse statue, who cares. By the way Aziraphale was looking at him, this was serious and Crowley wasn't sure he was ready to deal with that before he finished his expresso. "Did you, by any chance, orquestrate Ceaser's assassination?"

Crowley stops moving, sitting completely still.

"Ceaser as in Julius Ceaser the Roman Emperor?"

"Yes. The Roman Emperor."

"Ngk." Right. Now that was a question indeed. "Listen, angel." He leans over the table, getting as close to Aziraphale as demonically possible with a table between them. "I didn't tell them to kill him. I just incentivated some light stabbing. Brutus was way over his head. Not my fault the bloke died."

Aziraphale takes a slow sip of his tea.

"Why did you kill Ceaser?"

"I-! You-!" Crowley straightens himself up again and waves his hands between them, eating words as he speaks. "I wasn't even there when he was killed! I was on the other bloody side of the city! I just told Brutus 'Hey. So, Ceaser getting a bit out of control, eh?' And he came up with the stabbing all by himself! All I said was 'Sure. Sounds like fun! Go ahead, mate!' But I never thought they would gang up on the fucking emperor like lions eating a baby deer!"

"You could have stopped them. Yet you didn't." They stare at each other for a moment, Aziraphale taking another slow sip of his drink. "It was because of the library, wasn't it?"

"Ngk."

"Crowley."

He sighs, finally admiting defeat, relaxing his shoulders and holding the warm mug between his hands.

"You were literally almost discorporated in my arms because that bloody maniac set fire to the library and you HAD to try and save whatever scrolls it was you were trying to save."

"Prophetic scrolls."

"Yes. Well." He looks back up at the angel. "I might have incentivated a light stabbing over your almost discorporation - which I find totally fair. It so happens stuff got out of hand and he ended up killed. So what? He was an arsehole anyway."

"You killed Ceaser over the library."

"No. No no no. I INCENTIVATED light stabbing over you bleeding the heavens out in my bed."

Aziraphale puts his lil tea cup down on the table and smiles.

"Well. I find it very romantic, now looking back."

"I-! I am not romantic!"

"Oh please. You are a sap, my dear. You killed the most famous Roman Emperor over me."

"As I said, he was annoying anyway. Didn't know how to throw a good party, I tell you."

"Uhum. I imagine."

[bloogers-boogers]

Lucifer angry about something Alastor said to him

Lucifer: fucking Adam *grumbles bitterly*

Adam hearing from near by while having been playing poker with Husk, Angel dust, Baxter and Nifty: what the fuck did I do? *still focused on the game*

Lucifer *talking to himself while not listening to him*: fucking piece of shit! I WANT TO TEAR HIM APART LIMB BY LIMB AND FUCK ADAM SO HARD RIGHT AFTER maybe even buy him dinner

Angel: a good butt massage too

Adam: Fuck you

Lucifer *still talking to himself*: maybe even FUCK HIM WHILE ON TOP OF HIS BODY

Adam: woahhh– bitch, slow down

Lucifer: CHOKE HIM DOWN AGAINST THE FLOOR. BATHE IN THAT RADIO DEMON'S BLOOD

Adam: jesus christ

Lucifer: I FUCKING HATE THEM BOTH!

Adam: I'm not sure anything you just said is linked to having some fucking sanity

Lucifer: BUT, ALASTOR IS GONNA PAY. AND ADAM IS GONNA GET THE DOBLE OF THAT. Alastor DEATH. Adam a good cry for-

Charlie: Dad!

Lucifer *immediately snaps out: "yes, apple puff?♡"

[docholligay]

Bozeman Half Marathon 2024

The race starts at 8. The shuttle drops us off at 6:55. 

There was a little bit of fucking around too close to start time, so we ended up in the back of the pack. As I break over the start line, it’s immediately clear to me that I am behind people who are shooting for a 2:30 or more time, which is so beautiful and hope they had the best time but all of my encouragements to newer or slower runners immediately die away in a wave of “get the fuck out of my way.” I have never bobbed and weaved as I did here, and I get afraid that I’ll lose my pacer, because I am trying so hard to just get get out of the fracas. 

Mile 3. I call out, “What are we sitting at?” “9:05” comes the answer. I’ve been fucking around too much, and make a breakaway in between two runners in front of me. I’ve got to hit harder than this. 

My pacer grabs his stomach and steps off to the side. 

You’re a beautiful person, but this ain’t ‘nam, and I’m leaving your ass. I will buy you a drink later, salutations and good luck. 

I actually start running faster at this point--i hadn’t realized how much I was holding back because I sensed he was struggling and I didn’t want to leave him in the dust. I need something to pace me. My stryd isn’t connecting, i don’t even have a timer watch, and I didn’t set my music to time me like I usually do, until the tornado siren. There are two girls in matching outfits, including pink banana shorts. They’re the ones. They look fast. 

If it were not for them, I don’t know that I would have been able to get it back, because they got me into a rhythm of running about a 8:30 mile for two miles, which gave me a huge cushion. Mile 4 and 5 were entirely on their pink-festooned backs. They stopped for water mid Mile 6, and i kept going. 

Mile 7: What the fuck have I done wrong in my life, and why is it being visited upon me, the sweetest and most innocent of human beings, right now? There is a long, slow, plodding hill. 

There is a moment, in every race I have ever run, called, “What the fuck is my problem?” It is very important to get over the ‘What the fuck is my problem?” hump, because it is my own personal Jesus being tempted by Satan in the desert, with the idea of walking and giving up. Why would I, a sane woman with a loving family, think about running 13 miles and change full send? Did I think that would be fun? What about my life up to that point made me think it would be fun?

We have to attack this little demon inside us. We can always doubt the wisdom of our decisions later, but for now, the only way out is through, and my only reward for slowing down is that I have to be on the course longer. 

I round the corner, no longer on the hill, and then from behind me, the sound of a truck, and a voice I ahven’t heard in a while: 

“C’mon Doc, let’s fuckin go! It ain’t that far!” I look to my left, and it’s my buddy Jake! I haven’t seen him in a couple years, and he must have figured out it was me by sheer chance of “I bet that little red headed dyke in the unicorn shorts is Doc. She loves to run” and he is correct! He bangs twice on the side of his BLM truck, laughs, revs his engine at me, and drives on down the course. 

This carries me for a solid two miles. If your family has been in Montana for as long as both of ours have, it’s hard to hide from each other. Do i want to come across as a little bitch to Jake? Do i want to tell him it was just too fucking hard? Fuck no. 

The Tracer voice inside me, “What’s the worst that could ‘appen? Push it!” “We die?” “Not a problem we’d ave to deal with!” 

I push. I go. I fly through the cross country kids handing out water. I’m trying to pace myself beside runners just a little ahead of me, runners that look fast and also infuriatingly casual in their matching banana shorts and pink tank tops. They hold me on for the next few miles, but as they start into their negative splits (Unfortunately, they not only look fast, they are fast) they begin to leave me behind. 

I have heard the half marathon called “10 decent miles and then the worst 5k of your life” and for me, at the very least, that seems to hold true. I am getting exhausted by the time I hit mile ten, and my form is falling apart. I like like one of those inflatable noodle men, running down the street, limbs flopping. My body is swinging wildly, which is costing me energy, but I can’t stop myself. I’m getting tired mentally and physically. 

In  the middle of mile 11, I hit a pothole. I’m not watching what I’m doing, my foot goes directly onto the lip of the pothole and I go careening forward. I know it’s a cliche to say things happen in slow motion, but I swear it must have taken me ten seconds to fall. I had time to think about how I absolutely did not want to hurt my knee, so I, with a reasonable amount of stupidity, put my arm out straight, which keen-eyed viwers will note is a great way to break your wrist. I didn’t, so, unearned victory for me, but I slammed down hard into the asphalt, and threw myself onto my hip. 

A struggled for a minute, and then, as I held up my hand to stand, someone grabs it, without breaking his stride at all, and yanks me to my feet. 

“We’re fucking doing this!” he yells to me. 

And then he continues on. I could have given up, and my pride and my time are badly hurt, but having that moment gives it all back to me. I might not be able to run this in time, but I can run it to the end, and not give up. Giving up isn’t what I do. 

Unfortunately, to be the people we tell ourselves we are, we have to make the choices that make us those people. If I am a runner, who doesn’t give up. I need to both run, and not give up. Annoying. 

So I keep on. By the time we reach the city proper, I am in mile 12 of 13, and I am well and truly suffering. It hurts so bad, and I want to stop, but I can’t stop, because I am so close, and how much would I hate myself to run all this way and give up now? I can’t walk. I have to keep going. 

The tornado siren goes off in my ear. I have ten minutes to cross the finish line before losing my goal. I haven’t hit the final mile yet. This is bad. But the only way to get there faster, is to run faster. I have no idea what I drew on in that moment. But I find something deep inside me, and I yank it out and throw it on the road. 

I go down the final pull, praying, waiting for the final turn, where I can see the finish line. That always gives me something more, sets off a firework inside me. 

There’s a gal with a sign by the side of the road that says, “ ***ing finish so we can drink!” and, again, it is only through the encouragement of strangers that I have made it through this race at all. I point at her sign and smile, and she yells to me, “You know what I’m talking about! Fuck yeah! Go! Go!” 

This last mile is one of the hardest of my life. I just keep having to chant, ‘Right, left, repeat. Right, left, repeat.” 

The final turn! I can see the finish line, I only have to run three more stoplights before I make it. I can do it. I kick on the afterburner. I am so close. I’m almost there. 

My heart falls when I see the timer. 1:57:40. I’ve already failed. There’s no way I can cross the finish line in 15 seconds. Or can’t I? Fuck it, whatever, I will maybe not make it, but I will run as hard as I can. My hip is screaming, my form is the worst it has ever been, and I don’t care about absolutely fucking any of that, because if I cross even one second under, I will have made PR. 

I go. 

I cross the finish line, wobbling, half limping, about to throw up. I’ve made my time goal by about 3 seconds. Great. That’s enough. The guy giving out the medals is nice enough to come over and put it on my neck, because I look like I’m suffering as much as I am. The text comes through. 

I COMPLETELY FORGOT IT TOOK ME NEARLY A MINUTE TO CROSS THE START LINE. I have made my time by a full goddamn MINUTE. My joy is total. I would jump up and down screaming but I do not have even the slightest amount of energy for any of that. I have a can of champagne in my drop bag, and I am going to go get that, and crush it. 

Someday, I’ll stop setting PR, but today is not that day.

Video evidence of my extremely bad finish: You can tell how much I'm favoring my hip, which is making me swing my body WILDLY.

[auspicioustidings]

Lost Boys

6. Sneaky Handsome Distractions

Summary: The final part of this series! Leaving it open as a bit of a sandbox so I can come back and do drabbles when I feel like it :)

Words: 1.8k

CW: General dubcon nonsense

She swore Graves and his Shadows knew exactly what she had done on her break. They watched her pass their stalls with amused and part way hungry eyes. A hand ran through her hair that caused a shiver right down her spine.

“Vargas darlin’? No accounting for taste. Next time you come to me or mine and we'll treat you right hm?” 

Jesus. Graves was something else with that molasses drawl of his and those baby blues seemingly always sparkling with some sort of mirth. She held her head high, flipping her hair over her shoulder and winking at him.

“You'd fleece me out of every cent I own.”

“Aww come on now, that's not a very nice thing to say.”

“And that's not a denial.”

“It's in my nature to want to make advantageous deals, not my fault when fine folk agree to them.”

“Good thing I'm not fine folk then so won't be tempted.”

He laughed in delight. Philip Graves loved someone with some wits about them. It was all too easy most of the time to kiss someone's soul away at the crossroads when they foolishly offered it up. Humans were so greedy for wealth, fame, power, love. This one was fun, messing with creatures that should terrify her. As far as he could see she was reaping the benefits while suffering none of the consequences. Oh she would make a wonderful demon, an even more wonderful victim. He could imagine how satisfying it would be to slide his tongue past her teeth to seal an oath where she gave her soul to him. Delicious, it had been too long since him and his Shadows had eaten something so decadent.

“You'll find I can be very temptin’ darlin’.”

“Well there appears to be a line, so better up your game.”

Preacher laughed as she walked past, absolutely aware that he would take that as a challenge. Let him honestly, the people on this boardwalk were ridiculous and she could play along. Especially if it got her head that good on breaks. 

-

The rest of the shift was fine, no more sneaky handsome distractions. Alex sent someone else to take over for the evening shift, not making an appearance himself. Maybe he was embarrassed after shoving his tongue down her throat. Or maybe he had went home with Alejandro. Again, none of her business.

By the time she was heading home the sun was dipping beneath the horizon, darkness coming quickly. She had never really minded the night time, it was more like an old friend than a threat. She preferred to work during the evening and she knew she'd have to get over her apprehension at seeing Simon or Johnny again, but one day of avoiding them wouldn't hurt.

“Hey wait up!”

Oh Christ, it was the 3rd one of that little trio jogging up to her as she walked home. She didn't slow, just raised an eyebrow and continued on her way. He jogged ahead and then turned, walking backwards so he could talk to her as she moved. Cute.

“We didn't officially meet did we Preacher? Kyle Garrick” he said, thrusting a hand out.

She didn't love that Alex had already told this man her nickname but she was nothing if not polite, so she took his hand to shake and only rolled her eyes and stopped walking when he instead took her knuckles up to press a kiss to them.

“Look buddy, I'm not going to fuck you.”

Kyle choked out a laugh. Johnny had not been kidding when he said she was a feisty little fucker. 

“Even after all the work I put in stocking your house?”

“So it was you that broke in. Not as romantic a gesture as you seem to think.”

“Hardly breaking in, you invited me. Already too fucked out by then for us to have some fun, but you're looking thoroughly unfucked right now. Heard Ale got his tongue in you well enough, but I think you need something more substantial.”

Preacher spent at least 2 whole seconds trying to maintain some sense of decorum before giving up.

“If I need something more substantial, I'll ask Konig.”

That definitely got him annoyed, stepping forward and jamming a hand between her legs to cup her cunt over her jeans.

“You won't, not when you know how well we fuck. You think Ghost and Soap gave it to you? Doll I'd destroy this little pussy, you'd never want anyone else again.”

Preacher partly believed him if she was honest, his two friends had been hands down the best fuck of her life so it would follow logic that he'd be incredible as well. Didn't mean her pride would allow it when there were frankly, a lot of other options. She leaned forward to purr into his ear.

“Would hate for you to do that to Alex, thought you were friends. Not very friendly to ruin his chances given that he kissed me today.”

With that she pushed away from him, his hand falling away as she started walking again. Her blood was certainly up, she'd be needing to take care of herself when she got in since her pussy throbbed from his aggressive proposition. 

Every fibre of Kyle's being wanted to eat her. The only thing keeping him glued to the spot was Price's oppressive aura nearby, warning him to leave it alone. Fuck. The delicate skin of her throat would shred like tissue paper under his teeth. He had licked her blood off of Johnny when he had it smeared across him so he knew she tasted fucking divine and that had only been cold blood, not warm and pumping the way it was inside of her.  

He watched her for far too long before finally being able to move, heading back to the den.

-

As Gaz paced their den Price only laughed at his frustration, commanding Johnny to calm him down. Not even MacTavish's sloppy mouth could make him stop thinking about her. They decided between the 4 of them that she was going to be theirs and she was going to do it willingly. Especially now that the others had an eye on her, it was a matter of pride to win her fair and square. Well, win her of her own volition at least even if their methods could technically be thought of as cheating.

After all, they were vampires. How hard could it be to seduce one little human?

–

“Y'all understand?”

There was a chorus of eager agreements. The Shadows would get this new girl off of amusements and into the games. She had been a temptation already, but seeing that everyone else wanted her? That really sealed her fate as soon to be theirs.

Demons were basically built to seduce humans after all. It'd be easy. 

-

Horangi couldn't move for the heavy weight crushing him, not that he'd be able to move if Konig got off. The fuck had been cathartic for both of them, thoroughly exhausting, leaving him boneless.

“I want her.”

“I know Ko, when have I ever not gotten you something you've wanted?”

Shifters were feral things, but it meant they courted far better than any other creature could hope to. It was in their instincts to seduce a mate. Shouldn't take much effort at all.

-

Rudy groaned and then immediately started huffing. The taste of her he could get from Ale's mouth just was not enough. The night only got worse when an unwelcome visitor swam in.

“What are you doing here?”

“Alejandro I'm wounded, you don't think I may just want to visit an old flame?”

“Try again.”

“Your little Preacher, I want her. We both know there is a lot of competition for such a sweet thing. So why not work together?”

It made sense. If Ale and Rudy had to share her, better it be with another siren. It was agreed they'd do it without their song to prove that they had won her with her enthusiastic and uncharmed consent. If they did it any other way no doubt it would make them look weak, like they couldn't claim a human without the use of their powers. 

Sirens weren't just charming because of their song, they could seduce humans just fine without it. And this human? They were confident about their chances.

-

“Farah please” Alex pleaded, a blade against his throat. 

His own fault really for just wandering in when he knew how she currently felt about him. He had saved her, but he had refused to go with her and Kate, had chosen to stay with the creatures that had wanted to eat her in the first place. 

“Where is this change of heart coming from?”

“...there's a girl. They've kept her alive for now, but they're not the only ones after her.”

“And she belongs with her own kind.”

Alex nodded and Farah took the blade away. Finally he got it. She'd like to meet this girl who had finally pushed him to come back to his senses, come back to her. 

They had hunted monsters of all types, hunting a human should be easy. It would be wildly satisfying to rob all of these creatures of someone they wanted to claim for themselves, shove it in their face that they could never compare to the affection humans held for one another. 

-

Preacher sighed in contentment, all cosy and ready for bed. She was just making a cup of tea when the door went. It was pretty late for visitors, but then it wasn't like anyone here was normal.

Really she shouldn't have been so happy to see him, idiot that he was. But it had been a while since Keegan’s smug little grin had been on her behalf. 

Keegan knew she'd survive, but he was feeling feral over the mixture of scents clinging to her. These fucking animals had all been pawing at her by the smell of it. 

No matter, he had been laying groundwork for years. And now here she was, in his home, ready to fall head over heels in love with him. He'd make sure of it. After all he knew the monsters that made their home in Santa Carla, and none of them had ever come up against someone quite like his Preacher before.

They stood no chance.

-

Little non-canon bonus round because I think it would be neat if Preacher was, in fact, secretly just a dragon hoarding fuckable monsters

It was nice having Keegan close. He was the first of her hoard after all. And now she had so many more to add! Preacher thought she was going to like Santa Carla just fine.

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Light on the Darkside - Chapter Twenty Two.

Big thanks as always to the LOTD book club for your usual enthusiasm for my little story :)

Previous chapters - One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen Seventeen Eighteen Nineteen Twenty Twenty One

Tag list - In the comments. Please DM to be added/removed.

Words - 4,347

Warnings - 18+ throughout. Topics cover depression, suicide and eating disorders. Minors DNI!

It was a rarity, getting to enjoy her husband without rushing the experience, Ella unbuttoning the heavy cotton black shirt he wore, running a lick between his thick pectorals as she watched the grey storm of desire flicker in his eyes. She corralled him against the wall, fingers hooking his nipple rings and pulling, his groan gone to smoke and grit as he bit her tongue, sucking it, their kisses all flames and honey as he reached for her waist and lifted her. 

It was fever-hot but winding slow, like flames chasing a chill as his bulky body pinned her against the bathroom door, mouth leaving hers to press a path of kisses over her collar bones and neck. 

“Finally, sex that ain't gotta be rushed," he breathed, his cock pressing hard at her hip as her legs tensed around him. “Ain’t half fucking missed it, babe.” With three kids now, unless they had it last thing at night, a rarity with how tired they often were, sex was something that had to be satisfied in under twenty minutes, sometimes less.  

Her limbs tightened their hold as she clutched on around him, carried to the bed, watching him undress with desire licking her insides as she made short work of her own clothes, his hard, tattooed bulk pressing her into the mattress thereafter. While she was quite tall, she always felt tiny beneath him, especially over the last few years, his gym dedication as well as working himself up to the status of a third dan blackbelt in kickboxing giving him a deliciously hard bulk. 

Her own body had changed through the years, her breasts a little softer from feeding one out of her three children, Ella choosing against breastfeeding in the end, not taking to it. She had a rounder stomach, too, lined with fading stretch marks, but overall thanks to yoga and being talked into lifting weights by her husband, she was in good shape. Whatever shape she happened to be in, though, James still found her the sexiest woman alive, and that was good enough for her.  

She melted under his heat, the feel of his mouth all over her, her nipples sucked as his fingers swirled over her sides. He was soft with her for that moment, but she knew her husband of old. Drunk James was demon, a dominant, unrelenting beast and Jesus, how she thrived on that side of him.  

For the first few years, she hadn’t really seen it in full effect, with him not drinking alcohol to that kind of extreme back when he was taking his medication. After seeing it, though, experiencing being sexually commanded of, it had definitely worked its way into their relationship as a very favourable dynamic.  

“Can you stand, gorgeous?” she purred, nails grazing up his back, the tattooed flesh breaking out into a flush of goose pimples. 

“Might wobble a bit, but yeah,” he confirmed. “Why?” 

Pushing against his chest, she moved until she was sitting on the edge of the bed, him standing at the side, her hand curling around his cock and pumping slowly as she ran a lick over the crease of his hip. “I want to feel my big man pull on my hair while he’s fucking my mouth.”  

He chuckled, low and dirty, hand weaving into her hair to gently pull her head back as he leaned to her, offering kisses steeped in filthy heat. “Then that’s what you’re gonna get, darlin’.”  

Straightening up, his abs jumped at feeling her tongue flicking over the tip of his cock, the warm, wet sensations meeting the drag of her nails down his chest, his eyes fluttering shut a moment. Her lips peppered kisses down his shaft, tongue swirling, nails digging in a little harder, his deep moan arrowing right to her cunt.  

Her insides quaked with the lust that tumbled through her, her foundations rocked to rubble, his fisted hand in her hair snarling the strands against his rings as they wove a tight grasp. Forcing himself between her lips, his cock touched at the back of her throat, causing her to gag a little, pulling her mouth free to spit on his shaft.  

“Mmmm, you fucking dirty girl.” he groaned, hand flexing the grip in her hair. Back in he plunged, her heart skipping a beat, the mix of loving husband and baleful dom ensnaring her senses like a heady potion, her lips tightening around him as his hips began to sway back and forth, fucking her mouth with a slow, deep grind.  

The clasp of her lips firmed upon him, her soft moans muted a little, eyes locked onto his as her nails dug into his forearms, his thumb moving to wipe the trails of tears she blinked. Her eyes watered further, soft groans vibrating around the girth of him as he sank a little deeper, fucking her throat as his hand tightened in her hair. 

Lightning began to flicker at the base of his spine, crackling heat building, knowing he’d be fit for little else if he gave into it. He pulled back, releasing her hair, a stormy gaze meeting hers, pushing her onto the bed. Big hands clutched her thighs, spreading them apart, his lips pressing a burning kiss to her abdomen, tongue running a long lick back up to her mouth.  

She whimpered into the kiss, feeling him steer his cock to slide against the dripping mess of her sex, nudging her clit, pushing against her opening as his mouth glided to her neck. “Dying for it yet, babe?” 

He was such a tease, and god, how it burned golden through her, the anticipation to feel him filling her. “You know I am,” she gasped, lifting her hips, attempting to ensnare him. 

Oh no. She would not be sated quite so easily. “Well, tough shit. I’m gonna make you wait until you’re fucking nearly crying for my cock.”  

His balefulness made her insides clench with want, James turning her onto her side and draping her leg over his hip, one hand gently grasping her neck, the other stroking over her thigh. Reaching her apex, he began rubbing the creamy gloss of arousal that fucking her mouth had keenly evoked, her breaths shuddered, his fingers still as insanely skilful as always. It felt amazing for her, that sating touch after she’d burned so caustically for him.  

It was not without its conditions, as she was soon to discover. 

“No.” This was not the word she wanted to hear after the firm rubbing at her clit with his thumb and very purposeful teasing of her g spot had culminated in her climbing to orgasm. One he was adamant on deny her of. “You ain’t been given permission, so you don’t get to come yet.” 

Her walls fluttered, her body keening. “Please, I need you to make me come. You’re too good!” she gasped, James withdrawing his fingers and slapping her slit.   

“I said no. It’s your job to fight it, not mine to be fair on you. Do as I say.”  Her whine of protest had his fingers tightening at her throat, the result a light headed mist clouding her. “Behave, little. Don’t be bratty.” 

His fingers stretched back into her slick, needy cunt, the sound of him pounding her soaking centre echoing through the room as she wailed, fighting against her body’s unbridled desire to peak as she began to flutter strongly. “No, don’t you dare.” Each word was punctuated with a sharp slap to her folds, her arousal scalding her like wildfire, his teeth nipping at her jaw. 

She clung onto his bulk, panting and helpless, trying hard not to let herself tip, nails raking his arms, adding red to the black and grey of his tattoos. Shooting shocks simmered down her spine to puddle at the fingers that continued to assail her, Ella crying out as her hips quivered.  

“Please, please let me come!” she cried, her nails dug deep at his bicep, teeth gritted, her need spiralling.  

He was entertained by her loss of poise, chuckling deeply. “Is that what you want, to come hard around my fingers? 

Her reply was shrill, her voice shaky. “Yes!” 

He took a pause, slowing the swirl of his digits within the trembling clasp of her walls. “No.” 

Her whine was indignant, protesting. “James, please! I need to!” 

“I don’t care. Behave.” Once again, her tingling slit was slapped, his hand saturated with how inexplicably aroused he had her, moving to rub rapidly over her clit, slowing when he felt her ascend, but not by much. He showed no mercy, but she knew that he wouldn’t. That was the thrill of it in itself, regardless of his magnificence with his fingers.  

Locked in passionate kisses, she once again felt the tide rising within, James squeezing gently at her throat, maintaining eye contact between each magmatic kiss, her face pleading with him to let her sail into the cloudless skies of her climactic high, feel comets streak through her, be illuminated through the darkness of his refusal to allow for it.   

“You want it? Tell me how badly, babe.”   

“I’m dying to come, James. Please let me, I need to feel your fingers make my pussy gush for you!” A tempest wound through the depths of him to hear those words, fingers pushing deep within her, bottoming out. Curling his digits and circling her sensitive front wall. She clenched upon them tightly, the heel of his palm scraping hard against her clit sending sparks skittering.  

“Alright, you’re allowed now. Come hard for me, beautiful.” The relief his command conjured was so intense, it took mere moments for her to sharply throb to orgasm, clinging to him as she cried and screamed, his hand a relentless blur as his fingers daggered the sizzling pleasure further, bicep muscles flexing with effort.   

He smiled at her, impressed with how well she’d handled his demands for obedience, watching as she took his hand and sucked her wetness from his fingers, her other hand grazing over his chest with her nails. “I think you’re ready for my cock now. Lie how I like you best.”   

Moving away from her, he watched as she shuffled down a little, her head rested against the pillows, pulling her legs back to touch her chest, spread wide for him, gripping her ankles as she bit her lip and grinned. “Just like this? Is this how you’re going give me every last inch of that perfect, fat cock?”   

“You and that dirty mouth, little,” he muttered, taking his cock and positioning himself at her opening, pushing to make her muscles yield, but not entering her past slipping the head in. “Eventually.” 

“Oh, come on! I need all of you now!” she pouted, poking out her bottom lip.   

“You’ll wait,” he demanded. “Don’t misbehave, Mrs. K.”  

“But,” she began, silenced by his teeth biting hard onto her lower lip.  

“Quiet.” He silenced her by pushing two fingers into her mouth, clutching her jaw while slowly stroking his shaft along her slit. She mewled and bucked her hips against him, receiving a reprimanding grip against her jaw.  

“Don’t be bad.” She bit his fingers in retaliation, James increasing the pressure he held her with, shaking his head. Oh, that look. So darkly sexual. “Be good, or I’ll make you wait even longer, babe.” That voice, too. It shot bolts right to her fluttering cunt, hearing his rumbling tones deepened even further by lust.  

Slipping his fingers from her mouth, he clasped her throat, thumb slowly tracing a circle against the column of her neck. He stared at her unflinchingly, something softening as he nuzzled her for a moment, taking his cock and beginning to rub every ridge over her slit once more.  Her dew wetted him, clit spasming every time the head swept across it as she whimpered, fed his fingers to suck upon greedily once again. 

Her insides fizzed with elation at his unrelenting dominance, her tongue twirling around the digits muting her protests as he began to barely penetrate her once again, teasing her with the promise of more, of the rest of his thick hardness spreading her wide in delicious satiation of her craving. Of course, he made her wait on it, getting off on her desperation. 

When he finally did decide to offer mercy, he invoked a fervent blaze, her mouth falling open, his hand stroking over her throat, instigating a flurry of goose pimples rising beneath his fingertips as he arrowed her slow and deep.   

“Oh god, ohhhh!” she wailed, the erotic fog of incredible arousal seeping over her entire being, hugging his shaft with a strong clench of her soaking walls.   

“No, no squeezing me.” 

Again, she pulsed around his cock, receiving a little slap of reprimand to her cheek, his hand clenching her jaw, feeding her his thumb to suck. “Don’t be a brat, Ella.” Raising his eyebrows, she caved to his ascendancy, releasing her clasp upon his cock, feeling him begin to move once more. Bearing down on him so she physically couldn’t clench, he had to fight to stay inside her, her wet plush strong as it bore down on his cock, his groan barbarous, thumb pushing a little harder into her mouth. 

The pleasure he inflicted glittered like fireworks shooting beneath her skin, his eyes never leaving hers as his hips began to drive in piston, fat cock dragging her tender walls, her breath cut off as he clasped her throat again. It was scary yet exhilarating, her chest tightening, vision swimming, her eyes closing only to be jolted back with another slap to her cheek. “Eyes on me, darlin’. Don’t close them.” 

Her face contorted in bliss, a little desperation there in the glittering blue of her eyes, a lick of fear making her heart jolt, the humidity rising until like a lightning bolt bouncing, fucked raw until the release of his grasp granted her the inhale her body craved. Her heart thrummed rapidly, the waves of release surging as she gasped for air, James showing tenderness again as he leaned in close, nose nuzzling hers. “You’re my perfect, sexy wife, Mmmm, fuck. I love you.”   

Kissing her, his hand once again closed on her throat, but with a gentler squeeze, his tongue rolling against hers sensuously. Slowing to a languid trawl within her, his cock dragged her walls in a way that sent glimmers skittering over her spine, everything oversensitive and tender for a few moments before the synapses started to twitch once more. 

She felt light headed, the coil within her tightening, a blaze of pure bliss beginning to burn, evoked my every single deep, hard thrust, her cunt glazing his thick shaft as he gave himself completely. Letting go of his hold on her neck, his broad body blanketed hers in tattooed muscles, her legs winding around his waist they kissed each other with magmatic passion.   

Their bodies ground together in perfect rhythm, her cries escalating, nails dragging down his back as with a wail. Everything swelled and surged, her entire being shattering beneath him, the fire of orgasm blazing as he fucked out every wave of his undoing into her unrelentingly. His body collapsed atop hers, both fighting for air, the overwhelming nirvana ebbing away slowly as he stroked her skin, her nails tickling the sides of his neck while they shared kisses.   

His aftercare was all loving bliss and soft nuzzles, Ella playing with his hair as she lay and basked in the sweet glow of everything he’d inflicted upon her, the high so great, she was barely coming back down from it at all.  

They both experienced that dreamy feeling of floating, their post-orgasmic warmth remaining with them. She expected him to be asleep within moments, but he surprised her greatly by kissing his way down her body, mouth settling at her apex.  

“Oh?” she spoke, watching him stroke the petals of her sex with his fingers, his tongue gliding between. “Not done yet?” 

He shook his head, lips wrapping her clit in a gentle suck. “Not by a fucking long shot, innit.” And god, how he meant that, Ella bounced on his cock, fucked hard and fast against the smooth, white wall and pounded into assiduously from behind until finally, somewhere around the 3am mark, sleep pulled them in. James had felt amazing as he’d passed out wrapped around his love, but the next morning? Ouch. Oh, the regret. 

While Ella had been drunk, it hadn’t been to the same excess as her husband, knowing as she stirred beside him, she would have to tread carefully. James under the duress of a hangover was a cantankerous beast at best. 

“Ugh.”  

Reaching over, she stroked his chest. “What number are we at?” 

“Seventy two out of ten,” he croaked, wincing, rubbing his face. “Total bullshit.”  

Bloody hell. That was bad. “Do you need your hangover plan implementing?” 

“Please, babe.”  

Phase one, find him painkillers and leave him be to usually go and throw up a few times. This was evidenced after she’d showered, applied a little makeup and dressed, James flying into the bathroom to expel the contents of his stomach into the toilet. Phase two would be a freezing cold shower, followed by a coffee, which he’d need a while later. A hardened tea drinker, he only ever had coffee when his hangover was so severe that he felt, as he coined it, like he’d given himself gut rot.  

Ella expected that this was all to come as she went down into the dining room to meet Andrea, who was also dealing with her own injured beast.  

“He’s still groaning under the duvet,” she spoke of Steve as Ella sat down with a plate full of the buffet breakfast items. Bacon, sausages, scrambled eggs, tomatoes and mushrooms, plus a huge cup of tea. Andrea nodded at her plate. “Stocking up for winter, mate?” There’d been a time where she’d never dare make that kind of joke, knowing how even words meant with absolutely nothing behind them other than innocent fun could dent her friend.  

“I’m absolutely bleedin’ starving, sweetie,” she confirmed, shaking pepper over her food, leaning across the table. “I haven’t been shagged that ragged in a while, I swear!” 

Her whisper earned a little wolf whistle and a wink. “Yes, I can confirm I received much the same. Drunken freight train Steve is top tier Steve. I can’t feel my clit.” 

How Ella didn’t choke on her mouthful of scrambled eggs, she didn’t know. “Yeah, I kind of feel like I’ve been split in two. God, it was worth it, though.” She then shifted, wincing a little. “Maybe the bite marks all over my arse not quite so much. Not cool beans.” 

“God, I haven’t heard you use that term for well over a decade! Nineties slang making a comeback, hmm?” 

“Just might be,” she chuckled. Of course, a person’s vernacular would change with the ages, although she did note that her husband’s hadn’t really altered all too much. Hers definitely had, though. “I might start punctuating my sentences with the word ‘like’ too, just how I used to.” 

“You were quite animated like that, back when we first met.” She could barely believe it had almost been eighteen years, Andrea shaking her head in wonder, frowning then as she saw Ella reaching beneath her hair to feel around at the back of her neck. “You okay over there, mate?” 

“What’s this here?” she asked, turning and pointing. “Bleedin’ hurts to buggery!” 

“A bloody great big bite mark!” Andrea laughed with mirth. “He’s a beast.” 

“And how I love him for it!” she chirped, remembering the early hours with a pleasant ripple sparking in her tummy. “Oh, I had an email from the spa earlier. They’ve pushed our check in forward by an hour, so I’ll pick you up at eight next Sunday.” All hard-working mothers deserved a little me time, the women heading to Hoar Cross Hall in Staffordshire for a spa day. Yoga, massages, facial treatments, lunch, a swim and sauna, all were on the agenda. 

That morning had an agenda for them, too, but it mainly revolved around looking after their very tender husbands. After they’d eaten, Ella went to the coffee pots and filled one of the larger paper cups to the brim, strong, plentiful sugar and black.  

“Cheers, babe,” James groaned, sitting on the edge of the bed when she arrived back in their room, looking very worse for wear. “I feel like hell.”  

“Would you like phase three implementing?” she asked, crouching between his long legs as he took a big gulp of the coffee, groaning. He managed to raise a half smile, at least.  

“Please.” He winked, puckering his lips at her. “Love you.” 

Phase three? Blowjob. Shooting his load usually helped a little with the pounding headache, that release of dopamine making him feel a little less grumpy, too. Five minutes of getting his cock sucked expertly, and his wife was swallowing back what he’d shot into her throat, James feeling marginally better. Still, he needed phase four.  

“Ya dead, mate?” Steve groaned from the backseat after they’d checked out, James in no fit state to drive, Ella taking over while he hid in his hoodie, slumped low as he sipped his coffee. 

“Proper fucking corpse, bro,” he grumbled. “Damned good night though, innit?” 

“Quality,” he confirmed, burping. “Still fucking honked my guts up about four fucking times this morning, though!” 

“Yeah,” James confirmed, “once for me but bloody hell. Shit the entire world in burning liquid form out my arse.” 

While Steve laughed, Ella turned to him, a look of disbelief on her face before reversing the truck out of the parking space. “Do you have to be so graphic?” 

“Yes!” He quietened thereafter, retreating within his hoodie with a groan. The only time he emerged was to thank Ella after she’d driven to the nearest McDonald’s, passing him his phase four of the hangover necessities. Without being able to make his usual of a sandwich loaded with peanut butter, chilli sauce and chips, he settled for three large fries and a chocolate milkshake, Steve furnished with a Big Mac meal. 

It was a quiet drive home with both of them passed out after eating, Ella and Andrea chatting as the former sped the truck along the M25, the latter stroking her husband’s hair as he slept with his head in her lap. Just over three hours later and they were dropping them at their front door, continuing on to Leicester to fetch their brood.  

“Eee! Someone’s enjoyed himself, eh?” Mary announced on the doorstep to a still blearing looking James, Lyra moving past her to wrap him in a hug. 

“How’s your head, dad?” Oh, god. No. Too loud.  

“Shhhh,” he groaned, collapsing forward, deliberately squashing her. “I’m too hungover for anything above a whisper, innit.” That stance was soon to be tested. 

“Daddy!”  

Straightening up, he received the chaos of the night at a hundred miles an hour to his legs, bending to lift Freya into his arms. “Shhhh. No noise. Very important that we’re quiet. Daddy is fragile.” 

“Daddy’s been drunken! Daddy had all the booze!”  

Ella and Mary shouldn’t have descended into snort laughter, but they did, the look on his face so moody and pained.  

“Yeah,” he groaned, “daddy did indeed have all the effing booze.” 

“How much?” Mary asked.  

“Lost count at ten pints. Nah, actually that was when me and Steve moved onto the JD. No mixer.” 

“Christ!” she exclaimed. No wonder he was tender. While James got the eldest and youngest into the car, Zara emerging finally in the big arms of her uncle Archie, Mary’s husband of forty-two years.  

“So, how have they been?” Ella asked, receiving her daughter and a kiss on the cheek from Archie.  

“They’ve been grand, always are for us, pet,” Mary replied brightly, nodding towards the car. “Big girl has been a bit quiet, but she told me she had her period due so that explains it. Came this morning, gave her a hot water bottle and some paracetamol.”  

No wonder she’d came straight out to seek her dad’s arms. Whenever she was under the weather, it was James and his famed amazing hugs she sought out. After saying their goodbyes and thanks to Mary and Archie, they hit the road again. As soon as they were home, to her dad’s arms was exactly where Lyra returned, lying curled up with him on the sofa, both napping beneath a big, soft throw blanket.  

While they were fit for nothing more, Freya and Zara helped their mummy sort the washing into piles, Ella having the first load on and the rest of their various weekend items unpacked at speed, wanting nothing more than to sit down and rest. If only the destroyer of worlds would allow for that.  

“Mummy! Mummy! Can we play a game?”  

Actually, that wasn’t too much of a bad idea. It would tire her out, ready for her 2pm nap that was rapidly approaching. Two rounds of Guess Who later and she was beginning to nod, Ella lifting her from the chair at the island and carrying her through to the lounge. Pulling the blanket back, she placed her down against her daddy’s chest, James stirring only to wrap an arm around her, Lyra tucked in at his side snorting softly.  

Sitting down on the other sofa, Ella felt her own eyes growing heavy, very thankful when Zara crawled onto her lap, making her desires for the same known as she tucked under her mummy’s chin. Lying back and stroking her middle daughter’s hair, she looked over to the other sofa, a soft smile gracing her lips as her eyelids grew heavy. 

Having a night to remember the people they were away from being parents had been excellent, but returning home to their babies was the perfect way to round it off. As always.  

[loveshotzz]

Def def def requesting Lilith & Eddie Munson 😍 smut 4 lyfe but any crumbs you give will be beyond phenomenal I’m sure!

Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Leighanne’s follower celebration.

Word count: 900

Warnings: smut no minors

You got me feelin’ like I been too mean, and everything I say I believe. Tuck a knife with my heart up my sleeve. Fuck like a demon, do it like nothin’, I am disgustin’

Too many times you’ve ended up here, smoke leaving your mouth is mystical wisps from between your lips, hips rocking to the slow and steady rhythm his big ringed hands controlled. Bruising grip on your skin, he watches you ride him like you’ve got nothing better to do, like you’re just wasting time. He’d let you waste every second of every day like this.

Joint returning between his plush lips, your hands find a new home reaching back onto the tops of his knees. The new angle pushing him deeper then he’d ever been, feeling like your walls were trying to suck his soul from his body. You could have it. He was yours.

Head pushed against the cushions of the couch, he has to fight the way his eyes threaten to close rolling in the back of his hazy head. He could watch you like this all day if you’d only let him.

Bottom lip sucked between your teeth, he loves the way your brows furrow in pleasure and concentration. Lifting your hips in a way that has you threatening to combust, the high keeping your pending eruption at bay.

You were always right here, right in his grasp but still always slipping through his fingers. Always giving enough to leave him wanting more, but you never gave yourself away. Not even to him, not even like this.

Smoke seeping from between his parted lips the joint threatens to fall from his slack jawed mouth. Smirking at the hooded eyes from the motion of your hips, you pull yourself back up stealing it before sinking further down on him.

“Jesus fuck baby, you feel so good.”

Ignoring the nickname you never let him say in public, you inhale big enough to feel it bursting from the corners of your blackened lungs. Twisting your hips in away that finally makes him give into the heavy-ness of his lids. You collect his lips letting your hit seep into his bones. He was your favorite like this, quiet, docile, completely and hopelessly yours.

Lips tugging up in a lazy half grin with eyes still closed, sometimes he thinks it’s all just some sweet sick dream when he’s buried inside you. A gift he wasn’t meant to have.

Silk walls grip him tight enough to groan out the smoke. His angel of darkness coming to collect what’s yours. You liked him here. At a distance. He liked you better this way, he just didn’t know it yet. In love with the version of you that you’ve presented to him with your best boot forward. Convinced he wouldn’t be able to handle you at your worst despite his never ending protests.

Twitching inside you when you grind against his pelvic bone; you could always watch him come undone. Blunt nails digging into purple hued skin, it’s enough to have you gripping him into oblivion.

Eyes shining brighter then the sunbeams peaking through his blinds, it’s almost enough to let him love you.

Taglist: @munsonology @munsonmunster @elthreetimes

[xalygatorx]

Also, if I were to do any request/ask it would probably be what you think a multi-POV of Adam’s first experience with Cursed Cat Alastor look like. Does he tumble upon him? Does Alastor plant the kitty in Adam’s room? Is Adelie in on the prank, or is she a concerned cat mom? Does Adam try to unalive him? What do the patrons/employees of the hotel see?

A/N: I got a little stressed trying to come up with ALL the POVs but hopefully this aligns somewhat with what you were hoping for or at least gives you a laugh, anon. 🥲🫶

Note that this takes place in the CCA AU in which Alastor and Adelie are in an established relationship and the DiP timeline isn’t going to fully match up bc AU.

Also on AO3

Given the state of Adam’s room—empty pizza boxes and beer cans, surely—we can assume that Cat Alastor meets the First Man by infiltrating via the ventilation or full-on eating through his door (classic move for this kitty).

Adam, either halfway through a six-pack or dejected about his (deserved) drop down to Hell or maybe even both, would look up from his phone or a shooter game he managed to procure for the small TV in his room to see a pair of bulging red eyes and a yellow grin, disembodied until the cat-like creature trots into the blue light spreading from the screen.

“Um… What the fuck are you?”

Cat Alastor’s eyes blinked independently, its grin twitching in a way not dissimilar to its “dad’s” own disgruntled, feral smile. A staticky booing track rumbled from the little beast, clearly emanating from his furry body but seemingly disembodied at the same time.

Adam felt a small bead of sweat form at the base of one horn. “Fuckin’ creepy-ass… What, you want food or something?!” he half-shouted, subconsciously shrinking from the manic red puffball standing nearby.

No, Cat Alastor doesn’t want food. At least not the kind Adam’s willing to give him.

Adam’s done the second Cat Alastor’s jaw unhinges and a spread of writhing black shadow tendrils burst out of his mouth to flail in the air. The First Dick shrieks and bolts for the door, vaulting off the arm of the tattered couch he’s spent most of his stay slumped across.

The speed of his exit nearly takes Adelie right off her feet as she’s passing by the door to his suite, his shoulder catching her squarely in the back when they both try to dodge the other.

“What the—?!”

“Jesus, Tits, I’m sorry, just fuckin’ get that thing out of my room!”

“What thing?!”

Adam realizes belatedly that he’s dug himself deeper not just with Cat Alastor and Adelie, but with Alastor, too.

Adam’s still holding Adelie tightly by her upper arms, mid-shake to emphasize his distress, when the Radio Demon rounds the corner.

Without context, he finds Cat Alastor in a complete, near-screeching frenzy at what it perceives as a threat to its mother and Adam holding Adelie in place with a tight (stressed) grip.

A slow-building drone of spiking static turns all heads except Cat Alastor’s toward the end of the hall, where Alastor’s body’s growing and shifting with sharp, staccato cracks.

“You have precisely T̶̛͎͂͝Ḧ̶̝̓̉R̸̩̠̠̆Ě̶̬͓̚É̸̱̲͋͋ ̵͍̗̓͆ͅŞ̷̬̃͑E̶̛̤C̷͚͔̯̓Ơ̵̠̋N̵̛̹̾D̸͈̘̺̄͗S̸͖̀͋ to get your sloppy, disgusting hands Ǫ̸̟̣̠̞̓̐̀F̵̨̣͍̥̦͇͗͆̄̑̚F̵̡̢̭̪̖̤̖͚̬͉̞̬͔̣̃̈́̆̿̐͌͋ ̶̟̜̥̮̟̘̘̲͉̺̈́͆̂̒́̉̓̃͒͑͝M̶̯̈́͌̈́̌͂̀̽̊̇̒͋̈́̽̐̎̚Y̶̡̨̠̙͖͓̬̺̼̯̖̥̩̞͎͔̋͆̈́͆͊ͅ ̶̡͙̟͖̝̩̬̏̋̇͋͜ͅͅW̵̨̢͔̙͚̙̤͇͉͂̎͊̉̆͆͂͂̇̓͝͝͝I̵̢̨̡̮͇̣̺͕̯̜͎̙̲̭̬͑̈́̿͋̎̔͗̊̓̉̇́͗̽͠͠͠F̵̢̞͍̙̼͙̺̐̐̐̀͑̍͝É̷̹͉̞͔̲̜̝̳̗̦̣̟̄̍̾̋̊̎̉̆̓̂ͅ.”

Adelie’s grimace at Adam collapsed into something uneasy as she realized the predicament her least favorite guest was now in.

She encapsulated her feelings on the matter with a well-articulated, “Oh, fuck.”

Adam panicks and, instead of doing the smart thing and surrendering Adelie back to her two red demons in the hall, shifts to cower behind her as Alastor—eyes fully black and ticking with red radio dials as his smile threatens to split his face—advances on gangly, eldritch limbs.

He forgets all about the smaller of the two threats.

Cat Alastor sinks his teeth into Adam’s calf and holds on for dear life as Adam screams and violently shakes his leg to try and throw the cat off him.

“DON’T YOU DARE HURT HIM,” Adelie warned Adam through a snarl as she wrenched her arms out of his grasp, using the new distraction to try and play damage control.

“HE’S HURTING ME, BITCH,” Adam shouted back, shrinking slightly when a high, keening elk-like screech filled the hall at Alastor’s displeasure at hearing the First Man disrespecting his mate. “Fuckfuckfuckfuckshitfuck—”

Adelie looks pixie-sized by the time Alastor’s transformed and close enough to compare, crawling through the hall and occasionally scoring the ceiling with the tines of his expanded rack of antlers.

She stumbles a little when the floor shakes from his weight, but reaches out to touch his arm before he can dismember Charlie’s best chance at convincing Heaven to give the hotel a shot.

Even Alastor’s surprised that he notices her tiny hand tap him in his current state, but he does, and he slows just to glance at her. A quick glance over her reassures him that she’s at least physically unharmed.

At her pleading look and quiet reminder of what getting rid of Adam could cost them, Alastor gives a rumbling sigh and sinks lower on his arms to scoop her in against his huge chest. He lives vicariously through their ward as he watches Cat Alastor continue to hold onto Adam’s leg in a fanged vise-grip.

“Get off me!” Adam gritted, finally succeeding in flinging Cat Alastor off him and only because the feline allowed it. “Holy fucking shit, he took half my leg off!”

“Hardly,” Alastor drawled with some measure of disappointment, only mollified when he felt Adelie’s hands gently, reassuringly stroking over one of his enlarged, spindly thumbs.

“HARDLY?!” Adam repeated, aghast. He whirled as Cat Alastor swallowed his pound of flesh and licked his mouth clean before scampering away down the hall, gawking at the beast’s departure. “What even is that thing?!”

“That would be our son,” Alastor growled, his statement making Adelie laugh a little. Thinking back on how adverse he’d been—how adverse everyone had been—the day the little guy had shown up on their doorstep, it was comical how intrinsically tied he was to the crew now.

Adam grappled with Alastor’s answer for a minute before he finally landed on the decidedly crass response, “...You two fuck?”

The couple narrowed their eyes at the First Man perfectly in sync right as the pitter-patter of paws returned to the fray…along with some positively maniacal cackling.

Cat Alastor’s sensitive ears had heard his favorite cyclopean maid in the next hall over and had gone to get his battle ally, who he’d gleaned disliked the First Man as much as he did.

(She’d also regaled the way she’d originally murdered the First Man to him a time or two between bug battles.)

Niffty sat astride Cat Alastor as he raced back down the hall, bolting straight for Adam while Niffty laughed shrilly and held her needle out like a lance.

Adam’s first instinct was to bolt the other direction, but he skidded to a stop the second he remembered he was blocked in and took in Alastor’s enormous, malevolently grinning face that dared him to come any closer.

Adam instead had to clumsily parkour around the charging maid and feline duo and run at such a breakneck pace that he nearly wiped out just to keep his Achilles tendons safe from the point of Niffty’s needle.

Bemused, Adelie murmured to her partner, “They’ll be okay, right? I know Niff’s fine, but—”

“Did you see how well your little pet cleaved flesh from bone, my dear?” Alastor asked, slowly returning to his normal size and shaking off the vague discomfort that came with such a violent, fast transformation. “I’d be more worried about Adam.”

“Hypothetically?” Adelie figured, glancing up at him with an impish smile she fruitlessly tried to bite down.

Alastor chuckled and bent to kiss her cheek. “Hypothetically.”

Thank you for the request! x

[atsadi-shenanigans]

Feeding Alligators 38 - Gatekeep

Bite Night 2: Astarion is trying his best but you have the romantic awareness of a potato.

On AO3.

Y’all do not find the demon woman by the time evening rolls around. Wyll curses as the crickets chirp into twilight; stares out at the forest as y’all set up camp. You leave him be—comforting others ain’t your strong suite (you mostly just stand there all awkward because shows are liars and actually saying “there there” pisses people off more than it helps).

Shadowheart swings by to run her jesus hands over you again.

“You still feel stable,” she says.

You nod. Pause a moment, considering. Then, “You’re a cleric, yeah? Like, tied to a god or something?”

Her expression doesn’t budge from the cool neutrality she usually wears. “That’s what clerics are, yes. Why?”

You don’t know what you’re talking about. This world and its customs are fucking foreign as hell. Still. Something shivers in the back of your brain (not the worm this time, which seems to be dozing).

“Paladins are kinda the same? That one back there mentioned Tyr.”

She almost rolls her eyes. “The Lord of Justice. Paladins are sworn to their gods or goddesses. But they’re strictly fighters.”

Shadowheart carries a mace and seems real cozy bashing in skulls with it. You got an idea what that makes a cleric, but you also realize you don’t know which god she’s all cozy with (the concept makes your skin crawl).

“Who do you, uh, serve?” you say, totally suppressing the helpful urge to sneer.

That coolness freezes solid. “We’re all stuck together for the benefit of working as a group. But we barely know each other, and we’re all entitled to our own business.”

Oof. Some kinda sore spot.

You back down. “Sorry, didn’t mean to pry. I just…would you be able to tell? If those guys was, if there was something weird?”

Now she frowns. “Weird?”

Actual gods with real people as their servants (again, you smother your grimace). You don’t know shit, do you?

“Nevermind,” you say. “I just…this is all real new. Sorry to bother you and for, y’know, getting too personal. Won’t happen again.”

The ice around her seems to thaw just a touch. She gives a sharp nod. “Alright. And…thank you. For respecting my privacy.”

Which leaves you at Lae’zel’s tender mercies before bed.

You manage an actual push up.

***

So you’re flying pretty high as you drag your ass to your tent. Half the camp is bedded down for the night. Lae’zel—completely unfazed by running your ass into the dirt without so much as a hair out of place or a bead of sweat on her skin—takes first watch.

The spacing arrangement has definitely gelled; seems you’re assigned to the desk next to Astarion for this quarter. He lounges on his back amidst a pile of pillows—where in the hell did he pick up more of them? As you draw near, he sits up and spins around to face you.

“Hello, darling,” he says. “Always a pleasure to see you sauntering over.”

“Tripping, actually,” you say. You reach for your tent flap. The white of his hair and his shirt glow in your peripheral, and you stop. He stares at you. Expectantly.

…right. Blood.

“Oh, um,” you say. Pause.

“You don’t have to, of course,” he says. “I’ve gone much longer in between meals.”

You fucking forgot. There’s no solid reason for your hesitation, except that this is a change in plans (your fault) and that always wigs you out and having time to mentally prepare (lips, lips) would have been nice.

But you did offer. And he’s waited for you. It’d be bad manners to leave him hanging.

“It’s fine,” you say. Look around. Gale and Wyll are in their tents. Lae’zel stalks the perimeter, and Shadowheart kneels outside her own tent. She looks at you. Her judgment is just as potent at sixty yards. “You wanna take this inside?”

His grin spreads slow and syrupy. “My dear, there’s nothing I’d like more.”

You don’t got much in the way of decoration. Just your bedroll and your pack. You pause a second inside; there ain’t enough room to stand upright. This’d probably be a two-sleeper tent back home. But you got no seats or cushions. Hospitality dictates you let Astarion sit on your bedroll, as the guest.

He ducks in after you, and the tent seems a lot smaller. Y’all are gonna have to sit criss-cross applesauce. Knees touching.

Oh jesus.

“Um.” You clear your throat. “Go ahead and take a seat.”

You busy yourself lighting the small lantern you scrounged up using the (thank FUCK) matches y’all also found. It’s enough light to see his features clear when you turn and find him stooped there, watching you.

“And where will you be, darling?” he says.

You will not clear your throat again. You will not act like some awkward twenty-year-old climbing into a boy’s car for the first time. You are a goddamn adult human and humans touch each other all the time. He’s (sucked) touched your neck before. What you have in mind is far less intimate than that. This whole thing is a casual act born of necessity.

Touching other people is fucking normal.

You just ain’t…used to it.

“I thought it might be easier to control the bleeding if you bit my wrist,” you say. It’s just practicality. Nothing else. Certainly not you being shy all the sudden. Has got nothing to do with the feel of his cool tongue on your fucking neck. Nothing at all.

“Ah,” he says. Gaze flicks down your arm. “If that’s how you’d prefer it. Though, as I’m sure you’re aware, I don’t have, ahem, as much experience with that.”

The blind leading the blind. It’d be funny if you weren’t so full of the heeby-jeebies.

“You wanna try?” you say.

He looks at you. Goddamn, he’s hard to read when he wants to be. Then his usual smile slots into place and his eyelids drop and you struggle not to roll your eyes as he says, “I’m willing to try a lot of things with you.”

Jesus lord on a pogo stick. You turn away to let the eyes roll freely; disguise it as lowering yourself to sit on the grass beneath you. Your bad knee has been acting up worse than usual. It pops as you settle, which makes Astarion pause.

“’M fine,” you say and start to roll up your left sleeve. You wore your worst-off shirt for Lae’zel’s nightly beat down. Won’t hurt if you get more blood on it.

Astarion settles in next to you. Facing you, rather. But that angle won’t work very well, so you turn and shuffle a bit until you’re side-to-side, sort of staring past the other.

You got all the gear this time, too. A shirt you tore apart and washed (in boiling water) for bandages, water, apples, and a goddamn healing potion.

“I won’t take as much this time,” Astarion says.

You nod. There’s no protocol for this, so you lift up your arm and hold it straight out.

He takes it. You expect that. It has to happen; how else is he gonna bite you? Lunge teeth-first, like a dog?

Still.

Cool fingers glide over your forearm, across your palm. You blink fast, but refuse to let your face so much as twitch. Keep your hand and arm steady but pliable, just like you do when a doctor is taking your pulse and blood pressure.

He brings your arm up as his head ducks down. Hovers over your wrist a moment; cool air brushes you as he exhales through his nose and your rebellious skin erupts into goosebumps.

“Sorry,” you say before he can pull some shit. “Tickles.”

He gives you a sly glance out of the corner of his eye. Shithead. Then he presses his lips to your inner wrist.

He holds you like that a moment. His lips certainly are soft and cool. You’re pretty sure every muscle on your frame pulls tight. Then he moves. And it ain’t to bite. He brushes those lips over you, slightly parted, up and down. You’re about to ask what in the hell he’s doing, when he twists your arm to change the position and, apparently, finds (through scent? Touch? Vampire bullshit?) the right spot.

His lips pull back. His brow wrinkles. His pupils are huge and dilated, even for the low light.

His teeth sink in. The pain is sharper, this time. Probably because you see it coming. Twin fangs pierce your skin, sink into muscles. Your arm tries to jerk back, but his grip tightens to bruising.

You gasp. Jerk. Will yourself not to fucking move, because his teeth are buried in your wrist and there’s tendons and ligaments in there.

Then his fangs are out, and his lips come down and seal around the wound.

This time, you can see his face. See the way his eyes roll back. His lids flutter shut. He makes a soft sound against you, low and guttural and for some reason, your face starts to burn.

You tear your gaze away. Do your best to stare at the blue canvas of your tent.

The pain throbs into that pleasant numbness as before. The rest of you relaxes as nerves stop shrieking in alarm. He’s not pulling this time—thank god. Seems content to hold you, grip eased, and lap at it.

Which means that sure is his tongue against you. Again.

You wonder what the thread count is on canvas here in Faerun. Light shines through it, but you ain’t sure about water. Might have to find a magical tarp the next time it storms—

He’s still making sounds. They’re soft. You don’t hear them, not really. But the vibration thrums against your wrist. Short, tiny things. Moans. It don’t seem voluntary. His eyelids still flutter like he’s trying to open them and can’t. He takes a particularly wet suckle, and that pops him free.

He lifts up a second to pant. His lips and teeth are coated in red. A dribble runs down his chin and his nostrils flare.

Your wounds immediately stream. You manage a single “um” before he pulls your arm up so he can lick a strip back up with a groan, and seals his mouth over it again and suck in a gasp through his nose.

And that’s when the numbness…twists, somehow. Morphs a bit. Instead of throbbing nothing, there’s a feel of…heat? A kind of euphoria. Gentle, right now—you really want to sigh and fall backwards—but it seems to be building where his lips touch you. On the prodding of his tongue between the punctures, encouraging more blood to flow. You can almost feel your blood in him. The throb melding with your heartbeat filling his mouth, filling him. The two of you connected in a way you can barely comprehend, and heat blooms between your legs—

Oh motherfucker, he’s got aphrodisiac spit??!

“Astarion,” you say.

He’s not as lost in the sauce this time. He hums. Takes a last slurp and then pulls away. Snatches up one of the rags you set aside for this and clamps it down hard over your wrist.

You hiss. He doesn’t let up. His hands have turned into a vice. Fucker’s gonna bruise tomorrow.

“Lift your arm a little, darling,” he says and you do.

“Didn’t know you knew wound care,” you say. You’re a touch lightheaded, but you ain’t dizzy. Tired and thirsty, mostly.

“In my line of work, you pick up a few things,” he says. And sucks his teeth. His tongue moves around in his mouth (it was just on your skin) as he laps up all traces of your blood.

“So you just didn’t the first time you bit me?”

He turns. Pupils still dilated and if that doesn’t send some kind of prey animal shudder down your spine.

“You told me you did this all the time, little donor.”

“Not through a bite on the neck. And with vampire spit to deal with.”

He shrugs. “As I said, I’ve never had to keep a snack alive.”

The pressure hasn’t wavered. You fully cannot feel your fingers anymore. “Well, thank you. For learning.”

He blinks. Has that weird look you can’t place. Then he, as usual, buries it with smarm. “It has been an absolute pleasure, darling.”

And then he’s leaning in, face all intent, gaze locked on you. A static charge seems to fill the air and your brain starts flipping levers to dump some kinda panic chemicals into your bloodstream. His face is so focused, even as his lids come down and he is entirely too close.

You panic. You ain’t even sure why. Lift your free hand and jab him in the nose and say, “honk” because your brain is a loser and you are a loser and what the fuck, why the fuck is that what you went with??!

Astarion jerks back like you slapped him, the very picture of a pissed off cat. “Excuse you?”

Which send you jerking back because you pushed it too far. Got too weird. Fucked this up and misread something and got too forward a-fucking-gain.

“Sorry!” you say. “I was just, I don’t know, um! I was joking and I’m sorry.”

The two of you sit there, hackles raised, and stare at each other for a long moment. Until he (mercifully) blinks first and smooths his ruffled feathers back down.

“I can’t saw I’ve ever garnered that reaction before,” he says. Studies you, and then looks away (you try hard not to cringe). Then he notices his hands are empty, because you both pulled away.

“Right,” you say and take over pressure duty—the rag has absorbed quite a bit of blood, but when you risk a peek underneath, the wounds only ooze sluggishly.

Awkward silence fills the tent. You can’t go anywhere (and it’s your tent), and he seems kind of stuck on what to do now (how bad did you just fuck this up).

So you reach for your favorite tool: changing the motherfucking subject. “Can I ask you something?”

He finally notices the smear of blood on his chin as is in the process of fastidiously wiping it clean with his fingers and sucking those into his mouth.

You want to ask him about the paladins, but another question comes barreling into your brain and it sounds like a much more bonding topic anyway.

“You remember how I asked what blood tasted like to you?” you say. When he looks over, “I want to experiment with that, if you’re okay with it. Now that I know I can do this kinda regular.”

He wears the most deadpan expression when he says, “Ah, the vampire fetish appears at last.”

“What? No. People do that? No, no, nothing weird. It’s just, you only eat blood and I can’t tell the difference, but you can. So what if we varied up the taste? If I even can? So you can have different things, sorta, too?”

His eyebrow arches at a pace you can only describe as glacial.

“Like, if the next time I donate, say I eat a bunch of fruit. Or apples, really, since that all we ever find. Get them sugars into my blood and see how that comes across to you?”

“And whyever would you do that?”

Well shit, he makes it sound so stupid. Maybe you ought to bury the idea outright. But you notice while the others tolerate him, they ain’t inviting him in for dinner, and you don’t like seeing people left out. And while he’s an asshole, there’s a level of charm to him. He kinda pings on your level, so to speak.

“We all get to eat lots of things,” you say, going with earnestness and hoping he don’t toss it back in your face. “Might as well see if you can benefit off that?”

He don’t say nothing for a while. A long while. It starts to turn uncomfortable, and you’re considering forfeiting your tent and ducking out into the night.

When he says, “”Well, it’s your blood, darling. If you want to tinker around like that, far be it from me to stop you.”

You start to relax. Peace and good feelings restored.

And then, because it’s Astarion and he’s a shithead, he leers in and says, “Though if you truly want to know what you taste like, I know of much better options.”

This fucking—

“I think it’s time for me to take that potion and get some shut eye,” you say. “Thank you for helping.”

His smile doesn’t even twitch. If anything, it gets worse.

“A cruel denial,” he says and presses a hand over his heart. “I shall have to skulk into the night alone and pine away, awaiting our next encounter. Try not to keep me waiting too long to sample your…experiments.”

“Goodnight, Astarion,” you say as dead-voiced as you can.

He rises and steps around you in one swift, fluid motion to duck through the flap behind your back. Before he goes, he gives you another silly bow.

You probably shouldn’t. That voice in the back of your brain (sin, sin, shame, sin) screams about it (talking to a man while you’re alone). But you do your best to bow back while seated. Because your life has got real, real weird, but beneath the bored, dull, and generally uninterested face you slip on everyday, you’re pretty weird yourself.

It’s that little connection. The tentative root unfurling and reaching for something it recognizes. The dare to grasp at something fun, just to spite the universe so intent on burying you.

He grins and lets the tent flap fall shut behind him.

Alone and unseen, you let yourself smile back.

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