#Bringing hints of heaven into this world

[dkcdude]

Letting Go for Lent

Lent started this past Wednesday. This is the time on the Christian calendar when some Christians around the world and throughout history have begun their spiritual preparations for Holy Week and Easter. Of course, it is best known for people who observe the Lenten season giving something up during that time. This is sometimes referred to as “fasting”, even though the thing you give up doesn’t…

[halemerry]

On Crowley, memory, and identity.

So full disclosure first, I am not someone who is particularly interested in having Crowley's angel name on screen - personally I rather like the idea of never having an answer to this question - but I also do think it's interesting and fun to speculate and we got quite a few hints at this throughout this season soooo

Obviously part of this is that we meet him. The angel that would become Crowley is the first person on screen this season. We confirm a lot about him here. He confirm that he is powerful enough to start the engine of the universe. We confirm that he can control gravity and time and space and light. We confirm that he is the being that says let there be light before the beginning. We also confirm that he consulted with the concept designer of the universe and that he's very comfortable with the idea of questioning authority. We are also given Aziraphale's anxiety as a contrast to this and as proof that that is not a universal trait for early angels.

Now, we have always had evidence that Crowley is powerful. He's done some things that seem impossibly big. He stops time very casually and seemingly without effort - even at the end of season 1 it doesn't even seem to give us the same strain on him that holding the Bentley together does. This is a thing that we only ever see Crowley do and notably a thing that you would think other beings would mess with to their advantage if it was possible. Which means they either literally can't or that it never occurred to them that they could. Or as is becoming increasingly clear: perhaps it's a bit of both.

But that's not the only implication of power we get in season 1 either. We get Crowley seemingly in tune with the universe in a way many angels and demons aren't. Which, makes some sense if he helped make it. This manifests in all sorts of ways. He's constantly aware of Aziraphale's presence. He can smell when the world state changes like when Adam names Dog. He holds the Bentley together through utter destruction. He notices that there are different books in the bookshop - something I always assumed was meant to convey he was familiar with the shop's contents but after learning he didn't even know Jane Austen was a writer I wonder if it's actually more to do with him being in tune with reality. He also can apparently quite literally feel when there are eyes on them.

We're given even more of all these things this season in some really interesting ways. Crowley literally tests the air to check if a miracle has happened - another thing that we don't see anyone else do despite Heaven literally assigning someone to Aziraphale to check for a specific miracle. This particular beat is also something we are shown twice this season. Both here and in 1941, when Furfur uses the miracle blocker on Aziraphale. Here Crowley tests his miracles and despite getting nothing of the sort when Aziraphale tries a miracle literally the beat before this, we are given both a visual and an auditory effect. It ripples out with a watery sound effect from Crowley's finger. It's like he's prodding at reality.

There's also several instances involving the recognition or lack thereof of angels and demons. Crowley feels that the demon army is arriving before it does. Neither side seems to be able to track Gabriel - one of the most powerful beings in existence - at all once he leaves Heaven. We also see countless angels fail to notice Crowley himself both as Bildad the Shuhite performing literal miracles right in front of them. And this happens again as he prances about Heaven after Muriel. Aziraphale can't tell Shax is a demon despite Crowley recognizing she's manifested behind him nearly as soon as he answers the phone. Aziraphale can't even recognize that he himself is still an angel at the end of the Job story.

He also. Quite literally. Brings someone back from the dead???? Like waves a hand casually on the street and reconstitutes Mr. Brown like he'd never been dead at all. Mr. Brown returns with no memory of what happened to him holding a newspaper that seems to have literal bite chunks coming out of it. It's not framed as a huge miracle or anything strenuous either - just a casual snap.

And that's not even getting into the parallels with Gabriel. First of all. We get the color purple. It's purple when Aziraphale and angel that would become Crowley start the engine of the quadrants of the universe and it's purple when they miracle to hide Gabriel. This color is associated with power and, historically in the language of this show, with Gabriel himself. Them using it together twice speaks a lot to the power they have together.

But that's not the only symbolism historically tied to Gabriel that has found its way to Crowley this season either. Most flashy of all is the lightning. This is how we see Gabriel arrive on earth at the end of season one and it is something Crowley apparently just Does when he gets too mad to contain himself.

This alone wouldn't catch my attention except. Except the way Crowley reacts to Gabriel's memory problems is... interesting to say the least. He's angry and understandably so. Part of this is him being mad and protective of Aziraphale - he says as much himself to Jim directly. And yet, weirdly, it's the kind of mad that reminded me of something else.

This is the mad he tends to gets at his plants. Do it properly. Think hard. You can do better than that. Grow better. It's the kind of angry that's steeped in projection. It's he kind of angry that is undercut with the occasional weird undercurrent of understanding. And so much of his dialogue with Jim around this is framed like he does actually understand. Jim says it hurts and he says he knows. Jim starts talking about it feeling like being an empty house that still remembers where the furniture is and Crowley immediately latches onto this and understands ah it's looking at where the furniture isn't.

And there's a few other conversations that center around this issue that I find really interesting from a projection perspective. There's the conversation that happens when Crowley goes to have an alcohol fueled chat with Jim. He says "You're Jim now. Got everything just the way you wanted?" This doesn't make a whole lot of sense for him to be addressing Gabriel with. As far as he knows all Gabriel would want was the end of the world.

And then there's the particular way he asks Jim to eliminate himself in this scene. Climb out the window. In other words, have a fall. Something he pretty immediately retracts and clearly feels guilty about no matter how much he hates Gabriel.

And then there's the first conversation he gets to have after learning about Gabriel. Crowley opens this conversation, thinking out loud. He's staring out, not talking to Az yet and the very first thing out of his mouth is, of all things: "He's going to be okay." A weird start for a statement about Gabriel in itself but then Crowley goes and adds what at it's core is his own trauma narrative to the end with, "We can just take him somewhere and leave him there."

Now the real fun bit: Crowley also has memory issues that are out very prominently on display even as far back as season 1.

He has inconsistent memories of his Fall. The answers he gives us to why he Fell change slightly - even when he's alone with himself. He doesn't seem to understand why exactly he Fell even though he clearly has some vague idea of the pieces in play. I always thought to some degree that this was just a trauma response, but season 2 drew even more attention to this and now that we know that memory alteration is how Heaven handles powerful angels I can't help but to wonder if there's more in play here.

Crowley can't remember Furfur - who he apparently literally fought next to during the war in Heaven. Crowley can't remember building a nebula with Saraqael. Crowley doesn't remember why they decided gravity was a good idea.

But he does remember bits and pieces here and there. He remembers doing some of the starmaking. He remembers how to access clearance locked files. He's missing pieces and also seems to have an understanding that Gabriel's memories ARE in there. Almost like he's done this work on himself before.

This narrative itself is also far more concerned with the angel Crowley was this time around. It teases his rank a few different times. Most notably is him having access the files only available to Dominions and above.

Now angel hierarchy is a bit of a messy area depending on what sources you're using but given Good Omens tendencies in the past we can assume that this leaves us five ranks. Dominion, Throne, Cherub, Seraph, and Archangel.

I might break down why I think Dominion, Throne, and Cherub feel kind of odd to me later if there's interest - now available here - in that but given the current length of this meta I just want to focus on that last one for now.

Crowley was an Archangel is far from a new theory and I've honestly historically had some fairly mixed feelings about it. But the parallels between Jim and Crowley lend some interesting connective tissue to a lot of those theories. And. There's also some interesting camera work and script writing tied to Crowley and that term outside of the scenes about Gabriel's memories specifically.

Firstly, during Crowley's chat with Beelzebub he says it's a big universe with plenty of places for an archangel to hide. Like Alpha Centauri perhaps?

Then we get Aziraphale and Crowley both presenting Hell and Heaven respectively the idea that it could have been them that did the archangel class miracle. Aziraphale gets scoffed at and yet. Shax is the one who says the miracle was archangel level and Crowley's response is "how do you know I didn't do it?"

Then later as she's prowling about the shop we get this interesting shot of Crowley in the doorframe and Jim in the background. Crowley grins and offers to let Shax look in and see if she can see any archangels in there while he's framed dead center and Jim himself is blurry in the back of the frame.

And most fascinating in my opinion is this shot that happens when Crowley and Muriel are accessing the classified files. Nearly every shot in this sequence is group shots or shots of Gabriel. The camera is focused in the plot and the way the archangels function as a group and on Gabriel himself. But we get one single shot in this entire sequence of Crowley by himself and it is immediately following Gabriel saying "I am the only first order archangel in the room - or, well, the universe."

And then in the end. We get the Metatron who goes out of his way to avoid using Crowley's name. He calls him demon (and insists correctly that Crowley would recognize him even when Michael doesn't) or refers to him as Aziraphale's friend. He only ever uses that name when trying to use him as a bribe for Aziraphale. That combined with the dark look he gives Crowley implies a familiarity that only the Metatron has with him.

So who is he then? There's plenty of old meta out there about why certain archangels fit or don't and I won't reiterate them here. They're interesting and definitely worth poking around at and very fun to read! Personally I'm not as interested in naming the someone he used to be as I am in examining the places that ghost of this angel has started to poke through the narrative so I'll end this here. It's spiralled into something far longer than I ever meant it to be anyway.

[burnttongueontea]

So, what is the deal with the world’s most conspicuously uneaten Eccles cakes? (A meta)

Well, I wouldn’t say it’s bad writing, not even the on-purpose-as-a-secret-message kind. I agree there is a visual ‘loose thread’ here that the creators wanted us to notice, but I don’t think the meaning has anything to do with Metatron or the eventual plan for S3. I think the eccles cakes are all about what’s going on in this episode with Crowley and Aziraphale, and they’re unsettling in exactly the way they’re meant to be, even if we might not register the full implications consciously on first watch.

On the most straightforward level, this shot is the punchline to a joke set up by Aziraphale and Nina in the coffee shop. Crowley orders six shots of espresso, bound to get him all worked up and stressy. Aziraphale, who desperately wants Crowley to be thinking clearly when he learns about the Gabriel situation, says to Nina: ‘What do you sell that calms people down?’ And she replies: ‘Eccles cakes.’ From this moment on the cakes are a visual symbol of what Aziraphale needs from Crowley right now.

That’s why they get so much screentime as we cross the road and go into the shop. Aziraphale won't leave those eccles cakes behind because he’s still hoping that Crowley will respond to the request they represent: Please stay calm, please be patient and listen to me with empathy.

But Crowley never does respond, and as he storms out we get that close-focus shot of the abandoned plate to make sure the subtext hits home. The cakes are framed sitting in front of the horse statue, brilliantly dressed up in Crowley's sunglasses, to remind us that they were brought there for him and he's dismissing them. (Crowley is the frantic horse who can't be managed!)

There’s another level to it, though, which doesn’t fully become clear until episode 6. The episode 1 meeting in Nina’s café is the first time that Aziraphale and Crowley share a scene in the present-day in S2, which means that the last time we saw them together was when they were dining at the Ritz. As viewers, we quickly recognise the visual language of their partnership: a table for two, a drink, a dessert. It feels familiar. But the food gets delivered and then nobody eats it. On that level, it is a set-up without a pay-off and it really niggles as you watch. S1 closed out their relationship with a happy toast after a resplendent dinner; S2 opens it with a snack that gets ignored. The dynamics of who offers food to whom are also off, atypical. It’s a sign of how things are going to go later on, hinting at the fact their dynamic is dysfunctional right now, even though it might seem OK on the surface.

Which brings me, finally, on to the other thing I’ve wanted to point out…

The punchline is that Crowley doesn’t eat the eccles cakes, but the really subconsciously disconcerting thing is that Aziraphale doesn’t. That he seemingly never planned to, and never orders anything for himself. In fact, we don’t see Aziraphale eat anything substantial in any of the present-day scenes in S2. The only things he consumes onscreen are sherry, tea, and a travel sweet. (Oh, and Manipulation Coffee, which is definitely a callback to Crowley’s disastrous sextuple-espresso.) We see him with food, yes, but primarily he wants to give it to other people.

For me this little detail of S2 – not something you even fully notice until you think about it – is a very telling understated cue in terms of Aziraphale’s post-Heaven state of mind. It's about what amuseoffyre puts so well in another meta: 'the whole series looks like he’s having so much fun doing silly human things, but there’s this brittleness to it.' At first glance, we see Aziraphale interacting with food and assume he is now living the happy Earthly life we wanted for him, but on closer inspection he's not engaging much in the pleasure of eating for his own sake. He gets a quick sweet pick-me-up on his way somewhere else in the Bentley - all alone - and that's it. He's too anxious, too busy, he doesn't have time. Crowley doesn't have time to invite him for lunch.

I find it fascinating that Gabriel gets a squillion cups of cocoa in this season, waxing all lyrical about them, and Aziraphale gets none. Aziraphale's mug becomes Jim's mug, even. And he mostly makes the tea to show Muriel how to blend in. In short, S2 Aziraphale is terribly preoccupied with looking after/managing others, and not taking the time to look after himself. Like the Maggie and Nina match-making, all that kindly treat-offering is displacement, displacement, displacement.

No wonder it all goes wrong.

[saddleups]

𝐏𝐀𝐘 𝐈𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃.

★ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 . . . 3k

★ 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒 . . . drabble , complete. ARTHUR MORGAN X F!READER !! 18+ SMUT MDNI !!

★ 𝐂𝐖 . . . mid/low honor arthur . spanking . p_rn without a plot !

★ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 . . .   arthur is gruff and often irritable. despite his tough exterior , it's become a running joke that he'd do anything for you. so one day you decide to reward him.

★ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 . . . one of my fave things to do is intentionally bump into npc's and hear a low honor arthur morgan get all dramatic about it lmao. pretty self indulgent drabble that's much needed considering, ugh, recent world events, smh. let's just relieve some stress with our fave cowboy :')

"Arthur, the damn horse got out again."

"Arthur! Go fetch meat for the stew, or we’ll be eating air tonight."

"Arthur! For heaven's sake, take a bath!"

"Arthur? Are ya even listenin' to me?"

Arthur. Arthur. Arthur.

The sound of his own name twisted through the air like nails on a chalkboard. The way you said it—a sharp, clipped tone that hovered between scolding and command—set his teeth on edge, feeling less like a partner and more like a child caught in mischief. No matter how much it grated on him, he obeyed, if only to spare himself the prolonged nagging… and to give himself a chance for one of his well-timed snarky comebacks.

"Arthur, did you get what I sent you for?" you asked, eyebrows raised expectantly.

"Nope," he deadpanned, but then, almost as an afterthought, pulled the small inkwell from his satchel and placed it in your palm.

"Thank you kindly," you said, though the hint of exasperation bled through.

He cocked a brow, smirking. "The way you say that, darlin', doesn't sound all that kind."

You rolled your eyes, but a faint, grudging smile betrayed you.

It had become a running joke around camp that, grumpy attitude and all, Arthur would go to the ends of the earth if you asked him to. You’d often hear, “Hell, that boy’d wrap a lasso 'round the moon and bring it right to ya' if he could!"

No matter how reluctant he might act, he’d always come through—whether it was fetching supplies from town or bringing you something from across camp, you knew you could count on him. His grumbling had become a ritual, the begrudging look only making it clearer: when it came to you, he’d always show up.

Maybe it was time to pay it forward.

Arthur sat on a rock by the lake, hat tipped low, listening to the steady, calming rhythm of the water slapping against the shore. It was a warmer day, the first few buttons of his work shirt came undone, exposing the curly hair underneath.

The murmur of camp life floated faintly from behind him, but he couldn't care less about what they were fussing over now. The weight of responsibility hung around his shoulders like a yoke, dragging him down. Hungry mouths, Dutch's endless plans, your constant badgering—it was all just so damn relentless.

He tried to focus on his journal, but the words blurred on the page, his eyes drifting to the lake’s glassy surface instead. Out here, alone with the quiet, he could almost forget.

“Arthur!”

He groaned, snapping his head around. “Goddamn it! Woman, can’t you see I’m tryin' to relax?”

Ignoring his grouchy tone, you sauntered over, a teasing smile on your lips. “Well, maybe if you didn't run off, I wouldn’t have to come find you,” you replied, slipping in behind him. With a practiced touch, you set your hands on his shoulders, kneading the knots beneath the dusty fabric.

“Poor Arthur Morgan. Carryin' the weight of the world on these big strong shoulders, huh?”

He tensed, half-tempted to shrug you off, but he couldn’t deny that your touch felt good. Still, he wasn't about to let you off easy.

“Seems like 'yer mighty concerned 'bout my shoulders all of a sudden,” he muttered, trying to sound gruff even as his eyes drifted closed.

“Apologizin’ for all that naggin’, are ya?”

You leaned in close to his ear, a playful tone slipping into your voice. “Well, I know you like the attention, Arthur. If I left you alone too long, who knows what trouble you’d get into.”

He snorted. “Trouble? Woman, I can barely take a piss without you findin' some reason to come yellin' after me.” A faint smile tugged at his lips, even as he tried to keep his expression set in a scowl.

“Somebody’s gotta keep you in line,” you said, your fingers pressing firmly against his tense muscles. “Otherwise, you'd be a mess—and you know it.”

After a beat of silence, Arthur let out a reluctant sigh. “Maybe,” he grumbled, “but don’t go thinkin’ I need ya hoverin' over me all the damn time.”

You press into his back harder, attempting to release the tension stored there. "Goodness, Arthur your back is in knots."

"Wouldn't be so damn knotted if I didn't have to hear my name in that god-awful tone of yours every damn day."

"Oh?" you teased, leaning forward to rest your chin lightly on his shoulder. “Maybe you just need to hear it said differently.”

You shifted your hands down his shoulders and towards his chest. Your own pressing firmly against his back, meanwhile your fingers pressing in a slow, suggestive rhythm, just enough to make him squirm.

“Would that help?”

Arthur’s jaw clenched, fighting the twitch of a smile. “You really think that little trick’s gonna work on me?” he said, turning his head just enough to catch your mischievous grin.

Abandoning your previous position, you decide to swing your leg over Arthur and settle your frame onto his lap. "Maybe," you replied, voice dipping lower, your fingers looping around his suspenders, pulling them off his shoulders in one go.

“Or maybe you just don’t want to admit you like the sound of me sayin’ your name at all.”

A reluctant chuckle escaped him, though he tried to bury it. “Keep talkin’ like that and maybe I’ll get used to it.”

You continue to press his shoulders, his arms. Arthur's initial scowl began to soften, lashes fluttering as he struggles to keep his eyes open. You could feel him loosening up, his breathing evening out, and the smallest smile breaking through his mask of irritation.

You leaned forward, letting your fingers trail down his arms. “Guess that wasn’t so bad, huh?” you murmured, voice low and teasing, your lips just grazing the edge of his ear.

His breath hitched imperceptibly. Arthur shot you a sidelong glance, a warning smirk tugging at his mouth. “Watch it. I ain’t exactly a gentleman right now."

“Good thing I don’t need you to be,” you replied, letting your fingers slide down to lace through his, guiding his large hand to rest at your thigh.

Without waiting for another word, you closed the space between you, capturing his lips with a boldness that matched his own rough edges. Arthur’s hands settled firmly around your waist, and his grip tightened, pulling you closer with a possessive intensity.

His mouth was warm and demanding, a low hum rumbling in his chest as he kissed you like he’d been waiting for this moment a lot longer than he’d let on.

Your fingers tangled in his collar, pulling him closer to you, and he responded by pressing in even harder, his hand slipping to the small of your back, pulling you flush against him.

Arthur's lips parted against yours, deepening the kiss as if he were staking his claim. The lake, the distant murmur of camp, everything around you faded until there was nothing but the two of you, wrapped in each other, the simmering heat between you spilling over.

You felt his length twitch against your core, the thought of it makes you moan, "Arthur," it's softer this time. It was that girlishly lewd moan men like Arthur dreamt about.

"I like when you say it like that."

"Do you?"

He kisses you harder, hips buck into your core. You clench his collar.

"Arthur," you whispered in a sultry purr. "You like it when I say your name like this, don't you?"

He growled lowly, a deep sound in his throat that vibrated through your bones. "Damn woman, you know I do. Now stop teasin' and give me more."

You bit your lip, a wicked smile playing on your mouth. Leaning in, you captured his earlobe between your teeth, nibbling gently before whispering, “What if I don’t want to? What if I like having you needing more?”

Arthur’s eyes darkened, his grip on your waist tightening almost painfully. “Yer askin’ for trouble, darlin’.”

You arched an eyebrow, hiking up your skirt to bundle at your waist. You met his gaze with a challenging glint. “Is that so? And what are you going to do about it, Arthur Morgan?”

Before you could react, his hand slid up to cup your cheek, forcing you to look into his intense eyes. “This,” he rasped, and with a swift motion, his other hand landed on your ass, giving you a sharp spank that made you gasp into his mouth.

The sting spread quickly, mingling with the heat pooling between your thighs. You whimpered, biting back a moan, but Arthur wasn’t done. He repeated the action, firmer this time, his fingers digging into your flesh as he punished you for your teasing.

“Arthur…” you breathed, your voice shaky with arousal. “More… please…”

He smirked, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “I already do so much for you, might as well have you start beggin'" his voice is rough, commanding.

You swallowed hard, your pride warring with your desire. But the way his hand lingered on your ass, the way his thumb brushed over the spot he’d just spanked, sent jolts of pleasure through you.

“Please,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “Please, Arthur… again…”

His intense gaze meets yours, full of desire. He gently lifts your chin and lightly traces the outline of your lower lip with the rough pad of his thumb, savoring the moment. Arthur murmurs, "my beautiful girl, you say my name so sweetly, I just might eat you right up." You’re caught in his trap, surrendering your prideful nature to please him.

With a swift, deliberate movement, he brought his hand down again, a firm smack that echoed in the quiet of the lake. The burn ignited a fire deep within you, and your body instinctively pressed against him, craving more of that delicious friction.

“Is this what you wanted?” he breathed against your lips, his voice low and teasing as he reveled in your reaction. “You ain’t too proud now, are ya?”

The question swirled around you like smoke; the answer lay heavy on your tongue. “No,” you murmured, barely able to muster the words as he continued to trail his fingers along the edges of your bloomers before pushing them up your thighs, the fabric snatching between your wet folds.

Arthur’s gaze flickered with something instinctual, a hunger that painted his features with shadows. “Good,” he murmured. “Now let’s see how far I can push ya.”

With that, he thrust his hips upward, pressing against the solid heat of you. A cry escaped your lips—a mix of pleasure and surprised urgency—as you felt him coaxing every quiver from your body. His hands were everywhere—exploring, claiming—and you responded eagerly to each touch.

“Goddamn,” Arthur muttered, his voice thick with desire as he settled into a rhythm that was both punishing and pleasurable. Each caress ignited flames that licked at your skin, demanding attention and coaxing moans deep from your throat. “Yer a temptress, you know that?”

“Only because you make it so easy,” you replied breathlessly, your nails digging into the fabric of his shirt, seeking more grip as he pushed you closer to the edge of sanity.

With every thrust, every firm touch, Arthur was unraveling something inside you, a tangled knot of need and yearning that had long gone neglected. Each whisper of his name became a prayer, a plea for him to sustain this blissful torment. The sound of his name on your lips sparked a fire inside of him, something he hadn't felt in a long time. He was no longer the troubled man caught up in mischievous acts, but a devoted lover who had complete control over you.

“Can ya’ handle it?” he teased, slipping one hand back to squeeze your thigh possessively while the other found its way under your chin, tilting your gaze upwards. “I ain’t holdin’ back anymore.”

Without waiting for an answer—knowing all too well that any attempt at defiance would only further stoke his desire—he surged forward with reckless abandon. His lips crushed against yours, raw and insistent as that spark ignited into an inferno between you.

You could barely think as he plundered your mouth and coaxed every ounce of passion from you. He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze again, and for a moment, time seemed suspended in the heated silence between heartbeats.

Arthur's hand shot down, fingers digging into the delicate fabric of your bloomers. With a savage tug, he ripped the seams, causing you to gasp and shriek his name in surprise. The sound was abrupt and high-pitched, a sharp contrast to the low, rumbling growl that escaped his throat as he moved quickly to cover your mouth with his palm.

"Shhh," he whispered fiercely, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart race. "The camp's only a few miles off, darlin'. You want them to hear?"

You shook your head frantically, feeling the heat of his hand against your lips, the roughness of his skin contrasting sharply with the softness of your own. His gaze never wavered, and you could see the fire burning in those blue depths, a testament to the control he was exerting over both himself and the situation.

Assiting his undress, you reached for the buckle of his pants, your movements swift and determined. He watched, breath hitching in his throat, as you unfastened the leather strap and opened the fabric, freeing his large, hard cock from its confines. It jutted out proudly, thick and throbbing, the tip already glistening with pre-cum.

Your mouth watered at the sight, the desire pooling low in your belly. You reached out, your fingers trembling slightly as they wrapped around his shaft, stroking him slowly, savoring the way his muscles tensed under your touch.

Arthur's breath hitched, his hips bucking instinctively against your hand. "Fuck," he muttered, his voice ragged. "You keep doin' that, and this is gonna be over before it even starts."

He shifted his weight, positioning himself between your legs, which you had spread wide in anticipation. He didn't waste any time, guiding the head of his cock to your slick folds. The sensation was electric, hot and wet, and you couldn't help but moan against his hand, biting his calloused palm while your body arched up to meet his.

"That's it, darlin'," he murmured, his thumb brushing across your clit in slow, deliberate strokes. "All that work I do for ya, this is how a bastard like me likes to be reward."

His words were like fuel on the flames of your desire, and you nodded frantically, desperate for more. He removed his hand from your mouth, he holds his cock, sliding the length of him along your drenched slit. The friction was maddening, a tantalizing mix of pleasure and frustration that left you panting, your nails digging into his shoulders.

"Arthur," you whimpered, the sound torn from your throat. "Please…"

"Sing my name," he commanded, his voice rough and urgent. "Sing it loud and clear, and watch what it does to me."

You obeyed, letting out a soft, melodic cry as he pressed deeper, teasing the entrance to your core. Each thrust of his hips brought him closer, the head of his cock dipping between your folds, mixing his wetness with yours. The sensation was intoxicating, a dizzying blend of heat and pressure that made your head spin.

"Arthur," you chanted, your voice growing stronger with each repetition.

"Arthur, that feels so good."

"Arthur, please..."

"Arthur, harder."

His thrusts became more forceful, his grip on your thighs tightening as he drove into you with relentless determination. The sound of your voice seemed to fuel his fire, his breathing growing harsh and uneven as he pummeled into you, each stroke sending jolts of pleasure coursing through your body.

"Yes, that's it," he growled, his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine. "Keep sayin' it, darlin'. Keep sayin' my name."

You did, your voice rising to a breathless plea as he plunged deeper, his cock hitting all the right spots inside you. The world narrowed down to just the two of you, the sounds of the lake and the distant camp fading away until all that mattered was the feel of his body against yours, the raw, primal connection that bound you together.

"Arthur, please," you cried, your body trembling with the effort of holding back your orgasm. "I can't take it anymore…"

He leaned down, capturing your lips in a bruising kiss, his tongue plunging deep as his hips snapped forward, burying himself inside you completely. The sensation was overwhelming, a tidal wave of pleasure that crashed over you, leaving you gasping for breath.

"Almost there," he whispered against your lips, his voice strained with effort. "Gonna come with you, darlin'. Gonna make sure you feel everythin'."

You tightened your grip on his shoulders, your body straining towards the edge of ecstasy. The rhythm of his thrusts was driving you closer and closer, each powerful stroke pushing you further into the abyss of pleasure.

"Arthur, I'm so close," you gasped, your voice breaking with the force of your desire. "Don't stop… please…"

"Never," he promised, his thrusts becoming almost frantic now, his body straining with the effort of holding back his own release. "Gonna make it perfect for you, darlin'. Gonna make sure you remember this."

With one final thrust, he pushed you over the edge, your body convulsing with the force of your orgasm. You shout his name, the sound echoing across the lake as waves of pleasure rippled through you, leaving you trembling and weak. So much for being quiet.

Arthur followed you over the edge, his own climax crashing over him with a roar. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his body shuddering with the force of his release as he emptied himself into you, filling you with his warmth.

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of your mingled breaths, the steady thump of your hearts beating in unison. Then, slowly, Arthur pulled back, his eyes meeting yours with a look of raw, unadulterated satisfaction.

"Good girl."

Your eyes are shut, but you can feel his gaze, searing and unrelenting, tracing over you. His cock is still warm inside you, the sensation feels…homely. Slowly, your lashes flutter open, confirming what you already knew—his soft blue eyes are fixed on you, brimming with pride and satisfaction. You give him a playful slap on the chest, a smile tugging at your lips.

“Oh, shut up.”

[yevmarie]

Drabble: Confessions

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Warnings: allusions to physical abuse, death, and sex.

Moments like these felt like heaven after death. After each war, ending up in bed, sharing confessions, revealing raw feelings, merging into one whole — it was the prize for being stoic, brave, and alive.

Lying on his chest in the bliss of the intimate union aftermath, hearing his heartbeat slow with each exhale of cigarette smoke. Caressing his body, admiring the muscles. Tracing your finger between the moles on his skin, imagining a galaxy with its own constellations. Learning his tattoos anew. The canvas interrupted by scars, manuscripts of strength against pain, vulnerability to violence, lust for life amid the coldness of dead infinity.

"Ya okay, sunshine?"

His voice, like honey, flowed and made you look up at him and hold his gaze, becoming a captive of his ocean-blue eyes you were ready to drown in forever, with no hope of escape. You nodded and smiled softly, earning his restrained shy smile, mostly a smirk with a hint of admiration and a pinch of pride.

His hand pulled you closer in the strongest, warmest hug you’d ever had — a safe cocoon, a shield from the cruel world.

"I love you," he murmured before planting a soft kiss on your forehead.

"I love you too, Daryl," you whispered, smiling and closing your eyes, drifting off slowly into the sanctuary of his arms, feeling the serenity that only moments like these could bring.

[prettygirl-gabi]

Chocolate-Covered Strawberries

Rating: Mature

Warning: Vinnie being a munch..oral (fem receiving), reader has some thicc thighs MDNI!!

I repeat MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!!!

Category: F/M

Fandom: Vinnie hacker...

Relationships: Vinnie Hacker x black f reader

Summary: Vinnie being a munch before his stream...

---

---

Vinnie’s POV

It’s not often I get the luxury of waking up before her, but when I do, I make the most of it. The early morning light spills through the blinds, casting a soft glow on her smooth brown skin. She’s curled up on her side, her chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. Her hair is freshly done—a crown of thick, shiny braids that she got done yesterday. She looks like a goddess.

But that’s not why I’m awake. No, I’ve been staring at her thick thighs peeking out from under the covers for the past five minutes. Those thighs that drive me insane every single time. I swallow hard, knowing I have a full day ahead of me—a 24-hour stream I promised my fans—but before I let the day steal me away from her, I have to make this moment ours.

I shift carefully, peeling the blankets off her without waking her. She stirs, mumbling something incoherent, and I freeze. Once I’m sure she’s still asleep, I get to work, kissing the inside of her thighs and trailing upward.

“Mmm... Vinnie?” Her voice is groggy, but there’s a hint of amusement laced in her tone.

“Morning, baby,” I mumble against her skin.

“Vinnie, what are you—” Her words cut off into a soft gasp as I slide her legs apart gently.

“Just let me take care of you,” I whisper, already lost in her scent, her warmth.

She moans softly, and I swear, it’s the best sound in the world. I take my time, savoring every second, every taste, every reaction. She tries to push my head away at one point, half-heartedly, but I grip her thighs firmly, holding her in place.

“Vinnie, you’re such a—”

“A munch?” I finish for her, grinning against her.

Her laughter is breathy and light. “Yes. A damn munch.”

I don’t argue. She’s not wrong. I keep going until she’s trembling beneath me, her hands clawing at my shoulders and back. She leaves marks—I know she does—but I can’t bring myself to care. She tastes like chocolate-covered strawberries, and I tell her as much when she finally catches her breath.

“You’re insane,” she says, panting as she pulls the covers back over her.

“Insanely in love with you,” I counter, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. Her braids smell like coconut oil and heaven.

“You’re lucky I love you too,” she mutters, but I catch the small smile tugging at her lips.

Fast forward two hours later, and I’m sitting in front of my PC, logging into my stream. I decided to stream shirtless today—partly because it’s comfortable, but mostly because she stole my shirt after I showered. Seeing her tiny frame swallowed up in my oversized shirt did things to me, but I had a schedule to keep.

“Yo, what’s up, chat?” I greet my viewers, running a hand through my hair. Comments flood in immediately, the chat scrolling so fast I can barely keep up.

“Bro, why are you shirtless?”

“Vinnie, what happened to your back??”

“Why are your lips so swollen???”

I chuckle, shaking my head. “Man, y’all are nosy today.”

The questions keep coming, though.

“Did you get in a fight?”

“Did you fall or something?”

I glance over at her sitting on the couch behind me, still wearing my shirt, her thick thighs on full display. She’s scrolling through her phone, pretending not to notice me staring.

“Nah,” I say, smirking. “No fight. No fall. Just... let’s call it ‘relationship perks.’”

Chat explodes.

“WHAT???”

“VINNIE EXPLAIN.”

“PERKS???”

She looks up from her phone and arches an eyebrow at me. “Relationship perks, huh?”

“What?” I shoot back, grinning. “It’s true.”

She rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue, and that only makes me laugh harder.

About halfway through the stream, I’m taking a break to grab water when she wanders into the kitchen. She’s still wearing my shirt, and it’s slipping off one shoulder, exposing her soft, brown skin. She’s so tiny—barely reaching my chest, but she packs enough attitude for someone twice her size.

“Hey,” I call out, pulling her into my arms before she can escape.

“Vinnie, you’re live,” she says, swatting at my hands, though she doesn’t pull away.

“They can wait,” I murmur, pressing a kiss to her forehead. Then, because I can’t help myself, I add, “God, your thighs drive me insane, you know that?”

Her cheeks flush, and she smacks my chest lightly. “Shut up!”

“What?” I tease, spinning her around and planting her on the counter. “It’s true. You’re so beautiful, baby. I can’t get enough of you.”

She bites her lip, trying to hide her smile, but I catch it anyway. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“And you’re lucky I love you,” I shoot back, leaning in to kiss her again.

By the end of the stream, the chat is still buzzing with questions about my lips, my back, and my overall mood. I ignore most of them, but when someone asks why I’m grinning so much, I can’t help but answer.

“Because life’s good,” I say simply. “And my girl’s even better.”

She throws a pillow at me from across the room, and I laugh so hard I almost fall out of my chair.

Life really is good.

---

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-Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

-prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

[wh0reforcoriolanussnow]

Happy House || Young President!Coriolanus Snow x reader

Summary: This is a happy house, we’re happy here, right?

Warnings: infidelity, toxic Coryo, mild violence, if there’s anything else lmk!

Wc: 505

Divider by @firefly-graphics

In the quiet morning light that filtered through the windows of the grand dining hall, your family sat at the polished mahogany table, seemingly the picture of domestic bliss.

Coriolanus, his chiseled features etched with a façade of contentment, sat at the head of the table, his newspaper spread before him. Balanced on his lap, was your three year old daughter, her tiny hands occupied with a toy.

You sat opposite him, watching the scene with a practiced smile, your eyes betraying none of the turmoil that churned within you. You sipped at your coffee slowly, your eyes moving to your eldest as he shovels spoonfuls of cereal into his mouth, oblivious to the tension that hung in the air.

As if on cue, the nanny entered the room, cradling the youngest member of the Snow family in her arms. Your heart twisted at the sight of the woman, the nanny’s eyes darting to Coriolanus, who met her gaze with a knowing look. You forced herself to smile as you took the baby girl into your arms, your fingers tracing the delicate features you had come to love despite the circumstances of your birth.

“Look who’s awake,” You softly say to your daughter with a bright expression as she smiles up at you. But as you look up, you catch Coriolanus beckon the young woman over to him. It was the subtle exchanges between Coriolanus and the nanny that made your blood run cold.

A glance here, a lingering touch there—each movement a betrayal that cut deeper than any knife. You swallowed the bile rising in your throat, forcing yourself to focus on the facade you presented to the world.

Later that day, as your family made a public appearance, you plastered on your most convincing smile, your hand resting lightly on Coriolanus’s arm as you both posed for the cameras. Lucky Flickerman’s question about another baby drew a forced chuckle from your lips, “Maybe not for a while,” You responded, feeling the venomous look Coriolanus shot you from your peripheral.

It wasn’t until you were alone in the privacy of you solar that the facade finally crumbled. Coriolanus’s anger boiled over at your comment, his words cutting like shards of glass. Your own fury matched his, your heart pounding in your chest as you dared to confront him about his infidelity.

“What do you mean ‘maybe not for a while’?” Coriolanus’s voice sliced through the tense silence, his anger simmering just beneath the surface .

Your bristled at his tone, your own frustration bubbling over. “What do you think I mean, Coriolanus? We already have three children to care for, and I’m not eager to bring another into this mess. I’m not a baby machine for heaven’s sake.”

Coriolanus’s jaw clenched, his gaze darkening. “Mess? Is that what you think of our family?” You shot back, “It’s what you’ve made it,” your voice tinged with bitterness. “You think I don’t know about your affairs? About the way you’ve been sneaking around with my servants behind my back?”

Coriolanus’s eyes flashed with anger, his fists clenched at his sides. “How dare you accuse me of such things? You know nothing!” “I know enough,” You retorted, your own anger rising. “I’ve seen the way you look at her, the way you touch her when you think no one is watching.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Coriolanus scoffed, but there was a hint of unease in his voice. “Is it, Coriolanus?” Your voice was sharp as you enunciated his full name, your eyes narrowing as you met his gaze head-on. “You can deny it all you want, but I’m not blind, I’m not stupid. I see what’s happening, and I won’t stand for it any longer.”

Coriolanus’s face twisted with rage, his hands trembling with suppressed fury. “How dare you speak to me like that? I am your husband, and you will show me the respect I deserve!”

“Respect?” You laughed bitterly, your heart pounding in your chest. “You lost any right to my respect the moment you betrayed our marriage vows-“ Your words were cut off when Coriolanus grabs your forearm, harshly pulling you close to him as you felt his breath fanning your features, your breath catching in your throat as you struggled to comprehend the betrayal.

Before you could react, the doors to the solar swung open, revealing your children and the nanny, frozen in the threshold. Your heart sank as you watched Coriolanus hastily release his tight grip on you, plastering on a false smile as he turned to his son with outstretched arms.

“My boy,” he said, his voice strained. “Shall we go play outside?” With a final glance in your direction, Coriolanus left the room, leaving you to pick up the shattered pieces of your reality. As the nanny awkwardly averted her gaze, you gathered your daughters close, your voice trembling with suppressed rage.

“Next time,” you said to the nanny, not bothering to look at her, your voice tinged with bitterness, “you should knock before entering a closed room. Understood?”

The nanny nodded mutely, her eyes downcast as you led your children away from the shattered remnants of your once-happy home. But deep within you, you knew that the facade they presented to the world could only hold for so long before the truth tore your family apart at the seams.

[eatmeandbirthmeagain]

Jealous Baldwin IV x reader

♧ Mine Only - King Baldwin x Reader ♧

♧ Angst ♧

A/N: Hello Anon, I hope this is what you had in mind. As per your request, he is not wearing a mask in this one! I hope you like it. As always, this is based on the film Kingdom Of Heaven, not the real historical figgures. Enjoy!

P.S: Sorry that it's a little short, I just thought that it wrapped up nicely as this 😊 Also this has a desctiption of y/n

TW: Leprosy

Baldwin the fourth was never an overly jealous man.

Envy was one of the most deadly sins, and he stuck by that ideology with many things. But when it came to his queen? His jealousy was nothing short of violent passion.

Nothing enraged him more than seeing other men stare at his beloved y/n as if she was some object. Whether it be knights or royal officials themselves, his feelings on the issue remained consistent.

Baldwin knew of his wife's shining, yet modest, beauty and never wanted to hide it, forcing her to cover herself with a veil like some husbands would. He allowed her beauty to be seen by the world, but that did not mean that the prying eyes of others never enraged him.

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

It was a warm summer evening. The sun was low in the sky when Balian of Ibelin came to meet with the king for a second time.

Baldwin was reclined on a soft couch alongside his wife, who sat next to him with her head on his shoulder. The two were enjoying the sun set over the kingdom on the royal balcony and were not predicting company at the time, so Balian’s arrival was unexpected.

“Your majesties” he greeted in a low voice. Until this point, Balian had never been formally acquainted with the queen of Jerusalem, but he had heard through the not so subtle whispers of other knights that she was extremely beautiful.

He noticed first the absence of the king's mask. Instead, bandages covered the middle section of his face, leaving only his eyes, forehead and mouth exposed. This was a shock to him, his appearance was nowhere near as awful as he had expected. He had also not expected the absence of the king's veil to reveal blonde curls that framed his face nicely. For a moment he caught himself wondering about what he would look like without the disease. When his eyes shifted from the king to the young queen, he was taken aback greatly.

He had heard the rumors but they did her no justice. She was gorgeous. Absolutely stunning. She had long wavy dark hair, smooth caramel tan skin, and wore white robes that constrasted against her hair. He couldn't help but let his eyes linger on her a little longer than they probably should have.

Balian was brought back to reality by Baldwin clearing his throat in a passive way. “What brings you here at this time Balian?” the king asked, a hint of malice in his usally calm voice.

“Oh, um. I was hoping to seek your advice on a few things” he stumbled over his words before glancing over at y/n then back to the king. An obvious scowl formed on Baldwin’s face, “very well”. He replied coldly, no longer attempting to hide the malice in his voice.

He kissed his wife on the cheek gently before standing to follow Bailan inside. Once her husband was out of sight, y/n sat back and grinned. She adored it when he was jealous.

Bailan’s gaze was just the same as every other man that looked at her, minus the poor attempt at a seductive smirk, like most knights tried. Unlike theirs, Baldwin’s gaze was one of love and adoration. Nothing in the world compared to the way he looked at her.

She wished that he knew how deeply she felt about this but no matter how many times she told him that no man could make her feel as special as he did, he still felt anger rise in his chest whenever another man even so much as glanced in her direction. He just couldn't help it. And she loved it. It made her feel protected.

She already felt protected around Baldwin, but just knowing that he was willing to stand against another for so much as looking at her, despite his declining health, made her happy.

Y/n took a sip of her wine and sighed contently, staring into the distance. It was not long before the king returned.

The expression of contempt on his face melted away as soon as he saw her. She chuckled as he sat down. “Someones jealous,” she taunted, running a hand through his hair. Baldwin smiled at her remark. “Yes yes, I know. I just don’t appreciate prying eyes on my beautiful queen” he put his head back and stared lovingly into her eyes. 

Y/n continued to stroke her husband's hair as he told her what he and Bailan had discussed inside.

“Did you tell him off for looking at me?” y/n chuckled, half joking. “In fact I did,” Baldwin replied with a smirk. The young queen grinned and rolled her eyes, nudging his shoulder playfully. “You do not have to do such things my love, my heart is yours and nobody else's” she poked his chest with her index finger.

“I know, I just want to make sure others know that also” he said, taking her hand in his. “All I said was that ‘I don't appreciate people looking at my wife like she is something to be touched’ that is all my love. I did not hurt the man”.

Y/n shook her head with a smile. “Lets just say, I would not be opposed to you doing so” she smirked slightly, putting her head up just enough to look at him.

Baldwin raised his eyebrows at that. “Well I can assure you that if it was not for my health, I would do so” he said softly. “That is all I need to know” y/n kissed his cheek as she said that, returning to her original position, resting against his shoulder as he wrapped an arm around her waist and placed his head ontop of hers.

[risuola]

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈 ⋯ heaven lost its most beautful angel.

contents ✤ archangel!satoru x demon!reader, smut (nipple play, oral, maybe a tad bit borderline dubcon-ish?, corruption, some dirty talk), a lot of religious topics mentioned (not always in the best light), wc. 4639 ⋯ reader discretion is advised series masterlist

Born from pure nothing, Satoru has only got to know happiness. An illusion of it, a sort of safety that comes with stability in life. And it is good. He is, after all, the honored one, an archangel, the highest prince of Heaven, standing by the side of the king — God, a father of every creation, his father. Blessed by His favor, throughout centuries of existence, Satoru has only ever experienced bliss. Despite him being the last one created, the youngest of a bunch of archangels, he is the most perfect display of what God is capable of. A favorite, the purest and most innocent, a pristine mirror of excellence that could have only been made by a hand of his beloved father.

It’s beautiful, it really is. People worship divinities, the faith is blind and the angel has never had to do much to enforce the proper beliefs whenever there was a doubt born. With his role to serve God’s purpose and fulfill His will, Satoru traveled and shown up in many places in the world, making sure the evolvement of humanity goes along the lines of the greater plan. Of something a simple human isn’t capable of comprehending. But it’s endearing, he thinks.

He watches it from above, his eyes able to engulf all of the crowd — he has always had good eyes. Throughout the hundreds of years since his creation, he’s got to witness the ups and downs of people’s development and with ease on his mind he just knows that no matter what times bring and take, the faith will stay rooted into the simple mortal minds. Or so he thought before the balance of the world shifted again.

Demons and devils have never been a foreign topic in the spectrum of religion — they’re a part of what makes the good feel good, they’re what’s bad and ugly. Popping here and there from time to time they usually made for a short entertainment for Mikael’s army and Satoru remembers just few of severe conflicts that took place on earth and one that happened at the gates of Heaven. Great losses were suffered at the times, his brothers and sisters that had lost the fights will always stay in his memory, but with the progression of time, the rate of haunts and possessions didn’t go much higher. Satoru actively makes sure to eradicate every doubt that blooms in poor little hearts of the gullible and vulnerable.

“Filthy creatures,” Azrael grumbles, his voice dry and harsh as he watches alongside Satoru yet another crowd of humans that carelessly stray from the right path and into the world of sin. “Their pathetic souls are yet to cry at the gates and plead for mercy when it’s their own choices that bring them down to hells. It should be easier for them to resist such primitive urges.”

“Father has made them the way they are for a reason, brother,” the white-haired one lightens up but the angel of death beside shows no change of attitude. “Faith is a choice and not a given but even if it’s only in the face of demise, every soul that has found God at some point deserves to be blessed.”

“Sometimes it seems as if watching them for so many centuries has rubbed their naivety across your feathers, Satoru,” Azrael lets out a sigh and spreads out his wings. Large and rich in dark feathers cast a shadow looming over his brother’s stature but the younger one only smiles at the sight. There’s an exchange of appreciative nods and their ways part.

Satoru isn’t naïve. He has always been more than capable of cold-thinking and calculating his actions, despite being known for a tender heart and gentle soul. The ways in which he acts are contained in the frames of necessity, he doesn’t go for the flashy displays of power and divinity. He likes to gently encourage people, hint the right paths so that they can realize where to go and how to live the rest of the time they’re given. Most of them find what’s there to discover, an enlightenment. Lord is merciful, benevolent. There are no ends to His love.

Then why people toss it away? Silly, silly creatures.

But then, times change again and as the world evolves and church begins to lose its influence, Satoru looks around with troubled mind. It seems as if people have lost direction again, finding themselves at the crossroads with unknown ends. Wrong people are taking highest spots in the hierarchy, preaching wrong words to the wrong crowds. And it crumbles, falls like a house of cards, trapping some inside and pushing away others. It’s terrible, he thinks, as his bright blue eyes meet the cloudy surface of doubt and uncertainty. And demons, them again, thrive like they never did before.

Now more than ever, little devils crawl out of the gates of Hell and poison humanity with their heinous games. Some morph themselves into forms akin to humans, blend in and start cults in the name of Lucifer and some stay true to themselves, haunting people here and there, testing their resolves, putting their faith to trials. More and more people are leaving God’s side. It’s bad, it’s unacceptable. Those demons—

“An angel?” —demons like you; devil with a face of an angel. “Even better,” you smile, but there’s nothing but malice in the gesture, “an archangel,” you inhale the divine scent that surrounds a man in front. That’s what brought you here, to a house that seemed to be stained in his divine energy. You tend to haunt the biggest believers, it’s fun to see them crumble, but you didn’t expect an actual saint. “It must be my lucky day,” you purr. Lovely.

Satoru has been warned about you before he moved onto his quest to rid the world of the dark powers that spread its tendrils among humans and it only took a short glimpse before he knew that it’s you who his brothers have been telling him about. It’s you who is told to bring angels down to Hell, to cause their banishment from Heaven. He’s lost one of his siblings because of your wrongdoings. You’re nothing but bad news, a demon so beautiful you’d easily convert even the most devoted believer into a sinner. You’ve been spreading nothing but doubt and fear, savoring the fruit of your doings with pleasure. You’re having fun on earth, it’s much more entertaining than all hells combined. You love to hear how people blame gods for every inconvenience when you can clearly see what led them down the path of bad luck. You whisper little hints into their non-expecting ears, encourage them and watch the dread wash over their faces. It's a cruel game you play but it's rooted deeply into your nature.

“It’s an odd excitement in your voice, demon,” Satoru retorts firmly and his eyes follow you as you circle him. It’s predatory, he feels like a pray underneath your curious, taunting gaze and he nags himself for it — he’s above you, you’re just a demon. There’s nothing you can do to break his spirit, he’s above all your tricks.

“Oh, forgive me,” you lower your head, but nothing in the gesture spells disrespect more than a smirk that dances on your mouth. Slowly you make your way back in front of him and then, you plop onto the bed to your right. You bounce few times on the soft mattress and dart your head up, looking at him, challenging him. He refuses.

“You’re in no search of forgiveness.”

“What gave it away?” You’re cocky, huffing an air out of your lungs in a voiceless chuckle and tilting your head more to the side. There’s a danger to your silhouette, you’re confident. You are a sin.

Satoru lets out a sigh and his eyes narrow. “What could have not given it away?” He questions and yet another laugh cuts through the otherwise silent atmosphere of the room. It’s melodic, it’s… pretty?

“Smart boy… Your name?”

“Satoru.”

“Not truly a name I expected,” you bare your teeth in a smile and Satoru notices the sharpness of your fangs. They are not quite animalistic but much sharper than his own. It fits.

“I travel through people a lot, I have taken a name akin to their own,” he explains, keeping his tone somewhat dry as he studies you. You’re not demonic per se. In fact, you’re barely even scary if he compares you to the thousands of demons he’s encountered in his existence. They are usually tainted with darkness, often bearing features of animals or mystical creatures. Scales and horns seemed to be usual on their bodies and eyes that shown nothing but abyss, but you — you’re nothing of it. You seem too inviting. There’s attractiveness to the way you look; your eyes are a little lidded and engulfed by rows of eyelashes, your lips seem as if they were created specifically to tempt, to kiss. Your frame doesn’t stray from what Satoru would see among humans and your skin doesn’t bear any signs of disfigure or scales. If not for the aura that surrounds you and the way mischief glints in your eyes, one could easily mistake you with an actual angel. No wonder why it is so easy for you to spread doubt.

“That’s fair,” you shrug and push yourself up. As you pass Satoru, a chill runs down his back as the darkness stretches behind you. He watches as you look around the place, running your fingertips across the surface of the desk and few shelves. You touch the spines of books that decorate them, tenderly rub the top of the ceramic figure in a shape of a little cherub. There’s something cat-like in a way you curiously explore the area, seemingly oblivious to the watchful gaze that follows you.

“If turning into nothing isn’t on your list of wishes, I’d advise you to go back where you came from,” the angel speaks after a little while, taking a step into your direction and you chuckle, sparing him a short glance from the corner of your eye. It’s brief, but it makes him stop.

“Good advice,” you muse, taunting him with the intonation of the syllables and he hates how easily you throw him off balance. “I’m not the best in following instructions though.”

“You seem to struggle with more than just that.” It’s a jab and you raise your eyebrow before you fully turn towards him. It’s only an accident that you knock the little figurine off the shelf and it breaks against the hardwood floor. “Your playtime on earth is over, demon.”

“Oh, my playtime on earth has just begun, angel.”

“If you refuse to comply, I’ll be forced to take you to Heaven where you’ll be trialed and punished for every deplorable crime you have committed against the greater plan of God.”

“There’s no need for me to go up to Heaven when I see Heaven came down to me,” you chuckle, resting your eyes on his face for few seconds before you allow them to run down his figure and you admire. He is a sight to behold, a stature of toned flesh and muscles balanced into something truly divine. “I need to admit, you’re very nice on the eyes. Such a beautiful angel.”

Oh, you’re dangerous. Your voice just like honey warms Satoru from the inside out. He feels his heart rate increasing and his breathing becoming shallower as you admire him so openly. He should be used to it, he is used to being worshipped by mortals, but not by a creature of your kind. He watches you approach him, your steps confident between the ceramic pieces of a broken cherub and he feels his resolve begin to falter as you playfully prod his chest with your long, pointy nail. Then you drag it down his pectoral, run it across his stomach and he grabs your wrist before you reach his waistline.

“I will not play your games, demon,” he states, looking you in the eyes with forced calm and firm voice.

“No? You seem to be a little… troubled.”

“Do not mistake my confusion for submission. I am an archangel, I will not allow myself to be corrupted by your alluring presence,” he states a little too harshly and he hates it. There’s something so utterly irresistible about you that makes him think of giving in. It makes him want to taste the temptation and deep down he knows that he had already lost. His thoughts are consumed by the pictures of you, it’s against everything he knows, it’s against everything he is.

And it’s all that you are. A play of taunt and seduction. A wild, untamed soul entangled in dark shades of evil, a temptress with one objective rooted deeply into your core. Chaos.

“I am sure you can resist me,” you tease, getting even closer and you lean in, running the tip of your nose along the side of his neck. “Oh, you smell so good. So pure and innocent.”

“Enough.” He groans and it’s final. You laugh, but he doesn’t find it funny. Your hot breath lingers on his skin long after you distance yourself from him. Your hands raise in a mock surrender but it’s only a moment before you resume your game.

“You know what I find interesting?” A question leaves your mouth as you twirl in the dim light of the nightstand lamp and sit on top of the window edge. The night wind gently messes your hair and your eyes twinkle with the spark of playful evil. “You, angels, are always so strict and set that you don’t need any pleasure and all… why would it be?” Your tone is a derision of curiosity, you carefully pick and choose your words to form sentences obscure, unclear.

“My body has been crafted with a purpose much greater than to experience carnal needs and craves,” he says, firm on his beliefs despite the warmth coursing through his veins. “Human pleasures stand below my existence; the essence of an archangel is much more monumental. I was designed, both in mind and body, to focus solely on my duties and responsibilities, leaving no room for personal desires.” The answer is practiced, it flows in a way he’s used to tell it, however this time he knows that he’s lying to himself and everyone else. He’s lying in front of a demon, and oh, you know so well that he does. It’s amusing. It’s delicious. You want more. You want to break him.

“If that would be the case, why did your beloved god create you with a dick, huh?” You’re blunt, too blunt for Satoru’s liking but he has to let that slide, otherwise he’d flush bright red.

“My creator did not intend me to experience sexual pleasure. Instead, He believes I should focus solely on my sacred duties without being distracted by carnal desires.” He tries again, internally feeling all of his defenses crumbling and you laugh, as if you can tell the words mean nothing.

“I bet I could make you cum by as much as flicking my tongue over your nipple.”

There goes the blush. Satoru feels it creep up his chest and neck, his face and to the tips of his ears. The deep shade of crimson contrasts starkly against his pale complexion and pristine white hair and he closes his eyes, tries to compose himself but your giggles make it so difficult. You’re content, he knows it, you’re a demon, for god’s sake. It’s your tactic to break humans, a form of pulling at the most primal strings, but he’s not a human, he’s above all of them, he shouldn’t break just like that. It’s a turmoil. Satoru hates the feeling, he hates the way his body, the perfect creation designed by his father, reacts to the picture you planted into his mind. It shouldn’t be happening, why is this happening?

“Breathe, angel,” your voice is a whisper, it’s right against Satoru’s mouth. He feels your breath on his skin, the tip of your nose running down his cheek, your tongue tracing his jawline. His heart struggles to keep up, it’s too much, it’s too close, you’re too much. Inhale. Exhale. He forces himself to breathe, a little too shallow, a little too fast. His body is tense, you’re too close.

He won’t do this.

All defense mechanisms flare up in Satoru’s body, he stills, his eyes stay squeezed shut. Your hands dance atop of his shoulders, trace the shapes of his form and he feels you. You toy with him, your claws run down his chest, your fingertips tease the edges of his neckline, the white collar of his shirt. Calm down. It’s wrong, it’s so wrong, he shouldn’t feel it. Why does it feel right? It’s not right. It’s not angelic, you’re a demon, you want to corrupt him, to destroy him.

He cannot do this.

His fists clench up to his sides and you hum the softest melodies under your breath, as you lean in more and more. You exhale, but it’s different than his ragged breaths. You’re relaxed, he doesn’t have to see you to know you’re smiling. You take a step and he takes one back. It’s paralyzing. Satoru’s thoughts are overtaken by pictures of you, by pictures he has never allowed himself to project. It’s one of your tricks, isn’t it?

He can’t—

It feels warm. His whole body feels warm and it coils, somewhere below his bellybutton, a knot of tension he has yet to experience. It puts a haze to his thoughts, blurs the persistent image of your sinful tongue and he doesn’t understand it fully. A sequence of twitches and trembles send his mind into panic and he falls. His knees buckle, the edge of the mattress causes them to bend and he grabs onto the closest thing, onto you, when his body drops onto the mattress. The soft bounce ripples through him and he feels you above him. You giggle, it’s quiet and playful and it vibrates through the skin over his collarbone the moment you press your lips there.

“S-stop,” he mutters. It’s a weak plea concurring with a feeble squeeze on your hips. His eyes flare open, he feels feverish. You’re right on top of him but not quite touching him enough. Your hips are in the air, you’re taking it slow, you like to play with your prey.

“Yeah? You want me to stop?” You coo. Patronizing tone of your voice envelop him in a veil of mockery and he heats up again. Your dainty, swift fingers deal with the buttons before he has a chance to notice, his fogged-up mind struggling to keep up. “You’re gonna have to be more convincing than this, angel.”

He—

Your tongue circle around his nipple and Satoru moans. It’s a cry, a sound of an angel falling into a trap of a demon. An angel losing itself in something unholy, tasting the fruit that’s forbidden. And you smile against his skin, teasing the hardening bud with your teeth. They’re sharp against his sensitive skin and he hisses shortly before you soothe the ache with the warmth of your muscle. It’s wet and hot against his skin and Satoru’s brain short-circuit.

Your hand explores his stomach, tracing the stretched-out muscles that twitch every time you touch them. He arches off the bed, his body leaning into the sin while his mind tries to fight it — a losing battle of everything that’s divine in him against the carnal desires that weren’t supposed to be there.

Lust is a foreign concept to Satoru. He’s seen it in humans, he’s seen souls losing their purity to the wicked pleasures. He’s seen those shameless people giving into lascivious lifestyles, searching for stimulus so depraved and vulgar that each time he witnessed them, he wondered how could one’s faith loose to something so salacious. How could God create such weakness, but he believed that even the souls that lost their path in the indecency could find a way back into the Father’s grace. Would he be able to get back?

“P—haah—please,” he whimpers, pathetic against all of his instincts and his hand finds the back of your head. Your hair feels soft against his palm, like silk and honey and he shivers at the contact. You’re unbothered by his attempts, licking and sucking his delicate skin as if he’s one of those desserts people like so much.

Satoru’s nipples are swollen, the skin around them red from your frisky abuse. More and more sounds escape his mouth, it’s pathetic, how he whines underneath you, how you rendered him completely helpless. And he panics again. It feels odd, his body tenses and he doesn’t know why. Hot blood floods down his body, it feels torturously tight in his pants. He twitches, his fingers curl against your head, tugging at the beautiful threads of your hair and his eyes flutter shut.

Suddenly, it’s too hot. It’s wet, it feels sticky against his sensitive skin. A wave of relief washes over him, it tickles something inside his brain just the right way. It’s feels gratifying, addicting. Is that what pleasure feels like? Are those stars dancing in front of his eyes a sign of fulfillment? Satoru’s mind is hazy, everything feels blurry, but he relaxes into the feeling. His thigh still trembles, the lower parts of his stomach muscles contract a little less now, a little slower and he feels it in his pants. It’s satisfying, it’s foreign. It’s a bliss.

“Did my beautiful, beautiful angel made a mess?” You coo once more and it sounds a little less mocking than all of your previous sentences. Or maybe it’s Satoru’s mind playing tricks on him.

“Y-yeah… I think I did,” he pants out. His eyes are fixed on the ceiling, on the heavens above and he wonders if He saw that? Father sees everything. Have Satoru’s brothers also witnessed that? Were they enjoying the front row seats to his demise?

You’re already on your way down, pressing sinful kisses to his sacred body as your fingers undo the button of his pants and pull down the zipper. “Oh, don’t worry, I’ll clean you up,” you purr, inhaling the intoxicating scent of him. You pull the fabric down. His boxers are wet as you peel them off his body. Hot strings of cum stretch between his skin and underwear, it coats his cock and the flesh around it, trickling down to his balls.

You gasp at the sight, it’s truly a vision of pure angelic glory. He’s hard, still, the veins pulsate ever so slightly around the thick girth, leading your eyes to the pink, glistening tip. “You surely are his favorite,” you muse before your tongue darts out, eager to taste him.

Satoru’s breath hitches in his chest and he hesitates to look down. Maybe if he doesn’t see it, it won’t be as bad of a sin, maybe it’s not his end. But it sure does feel good. Is he allowed to feel good? He moves his head, eyes dropping lower until they meet the sight of you. You shot him a smile, a grin worthy of a devil as you lap at the white seed sticking to his flesh. It’s lewd, the way your tongue works around his curves and edges. He hears your soft purr; he feels it every time your lips close around the sensitive tip of his cock. It’s messy, your chin is slick from his spent, there’s some on the tip of your nose, it coats your reddened mouth and greedy fingers. “You taste divine,” you murmur, tracing the underside of his member with the flat of your tongue and then, your hand wraps around him. The gentle pressure squeezes a moan out of Satoru’s mouth. He can’t look away. Not when your eyes are fixed on him. He sees the glint of mischief in the color of your eyes, it’s almost reddish as it glows in the dim lights.

You play with him, eliciting moan after moan from his troubled body, feeding of the internal turmoil that seeps through his skin making him that much more delectable. Your mouth works in tandem with the steady pumps of your hand and you feel him twitching already. He’s so innocent, so inexperienced that you just know he’s gonna come too soon, but it excites you. You want more from him, he’s sweet on your tongue, addicting. And oh, isn’t he beautiful? With his face contorting in pleasure, his cheeks flushed in an adorable shade of deep red and eyebrows drawn together. His lips red and bitten, parted just slightly to let all those sweet whimpers escape. His eyes are blissfully glazed, the blue oceans wet with tears and shaky. What a sight.

And then he moans again, those cerulean orbs disappear from your vision as his lids drop down. His back lifts off the bedsheets, hands clenching against the soft cotton and you see his head tilting back as orgasm overwhelms him. His hips buck upwards, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat as he sprouts his seed, painting the inside of your mouth white. You pump him through it, prolonging the pleasure.

“What a sight,” you purr, licking away any traces of sin from his skin. “All clean. It’s as if nothing happened,” and here is your usual taunt. “Well, I guess your boxers do give it away, aren’t they?”

He doesn’t respond. Heart trashes in Satoru’s chest as he slowly comes down from the intense high he’s experienced, he gasps on air desperately and releases all the tensed muscles. A smile stretches his lips, he huffs at first, and then laughs helplessly, as tears run down his cheekbones.

“You’re gonna leave me here, broken and useless,” he says, as you climb upwards and lean to kiss the salty drops off his face. “Are you happy? I bet you are, demon.”

His tone is odd, it’s both colder than before and softer at the same time. It’s accusing, it’s hopeless. “I can’t say I’m not satisfied,” you tell him and he scoffs, turning his head towards you and you drop onto the bed next to his defeated body. There’s a sin now engraved down to the very morrow of his bones, his chastity stained irrevocably and his soul threatening to shatter. “But I don’t wish to leave you here to your demise.”

“Oh no? What do you wish for then?”

“Besides the obvious desire to fuck you, I’d be content if you stayed with me here, on earth.”

“So vulgar,” he exhales, his body both cringing at the sound and getting excited all over again. “I was not created to fuck.”

“I think I proved my point that you’re perfectly capable of those primitive carnal desires you declined so much.”

Satoru closes his eyes. How did that happen, how could that happen? It must’ve been a cruel joke. He’s an archangel, God’s favorite, he’s the honored one. He was supposed to be above all demonic tricks and seductions, those devilish powers have never reached him for hundreds of years. And now, what is he supposed to do?

“I suppose heaven won’t take me back now,” he mutters, more to himself than anyone else. Maybe if he seeks penance, maybe if he atones for his sins.

“What a shame,” you muse, cupping his cheek in your palm. Your finger trace idle circles into the skin over his cheekbone; it’s a delicate touch and you feel how hot his face is, damp from the tears and flushed. “Heaven lost its most beautiful angel.”

taglist: @nerdiel-has-no-braincells @li7wakwnsekzebby @vanshoe @myahfig4 @suguruscousin @ressyshi @dcvilxswish @erenjvegerrr @crywolfix @wildheart03-blog @elliotsbeigeguitar @mi-mosaa

[carefreecoffee]

Flufftober Day 15: Early Mornings w/ Shouta Aizawa

Word count: 2.2k, Gender-Neutral reader

The birds outside chirp softly with the crickets within the tallgrass. The world is silent as it arises from its slumber. The shuffling of a duvet inhabits the crisp air within the room.

There's a gentle sigh from your lover, the morning light filtering in and catching his tired eyes. As he slowly wakes, he looks over to you, still fast asleep beside him. A small, soft smile rests on his lips. He brings up a hand under the covers to brush a few locks of hair from your eyes, the touch light to not disturb you.

Slowly, he sits up, propping himself up against the pillows; watching you sleep with an almost content look in his eyes. His fingers brush along your cheek, tracing gently along the soft skin. He lets out a soft hum, enjoying the moment, and letting the quiet of the room fill the space between you.

You shuffle the lingering touch, clutching the pillow underneath you with a dazed grasp. A quiet chuckle leaves his lips as he watches you, finding your movements and the sounds you make cute. He brushes a hand through his messy hair, pushing it back a bit, and glances over to the nearby clock; he had woken up a bit earlier than he usually did. He lays back down beside you, shifting closer so that he can press himself flush against your chest, one lean-muscled arm slung across you as he presses a soft kiss against the flat of your forehead.

A small hum emits from your lips, awakening slightly. “Hmm, Shouta..?” He smiles against your head, wrapping his arm a bit tighter around you. His hand rests lightly on your lower back, pressing in a bit, as he leaves a few more soft kisses against your skin.

"Good morning, darling" His voice was still laced with the remnants of sleep, the gravelly chords filling your ears like music.

You hum contently at his ministrations, running a hand up and into his wild black locs and giving a feather soft peck to his forehead.

He sighs lightly, shuffling to bury his head into your shoulder, his hair brushing against your skin. He can't help but smile at the affectionate gesture, closing his eyes for a moment.

There's a comfortable silence as he just holds you tightly against him, simply basking in the moment and enjoying the feeling of being close to you.

After a few moments, he lifts his head again, his eyes opening as he peers at you. His free hand, the one not resting on your back, moves up to brush the fallen hair from your face again, caressing your cheek gently with his calloused thumb. He lets out a soft hum, his gaze flicking to look at the clock once more.

He let out a quiet sigh as the clock mockingly looked back at him; it was a weekend, but knowing he had a patrol later that evening made his heart dim. He knew he should start getting up, but how could he with such an angel as you in his grasp? The thought alone makes him grumble internally, not wanting to leave just yet.

He turns his gaze back to you, still laying flush against him, smiling softly to himself as the thought of not being able to leave and go on patrol seemed more and more appealing by the minute.

Your eyes flutter open slowly, adjusting to the soft pinkish light casting in from the adjacent window. Your eyes finally met his onyx one. The sun coming in from behind him made him look ethereal, like a gift from heaven.

You bring your hand up from its resting place, landing it upon the patch that covered the scarred area around his right eye, tracing it with admiration and care.

His smile turns a bit softer, a bit more genuine, as he feels your fingers around the skin of his socket. He turns his head slightly, leaning into your touch with a content sigh. His own eyes flicker down, taking in your features in the soft morning light, a hint of warmth in his gaze. He lifts his head to kiss your fingertips one by one. An action he had found himself doing more and more as a symbol of trust.

“Mornin’, Sho” You grin, raking your hand through his scalp once more, pulling the strands out of his face just for them to sway back into place.

His hand, still on your back, slowly moves up and down in a soothing, repetitive motion, tracing patterns against your skin.

“Mornin’” He shifts slightly, moving even closer to you so that he can nuzzle against your neck again.

“How'd you sleep, love?” Holding him closer, you stifle a laugh as his hair grazes your sensitive skin.

He closes his eyes again, a peaceful expression crossing his features, and he lets out a soft sigh. "Better than usual." He lets out a soft chuckle, his voice still rough from sleep, but there's a soft tenderness to it. He kisses your shoulder again before speaking up again.

"Being with you makes sleeping so much better.” That was one of the highest compliments you think you could ever receive from the ever so sleepy man, it made you feel a warm feeling within your heart. “Same here. I think that was one of the best nights of sleep I've gotten in a while.”

He chuckles, knowing full well that he can't disagree with you; he slept better than he did on most nights too. "I agree. And I'm sure you've heard this plenty of times from me but, you're very comfortable to lay against." He smiles against your shoulder, pressing a few more light kisses against your skin.

You giggle, “Awe you're such a softy in the morning, Sho” A light flush crosses his cheeks at the description. He grumbles softly, nuzzling his head into your shoulder in an attempt to hide it. He lets out a quiet huff of breath before grumbling out in a slightly grumpy tone, although he's obviously not mad in the slightest. "I am not a softy. That's a ridiculous accusation…"

“Mhm, sure” You yawn, basking in the sunlight as you stretch out an arm towards the ceiling comfortably. He watches you intently, his gaze roaming across your form as you stretch. There's a small, amused smile on his lips as he watches you relax against him again. He brings the hand from your back up, resting it once on your head, gently brushing the hair from your face so he can look at you properly. Work was going to suck after this.

You glance at him once more, noticing his eyes soften but there seemed to be a hint of dissatisfaction behind them. You bring your hand up to the scruff growing along on his face, “Got patrol today?” His expression falters for a moment, a familiar frown pulling at the corners of his lips. He leans into your touch, the feeling of your hand against his cheek comforting in a way.He nods slightly, “Yeah. Later in the evening. I won't be gone too long, though..”

You nod in understandment before pitching up. “You wanna go out for breakfast or stay in?” He hums in thought, his fingers still gently brushing through your hair. He takes a moment to think about it, the idea of staying home with you sounds very appealing. "I'd like to stay in, if that's alright with you." You grin, secretly hoping that’d be his answer to such an early morning endeavor. “Of course” You smile softly, “I'm gonna go to the bathroom. Would you wanna start the coffee?”

He smiles in return, nodding and giving you a soft squeeze before loosening his hold on you, letting you get up. He watches as you go, a hint of disappointment in his eyes, but it doesn't last long. He gets up as well, ruffling his still mushed hair as he heads to the kitchen to start up the coffee maker.

He goes about starting the coffee, waiting patiently for the pot to be filled. In the meantime, he takes out various mugs and sugar and cream, setting them all out on the countertop. His mind begins to wander as he waits; thinking about the day ahead, the patrol in the evening, and even later in the night when he’ll be able to come back to your presence.

When the pot finally beeps, signifying that it's full, he takes out the full pot, pouring coffee into the two mugs and taking a hearty sip from his– black.

You finish up your morning routine, walking into the kitchen in just his shirt and some shorts, wrapping your arms around him lightly in a quick hug, “Thanks, Sho”

He feels your arms wrap around him turning to you slightly so he can look at you. His gaze runs over your form, eyes lingering on the sight of you in his shirt, and he can't help but smirk a bit at the sight before returning to his normal deadpan mantra. He brings up a hand to brush some of your hair behind your ear. “Of course, darling”

You hum and make your coffee how you like it, then taking a deliberate sip, enjoying the hot beverage. You put it onto the counter and begin making a quick breakfast.

He watches you intently, leaning against the counter as you go about making breakfast, taking the occasional sip of coffee as he watches everything you're doing. There's a warmth in his gaze as he looks; a sense of calm and comfort in the domestic nature of the situation. It's not until the smell of the food cooking floats through the kitchen that he snaps out of a slight trance, his attention focusing solely on you once more.

“Could you grab some bowls for us please?” Your eyes dont leave the food as he absentmindedly nods, taking a final sip of his coffee before setting down the mug. He walks up to the cabinets, grabbing two bowls and setting them down next to you. He stands behind you for a moment, watching you over your shoulder, before wrapping his arms lightly around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder.

You smile, patting the rice into both bowls and topping it with the cooked egg, along with some of your preferred toppings. You pass him his bowl, leading into the living room as the two of you sit next to one another comfortably on the couch. The sun was still rising, casting a warm orangey-pink glow into his living room.

Shouta had always been a minimalist. It's just how he preferred to live and honestly you admired it in all of its cleanliness.He shifts slightly so that he's sitting just a bit closer than before, your thighs pressed lightly together. He can't help but enjoy this closeness, as he rarely gets to experience moments like this– especially mornings when he usually had work at UA.

The silence of clinking and eating had come to an end after a little, with you finishing first, settling your bowl onto the center table. Another wave of sleepiness hits you; It seems the food only made you feel more relaxed and homely as you curled into his side, “Good idea to stay in… I think I'm still a bit tired.”

He smiles softly, setting his own bowl down as well. He wraps an arm gently around your shoulders, pulling you closer, resting his head on top of yours. "Good idea indeed. I think I'm a little tired too.. Might as well get some more sleep in before tonight." You chuckle, “You’re always a little sleepy, Sho”

He grumbles a bit under his breath this time. He doesn't deny it, though, knowing full well you’re correct. He rubs his fingers against your arm lightly as he holds you against him, a small pout now on his face. "I suppose that's true…"

The two of you sit in comfortable silence for a while, the morning quiet and peaceful. The sun continues to rise outside, casting a warm glow into the room. Shouta continues to hold you against him, his eyes closed and listening to the sound of your breathing as you rest against his side.

He lets out a small sigh, the small pout slowly dissipating from his face as a calm expression takes its place. Although the scars and bags under his eyes mark his face harshly, he looks almost peaceful. A small string of words leaves your lips as your face stays buried within him.

He opens his eyes, eyebrows furrowing a bit. He turns his gaze downward a bit, looking down at you. "Mmm… What was that, love?"

“…. I love you”

A smile crosses his lips at your words. He tightens his hold on you ever so slightly. He gives you a slight squeeze and hums quietly, his voice still low, "I love you too, darling…"

One of his arms stays wrapped around your shoulders, holding you close to him, while the other lifts up. He brings it up to your face, gently brushing the strays hairs from it and tucking it behind your ear. He lets his fingers linger against your skin for a moment, tracing gently over the soft flesh of your cheek, before letting his arm lower back down again. He finally leans his head against yours, closing his eyes again and simply enjoying the quiet moment as the world slowly awakes outside.

[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. 

____________________________________________

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…

____________________________________________

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

[joelalorian]

Fall Into Me - Chapter Ten: I'd give you my life from now 'til forever

dbf!joel x f!reader | WC: 4,103 | E 18+ mdni

Series Summary: Joel is hanging on by a thread as a single father to a tenacious 10-year-old Sarah. Feeling like he's drowning, like the world is about to spit him out, he needs some help before he breaks in half. At your dad's insistence, you show up in his life and change everything.

Chapter Tags/Warnings: Explicit, under 18 take a hike. No outbreak AU. Lots of feelings. Joel is his own warning. Morning oral (f! and m! receiving). Angst/despair - I'm sorry, but this was planned from the beginning. Please excuse my lack of medical knowledge. Age gap of about 9 years (Reader 24/25, Joel 33/34). No use of y/n. Reader has a nickname used only by her dad and Joel uses various terms of endearment (darlin', sweetheart, etc.).

Thank you so much to everyone who reads this self-indulgent story and extra thanks to those who comment and/or reblog - you all make me feel like a rock star!

Moodboard by the lovely @mrsmando. Dividers by the wonderful @saradika-graphics

Chapter Nine | Main Masterlist

The soft rays of the morning sun filtered through a break in the blackout curtains, casting a warm glow across the otherwise dark room. You slowly woke up, momentarily disoriented as you took in the surroundings. The scent of freshly brewed coffee wafted through the air, mingling with the comforting aroma of Joel’s particular scent – that heady combination of fresh cut wood, hints of his lingering bodywash, and masculine musk. You turned your head and saw Joel sleeping peacefully beside you, his features relaxed in the early light, making him look almost boyish as curls flopped over his forehead.

For a moment, you simply watched him, your heart swelling with a mix of emotions—gratitude, excitement, and a hint of nervousness. The reality of your new life together settled in, bringing with it a sense of both promises and unknown challenges.

The coffee scent floating up the stairs called to you, but you remained in bed, scooting closer to Joel. You needed to do something special to celebrate your first morning as an official resident of the Miller household. Your hand crept beneath the covers, fingertips tracing down Joel’s bare chest and belly in a barely-there touch. They danced along the waistband of his boxer briefs, gliding over the front of the material to tease his morning wood.

Your touches light and soft, Joel didn’t waken, leaving you feeling emboldened. Slipping his hardened length through the hidden opening in his underwear, you savored the velvety soft skin of his hard cock. You glanced at Joel’s face to find his eyes still closed, breathing steady. Subtly shifting down the bed, you ducked under the covers to swipe the bead of pre-cum from the head with your tongue.

Clocking the hitch in his breath, you paused before wrapping your lips around him, sucking his cock into your mouth. You worked him with long, slow movements, taking him as deep as you could without choking, your tongue licking along the prominent vein on the underside of his cock. When your teeth scraped lightly over the bulbous head, Joel groaned.

“Oh, shit.” The blanket lifted with a flick of his wrist, exposing the sight of you sucking his cock to his dark, sleepy gaze. “What are you doing down there, darlin’?”

You audibly popped his cock from your mouth without breaking eye contact, grinning up at him. “Just showing what you what living with me is like,” you teased before ducking your head back down to finish what you started.

“Have I died and gone to heaven?” Joel gasped, hips bucking with the sensations running through him. “You’re gonna have me comin’ in seconds, darlin’. Fuck.”

Hearing how close to the edge he was, you got a little sloppy, taking him impossibly further down your throat, nearly gagging as you slurped at his hardened length. Hollowing your cheeks, you damn near sucked his soul out and Joel came, hard, a flood of cum filling your mouth in near endless spurts. Joel’s hands buried themselves in your hair, holding you down on his cock until he finished.

You sat up, tossing the covers back, and watched Joel’s chest heave as you wiped away an errant drop of cum from your lips with one finger. You smiled lovingly at the satisfied man laying before you, heart overflowing with love and utter want for a life with him. You leaned forward to place your finger at his lips, offering up a little taste of himself. When Joel sucked your finger into his mouth, you quickly replaced it with your lips.

Before you even knew what happened, Joel flipped you onto your back. The broadness of him engulfed you, mouth on yours as one of his hands wandered down to slip beneath the hem of your panties. He had you purring within seconds with confident flicks of a thick finger on your clit. Too soon, Joel slipped down your body to replace his finger with his mouth. You briefly mourned the loss of his mouth against yours, but his tongue worked its magic, teasing you until you were nothing but a puddle of pleasure under his control. An orgasm crashed over you within minutes as he sucked at your clit and lapped up your juices.

Boneless and deliciously satisfied, you watched with hazy eyes as he crawled back up your body and captured your lips in a kiss. Tasting the heady mix of you and him combined, you pulled him closer, slipping your tongue into his mouth to tangle with his. The kiss left you both breathless.

“I love you,” Joel whispered against your lips before peppering your face with tender kisses. “I’m so happy you moved in, darlin’.

“Me, too. I love you, Joel. This just feels so…” you couldn’t find the right word to describe how perfect it all was, being here, with him, starting this next step in your lives together.

“I know, I feel it, too,” Joel confirmed with a warm smile, his baby cow eyes gazing at you in that way that made you melt.

The two of you stayed cuddled in bed for a little longer before deciding it was time to start the day. Joel hopped in the shower as you headed downstairs. You made your way to the kitchen, where the fresh pot of coffee greeted you thanks to the preset timer. A smile crept onto your face as you noticed the note Joel had left on the counter next to the coffeemaker, written in his familiar print.

Good morning, darlin’. Welcome home.

The simplicity of the message touched you deeply, a small gesture that encapsulated the warmth and acceptance you felt in his presence. You poured yourself a cup of coffee, savoring the quiet moments of the morning before Joel and Sarah joined you.

As you sat at the kitchen table, your mind wandered to the events that had led you here. The decision to move in together had been both exhilarating and daunting. Blending your lives was a big step, but it felt right. Joel and Sarah had welcomed you with open arms, and you were determined to make this new chapter as seamless as possible.

The sound of footsteps brought you back to the present. You looked up to see Joel, his hair damp from the shower and a broad grin on his face.

“Morning,” he greeted with a laugh, as if you didn’t wake him up in the best way possible a mere half hour ago.

“Morning,” you snickered, tilting your head back for a kiss.

When he sat next to you with his own cup of coffee in hand, you couldn’t contain the happiness bubbling up within you. “I love you, Joel. So much.”

He squeezed your hand gently, pulling your chair closer so he could kiss you again. “I love you more, darlin’. You bein’ here, movin’ in with us, makes our circle complete.”

Just then, the sound of Sarah’s footsteps echoed down the stairs, breaking the tranquility of the morning in a pleasant way. She appeared in the doorway, rubbing her eyes and looking adorably disheveled.

“Morning,” she mumbled, making her way to the table. She stopped next to her usual chair for a beat before stepping past it to slide into Joel’s lap. You smiled at her, one hand reaching out to smooth over her wild curls.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” you greeted, pouring her a glass of orange juice.

As the three of you sat together, sharing the first of many breakfasts in your new home, you felt a profound sense of belonging. And so, the first morning of your new life together began, with the promise of many more to come.

The rest of the school year passed in a blur. Settling into life with the Millers proved easier than you ever imagined. Waking up next to Joel every morning became your favorite part of the day, followed by climbing into bed next to him each night.

Sarah flourished under your care, thriving with the attention and guidance that came with you as a mother figure. She constantly peppered you with questions, always asking for your opinion on a matter even if she already talked to Joel about it. You wondered how you got so lucky to have such a wonderful child in your life, especially when she gave you a homemade card for Mother’s Day, bringing you to tears. I can’t wait to call you Mom, the message read in Sarah’s little print, her handwriting so much like her father’s, just messier. You cried on Joel’s shoulder for an hour after the little girl bounced out of the room, Joel’s eyes shining with tears of his own.

You finally introduced Joel to your best friend. Emily charmed him just as much as she was charmed by him. Her husband hit it right off with Joel, and Tommy, too, and double dates quickly became a thing you all tried to do monthly.

Things weren’t always perfect, though. This was real life, after all. Things went sideways sometimes – small grievances, mostly, often relating to miscommunications or long, stressful days at work as you all adapted to sharing your lives together. You and Joel had a rule though – always talk it out and never go to bed mad. It worked well for the both of you, and without even realizing it, you were setting an example for Sarah on what healthy, loving relationships should look like.

You never knew it could be like this, not really. There was such beauty in this life you shared with them, even in the imperfections, that it was as close to perfect as it ever could be. That’s why it was so devastating when this wonderful new life you all built together nearly came crashing down the last day of school.

“Enjoy your summer everyone! Don’t let everything you learned this year leak out your ears!” you called as the final bell of the day rang for the last time until August. Watching the last of the sixth graders pile out of your classroom, you sunk down in your chair.

A whirlwind. That was the only suitable word to describe your first teaching experience. Equal parts exhausted and exhilarated, you longed for the summer break to last forever yet couldn’t wait to return next school year.

Knowing how excited Sarah would be to get the summer started, you submitted the final grades and packed your things. You’d come back next week to finish out any leftover tasks. The young girl bounced into the room just as you slid the chair under the desk.

“Hey nugget!” you greeted. “All set to start summer vacation?”

“Hi!” Sarah waved excitedly. “Yes! Can we get ice cream on the way home?”

This girl and her sweet tooth. She looked at you with those big eyes, dark and soft just like her dad’s, knowing you couldn’t say no.

“Twist my arm, why dontcha,” you teased. Wrapping an arm around Sarah’s shoulders, you led her from the room and down the hallway. Wishing a few of your colleagues a relaxing summer, you and Sarah made your way through the front doors and down the stairs to your car.

“Ok, ice cream time!”

Sarah beamed at you, chattering away excitedly about which flavor she wanted as you drove out of the parking lot. The ice cream place she wanted to go to was conveniently on the way home and you turned left onto the main street through town. The traffic light jut ahead was green and you drove into the intersection without thought, your eyes scanning for a parking spot just ahead on the right.

You never saw the pickup truck swerve around cars as it approached the intersection, blowing the red light at speed. One second, you’re driving along with Sarah chatting away, debating whether she should get chocolate peanut butter or cookie dough ice cream. The next second, the deafening, grinding sound of metal on metal hit your ears the same time your body jolted roughly, airbag deployed in your face crunching your nose. Screams echoed through the car, though you weren’t sure if they were from you or Sarah. Most likely both.

The truck hit the driver’s side of your car with such force that it rolled over sideways, twice, tossing your bodies around. Disoriented and dizzy, you tried to look at Sarah, to calm her screams as the car tumbled, but everything happened so quick. You barely registered the sharp pricks of broken glass in your skin as the windows and windshield gave away. You lost consciousness as the car slid to a stop on its roof.

Joel tore through the hospital doors, straight to the emergency room, his heart pounding so loud in his chest it echoed in his ears and threatened to burst straight through his ribcage. Tommy raced behind him, on the phone with JB to let him know what happened. Joel never thought he’d get a call like this. He couldn’t even drive, his entire body shaking after he answered the call from the hospital. He almost thought it some awful joke, but the hospital official insisted it was real. Tommy had to reach into the front pocket of Joel’s jeans for the keys, ushering his big brother into the truck before hurrying to the hospital.

Already familiar with this particular ER, after one too many construction-related injuries to his crew or himself over the years, Joel rushed through the halls without bothering to check in. Tommy stopped to get their visitor passes, calling out the rooms Sarah and you were supposed to be in before Joel turned a corner out of sight.

His heart was torn between who to check on first – you or Sarah – but he knew you’d want him to check on Sarah first. Joel could practically hear your sweet voice in his head, telling him not to be ridiculous, to obviously go to Sarah. It almost made him smile. Instead, it crushed his soul, reminding him that he didn’t know when the next time he’d hear your voice might be.

Skidding to a stop in front of Room 5, Joel couldn’t hold back the tears that sprang to his eyes at the sight of his baby girl lying battered in the too-large hospital bed, an IV attached to her little arm. He watched from the doorway, unable to move further for long moments as he took in the contusions on her sweet little face and along her arms, her right wrist in a cast. Heart in his throat, Joel only moved when Tommy appeared behind him.

“JB’s on his way. He’s at a job site in the next town over, so he’ll be a while. Have you checked on her yet?” Joel never heard Tommy speak so softly, so seriously. It made things seem so much worse. Tommy rarely took things seriously, so it must be bad. Still, it propelled him forward.

Finally stepping into Sarah’s room, Joel shook his head. He tried to speak, but the words stuck in his throat. His heart thudded painfully in his chest, stealing his breath as he drew closer to Sarah’s side. The little girl appeared to be sleeping, and Joel hoped that was the case and not that she was unconscious, but logically, he knew the truth just by the significant bruising on her sweet, little face.

Tommy’s hand gripped Joel’s shoulder when he dropped to his knees next to his daughter, a broken sob fighting its way through the knot in his chest. “Baby girl,” he murmured, stroking one large hand over her head, red-rimmed eyes scanning for more injuries.

“Imma go check on your girl, ok? Just stay here. Sarah needs you,” Tommy said, his voice sounding like he was talking underwater to Joel’s ears. Seeing his brother fall apart, Tommy hesitated. Was it smart to leave him like this? He’d never seen Joel like that, so broken, but someone needed to be there for you while Joel was here for Sarah, at least until your dad got there. With one last worried glance at his brother, Tommy left.

Arriving at the room he was told you’d be in, just a few doors down from Sarah’s, Tommy found it empty, too much blood puddled and smeared on the floor, and discarded medical gloves scattered around it all. His heart plummeted. “No. No, no, no, no!” He started to panic, thinking it meant the worst possible outcome. How would he tell Joel? Or your dad? Or worse still, little Sarah? It would destroy them. Would they ever recover from such a loss?

Turning his back on the room, Tommy slammed one fist against the corridor wall, the other held to his mouth as his teeth sunk into the flesh of his fingers to prevent himself from shouting. Tears sprung to his eyes that had nothing to do with the self-inflicted pain in his hands. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t tell them that you were…

“Can I help you?” A nurse passing by stopped at the sight of him bent over, gasping for breath, fighting back any further emotional outburst. “Are you ok?”

Nodding, Tommy stood to full height and blinked rapidly to clear his vision. God, he couldn’t even remember the last time he cried and now he suddenly felt like he’d never stop.

“Are you looking for someone?” the nurse pressed.

He pointed wordlessly over his shoulder to the room, hand shaking as he caught sight of the blood again when his head turned. The nurse caught on quick, placing a comforting hand on Tommy’s back.

“Oh! No. No, it’s not what you think,” she reassured, saying your full name. “She’s in rough shape, lost a lot of blood as you can see, so they brought her right into surgery. We’re just waiting on the environmental staff to clean up the room. If you take a seat in the waiting room, we’ll give you an update on her condition as soon as we can.”

“Oh, thank fucking God!” Tommy gasped, relief washing over him in a wave. “I thought she died and started to panic over how I would tell my brother or her dad.”

“She’s not out of the woods yet, but she should be ok. The finest surgical team is working on your friend.” Flashing an empathetic smile, the nurse gently led him toward the waiting room, but he stopped once they reached Sarah’s room.

“My niece is in here. I think I’ll wait in here for now if that’s ok. You’ll make sure to keep us posted, right?” Tommy entered the room once the nurse nodded. Joel remained in the same place, hand smoothing over Sarah’s hair in a gentle, rhythmic motion as the tears streamed down his face, soaking the sheets next to her left arm. Tommy felt his heart shatter watching his brother, the tiny shards piercing his chest with visceral pain.

“She’s in surgery,” Tommy choked on the words. “She lost a lot of blood.”

Joel turned devastated, watery eyes on him, but before either of them could say another word, a police officer walked into the room. “Mr. Miller?” the young officer inquired, Tommy and Joel both nodded and he cleared his throat. “Uh, Joel Miller?”

At that, Joel stood, wiping away the tears with a rough swipe of his hand. “That’s me,” he said, voice rough and scratchy.

“Ok. Could we have a word in private, sir?” The officer glanced between Joel and Tommy, uncertain.

Joel cleared his throat heavily. “This is my brother, Tommy. He can hear whatever you have to say.”

“Alright, sir. I’m Officer Grant, the responding officer to the accident. I just wanted to meet with you to gather some information.”

Joel’s expression darkened, brows pulling together. “What kinda information?”

Officer Grant shuffled closer with hesitant steps, pulling a notepad from a small pocket on the front his vest. “Just the usual. We’re trying to confirm witness statements and make sure we have all the facts about the accident, sir. Let’s start with the basics. Sarah Miller is your daughter?”

“Yes,” Joel grunted with annoyance. He stepped back to Sarah’s side, pulling a chair over to sit close to her.

“Were you aware that your daughter was in the car with a Miss, uh…” Officer Grant glanced down at his notes, stating your name.

“Yes.”

The officer gulped. “Ok, I just had to confirm it wasn’t a kidnapping situation.”

“Uh huh.” Quickly losing his patience, Joel glanced at Tommy for help.

“Could you, uh, tell us how the accident happened? No one’s told us anything other than there was one,” Tommy interjected.

“Oh.” Officer Grant’s eyes shifted between Joel, Tommy, and Sarah’s prone form on the bed. “Shit. I’m sorry, I should have started with that rather than interrogating you.”

“Damn straight,” Joel mumbled under his breath.

“A drunk driver failed to stop at a traffic light and hit the car your daughter and, uh—”

“Girlfriend,” Tommy interjected at the dark look on his brother’s face. “It’s his girlfriend, soon to be fiancé, we hope.”

“If she fucking survives,” Joel sighed, tears springing to his eyes again.

Grimacing, the officer continued. “The driver struck their car as they proceeded through the intersection, causing it to roll twice.”

“Fuck,” Tommy breathed with a glance at his unconscious niece. “I’m guessing the drunk driver hit the driver’s side of their car, just based on Sarah’s injuries?”

“That’s correct.”

Tommy nodded, watching Joel out of the corner of his eye. His head hung low, shoulders shaking as he fought off the sobs.

“Did you get the guy, at least?” Joel asked without looking up, his voice breaking on every other word. He was a wreck, on the verge of a panic attack.

“Yes, sir. We got him. His blood alcohol level was three times the legal limit,” Officer Grant admitted. “He’s in lockup now. He won’t get out of this one.”

After a prolonged period of silence, the only sounds in the room a mix of beeps from the machines monitoring Sarah’s stats and Joel’s sniffles, Officer Grant excused himself. Tommy took a seat in the remaining chair across from the foot of Sarah’s bed. Out of his depth, he had no idea what to do or say to his brother.

A nurse just finished checking Sarah’s vitals, letting them know more details about her injuries, when JB walked in. “Oh, nugget,” he said mournfully at the sight of his favorite little girl, and he moved to Joel’s side to place a comforting hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “How’s she doing?”

Joel’s shoulders lifted with the sheer effort of trying to breathe. “She has a concussion and hasn’t regained consciousness yet. Scrapes and bruises, but no broken bones aside from her wrist, thankfully.”

JB nodded, the hand still on Joel’s shoulder squeezed once, twice. “She’s young and strong, son. Our little nugget will heal quickly, I promise.”

Joel could do little more than nod, his eyes glued to his little girl’s face, praying she’d wake up soon. He wanted so badly to believe your dad, to trust in what he promised, but…

“Any word on Spud? They told me at the nurse’s station that she’s still in surgery, but they couldn’t tell me anything else.” JB’s voice became choked with tears at the end, emotion taking over at the thought of his own baby girl being so severely injured.

Shaking his head, Joel could barely get the words out. “We haven’t heard anything either. We haven’t even seen her yet.” He paused for a minute before lifting his head to look up at JB, bottom lip wobbling. “What if…”

“No, son. Don’t say it. Don’t think it,” JB warned, pulling Joel to his feet despite their size difference. He placed his hands on Joel’s shoulders, jostling them a little to get Joel to meet his gaze. Two sets of teary, bloodshot eyes stared at each other. “My baby girl is strong, just like yours. She’s a fighter. She won’t leave you, us. She would never, not if she could help it.”

“I don’t know if I’d survive if she did, JB,” Joel said, his voice so small and broken. He practically collapsed against JB, forcing the older man to support him as he cried openly against JB’s shoulder.

Even Tommy couldn’t fight the tears threatening to slip down his cheeks as JB pulled Joel into the tightest hug, the two fathers clinging to each other in a mix of despair and hope as they worried about their little girls.

tbc

I'm sorry. if it's any consolation, I brought tears to my own eyes writing this.

Taglist: @mellymbee @untamedheart81 @anoverwhelmingdin @runningmom94 @leilanixx

@pedropascalfan221 @lovelyjess69 @sarahhxx03 @sofiparallel @tammythr

@lulawantmula @islacharlotte @allyourfavesinoneblog @lover-of-books-and-tea @pedropascalsbbg

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@deninoe @casssiopeia @caitlynsixxx @skysmiller @missladym1981

@marirxse @lizzie-cakes @tynakub @subconsciouscollapse @babygabe @cuteanimalmama

[justlemmeadoreyou]

An Eternal Embarce*

(a hades!harry x persephone!y/n story)

in which Persephone is back after 6 months, and the Underworld blossoms once again. Tensions arise too, but there is nothing that the king of Underworld and Queen of Spring can't handle together

Word Count: 7.7k (she's long)

Warnings: 18+ content, two smut scenes, almost 3k words of filth, oral (f receiving, mentions of m receiving), unprotected sex

(please don't read if you are under 18)

(i worked really hard on this, please don't let it flop)

The Underworld was buzzing with excitement as Hades, also known as Harry, eagerly awaited the return of his beloved Persephone. It had been six months since she went up to the mortal realm, leaving him to rule the shadowy realms alone. The air in the Underworld seemed charged with an otherworldly energy, as if the entire realm was eager for the return of the goddess of spring.

As autumn's chill embraced the realms, the anticipation in the underworld grew. Harry felt a mix of excitement and longing as he waited for his queen's return. The portal shimmered, and Persephone, or Yn, stepped through, casting a radiant glow in the room. A soft smile adorned her lips, and the enchanting aroma of blooming flowers and the essence of spring filled the space.

As Persephone returns to the underworld, the atmosphere undergoes a subtle transformation. The dim-lit halls, once draped in shadows, seem to awaken with a newfound vibrancy. The air, usually heavy with an eternal stillness, stirs with a gentle breeze that carries a hint of blooming flowers and the sweet fragrance of spring.

The normally monochromatic landscape of the underworld begins to blossom with hues unseen during her absence. Delicate petals materialize, scattering across the paths she walks, leaving a trail of ephemeral beauty in her wake. The soft glow of luminescent flowers unfurls, casting a warm and gentle radiance in the once-shadowy corners of Hades' realm.

The underworld, typically shrouded in an eternal night, experiences a subtle shift in its cosmic arrangement. Faint glimmers of starlight twinkle above, mirroring the celestial display of the world above ground during her reign. It's as if the heavens themselves acknowledge her return, gracing the underworld with a beautiful celestial dance.

Hades, the lord of shadows, finds the weight of his kingdom momentarily lifted. The throne room, usually draped in a somber ambiance, basks in a soft, romantic glow. Shadows playfully dance with the ethereal light, creating a captivating interplay that mirrors the complexity of the emotions within the lord of the underworld.

The Underworld River, typically calm and placid, shivers with newfound life. Its waters, once still as the deepest abyss, ripple with a subtle current, echoing the pulse of Persephone's return. The reflections on its surface seem to shimmer with an otherworldly luminosity, mirroring the radiance she brings to this realm.

In essence, Persephone's return to the underworld transforms it into a realm of juxtaposition—a delicate fusion of darkness and light, shadows and blooms, where the eternal night momentarily gives way to the ephemeral enchantment of spring. The very fabric of the underworld seems to resonate with the romantic cadence of her presence, creating a symphony of emotions and atmospheres that dance harmoniously in the wake of her return.

Their reunion, though expected, carried the weight of a prolonged separation. Harry, usually composed, found himself at a loss for words, an uncommon sight in the Underworld.

"You're back," he said, relief and joy evident in his voice. He was beyond thrilled to see her safe and sound.

Persephone, also known as Y/N in the nine realms, nodded, reaching out to touch his hand. "I always return, Hades. It's the rhythm of the seasons."

"I missed you," he said softly. "I missed your touch, your smell, just having you around. It felt like forever without you."

Y/N smiled, showing how much she loved and missed him. "I missed you too, Harry. Every moment away felt like a really long time."

"I brought you these," she said, offering a basket of flowers. "Fresh from the mortal realm."

Harry accepted the gift with gratitude, inhaling the intoxicating fragrance. "Mortal flowers in the Underworld, a rare delight. Thank you, my sweet love."

He carefully placed the flowers on the bed and pulled her close, his hands cradling her beautiful face. They looked into each other's eyes, savoring the moment. After a while, Harry leaned in, capturing her lips with his in a sweet and long-awaited kiss.

The kiss was like magic. His lips moved smoothly and knowingly against hers, igniting a spark of desire in each other. His mouth claimed her pushing his tongue in her eager mouth. His hands shifted down her body, grabbing her waist, and pulling her further into him.

The absence of each other had stretched over time, intensifying the beauty of this long-awaited moment. It was as if time stopped, and it was just the two of them in that special moment.

Y/N let herself be handled by him, eagerly closing the space between them. She grabbed his shoulders, and her other hand went in his hair, pulling at it as she moaned into his mouth.

“God, you’re so beautiful” he whispered, fighting the urge to fall to his knees right then and there, and worship the beautiful goddess in front of him. Y/N smiled, looking up at her husband with passion and adoration.

Maybe he will.

“I want to worship you, my love.” He whispered into her ear, gently biting her earlobe. She shivered, her grip on his hair and shoulders loosening. She knew where this was going.

And she liked it.

“Mhm, but do we have time? I have to greet everyone as soon as I arrive”

He groaned, grabbing at her attire wantingly.

“That can wait, my love. They can wait. Right now, you’re mine. Only mine. And I want you. Your legs wrapped around my head, your thighs spread wide as I eat that sweet cunt of yours.

Her cheeks turned red, her mouth parting in an instant. She had been waiting for this too, to have his eager mouth on each part of her body, to become his, once again. And again. And again.

“I do too, my love. But-“

He brought a finger up to her lips, stopping her from finishing her sentence.

“No but’s or if’s. I want you, and I shall have you” with that, he grabbed her waist, turning them both around. His lips were back on hers, and he walked her backwards, till the back of her knees hit the mattress. With a swift motion, her body was thrown on it, her hair flopping down messily. Her chest bounced too, the tops of her breasts peeking out from the tight corset she was wearing. He licked his lips; he couldn’t wait to have his mouth on her heavenly body.

He flopped down on the bed, once again, stealing a quick kiss on her lips. His hands gripped the bottom of her skirt, slowly and steadily riding it up her legs.

Y/N’s breathing increased rapidly, and she gripping the satin sheets beneath her in her palms to keep her composure. It had been mere moments of kissing, and she had already gotten so wet and needy for him.

Once the skirt was up to her waist, he wasted no time in removing the rest of the clothing, her panties included. They had a wet patch in the middle, and Harry smirked, fully aware of the effect he had on her, how he can get her all dripping down for him without even touching her.

“So wet fo’ me, my love” he said, and she gulped. He was staring at her exposed pussy with hunger in his eyes, and she felt exposed, trying to close her thighs.

His actions were quicker, and he gripped the warm flesh in his hands. Spreading them wide, he glared at her, and she nodded, silently promising to not hide herself from him.

He slid to his stomach, gripping her legs in both his hands. He shifted forward, allowing her to rest her ankles on his shoulder, the heels digging into the flesh.

He stuck his tongue out, keeping eye contact with her, as he licked a bold stripe from her ass to her clit, collecting her wetness on his tongue. He then closed his mouth, her sweet taste evading his senses.

She released the sheets from the death grip she had on them, and held Harry’s hand in hers, squeezing it hard. He went fully in then, licking up all of her arousal as if it were his last meal.

He licks up her pussy again, and again, and again. Her arousal seeps out more, her other hand creeping its way down to grab into his curls.

Harry realizes she wants more, and he spreads her pussy open. With an open mouth, he blows air on her clit, making her whimper out loud, before she takes her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Y’ like that, pretty girl?” he asks rhetorically, and he starts to lick on her clit, teasing her entrance with his finger.

She moans pretty above him, as his licks become faster and concentrated. Her mind reels with pleasure as her pussy becomes wetter. He circles her opening with his finger, before gently pushing one in.

She releases a sigh of relief, as his cold finger pushes into her warm, wet hole. He pushes it in fully, before pressing a soft kiss to her clit.

He begins to finger-fuck her slowly; her moans and whimpers music to his ears. She opens up soon, and Harry pushes in another. Two fingers in her pussy, and her face contorts in pleasure as she senses the beginning of an orgasm.

“You feel good?” he asks, increasing the speed of his fingers into her weepy hole. He brings his mouth back down on her, kissing and licking her puffy clit. Her grip on his hair tightens, her moans becoming louder with each thrust of his long fingers, rubbing against her g-spot with ease. His fingers, and cock especially, reached spots inside her that she didn’t even know existed.

“I do…I do-Oh fuck!” she curses, as he brings his thumb on her clit, rubbing slow circles on it. Her legs tense, her back arching off the bed beautifully as her stomach tightens. She closes her eyes, her orgasm approaching at a pace faster than she had anticipated.

That’s when he does it-pushed one more finger in, and then one more. Holding her thighs wider as he drives them into her with full speed. Her legs shake as she screams and moans, a thin layer of sweat covering her forehead.

“Harry-I-I’m going to cum, Harry-“ she barely finishes her sentence, before the coil in her stomach snaps. She cums all over his mouth and fingers, chanting his name repeatedly as he finger-fucks her throughout, his thumb and mouth on her swollen clit, wanting to make her orgasm last longer, and to milk every drop from her sweet cunt. He licks it all up, and once she is finished, he emerges from between her legs, half of his face coated in her sweetness.

He looked up at his love, her eyes closed with content. Her face was glowing with the beautiful glow of pleasure, her cheeks flushed red. He couldn’t take his eyes off of it.

Soon, she opened her eyes, and Harry quickly shifted upward, encasing her lips in his. She could taste herself on him, and she sighed at the sweet taste lingering between them.

But, just when they were getting lost in the moment, there was a knock on the door. It was a reminder that they weren't alone, and other things needed attention.

Harry sighed and said, "Seems like we can't catch a break, love."

“We’ll be right out” he announces, before kissing her once again. They both get off the bed, and he helps her fix her dress and appearance, though the smell of sex lingered in the air, and their faces gave away what they tried to hide.

He opened the door soon, and was greeted by Hermes, the winged herald of Olympus.

"Lord Hades, Lady Persephone," Hermes bowed respectfully. "Zeus has requested your presence in the divine hall."

Harry exchanged a knowing glance with Y/N. The tranquility of the moment was momentarily interrupted by the summons from the king of the gods.

"We shall go at once," Harry replied, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his expression. Hermes nodded and, with a swift motion, extended a scroll containing Zeus's message. "He awaits you in the divine hall. The matter is of importance, my lord." Y/N placed a reassuring hand on Harry’s arm. "Whatever it is, we'll face it together."

With a nod to Hermes, Harry and Y/N made their way through the grand halls of the Underworld, the weight of impending divine matters settling upon them. The anticipation of a summons from Zeus carried an air of both mystery and gravity.

The divine hall awaited, its doors opening to reveal Zeus on his throne, regarding them with a mixture of sternness and intrigue.

"Lord Hades, Lady Persephone," Zeus boomed, "You come at my request. There's a matter that requires your attention."

Approaching the throne, their expressions composed but curious, Harry inquired, "What matter brings us before you, Father?"

Zeus leaned forward. "Concerns have risen among the gods about the balance of power and the changing dynamics within the divine realm."

Y/N exchanged a puzzled look with Harry. "What do you mean, Father?"

Zeus sighed. "The union between the god of the Underworld and the goddess of spring has stirred discussions. Some are concerned about the potential shift in the cosmic balance."

Harry defended their union. "Our love brings harmony to our realms, Zeus. It does not disrupt the balance."

Zeus raised a hand. "I understand, but the concerns persist. To ease them, I propose a grand celebration—a gathering of gods and goddesses from all realms. A feast that will demonstrate the unity and stability of the divine order."

Harry realized the significance. "We shall host it in the Underworld, a testament to the enduring love that transcends realms."

Zeus approved. "May this celebration reaffirm the bonds that unite us all."

As the divine decree echoed, Harry and Y/N embraced the responsibility. The grand celebration would showcase not only divine unity but also the eternal reunion of Hades and Persephone.

The long table was adorned with decadent delicacies from all corners of the realm - ambrosia platters, pomegranate salads, and sinfully delicious desserts that would make even the gods drool. The atmosphere was filled with laughter and stories as loved ones reunited after what felt like an eternity apart.

Amidst this joyous gathering, Harry proudly introduced Y/N as his queen and partner in ruling over the Underworld. She charmed everyone with her warmth, grace, and genuine interest in their stories. Laughter echoed through the halls as they shared tales of adventure, love, and mischief.

As the night wore on, Harry and Y/N found solace in each other's presence, basking in the love of their family and friends. The Underworld was alive with happiness and contentment, for it was a reminder that true love could thrive even in the most unexpected places.

And so, as the stars twinkled above their kingdom and laughter filled the air, they embraced this precious moment of togetherness. Their reunion was not just a celebration of love but a testament to the power of connection and the beauty that can be found in even the darkest depths.

And then, as the feast reached its crescendo, Hades rose from his seat and raised a goblet to Persephone. The flickering torchlight cast shadows on the grand walls as Hades spoke, his words a heartfelt declaration.

"To Persephone, my queen, the light of the Underworld, and the love that has breathed life into the realm of shadows. May our days be filled with endless joy and our nights with eternal love."

The denizens of the Underworld echoed his sentiment with cheers, toasts, and a sense of jubilation that reverberated through the grand hall.

Persephone blushed, her eyes sparkling with gratitude. "To eternity and beyond," she said, clinking her goblet against Hades'.

After the feast, the grand hall echoed with soft footsteps as Harry and Y/N headed to the starlit garden. The celestial lights bathed the garden in a magical radiance as they stepped into the night.

Taking Y/N's hand, Harry led her into the open space beneath the twinkling stars. The night held a hushed beauty, and they danced to a celestial melody, a seamless harmony between the lord of the Underworld and the goddess of spring.

Standing at the center of the divine garden, bathed in the soft glow of moonlight and surrounded by fragrant blossoms, Harry and Y/N prepared to dance. The celestial lights above seemed to twinkle in anticipation, casting a gentle radiance on the couple as they took each other's hands.

Harry, with his customary charm, looked into Y/N's eyes and whispered, "May I have this dance, my love?"

Y/N's heart fluttered with love and adoration as she nodded, and they began their dance under the vast expanse of the starlit sky. The music of the night, a melodic symphony composed by nature itself, set the rhythm for their movements.

Harry guided Y/N with grace and tenderness, each step a declaration of the unconditional love that bound them together. The soft rustle of their clothes blended with the gentle night breeze, creating a harmonious melody that resonated with the heartbeat of the beautiful garden that bloomed with her magic.

"I've missed this," he confessed, the dance a gentle rhythm that echoed the beating of his heart.

"Me too, Harry," Persephone replied, her gaze locked with his. "There's something magical about dancing with you in the Underworld."

As they danced, Hades couldn't resist stealing kisses, each one a promise of the love that transcended the realms. The river Styx murmured its approval, and even the shadows seemed to sway in time with their movements.

"You know," Persephone said, her voice a soft whisper, "I wrote you letters while I was away. I wanted to capture every moment so I could share it with you when I returned."

Hades felt warmth in his chest at her words. "Letters? I would love to read them, my love."

Persephone blushed, a delightful contrast to the vibrant flowers in her hair. "They're not very poetic, just my ramblings and musings. But I poured my heart into them."

In that enchanted moment, Hades and Persephone were not the lord and goddess of the Underworld. They were two souls intertwined in a dance celebrating the eternal nature of their love. The grand feast had united the divine family, and now, beneath the cosmic lights, the couple celebrated the unity of their hearts.

They moved in sync, their dance the unspoken language of love. Harry's hand securely held Y/N's waist, drawing her close, while Y/N rested her head on his shoulder, feeling the comforting warmth of his embrace.

The garden itself seemed to respond to the dance of love. Blossoms unfurled in their wake, releasing bursts of vibrant colors that matched the emotions swirling between the couple. The gentle hum of nature's lullaby accompanied their every movement, creating an atmosphere of serenity and joy.

The dance continued a journey of shared dreams and whispered promises.

As the dance reached its crescendo, Harry held Y/N in a final, lingering twirl. They paused, caught in the embrace of the night, and shared a tender kiss beneath the celestial lights.

“I love you so much, Y/N. So fucking much. “He whispered, and his face carried softness and love rarely seen on Lord of the Underworld. He was different when he was with her.

He was in love.

Y/N muttered the same, her lips ghosting over his once again. They softly brushed against each other, pecking every once in a while.

Hand in hand, they walked through the garden, leaving behind a trail of blossoms and the echo of their laughter.

Hand in hand, they ventured through the winding corridors of the Underworld. As they reached the Elysian Fields, the once desolate realm began to transform in Persephone's wake. Flowers bloomed beneath her feet, and the atmosphere blossomed with life.

"You've worked your magic again," Hades remarked, marveling at the vibrant beauty she brought to his kingdom.

Persephone grinned, her eyes sparkling. "I can't stand the idea of a lifeless Underworld. Besides, a little color never hurt anyone."

They found a secluded spot overlooking the river Styx, where Hades conjured a plush blanket for them to sit on. The soft glow of the river reflected in Persephone's eyes as they gazed at each other, a magnetic pull connecting their souls.

"Tell me everything about your time in the mortal realm," Harry urged.

"And you won't believe what Hermes did to entertain me," she laughed, recounting a particularly amusing anecdote that involved the mischievous messenger.

Hades chuckled, reveling in the sound of her laughter. "I'm starting to think Hermes enjoys causing chaos wherever he goes."

The moon rose higher in the sky, casting its gentle glow over the Underworld. Sensing the time was right; Hades took Persephone's hand, leading her into a slow dance beneath the celestial light.

Later, as they sat together on the blanket, Persephone retrieved a bundle of letters from her bag. Hades watched with eager anticipation as she handed them to him, each one filled with the essence of her experiences in the mortal realm.

For hours, they immersed themselves in Persephone's words, her descriptions painting vivid images of the world above. Hades listened intently, savoring every detail as if he were there with her. The letters became a bridge between their two worlds, connecting them even when miles apart.

As the night deepened, Hades couldn't help but express his feelings in the best way he knew how—through a poem, despite its potential lameness.

"In the depths of shadows, where silence holds sway,

A love blooms eternal, no darkness can betray.

Persephone, my light, in the mortal realm's embrace,

You brought back the sun, and with it, my grace."

Persephone's eyes sparkled with emotion. "Harry, that was beautiful. Lame, but beautiful. I love it."

Hades chuckled, a twinkle in his eyes. "I aim to impress with my poetic prowess."

The moon hung high in the sky, casting its silver glow over the Underworld. Hades and Persephone lingered in each other's arms, the world around them forgotten. It was a moment frozen in time, a testament to the enduring love that bound them together.

>>>

As soon as they were back to the castle, they couldn’t keep their hands off each other. Sure, they were divine beings above human urges, but they couldn't deny the magnetic pull that drew them together.

They entered Harry’s room, closing the heavy wooden door behind them. The room was dimly lit by the soft glow of candles, casting flickering shadows on the stone walls.

Their lips were on each other, now kissing with more lust and desire. Harry had been pent-up ever since he’d had his head between her plush thighs, and her moans, her whimpers, and her ultimate release had almost made him burst in his pants.

But he had held off.

Even he doesn’t quite recall how he did it, perhaps some “celestial” power he didn’t know he had.

He began by untying the strings on her white corset, so many of them there were. She could see that he was getting restless, and she spoke up, “You know you can use your magic, right? Make them disappear in a click of your fingers?”

He chuckled, looking up at her while he continued the task in hand, “I sure can, my love. But I want to see the way your body reacts to my touch when I undress you. The way your cheeks becomes red as part by part, your beautiful body is exposed to me. The gasp you release when I unhook your bra, and the whimper that comes from your lips when I rub your pretty pussy over your wet panties, which I know they quite are. I want to see it all”

Y/N blushed, unable to keep eye-contact with the god in front of him.

Soon, the corset was undone, and Harry removed her long gown. He reached back, swiftly unhooking her bra, and throwing it behind him. His hands were on her breasts, and he groaned as he kneaded them in his hands.

“So long, darling. So long I have gone without your body” he bent down, rolling a nipple between his fingers before taking it into his mouth. He flicked his tongue over it, eliciting a whimper from her pretty mouth. He squeezed it in his palm, between his fingers, as he continued sucking on the hardened nub. His other hand trailed to her left breast, kneading it too while he rolled the nipple harshly between his fingers.

“Harry-it feels so good, fuck…” she cursed, pressing her thighs together as more and more arousal oozed out of her needy hole. She whimpered and moaned with need as he played with her breasts, alternating in kissing, sucking and biting them. He sucked a few bruises on them too, just around the areola, not too much in the areas where they could be seen by others.

Once he was satisfied with his work, pretty bruises that would turn purplish-red soon, he looked up at his love. Her head was thrown back, lips parted as she was getting wetter by each passing second.

Harry’s hands rested at her waist, and she opened her eyes, meeting his green ones.

He joined their lips again, and started to kitten lick and suck her tongue, while his eager hands explored her body. He drifted his hands to her damp centre, brushing his finger over the damp spot on her panties, just above her clit. She moaned into his mouth, and e swallowed it all up, before bringing his fingers to the waistband of her panties.

He broke the kiss, quickly dropping down to his knees before her. He pulled the ruined panties off her legs, unhooking them from her ankles and throwing them near the discarded bra.

She was now fully naked before him, and she wanted to hide herself. Given that he had already seen her a million times like this before, given their immortal nature, and yet, being this vulnerable made her shy.

She tries to close her legs before him, hide her pussy from his hungry eyes. He smiles, knowing that she must be feeling so shy, given how much time they had spent apart.

“It’s okay, love. I know it’s been a while, and you’d feel exposed being fully naked around me. But you don’t have to, love. Not from me. You never have to be nervous or shy around me. Naked or not, any way you are, you are absolutely ethereal. And divine”

She felt a sense of relief hearing those words. Being a goddess, she knew she was one of the most beautiful and stunning creatures to walk in the Underworld. Her ethereal form radiated a timeless beauty that transcended mortal comprehension. And she was the most confident when she was out in the world. Her words, her beauty, all were elements that captivated those fortunate enough to witness her presence. The ethereal glow surrounding her form seemed to dance in harmony with the confidence that emanated from within.

Yet, here she was, feeling exposed and shy in front of her own husband, who was on his knees in front of her, ready to worship her.

“And yet, if you don’t feel comfortable enough, dove, we don’t have to do this. It’s all right. We can-“ she stopped him mid-sentence.

“No, no-I-I want to, Harry, it’s just-the way you looked at me made me feel-like I’m not that beautiful as you tell me I am.”

“You are, my love. You are absolutely exquisite, my darling. And I’m going to show you just how damn breathtaking you look around my cock.”

“But-how?” she asked.

He smirked, before snapping his fingers. A long, floor length mirror appeared behind him,, making her look at her own reflection.

“But, Harry-“

“No questions, love. You had your fun throughout the day, now let me have mine”

He parted her legs, immediately attaching his mouth to her swollen clit. She released a moan, his mouth doing wonders between her legs.

He licked and sucked, and licked her pretty pussy till she was a moaning mess again, whimpering with her bottom lip between her teeth. Her cheeks were flushed red, eyes full of lust as she watched herself reach the high of pleasure.

Her chest had reddened, and eyes were hooded, threatening to fall shut with the sheer pleasure consuming her. Her hands were in his brown curls, pulling and pushing his head to her core at the same time, conflicted between the need to succumb to the upcoming pleasure or to pull away from it.

But, just as she was about to fall over the edge, he stopped. Pulled his mouth off of her, making her release a cry of need.

“Harry-I-I was so close-“

“I want you to come around my cock, darling. Want to see you fall apart as I fuck you”

He got up, knees wobbly. He started to undress himself, removing each piece of clothing while maintain eye contact with Y/N.

She was still coming down from the high he’d almost got her to, her breathing still rapid and ragged. Soon, he was naked in front of her, pushing her back on the bed on which she fell with a soft thud.

She sat up on her elbows, and he pulled her so she was sitting upright. He climbed on the bed behind her, and sat down.

With fingers still damp, he pushed her thighs apart wide, spreading his own as well and locking hers with his, so she couldn’t push them again.

She sighed as her pussy spread open, revealing her pretty hole to the gigantic mirror in front of them.

He took hold of her wrists, pinning them together behind her back.

“Keep ‘em there. Don’t move”

He warned.

And she knew better than to disobey him.

“Okay” a quite whisper, but he heard it well.

“Good girl”

Her pussy throbbed with need, her neglected clit swollen and red. He brought his hands to her thighs, lightly grazing them with his fingers. He rubbed his hands up and down, smoothing them up to the part where her centre meet her thighs, and retreating back, neglecting the place where she needed him the most.

“Harry-please” she begged, hoping he will give in and fuck her senseless.

“My rules tonight, darling” he answered simply, and she had no choice other than to sit pretty and take it.

His torture continued for quite a while, and she was so tired from his edging, her head resting limply on his shoulder. She would get excited whenever he would graze her clit, only to get disappointed immediately after.

When he decided that he had had enough, he finally gave in. She was so fucking wet already, soaking the satin sheets beneath them with the arousal that dripped down continuously. He brought two fingers to her entrance, gently pushing them in while he played with her perky nipples, twisting them while stuffing her full.

“Oh fuck, Har-“ she cursed, her walls immediately clamping down on his two fingers. She tried to move herself on him, grind on his fingers, but he held them apart nicely, stopping any movements.

“Feel good?” he asked, pinching her nipple as he stuffed his fingers fully in, gently flicking the tips inside her tight walls.

“Mhm, yes, feels good-fuck!” he pushed another finger in, thrusting them in and out at a godly speed. She scratched his chest, nails scraping down his abdomen. She was feeling so good again, ready to burst at any moment.

That’s when he stopped-again. Pulled his fingers out completely. And just as she was about to open her mouth and whine about it-he pushed them into her mouth.

She moaned around them, sucking and licking off her own sweet arousal. He groaned at this, feeling so impossibly hard that he thought he will burst again.

“That’s it-good girl” he pulled them out, wiping them on her stomach. She smirked, knowing how she had imagined it was his cock between her lips, and made him imagine the same too.

Her on her knees before him, his hands in her hair, gripping them harshly as she took him like a pro. All those filthy thoughts muddled his mind, and he couldn’t hold back longer.

He turned her around easily, pushing her back down so her back was on the mattress, and he climbed on top of her. His lips attached to her neck, licking and sucking as he spread her legs apart with his hand, positioning his cock just before her lips.

Parting them with his one hand, he released a sigh of relief as he pushed himself in, her warm walls feeling so heavenly around his cock. He had held off for so long, focusing on her pleasure more than his. But now, he was going to fuck her good, make her see stars as she came around her cock again and again.

She grabbed onto his shoulders, nails scratching their way down as she felt the initial burn of his cock stretching her wide open. She tried to keep her composure, but how good she, when it hurt so good and felt even better at the same time?

He gave her time to adjust to his length, not trying to overwhelm her with bottoming out immediately. Once she was, she gave him a quick nod to keep going.

That was all he needed, as he carefully pushed in to the hilt, bottoming out inside her as his balls slapped with her ass. She wrapped her legs around his slim waist as he grabbed her wrists, pulling them from his shoulder and pinning them above her head.

“Gonna fuck you real good today” he promised, snapping his hips against hers. His cock drive into her warn hole again and again, making her throw her head back with pleasure. He took this opportunity and kisses and nipped at her neck, her jaw slack with pleasure. The bed started to rock against the wall due to the force of his thrusts, her slick folds coating his cock with arousal every time he pushed in. She was impossibility wet, and on the verge of falling over the edge.

“Oh my god!” she whimpered out when he gave a particularly hard thrust, her legs shaking with pleasure. His hands wrapped around her neck, slightly putting pleasure as he forced her to open her eyes.

“Look at me when you cum” he said, and she immediately nodded, not wanting to risk any other orgasm because of disobedience.

But she was disappointed quickly as he pulled out again, leaving her on the edge. She had been so pent up. and now on the verge of crying.

He picked her up, turning her around to face the mirror, on her hands and knees. They were shaking profusely, so he had to slide an arm beneath to support her pliant body.

“Look at me when you cum. In the mirror” he grabbed her jaw and positioned her face so she was forced to loom at herself, her body succumbing to pleasure that he gave her.

Every push of his cock in her melted her further and further, breasts jiggling with the force of his harsh thrusts, again and again.

“Har-please” she pleaded, not being able to hold off for any longer.

“Yeah, baby? You want to come?” he asked.

She nodded, not being able to form any coherent sentence, she was about to fall over the edge, just needed that little push, just a little…

He seemed to have read her mind because as soon as she thought of that, his fingers were on her clit, harshly rubbing concentrated circles, enough to take her fall over the edge she was teetering on.

“Watch yourself. Look how pretty you look falling apart on m’ cock, darling” her eyes quickly drifted to the mirror in front, and indeed, he was correct.

Her cheeks were flushed red , her face glowing as she released warm puffs of air through her open mouth. He was filling her up so good, pressing against the soft, spongy spot deep inside of her that made her toes curl and eyes to roll into the back of her head.

The obscene sounds of skin slapping against skin filled the room, her moans and whimpers, and his grunts audible above them all. He gripped her hips harshly, nails digging in as he prepared to spill himself inside her.

“I'm close too…” he announced, and leaned in, wrapping his hand around her middle. He pulled her neck so that her back touched his clammy chest, the change in positioning giving him a deeper angle.

“Harry-Oh fuck!” she immediately gave in, her legs giving out beneath her as the waves of pleasure rolled through her body, blinding her vision and ringing her ears. His hand on her swollen clit was relentless, and so was his speed of fucking her through her orgasm.

“Harry-har-feels so fucking good, har” she stuttered, mouth open as she watched herself come undone on his cock. A warm glow enveloped her, and she looked absolutely breathtaking. But, her eyes were fixated on her Harry, who was just about to cum.

His eyes were closed shut, low grunts leaving his lips with each thrust as he gave in, and the first few drops of his release coated her walls.

“Fuck, baby. Making me feel-so-fucking-good, Fuck! His words were punctuated with thrusts to her cunt, spilling more and more of his milky cum with each push inside.

“Cum for me, Har-give me all you have” her soft voice egged him on, as her warm walls milked him for all he had. Once he was done, he gave her a final look in the mirror, before falling down on the bed, taking her with him.

In the hushed aftermath of their intimate celebration, Hades and Persephone lay entwined in the ethereal glow of their chamber. The flickering candlelight cast a warm hue over the room, a testament to the love that had just been shared. The echoes of their whispers lingered, blending with the quietude that enveloped the space.

Hades traced delicate patterns on Persephone's bare back, his touch a caress that spoke of both passion and tenderness. Her hair spilled like a cascade of midnight over the pillows, and the moonlight filtering through the window bathed them in a soft, celestial radiance.

The room seemed to respond to their connection, as if the very walls held the echoes of their shared love. The air shimmered with an otherworldly energy, and the shadows on the walls danced in tandem with the rhythm of their hearts.

As they lay there, the tapestry of their shared history unfolded in their minds—the challenges they had faced, the laughter they had shared, and the quiet moments that had solidified their bond. Hades couldn't help but marvel at the depth of emotion Persephone brought into his life—a depth that went beyond the confines of the Underworld and stretched into the boundless expanse of eternity.

Their connection, both physical and emotional, created a cocoon of intimacy that shielded them from the outside world. The grandeur of the Underworld, the echoes of the banquet, and the responsibilities of ruling—all faded into insignificance in the embrace of their private sanctuary.

As the night deepened, they spoke of dreams and aspirations, of the moments that had left an indelible mark on their souls and of the endless possibilities that awaited them in the expanse of eternity. The bedroom, once a quiet space, became a canvas for their shared reflections and whispered confessions.

In the quiet moments between their words, Hades couldn't help but be grateful for the cosmic tapestry that had woven their fates together. Persephone, once a fleeting vision in the mortal realm, had become the heartbeat of his existence—the one who brought warmth to the depths of the Underworld and a symphony of joy to his immortal heart.

And so, in the heart of the Underworld, where time moved in a rhythm known only to gods, Hades and Persephone continued their intimate celebration. The moon hung low in the sky, its silvery glow a witness to the depth of their connection.

As the night wore on, they found solace in the quiet moments of shared laughter, whispered promises, and stolen kisses. The room became a haven, a sanctuary for the love that had endured through the ages. Their connection, both physical and emotional, became a testament to the enduring power of love in the face of eternity.

And as they drifted into the peaceful embrace of sleep, still entwined in each other's arms, the echoes of their shared celebration lingered in the air. The Underworld, once a realm of shadows, held within its depths a love story that unfolded in the quiet moments of the night—a love story destined to resonate through the corridors of eternity.

>>>

One day, as they stood on the shores of the Styx, Hades couldn't help but ponder the nature of their love. "Persephone, my queen, do you ever tire of the Underworld? Would you prefer a life in the mortal realm or on Mount Olympus?"

Persephone looked into his eyes, a soft smile playing on her lips. "Harry, it's not about the realm we're in; it's about the love we share. Whether in the Underworld, the mortal realm, or the heavens above, as long as we are together, that's where I belong."

Hades felt a surge of gratitude and love for the woman standing beside him. "You truly are my light in the darkness, Persephone."

Their days were filled with laughter, shared adventures, and stolen moments of intimacy. Hades reveled in the simple pleasures of mortal-inspired picnics, where they lounged in the Fields of Asphodel, surrounded by the beauty Persephone had brought to his kingdom.

As the seasons changed, and the tapestry of time unfolded, Hades and Persephone's love deepened. They faced challenges together, weathered storms, and celebrated triumphs. The Underworld, once a place of solitude and shadows, became a canvas for their love story—a story that echoed through the corridors of eternity.

In the quietude of the Underworld, where the river Styx whispered ancient secrets, Hades and Persephone found a love that transcended the boundaries of the realms. And as they danced under the eternal moonlight, their hearts beat in harmony, creating a melody that echoed

Through the ages, their love story continued to unfold, a tale woven into the fabric of time itself. The Underworld bore witness to the eons that passed, yet Hades and Persephone remained a constant, their love enduring like the everlasting cycle of the seasons.

They explored the hidden realms of the Underworld, discovering forgotten chambers and secret passages. Hades showed Persephone the intricacies of his kingdom, the responsibilities and duties that came with ruling the dead. Yet, through it all, their love remained a guiding light, illuminating the darkest corners of the Underworld.

One day, as they stood on the precipice of the Abyss, where the echoes of lost souls reverberated, Hades spoke of his deepest fears and vulnerabilities. Persephone listened with compassion, her love a balm for the wounds that time had etched into his immortal heart.

"I never imagined I could share my burdens with another," Hades admitted, his voice a low rumble that echoed in the cavernous space. "But with you, Persephone, everything feels different. I am not alone."

Persephone took his hand, her touch comforting warmth. "We face the challenges together, Harry. Your burdens are mine, just as mine are yours. We are partners in this journey through eternity."

Their love became a beacon in the Underworld, a source of inspiration for lost souls seeking solace. Tales of Hades and Persephone's enduring love spread through the realm, offering hope to those who had long forgotten the warmth of companionship.

As the years unfolded, they witnessed the rise and fall of civilizations in the mortal realm. Hades and Persephone, however, remained unchanged, their love an eternal flame that defied the ravages of time. They watched as mortal heroes rose to greatness and tragic tales unfolded, the threads of destiny weaving a tapestry that stretched across the ages.

In the midst of it all, Hades and Persephone continued to find joy in the simple pleasures of life. They reveled in the beauty of the Underworld's landscapes, danced under the light of a thousand moons, and discovered hidden realms that held secrets untold. Their love was a journey, an exploration of the boundless possibilities that eternity offered.

Yet, even in the midst of their idyllic existence, challenges arose. Forces from the depths of the Underworld, ancient and formidable, sought to disrupt the delicate balance of their love. Hades and Persephone faced trials that tested the very foundation of their connection, but in each trial, their love emerged stronger, more resilient.

Together, they faced adversaries and overcame obstacles that threatened the harmony of the Underworld. Hades, once perceived as a fearsome deity, revealed the depth of his compassion and the strength of his love. Persephone, with her gentle yet unwavering spirit, became a beacon of hope for all who traversed the shadowy realms.

Their love story, once confined to the whispers of the Underworld, became a legend that transcended the boundaries of the mortal and immortal realms alike. Mortals sang songs of their enduring love, poets crafted verses in their honor, and artists immortalized their images on canvas.

As the centuries passed, the Underworld transformed into a realm of balance and harmony. The once desolate landscapes bloomed with vibrant flora, and the river Styx flowed with a gentle serenity. Hades and Persephone, hand in hand, continued to rule the Underworld with grace and wisdom, their love a testament to the eternal dance of life and death.

>>>

any feedback, like or reblog is always welcome!

okay-dokey! this was a request by @victoria-styles!

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[kazu-naito]

one of the things i like the most in heaven's secret requiem is how differently the immortals are portrayed in comparison to the original heaven's secret series:

in hs it always felt to me that they were just humans with wings - if that makes sense. but in hsr aleksandra was able to capture their essence perfectly: mysterious, dangerous, ethereal. they don't act like the people around them, their motives are never clear, their answers always evoque more questions than clarity, the way she describes their appearance and aura also makes them stand out from everyone else - they're not humans, they're not helping due to the kindness of their hearts and they're the scariest creatures of the story albeit empyrean

also unlike alice, sasha is paying attention to their wings: subtly hinting at how sensitive they are and how sacred they are to immortals. they are always present in the story as much as its characters, portraying their own part in it, something that - in my opinion - lacked in hs. the wings were rarely discussed and even more rarely used for anything other than flying

another thing i'm thoroughly enjoying is how religion, heaven and hell are described in the book - as something we'll never get answers to, not made for human comprehension. cain says something among the lines of "what makes you think they're worshipping god?" - this can be taken in any way but (for this post) i'm going with the "what makes you think they're worshipping the god they think they are?", no one knows how heaven and hell work, no one knows the truth about shepha and shephamalum - in their perspective every religion is "wrong" because those deities do not exist in their world, humans are worshipping a fairytales in their eyes

which brings me to their out of box personalities: it is a human viewpoint that angels are good and demons are bad. black and white. but they are the grayest creatures that the human mind can't really comprehend due to this dogma everyone is born with. at the end of the day they're immortals from a different world that (equally) look down on the human kind, so why should humans expect any goodness or kindness in them? angels will kill angels, demons will kill demons, angels and demons will kill one another - they're far too complex to be labelled as good or bad

[space-cowboys-and-aliens]

At Your Immediate Discretion

Rating: Mature

General Acacius x Reader

Word Count: 700

You meet General Acacius under the cover of night, revealing what you've been hiding from him.

"I have something weighing on my spirit. It seems that it needs your attention."

"What is it?"

"Over the last several weeks, I've realized…there are developments that have made their presence known to me."

"Developments? What is it you speak of?"

"Sir, my apologies. There is something horrible happening inside of me."

He laughs. "Horrible?"

"Yes, wicked and vile and ugly and…"

His face grows serious.

"Gods. We must get the doctors in at once. Fetch Brenan, he will see you to them."

"No! Sir, it’s more than what doctors’ minds alleviate."

The general, still confused, sits on a stone protruding from the ground.

"The feelings I have…the thoughts in my mind…you would think I’m growing mad. The worst kind, brought on in massive quantity by your presence. Forgive me. I cannot wash myself clean enough. I have tried. Gods, I fear the worst."

"My…"

He takes your wrists in one massive hand, holding them in a firm but grounding embrace.

"You are not…unclean, as you have said. You, of all, have the least to feel shame for. Who told you this was necessary to believe?"

"But never in my life have I felt so indecent, so exposed. It’s unnatural for a young woman of high nobility to entertain, allow, such deviancy! I throw shame upon myself. Forgive me. Depravity echoes through my soul."

"My lady. It’s very natural. Very mortal to feel…such a way."

You look up.

"It is?"

"It is."

"I say again, General. I have horrible, deeply troubling thoughts. Every day. Every night."

"Every night?"

"When you pace by in the corridors. I sense you from gait alone. Across the gardens in the mornings. In the cathedral. Every fiber of my being attunes to yours. I’ve been alone most of my life. I’ve never had anyone teach me the ways in… what I can only describe as carnal lust. The sins of the flesh. Cartha and Tom run through the streets in the night, scheming for their next conquests. Their company has surely infected my nature. I plague you now. I must…"

"Please look at me."

You can’t.

"There is something horrible happening inside of me..."

"There is nothing horrible happening."

"And it hurts."

"You don’t have to hurt, my star. Where does it hurt? Tell me."

"Here."

"Here?"

"Yes."

"And you say I am the cause of your impure thoughts."

"Dear gods, how to control it? This fire within, wreaking havoc and destruction wherever I turn. Please."

"Would you like me to show you…?"

His hand warm as he spread his touch across your waist.

"Please, let me touch you."

"Oh, my gods."

You lean forward, arms winding around his neck, bringing your foreheads together.

He holds onto you by your waist.

"Hey. Shhh, it’s okay. You make the sweetest sounds. Are they for me?"

You nod.

"Answer."

"Yes," you breathe.

"I’m going to take care of it, okay?"

You nod.

This is the first time you have ever felt anything like this. Your face contorts at the faintest hint of pleasure.

He slowly pulls your body closer until it’s pressed flush to his own.

"Does it feel good?"

"Yes, yes, it feels so good."

"You’re so sensitive…"

"So sensitive…," you repeat.

"So needy…"

You stop rocking your hips. Looking down at him,

"Is that a bad thing?"

"No, no. Come here. So good for me…"

"…you…"

"Turn around."

You obey, and he kisses your neck as you stretch the skin. You feel your head tilt up, up, towards the heavens. His laving attention increases as your impatience towards relief grows, drawing a slight whine from your core. He grunts, a heavy sigh upon your open back. Another kiss presses to the nape of your neck. Your breathing turns to pants, mouth open, gaping at the worlds above.

[aclowntiny]

🧭 Stray Kids’ Preferred PDA🧭

Bang Chan: This man is a hand around waist guy!!! Too shy to kiss in public, absolutely bold enough to have a protective hold on you especially in crowded places. He may even make a joking excuse like “can’t lose you, can I?” followed by a little chuckle that betrays the last hints of shyness residing. If the two of you are standing still, side by side in idleness, he finds himself running his hand lightly up and down your back, too. Just another gesture to show you he’s got you.

Lee Know: Will kiss you in public without giving a shit. Like will you guys be full-on making out on the corner of a street? Probably not. Will Minho randomly pull you into his lips in a Starbucks line because he wants to? Absolutely yes. Over the years, he has just gotten more comfortable with himself and satisfied with the fact that not everyone will understand him. Oh well. And you sure do, so why not let them know? He’ll get especially more affectionate if you’re wearing any sort of couple item, like he might not seem like he likes such things, but the moment he sees you you’re getting kissed.

Changbin: Man will hardly let go of your hand for a second. As long as you don’t need it or have to go somewhere else of course, but if you’re down Changbin would hold your hand almost 25/8 doesn’t matter what you’re doing. The feeling of connection is so important to him that even the simplest link carries great weight. Plus the little protective sensation of grabbing hands in the remotest of tense situations? Changbin lives for it. He wants to feel like someone you can hold onto, depend on, trust, and when you take his hand it feels possible.

Hyunjin: It’s not something he’s consciously aware of at first, but Hyunjin has a habit of tracing patterns on your back as you stand side-by-side or upon your knee when you sit together. He didn’t try to start doing it, but he wonders if it was a subconscious way of trying to record memories, sketch his happiness upon a newly comfortable space. It’s relaxing too, calms any anxiety he might feel. The moment Hyunjin becomes aware of it, though, he asks if the idle motions bother you. When you tell him of course not, it feels nice, the relief dawning upon him as he beams confirms his suspicions.

Han: His favorite thing to do when you’re out and about is to sling an arm around your shoulders. A casual gesture, but it has his chest puffing out with pride- his own little way of showing you off. Smile never failing, Jisung will sit with you in your own little world he encloses, eyes only for you. He loves having a close-up view of the way you throw your head back and laugh, a little avenue to tug you closer and sneak a quick kiss. Actually, scratch all that. His real favorite thing is when his arm is around you and you reach up to grab his hand where it falls, completing the loop of connection entirely.

Felix: Loves, loves, LOVES resting his head on your shoulder. Doesn’t matter the height difference, life Felix finds a way. Especially if you have to stand or sit somewhere for an extended period of time like a long amusement park ride line or a boring ceremony. You are his center of comfort and nestling into you is heaven on earth for him, the subtle warmth, the way his head fits perfectly in the crook of your neck, it all reminds him that you’re meant for each other. Let him stay there, he’ll have the biggest, softest smile of contentment.

Seungmin: He’d have never guessed it about himself, but the habit he develops is twirling you. Taking your hand the moment you step out dressed in something new and giving you a spin to see it all around. Raising your joined hands above his head when you’re bored just to see you giggle and complete the turn, every feature of yours he loves on full display. When you return the favor, reaching up in a clear juxtaposed lead, it brings such a genuine laugh from him he knows he’ll never forget it.

I.N: He calls it ‘standing up cuddles’, you’d call it a backhug or the like. Reaching his hands around your waist and clutching yours close, he can rest his head in the crook of your neck or maybe atop yours. Sway you both back and forth until someone caves and bursts into merry giggles. Your heartbeat against him from any angle is music to his nerves, well, so to speak, the rhythm by which he guides his impromptu slow dances with you.