#I am indeed glad you asked

[asymptoticway]

Hey, do you have any tips for letting go? I often tend to overwork myself. Random question but idk I felt that you may know. ^^'

Hi there anon! This is gonna be disappointing because I'm 100% unprepared to answer this 😅 I'm honestly so bad at letting things go (be it a hobby or some other activity, a job, a person, a relationship) that I either need external reasons to force me out of a situation (e.g. the other person takes the first step to end the relationship), or it just happens naturally. This means I sometimes get stuck in toxic situations and I'm aware of it - but still find it hard to let go, especially if under the delusion that I'm still gaining something positive out of it. Best tip I could give to anyone is try to find something/someone else that genuinely interests you more, so to trigger the process of naturally letting go out of boredom/focus shift. I have absolutely no clue how to willingly cut ties with something you don't WANT to cut ties with.

You mentioned overworking yourself, so I'm not sure this is the response you were expecting but I'm giving it my best shot lol

[ratcandy]

oh shit you are the sozo fic guy, how it feels to be the coolest motherfucker on this side of the fandom

hgSHDKGH That fic has been up for Four/Five Days and has already led to me getting called The Sozo Fic Guy ?? My goodness !!

But AA Hshgkjh ;; Thank you!!! I am glad you liked my interpretation of the sad old man <3 hopefully I will write him even more and be the one flooding the Sozo tag on ao3 to an obnoxious degree and REALLY earn that Sozo Fic Guy title

[smowkie]

lmaooo, i just got another boop ask from a blog i didn't immediately recognize, but i didn't have time to reply right away, so after checking my email (to see what the ask was) i finished what i was doing, and then like 2 minutes later i was gonna reply to the ask. except it wasn't there??? so i went to their blog via the email, and in their pinned post they have a DNI. yeah, i fit that one, i'm a proshipper.

hilarious to me tbh.

someone: oh, i love this boop game! *boops random ppl*

someone: oh shit that's an icky person *blocks and whistles while walking away*

like, idk, i'm just terribly amused by this. sorry to that person, i didn't mean to exist so you'd accidentally interact with people you don't want interacting with you.

i'm at least glad they blocked me before i had a chance to answer, because le sigh

[letsriddlemethislucifer]

[[ I see Ren is very attached to Arriet and Shizuma]]

[anesidoraa]

Guel fans who call him an "ally" are the type of "progressives" who would harass lesbians for feeling uncomfortable around straight men.

idk about all of them, i wouldn't make that sweeping generalization, but some fans do sort of have that attitude, snaps and makes fun of you if you simply don't like their boy as much or share their boring hc.

ultimately ally guel is a harmless hc but it's kind of too headcanon-y for me to take seriously and too boring for me to hc ironically. sulemio are barely friends with him (ppl pretending they're besties sometimes feels a tad too guel-centric to me) and he mostly just crushes on suletta a lot even in side content where it's kind of post-canon so sulemio are kinda together. he doesn't pursue suletta simply bc suletta has zero interest in him and rejected him. i just. literally can't remember any moment even in extra content where he helps sulemio as a couple. he helps miorine in the show but he was in it for the help on his company (actually how do those shippers not give him shit for agreeing with miorine's plan?). it's also extremely debatable he lost to suletta in the fencing duel on purpose, feels more like him personally making up for sabotaging suletta which is more believable.

till raising suletta's hand did more than whatever he did as an "ally" idc idc.

[ventique18]

Leona: "... Oi, they said he's the Halloween King. You heard of him?"

Malleus: "No... I do not recall a Jack Skellington having ever existed."

Malleus: "Halloween King? King of Fear? Pumpkin King? This is the first I've heard of such things."

(Genuinely glad that even Leona consults with Malleus when it comes to remembering things. They at least recognize that he's the most knowledgeable among them.)

Jamil then explains the details of Halloween that everyone in Twisted Wonderland knows about, but notes that he's never heard of Jack Skellington in that legend. Skully admits that it's understandable that they don't know, given that the legend is only known to a limited amount of areas. Sebek asks where,

Skully: "In my hometown."

Sebek: "That's completely limited!"

He then shares that everyone in his village loves and reveres Jack,

Skully: "Indeed! And of course I as well adore him. I LOVE both Halloween and Jack-sama, more than ANYTHING in world."

(HE ACTUALLY USES "AISHITE" OH MY GOD he's completely Jacksexual 😭)

He then agonizes that while people in his village love Jack, nobody outside seems to feel the same.

Skully: "... Haa, they really are stupid people. How aggravating."

Skully: "But ah! Did I truly meet Jack-sama in the flesh? Is this a dream? Ahh, if that's so, then please never wake me up..."

Azul: "Rather than a dream, this is very much a nightmare... Ugh, that skeleton really is moving."

Skully: "Might you please stop calling him a skeleton! I am begging everyone... to please call him Jack-sama."

Jack: "No, no. Just Jack is fine. Everyone in town calls me that."

Jack then asks where everyone came from, and Leona admits that they're from Twisted Wonderland.

Jack: "Hm. I've never heard of such a place."

Leona: "I knew it. This place really isn't in Twisted Wonderland!"

"WE'RE NOT IN TWISTED WONDERLAND?!"

[bellatrixscurls]

exquisite weather today, no? | part i

warnings : smut, dom anthony and sub reader, pet names, fluff, ben and colin being little shits, reader is kind of naive given the action takes places sometime in the 1810s.

summary : anthony does not want to corrupt his innocent little wife... but what happens when his brothers lend him a helping hand?

a/n: please enjoy part one of my new series until i am done with the james and sirius fic, thank you! <3

“You are telling me that you have not slept in that way with your wife?” Benedict stops in their way down the halls, looking very much concerned. Anthony hums, checking his clock.

“But you’ve been married for almost a year now!” the younger brother exclaims, looking up at the viscount with a frown.

Anthony smirks and looks at his brother from the corner of his eye. “Not that it is any of your concern, but we do things. Together. Alone” his lie is obvious, but still, he leaves Benedict stunned in the middle of the hallway.

When he finally realises that the maids are looking at him funny, Benedict clears his throat and offers them a polite nod, before following Anthony into the drawing room.

Ah, here you are — sitting next to Colin on one of the sofas. With Anthony distracted, speaking to Daphne about the ‘Hearts and Flowers’ ball, he approaches you carefully, sitting beside Colin.

“Exquisite weather today, isn’t it?” he gives you a nod and you mirror his action, smiling, “Indeed it is, Ben.”

Colin looks between the two of you, back and forth, a confused smile gracing his lips. “This is not about the weather, is it?” he whispers through gritted teeth.

Benedict’s smile turns into a grin when the words leave his brother’s mouth. “I am, in fact, glad that you asked, Colin!” he says happily, “I came here because I need some... advice, from Y/n.”

Raising your eyebrows, you look at him in curiosity, “and what could someone such as yourself need advice for?”

Benedict thinks about it for a moment; should he say it? He means no harm but... a little fun won’t hurt... will it?

“Sex” the words leave his mouth and Colin chokes on his tea, eyes wide as he looks back at Benedict. ‘Are you mad?’ he mouths to his brother, but the second-born chooses to ignore him and look back at you. “So. Y/n?”

Benedict finds you looking up at him with wide eyes, lips pursed as you tried to search for that word in your mind, but with no results. “I’m not quite sure what you mean, Ben.”

This time, it is Colin looking back at you, a deep frown settling on his face. “Pardon? Anthony is your husband, there is no such thing as not knowing what sex is.. Does he refer to it differently?”

“You know... when you’re alone, naked, and he towers over you. That thing he puts in between your legs” Benedict quips, already very much content of where Colin has taken the conversation.

“He towers over me?”

The two burst out laughing at your cluelessness and, from the other side of the large room, Anthony’s brows furrow in concern.

“His cock, sweetness. What he has between his legs. I’m sure he spoils the crap out of you with it every night” Benedict taunts and Colin laughs breathily, adding on “or maybe he does not, brother. Seeing that Anthony is so busy all the time. He has more important things to take care of, I suppose.”

At this point, your eyes are teary and your hands are shaking as you listen to your brothers-in-law tease you endlessly. You are not aware of the meaning behind it, though.

In a moment, you feel a hand wrap around your waist and pull you up against the warmth of someone’s body; Anthony. As you look up at him, his heart shatters and his jaw clenches. “I do not know what you did, but be sure that I will find out. And when I do, I hope you will be taking a walk far away from here. More walks.”

And with that, he takes you away from his brothers and rest of the family, not bothering to excuse himself or you, his face red with hatred. He doesn’t know what his brothers told you, but he is positive that it managed to hurt you... And Anthony cannot bare seeing you hurt.

His hand grips yours tightly, in a possessive manner, not hurting you. He is always gentle with you, no matter the circumstances.

Once you reach the wooden door, Anthony ushers you into the bedroom with a hand at the small of your back, following closely behind before he closes the door.

“What did they tell you, my love?” his tone is alarmed and so are his hands, twitching at his sides.

When your eyes finally meet his, they are still filled with tears, sadness pulling at your heart. “Am I a burden to you? Am I- not pretty enough?”

Anthony’s heart breaks and he realises that he’s never seen you so sad before, not even when you were merely a couple and you had family issues.

“Angel, you have to tell me what it is that they told you. I need to know” he repeats through gritted teeth, ready to walk down those stairs and strangle Benedict and Colin.

“Sex” you repeat Benedict’s words unsurely, glancing up at Anthony. “Told me you are too busy for that. And I- you have never told me of that.”

At this point, his hands fly to your waist and he positions you onto his lap, wrapping his arms around your lower body as he turns you to face him entirely. “My darling- They told you that? I-” he seems at a loss for words, and finally, his lips fall into a straight line and he lets go of your hand for a second, walking away from you, and to the floor mirror in his room. You pout as you lose his warmth, and your brows furrow when you notice him pulling the mirror towards you.

He takes his hand in yours and he helps you to your feet, your bottom lip wobbling when you catch sight of your teary eyes, but Anthony notices immediately, and his hands move to hug you from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder.

“You are so beautiful” he says softly, placing a kiss on the side of your neck, nosing at your skin as he continues speaking, “Undress for me, my love.”

Breathing having picked up, your eyes widen anxiously as your hands find his. “Anthony-” “I want to show you how good I can make you feel. Trust me. Please” he pleads, his eyes looking helplessly into yours. You give a curt nod, your heart pounding against your ribcage.

Your shaky hands move to undress yourself and Anthony helps peel off your dress and chemise, leaving you bare and vulnerable before him.

Anthony lets out one of the most obscene sounds when he presses his clothed body to your bare one, and you can feel his erection pressing into your backside, not that you are aware of what that is. Yet.

“Your hand. Move it down your body” he commands rather softly, watching you through the mirror. Your cheeks heat up but you obey nonetheless, your left hand stopping right above your lower stomach, “Lower. Touch your pussy for me, sweetheart.”

“Alright” you take a deep breath, your hand sliding further down your body, resting at your cunt, your warm touch making you shiver. “Feels odd” you whine, eyes pleading as you find his eyes through the mirror.

He bites his lip, his eyes closing for a moment before he is able to look at you again. “It shall feel good in just a moment... Can- Do you want me to show you?”

“Yes, please” you whisper and his hand instantly reaches to your cunt, using both of his hands to spread you open, your folds damp and spread out for him. “S’pretty” you say absentmindedly, dreamily staring at yourself in the mirror.

“Yes it is” he hums, grinning widely against your shoulder. His middle finger taps your clit twice, and he smirks as your body jolts up. “See this, darling? It’s your clit, your little button... You can rub it whenever you wish to feel good.”

“Whenever I wish?” you ask, your eyes wide with curiosity.

“Yes, sweetness” he hums, his cock hardening at the thought of you wanting to touch yourself, let alone to the thought of him. “And if you want it to feel even better, you must-” with your hole dripping wet, Anthony manages to slip a digit right inside of you, causing you to gasp in both slight pain and excitement. He is finally giving it to you.

“Anthony- what is this?” you ask curiously, Anthony’s finger still inside of you, leaving you to adjust to the sudden intrusion.

“Bit of stimulation before I can give you my cock, bunny. Or, as my dear brothers wish to call it, have sex” he chuckles lowly and starts pumping his finger into you, your fragile body shaking, your knees ready to give out, but you know that he is here to catch you.

“Great” you reply breathily, one of your hands slipping into his.

“You must relax, my love” he tuts, moving his finger in and out slowly, the feeling leaving you bucking your hips into his hand, eyes rolling back. “Let them enjoy the show” he eyes you intently through the mirror.

You look at him rather confused, but his other hand moves to cup your jaw and gently turn your head to the side, towards the door.

A door cracked open. Benedict and Colin.

[strangererotica]

SOAKED 𓇢𓆸

Anthony Bridgerton x Reader

EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI

Summary: After Reader is stranded by a carriage mishap, she finds herself lost in an attempt to make her way home alone. Luckily for her, another carriage happens to cross her path, belonging to none other than the Viscount Bridgerton himself…

In keeping with Bridgerton’s vibe, Reader is a young woman with zero sexual knowledge or experience. I imagine she’s around nineteen or twenty years old and while she has had suitors, none of them have inspired in her the feelings Lord Bridgerton evokes…

While enjoying your evening ride, your carriage had broken down. To the great frustration of your driver, you’d insisted on walking home alone. It wasn’t in good taste, for a young woman to be out walking unattended. But you were in an exploring mood, and wanted to do your exploring alone. The company of your carriage driver was something you were honestly glad to be rid of.

Despite being reasonably close to town, you’d somehow managed to wander in the direction of the forest rather than home. Night was creeping closer, trees casting shadows across your path as you looked up at the sky, trying to find your bearings.

A large, cold drop of rain ‘plopped’ against your forehead, making you flinch. Several subsequent drops followed, till the situation quickly became a downpour. You raced for shelter beneath the trees, cursing under your breath as your ankle twisted on a large root sticking up from the ground. The trees were basically useless at shielding you from the rain, Autumn having stripped their branches almost entirely of leaves.

Your hat was soaked, its brim flattened against the sides of your head. The pretty dress you’d chosen to wear that afternoon was now caked with mud at the trim; you realized you must look incredibly foolish right now, but certainly not as foolish as you felt.

The sound of horses’ hooves approaching caught your attention. You looked down the road to see a carriage drawing closer, rain bouncing from its roof and sides. When the carriage came to a stop just by you, a stab of panic shot through your chest. What if it was someone you knew, discovering you out here looking a complete mess? And even worse, what if the carriage belonged to a man?

The carriage came to a full stop; the door swung open, and the handsome, familiar face of Anthony Bridgerton emerged. Your heart thumped inside your chest as his jet eyes raked over you, a mischievous smirk turning his lips upward. “Unusual night for a walk, Miss (Y/N),” he remarked, his tone playful.

Despite your embarrassment and the wet state of your clothing, you attempted a curtsy. “Indeed it is, Lord Bridgerton,” you replied. “I was out for an evening ride, when my carriage broke down.” You pointed past you, unsure of which direction you’d actually come from at this point.

“And your driver?” Anthony asked, seemingly unbothered by the rain pelting his hat and shoulders. “What of him? Am I to assume he left you unattended? At the-.” He bit his lip, running his eyes over your breasts, your nipples visible through the soaked material. “-Mercy of whomever should find you?” he finished.

You felt your cheeks going red, in spite of the chilly rain running down your skin. “It was my choice, I assure you,” you explained. “I insisted he allow me the chance to take some air, alone, on my journey home. I had not expected…” Your voice wavered, words failing you as Lord Bridgerton’s penetrating gaze made you weak.

“The rain?” he offered, an eyebrow lifted in amusement. “Understandable, Miss (Y/N). It seems I’ve found you absolutely drenched.” His eyes scanned your breasts and back up to your face.

Anthony tilted his head, acknowledging your ankle. You hadn’t noticed, but you’d been keeping your full weight off of it on purpose. “Your ankle,” he said, his tone sympathetic. “Is it sprained? You seem hesitant to apply pressure to it.”

“I twisted it on a raised root,” you explained. “It is not badly sprained. More of a discomfort, really-.”

“Regardless,” Lord Bridgerton interrupted. “Leaving you to manage on your own would be unconscionable. I insist-.” He extended his hand for you. “-That you allow me the honor of delivering you home.”

There was no way around it; you had to accept the offer. Taking a soggy step forward, you reached for Anthony’s hand and allowed him to help you into the carriage.

Immediately, you felt embarrassed by the way your wet clothes were dripping all over the carriage’s interior. The horses’ hooves sounded, followed by the familiar tug as the carriage was pulled forward. You could feel the Viscount’s gaze resting on you, but were too afraid to meet it. You’d harbored feelings for him for years, and had often wondered what it would feel like to have his attention fixed solely on you, to be the object of his interest. Now that you were in exactly such a situation, all of the practiced lines you’d rehearsed in your daydreams had completely vanished.

You pressed your thighs together, a familiar ache blossoming between them…a tightening, throbbing sensation similar to your heartbeat. You weren’t sure what it was, this odd pleasure mixed with pain; but you always felt it when you were in Lord Bridgerton’s presence, and sometimes, it occurred while simply thinking of him. You’d come to associate the feeling with Anthony, loving the sensation even as it frightened you. Not unlike your feelings for the Viscount himself.

“You needn’t worry about making a mess,” he remarked, and you froze. Because for a moment, you worried Anthony knew of what accompanied the feeling…the clear, slippery fluid that inevitably wound up wetting your inner thighs, whenever you thought of him.

He pointed to the seat across from him, which you were sitting on. Panic seized you, till you realized he was obviously speaking of the mess your rain-soaked clothing was making inside the carriage.

Your cheeks went rosy and warm again. Anthony noticed, and smiled slightly, as if holding onto a sweet secret that pleased him. “Upholstery can be mended,” he explained. “And on the subject of things that need mending…”

Anthony reached forward, taking hold of your injured ankle and lifting your foot to rest on his lap. Your eyes widened, lips parting in surprise. What could he possibly be thinking, touching you in such an intimate way?

You watched his fingers as they gently undid the laces of your boot. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, a wicked glimmer reflecting back at you. Anthony removed your boot, and delicately rolled the lace cuff of your sock downward, exposing your ankle. When his fingertips brushed your skin, the contact of his touch went straight to the aching space between your legs, as if a line were somehow connecting those parts of you.

A shiver ran through your body, your hips bucking as Anthony softly stroked your skin, coaxing his finger lower, till he was cradling your foot in his hand. Every subtle movement of his fingertips sent a flash of heat straight to your center, setting you ablaze with something you’d never felt before. The familiar throbbing between your legs was suddenly burning, the pleasure mixed with a pain that kept increasing, as if demanding some kind of release, though you didn’t know how to relieve it.

Anthony watched you with an unbearable intensity-could he not see that you were unwell?-his smile long departed and replaced with something darker, almost hungry, like the focus of a predator locked in on its prey. Your body jolted as if struck. Anthony observed your behavior in stoic silence-was he angry with you?-all the while continuing to delicately stroke your skin, as if he couldn’t see the way your body was completely overcome by his simple, tender ministrations. Tears burned behind your eyes as the ache within you throbbed harder and harder, pulsing in time with your racing heartbeat. You gripped the edge of your seat, your eyes squeezing shut, air leaving your body in gasps.

You realized you must have been dying…surely, there was no other way to explain this frenzy that had overtaken you. But just as you were sure you were dying…you were flying. The world went white in your field of vision, as the tension inside your lower body finally gave way. A brand new feeling, of absolute rapture and inexplicable bliss, pulsed at your core in waves, rippling and shattering its way through you. Relief washed over you, a light sheen of sweat covering your skin, chest heaving as you recovered from whatever beautiful, brutal attack your body had just endured.

Your eyes opened on Anthony, whose expression was even more intense than before. Certain that you’d upset him with your embarrassing fit, a sudden shame humbled you. “Forgive me, Lord Bridgerton,” you panted, tears welling in your eyes. “I am unwell. I do not know what came over me just now, but I must apologize for my intemperate behavior...”

Anthony’s expression softened, unlike his lap, which now felt stiff and uneven beneath your ankle. He cleared his throat, before assuring you that “everything is alright, (Y/N).” Hearing your name leave his lips, your first name and not your family name, was like hearing an angel speak. “You’ve done nothing wrong. And I promise, you are not unwell.” Lord Bridgerton’s eyebrow lifted slightly. “Quite the opposite, in fact,” he said.

“But-.” You watched as he rolled your sock back over your ankle. “-I must be ill, my Lord-.” Anthony slid your boot back over your foot. “-Or perhaps a demon momentarily seized hold of me-??” Anthony chuckled slightly, his eyes on the laces of your boot as he fixed them. “-I must rest,” you decided. “To make sure this doesn’t happen again...”

Anthony bit his lip and grinned. “Well,” he conceded. “Perhaps you’re right. Some time in bed might be just what you need…” Anthony leaned forward and took your hand in his. “…In case that frightful feeling returns.”

Your lips parted, his nearness an alarming reminder of the feeling he conjured within you, the aching pulse between your slippery thighs reigniting. “I…” You tried to speak but the words wouldn’t come, not with his hand holding yours, his lips so near to your skin-

-A rapping on the carriage lurched you from the trance you’d fallen in. You hadn’t even noticed that the carriage had stopped moving. A driver opened the door for you, offering his hand to help you out. “Thank you, Lord Bridgerton,” you said, exiting the carriage. “I’m so grateful for your assistance today.”

Anthony nodded politely, a warm smile on his face. “It was my pleasure, Miss (Y/N),” he said, and as you turned toward your home, “I’ll call on you later this week, to see how you’re recovering.”

You felt your heart rate kick up a notch. “…from your sprained ankle, Miss (Y/N),” Anthony clarified, though the suggestive glimmer in his eye implied otherwise. You watched as his carriage retreated, starting on unsteady legs into your home. Your dress was still soaked, wet with rain and something else…something only Anthony Bridgerton was able to conjure in you, the product of a secret it now seemed the two of you shared, together… 🩵

PART TWO

[hazelfoureyes]

Hello! Not sure if you're taking requests, so do ignore this if you feel like it.

I adore your work sm!! Rewatching the Stayed Gone mv, Vox had a picture of a bootleg Alastor and pointing to his microphone were the words "dildo?"

Do you think you could write an Alastor x Reader, or just Alastor pleasuring himself with the microphone? (That sounds weird now-)

Thank you for taking the time to read this!

-🍺

Good Vibrations

the way I immediately knew what to do is proof of my depravity. I know it isn’t exactly what you meant but this is what I’m comfortable with writing. This was a quick little 30 minute write, I hope it still brings you joy 🎙️

After you make an offhand comment about doubting if his microphone actually works, Alastor finds a creative way to convince you while at dinner with the group.

tags/warnings/promises: Alastor x Reader, erotic but not smut?, smut is explicit, this is just horny, the microphone does in fact work, vibrator

Rarely was Alastor without his microphone. Even Vox made note of it. But, his voice sounded like it came from his mouth. Sure there was a radio affect to it, but he was a demon after all. You couldn’t figure out how it worked. Or rather, if it worked.

As you all waited to take your seats for dinner, Niffty having turned out to be a surprisingly good cook, you were caught staring.

“Is there something I can do for you?”, Alastor leaned down to meet your eyeline.

You blinked, “Oh, sorry. Just wondering if that even works.”

“If what works?”

“Your microphone.”

He knew it worked, of course. But your question felt… offensive. “Do you think I’d carry a functionless microphone around?”

Without hesitation you replied, “I do, yes.”

“Oh absolutely!” Angel pushed between you two.

“You do have a flare for the dramatic, boss.” Husk took his seat beside Angel.

Charlie nervously scratched her cheek, “I always wondered that too! But it worked in Cannibal Town, so I’m a believer now.”

“But wait-,” Vaggie looked to Charlie, “If it worked when you put it to your mouth why doesn’t he have to? It’s literally everywhere but his mouth.”

Alastor’s forced grin strained against this cheeks, black gums showing. You gave him a shrug and joined the group. He took his seat opposite you, pulling his chair in all the way.

You’d already forgotten the conversation when you felt something graze across your lap. Before you could investigate, Alastor spoke, “Why don’t we all say what we did today! I’ll go first!” Your knees shot up, knocking the table as a strong vibration lit up your crotch.

Vaggie leaned in, “You good?”

Slowly, eyes wide, you looked up to meet Alastor’s wicked smile.

“I went downtown to grab a fresh cut of venison. Niffty makes the best venison roast this side of Pentagram City.” You white knuckled the edge of the table, glancing down to see the microphone resting between your thighs. The top was nestled firmly above your mound.

“Hmmm what else? Oh! I got some deviled eggs. My, what a treat. My mother made the best deviled eggs. You know-,” as he droned on, you tried to push your chair away from the table. “Ah ah! It’s so rude to leave while someone is speaking.” He leaned back, foot reaching under the table to hook around your chair’s leg and pull you forward.

“Aww Al, you never talk so much! This is great. What else did you do today?” Charlie rested her cheek on her hand, eyes sparkling at Alastor.

“I am so glad you asked! Let me think, hmmmmm” He drew out the consonant, the sound making a rougher vibration than others. You were hunched over the table, biting your bottom lip to keep quiet. “Oh I went to— what is it called again? Ummmmm,” Your leg shot up again, the silverware clanking against your plate.

“Will you just fucking say it?!” You spit it out louder than you meant.

“Woah! That’s not very nice.” Charlie gave you a disappointed look, pulling a groan from you, “What’s gotten into you?”

Angel looked over to you, “You doin’ alright? You’re like… sweatin’.”

“What indeed, Charlie. Well, anyway! I think I’ve made my point!” You felt the weight of the microphone slide down your thighs and past your knees. You took in a deep breath, finally able to relax your body.

“You’re pretty pale…”, Husk commented, “You sick or something?”

Angel pushed your hair from your forehead, “That face looks so familiar.”

Before you could answer, Alastor opened his mouth, “I think she should lie down. Allow me to escort you to bed, my dear.”

“You are so sweet today! I love it! Fuck yeah!” Charlie punched the air. Alastor came behind you and pulled your chair back for you. “Take your time, if she’s sick maybe she shouldn’t be alone.”

“If you say so!” Alastor practically sang the words. With both hands on your shoulders, he guided you out of the room.

“He’s the best.” Charlie beamed, “Alright whose next?”

༻Masterlist༺

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 132

Geralt is walking through a town when he senses something off. He glances up right as he watches a man leap out a window on the third floor. Geralt effortlessly catches him, holding him in a bridal carry. "Oh! My hero!" The man says to Geralt, looking at him with awe. "YOU FUCKER! JUST WAIT UNTIL I GET DOWN THERE!" Another man screams from the window. "What's going on?" Geralt asks, and the man in his arm flushes. "Fucked his wife." "That'll do it." "Indeed." Geralt sets the man down, and watches him get a headstart running from the husband. It isn't until later that night that Geralt realizes the man he caught didn't mention anything about Geralt being a witcher. Perhaps it was the shock and adrenaline. Perhaps he didn't even fully see Geralt, his mind was too focused on surviving. Months later, Geralt is tacking up Roach to leave town when a familiar blur busts into the stables, and leaps into a pile of hay nearby. A man enters after a minute, raving mad, holding a bottle. "Where is he!?" "Where is who?" Geralt asks, coolly, and watches the man's temper fizzle out into apprehension. "N- Nobody. Sorry for bothering you, mister witcher." and the man scurries off. Geralt turns to the haystack and watches as his acquaintance in bright clothing crawls out, hay still stuck in the creases of his clothes and the strands of his hair. "His wife, too?" "His son, actually." "Mm." "Thank you for helping me again." "I didn't do much." Still, the colorful man flicks a coin to Geralt, and then races out. Huh. The man recognized him. And the other man, the one who chased him, had even called Geralt a witcher. And yet the man was still not scared. He even thanked Geralt. Nobody ever thanks Geralt. Another few months later, Geralt is setting up camp when he senses something in the trees. He readies to fling a knife up there, only to see- The man again. He starts very awkwardly trying to climb down, before falling flat on his ass on the ground. "...Hello again." "Hello, my dear witcher!" "Why were you in the tree?" "Oh, I was chased here-" "Of course you were." "Excuse me? What is that supposed to mean?" "I've only met you a few times, but every time I have, you're running from a man who is a relative of someone you've fucked. Out with it, what was it this time? Daughter? Husband?" "Mother." "I can s-" "And his father." "..." "They were a very adventurous couple." And despite it all, Geralt laughs. He throws his head back and cackles. He's never laughed so hard in his life. "I'm Jaskier." The man - Jaskier - introduces himself as he wipes dust and leaves off of his doublet. "I'm Geralt." "Would you mind if I stay with you for the night, Geralt?" "I'm a witcher." "I'm a bard! Glad we're past that." "Of course you're a bard." "Of course you're a witcher." "You already knew I was a witcher." "Then why bring it up when I said I wanted to stay?" "Nobody wants to stay with a witcher." "Well then I suppose I am no longer Jaskier, and my name is now Nobody, dear friend." Jaskier confuses Geralt, but it's not like he'll stay forever, right? Right?

[etheries1015]

How TWST characters react to finding out your real name

They hadn't realized you were using a fake name or a nickname, and when they find out you hadn't told them your real name, they each reacted in their own way.

Featuring : Idia, Lilia, Crowley, Ace/deuce/grim (together) , Azul/jade/Floyd (together), Malleus, Epel, Rook, Vil, Kalim, Jamil

Idia - Fair. Its like using a fake in game name only in real life, who needs to know your real name? It's not that important, it doesn't change that you're still you. But he is glad that you trusted him with your real name, but now he's a little possessive, and doesn't like it when other people use your real name. Its HIS privilege to know the you behind the character! (He wants his y/n moment and he gets some sort of fulfillment knowing he was the first to learn your true name. Like he's in some sort of otome game)

Lilia- he raises an eyebrow and has an amused smile on his face. He wasn't expecting you to feel the need to hide your identity, were you some sort of refugee? Hiding from something? You then explain to him you simply didnt feel comfortable sharing your real name with a bunch of strangers since coming to twisted wonderland, and he was easily able to accept that answer. He calls you by whatever name you prefer, it makes no difference to him, and he quickly gets over it. (If he wants to get your attention and tease you, he will use your real name)

Malleus- A little bit...hurt, in a way? You couldn't trust him with your real name? He knew others thought he was scary and didnt trust him for his lineage, however he had to remind himself that you were different than them. You were kind and understanding, and he had to push back his childish thinking. He did the same thing in fact, hiding his name from you until learning far after your meeting. Perhaps you had your reasons as well, and he respects that, and warms his heart slightly coming to terms that you had entrusted him with that information. He uses whatever name you feel the most at ease of hearing, but there will be times in which you two are alone and he gets in his feelings. Hearing your name sound so sincere and loving coming from his lips makes it sound sweeter than you remember.

Azul + the Leech brothers- Shocked. Flabbergasted. You did it in such a cool way too, you signed his contract using a name he wasn't familiar with. "You are aware that using a fake name won't do you any good, Right?" He had pointed out. You gave him a smirk and crossed your arms, "Who says its fake? In fact, the name I signed is indeed my REAL name. I thought I might as well use my real name, to show how confident I am that your little tricks will not fool me." Jade simply smiled and nodded in approval, whilst Floyd began laughing hysterically at Azuls reaction (his mouth hung open. He just convinced himself you had an inflated ego.) Needless to say, they will not forget that moment in a while.

Crowley- Blames you and says "Well of course I couldn't find your records anywhere or continue with my investigation on your case, you didnt even give me an accurate name to go by!" (In reality he wasn't doing anything to help you, he just thought this gave him an out and more time to think of something. You knew this.) The gaslighting king, and good at making you feel bad for not enrolling into the school by providing your full real name. You rolled your eyes and kept doing what you were doing (slay)

Kalim- he gets super excited, and fully respects you by any name you go by. He showers you in compliments and says its such a nice and fitting name for a person such as yourself. He smiles brightly and locks arms with you; "(fake name) or (real name), they both suit you well! You're still the prefect I love, regardless of what name you use!" .... But then he starts to ask you why, and it turns into an hour long conversation about names. (Probably tries to suggest names that would suit you)

Jamil- A little surprised at first, however he never made a big deal out of it and didnt care much. He shrugged and continued using the name you had given him, its what you chose to go by, is it not? So he will continue to do so. (Inwardly he understands why you hid your true identity, but also thinks its silly in a way. Why would you go so long without sharing something as small as a name? But it was a one time thought, and never dwelled on those questions.)

Vil- Also doesn't make a big deal out of it. Your name suits you well, he will ask what you prefer to go by, however. If you aren't comfortable using your real name, who is he to judge? He asks you once about why you chose to use a fake name, and he respected it. "Or I can just call you prefect, if you prefer? Your title precedes your name, and it's a form of respect. How does that sound?" You chuckle and say that you trust him enough to be on a first name base, and he responds with a slight blush. You really know how to see past his professionalism.

Rook- Add it to his list of things he knows about people and probably knows too much about people. He stores it in his mind along side with your weight, your height, your frequented places in the school, your gym scores, the height you can jump, how fast you finish your lunch, how big your hand is, your shoe size, how many hairs are on your head... "magnifique! I just love learning new things about you, it never ceases to amaze the mysteries you hold! Please, tell me more!"

Epel- A little bit disappointed you hadn't told him sooner. He gets over it quickly, but he was still a little upset to hear that he was one of the last people to find out what your real name is! Not that it truly matters, but a persons name is a persons treasure, and he wanted a part of the great reveal! (It wasn't THAT great. It came up casually, he's just a little sentimental and dramatic sometimes.) He ends up carving your name out of an apple, he says he made it cause' he was bored and no other reason, but in reality he really likes your name more than he leads on.

Ace/deuce/Grim- What do you MEAN that the past year they have been calling you by a FAKE/NICKNAME This entire time?? Do you have that little faith in them???? When you explained to them you had simply rolled with it when you first arrived to twisted wonderland and became accustomed to it, the name flowed off your tongue as natural as breathing. It had nothing to do with trust as time went on. They were all so dramatic about it though. "Our Prefect LIED to us!" They cried out, prostrating themselves on the floor and demanding you buy them food in to compensate 'the emotional damages' they claimed you inflicted upon them. You rolled your eyes and laughed playfully as the three of them whined about your "distrust" in them.

You loved them nonetheless, those morons 💜

---

A link to my master list!

[gay-dorito-dust]

Can I please request Bill thinking he finally found a human who won't betray him, someone he really enjoyed the company of (but would never admit to that because Bill) only to find them trying to destroy the portal?

This is long as shit, be warned and I tried to keep bill in character as much as possible but he might be ooc at some points.

Your first meeting with Bill was one he didn’t expect. When faced with something you know isn’t normal, the response Bill was expecting was you running away until you were out of sight, talking off the ears of anyone who’d head your warning but you instead smiled at him.

‘Nice bow tie and top hat sentient triangle.’ You said.

‘The names Bill Cipher, so you can stop calling me that name, I find it rather insulting, and thanks! I dress to impress but most people just run away or scream bloody murder to appreciate my effort to look presentable’ he replies, finding himself a new human pet to play with after swearing to himself that Sixer would be the last, Bill was a liar and he knew it, messing with humans and destroying their physique was the most genuine fun he’s had in a long, long while.

This was merely the begging of yours and Bills weird friendship and it was only going to get weirder from this point onwards.

Being friends with a sentient triangle dream demon was…a experience indeed as you’d often wake to him floating above you, drinking something through a silly straw and wearing a hat unlike the usual slim black top hat he wore, only to find out that he had somehow snuck several chicken into your room that had scaly dragon legs and could breath fire.

That took a while for you to get ride of them with a wooden broom and not have it set on fire when the chickens retaliate with fire.

‘How did you find such things?’ You’d ask Bill when sitting down to eat breakfast.

He shrugs. ‘You search for a realm that swaps certain anatomy of animals and play a demented game of mix and match to see what monstrosities to humanity could be made and bingo! Infinite possibilities of scaring or scaring people for the rest of their lives! ha ha!’

‘And chickens with dragon feet and could breath fire is your go to choice, wasn’t there anything else you could’ve chosen from?’ You inquired as you took a bite of your breakfast and immediately grimacing when you felt something was off.

‘Oh sure there was and- oh you’ve found where I put my mealworms from last week.’ Bill casually told you as he plays with his silly straw while you spat your breakfast out into a nearby bin, wiped your mouth before pushing the plate away from you as your appetite was ruined.

'glad to be of help. buddy.' you replied as you decided that it would be best to wait for bill to disappear before attempting to eat and or drink again.

As the weeks progress Bill found himself enjoying your company more than he originally suspected, sure you were fun to mess with and play impractical pranks on from time to time. However -and he’ll never admit this ever- he had come to actually enjoy spending time with you and getting to know you outside of his personal human plaything.

Bill begrudgingly remembered your least favourite family member and why, your favourite colour, your first pets name and so much more that he would deem unimportant; to things that were deep and personal to you such as your fear of being alone or not taken seriously enough. To which he offered some -albeit questionable- advice.

‘Listen if everyone takes themselves seriously or someone wants everyone else to take them seriously, then who’s going to laugh at kids when they fall over, or at people who make an fool of themselves as they fall upon their own sword of hubris.’ Bill tells you once as you both sat on the roof of your home, star gazing.

‘And what am I meant to take away from all that ?’ You asked, not understanding what he was getting with this.

‘Don’t take yourself too seriously or expect others to either when you know that version of yourself will be someone you’ll sooner regret wishing for.’ Bill responded.

‘Do you miss home?’ You then asked him out of the blue and Bill couldn’t help but be a little taken aback by it.

‘Home..’ bill trailed off as he took his hat off, reached a hand inside and pulled out a glowing atom, the remains of his home. ‘This is what remains of my home.’ He tells you rather sombrely, remembering the last time he told a human of his origins, only for him to dedicate himself into destroying him.

‘I’m..I’m so sorry I didn’t-‘ you’d tried to apologise but bill held up a hand as he returned the remains of his home back into his top hat before putting it back on his head.

‘It’s fine. I was bound to tell you about that sooner or later.’ He waves his hand but you could tell you struck a nerve.

‘Sooo…what happened to your home, only if you don’t mind me asking.’ - you

‘It was destroyed by a monster.’ Bill answered with a distant look in his eye.

‘As stupid as this will probably sound to you but you’ll always have a home with me, I hope you know that.’ You told him with the most genuine smile across your face and Bill couldn’t help but feel…touched by your words. He’s thrown and done everything to push you to the brink and all you’ve done was withstand him and his shenanigans all the while standing your ground.

‘You’re a strange human and your sentimentality makes me physically sick but…I guess I appreciate the thought.’ Bill had to force himself to say, he might as well have swallowed down stones with how hard it seemed for him to say anything remotely considerate. You were quite possibly the only human that showed him kindness and compassion and that made the dream demon feel weird and out of his depth.

Now that Bill was thinking about it not once had you ever given him a reason to distrust you, sure he was suspicious of you at first, but overtime you have proven yourself to be the most trustworthy person in his long, long life. You had made him feel unlike anything he’s felt before and that made him on edge, just in the case that he was being lured into a false sense of security later down the line, but nope you didn’t do such a thing and stayed open and honest him no matter what.

It almost made bill feel bad about the shit he put you through but soon he’d come to regret saying these words, for not even a week later and Bill caught you red handed destroying his portal after searching the house for you when you didn’t greet him like usual.

‘WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!’ He screamed, his body burning brightly at the betrayal you’ve just committed, was everything you said a lie? Were you just as good at pulling people along as he was? How long have you been waiting for this exact moment to get back at him?

‘What does it look like, I’m destroying the portal.’ Your reply was stone cold as you continued to dismantle the portal piece by piece while Bill shouted profanities at you.

‘YOU LIED TO ME!’ - bill

‘That’s cute coming from someone who takes sick enjoyment in breaking every human he comes across, pushing them into utter madness with no remorse!’ You chuckled humourlessly as you looked at the dream demon who looked about ready to either cry or combust.

‘YOU LIED TO ME!’ Bill repeated as his anger only grew stronger the more he began to think back on all of your heart to heart moments and wonder whether they were fake too? Did you not mean it when you said that he had a home with you?

‘I didn’t lie, I just didn’t tell you the whole truth.’ You retorted. ‘Now are you going to shut up and kill me or keep ranting on how I somehow betrayed you because either way I don’t care.’ You added as you watched the triangular demon closely.

‘Kill you? Oh no sweetie, you’ve just earned a fate WORSE THEN DEATH! Eternal torture until you speak the truth and then torture you so more because I find your pathetic humans pain funny!’ Bill laughed maniacally. ‘And to think I was starting to like you, you just had to go and stab me in the back!’

You shrug, trying to hide how scared you were in this moment, knowing that even if you did scream for help it would be far too late by the time Ford, Stan or either dipper or Mabel to save you and you were okay with that. ‘First time for everything right?’ You asked with a smile. ‘I’m sure you’ll get use to it sooner or later.’

Bill’s eye was wide and looking maniacal in the moment as his voice was oddly and unnervingly calm that it froze your blood. ‘You humans might act brave in the face of danger, but what I’m capable will have you wishing you never picked up that wrench or tried playing the hero. For playtime is over.’

[charrlote365]

The Fox's Roulette.

Reference Idol: fromis_9 LEE SAEROM Word Count: 15.798 Tags: Romance, pits, Kpop idol, fromis_9, Lee Saerom

PART 1 The neon lights from street flickered through the window, casting a yellow ray across the polished counter of my bar(PIC 1). The bar has already closed but I was not quite finish working yet, because tonight, my regular customer, also a close friend was visiting. Fate indeed works in a mysterious way, I never thought owning and working in a bar would give me a chance to have a KPOP idol as a friend. Saerom, the leader of fromis_9(PIC2), honored my humble establishment as her first choice to have her favorite activity: Drinking.

Saerom and I had formed a friendship over the years. Despite her celebrity status, she found happiness and comfort in my small bar, away from the spotlight world. I knew her even before we were friends, because after all, I was also a Flover, and you don't have to guess who is my ult bias. It's her. Thankfully she didn't know about this, so we can have a comfortable chit chats. I always know that she was a shy soul, despite of her sharp glares on performances.

As the late night seeping through, the empty glasses were pilling up, yet Saerom's laughter filled the air. She looked happier than usual(PIC3), her cheeks flushed with the warmth of the alcohol. I watched her with a mixture of amusement and concern, knowing she had drunk a bit too much than usual.

"Hey, Saerom," I said, leaning against the counter. "You've had quite a few tonight. Maybe it's time to call it a night?"

Saerom pouted, raising a glass filled with beer high up, her gaze unfocused(PIC4). "But I don't wanna go home yet. I drove here by myself, so I can't drive back home now. You don't want anything bad happen to me, your biggest spender, do you?? bad bad bartender.. hehe..hiccups. Hey, can't I just stay here with you?"

PART 2 I can't believe what I just heard. "What did she just say?!!", I shouted loud in my heart. I hesitated, torn between my duty as a caring friend and the unspoken rules of propriety both as a fan and decent human being. But it seems the devil has won this time, I just can't let go this chance, to spend the night together with my most beloved person on earth, Lee, Saerom.

"Yeah, yeah, alright," I relented with a smile. "You can stay, but only if you promise not to cause too much trouble."

Saerom grinned, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "I promise."

As the night deepen, Saerom and I settled into our usual spot by the tinted window. The conversation flowed effortlessly between us, filled by laughter and personal stories.

"Hey," she said hesitantly, her voice was swaying around. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course," I replied, trying to guess why the sudden change of mood.

Saerom hesitated for a moment, her gaze fixed on the swirling liquid in her glass as if searching for the right words. "Are you… a fan of our group?"

Panic gripped me as I struggled with the secret I kept. I wondered why she asked that so suddenly. But with a deep breath, I looked her in the eye and confessed, letting honesty flow from within.

"Yes," I admitted, the word slipping out before I could stop it. "I am."

Saerom's eyes widened in surprise. "Really? I had no idea."

"Well, I'm glad that you do. At least I know you like us as a KPOP group, I think we're not doing that bad afterall", she said with a giggle yet with a slight hint of sadness.

"So! Next question! Who do you like the most in fromis?" Saerom asked, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.

I felt my heart skip a beat, panic rising in my chest. I hadn't expected her to ask that now, and now my secret admiration for her was on the brink of being exposed. I searched for words, trying to think what answer should I give.

"Well, um…" I stammered, rubbing the back of my neck nervously. "Honestly, it's you."

Saerom's eyes widened in surprise, and for a moment, I feared I had crossed a line. But then, a warm smile spread across her face, and she leaned in closer, she put her hand on mine.

"Really? You don't need to lie to me" she asked softly, her voice filled with genuine excitement.

I nodded quickly, feeling the tension ease. "Yeah, I swear. I'm dead serious."

"What about me? Why am I your favorite?" she asked while closing her eyes with a gentle smile on her face, waiting for me to spill all her good qualities.

"It's how you're so talented and dedicated, yet still so humble. You have incredible stage presence, but you're also kind and down-to-earth. And then your smile always lights up the room and makes everyone around you feel special. You have this way of making people feel seen and appreciated. That's what makes you my favorite, and also to be honest, I really like your visual"

Saerom's eyes softened, and she squeezed my hand gently. "Aww you're making me shy now but thank you," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "That means a lot to me."

"Hey," she began, a playful smile tugging at her lips. "I have an idea. Wait here."

Before I could ask what she meant, she stood up from her chair and disappeared into the back room where she'd left her bag. A few moments later, she returned, holding a neatly folded outfit.

"I brought my idol outfit from last performance," she explained, her cheeks tinged with a faint blush. "I thought… maybe I could change into it. As a thank you. For being such a great friend and fan."

I blinked, taken aback by her unexpected offer. "Are you sure? You don't have to do that."

Saerom nodded, her smile widening. "I want to. Just give me a minute."

With that, she went into the restroom, leaving me to process the surreal turn of events. My heart raced with anticipation as I imagined her in the dazzling outfit I'd only seen if I went to the stage.

PART 3 A few minutes later, the door creaked open, and Saerom stepped out. She was a vision in her idol attire, the sparkling white dress catching the light and casting a radiant glow around her. She struck a playful pose, clearly enjoying the moment(VID 1).

"So," she said, twirling her body slightly, "what do you think?"

I was frozen. She always look amazing, but able to see her up close in her idol mode hit different. "You look amazing," I finally managed to say something, my voice filled with admiration. "Thank you, Saerom, This means a lot for me."

"I'm glad you like it," she said softly. "I had wanted to do something special for you anyways". "Btw, I feel a lil bit bored, let’s play a game,” she suggested, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Roulette. But with cards. We’ll guess if it’s black or red. Whoever wins gets to ask the loser to do a truth or dare.”

I raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “A little risky, don’t you think?”

She giggled, “That’s the fun part! Besides, you can’t back out now. your beloved Saerom has challenged you! hehe”

I couldn’t resist her playful challenge. I Grabbed a deck of cards from behind the bar, I shuffled them thoroughly and folded one card in half, placing it in front of us. Saerom watched with focus, although I knew she was absolutely drunk like a drunk overworked old man.

“Ladies first,” I said, gesturing to the card.

“Red,” she declared confidently.

I unfolded the card—black. She groaned dramatically, throwing her head back. “Alright, bartender. Truth or dare?”

“Dare,” I replied, not wanting to waste my chance.

She leaned closer, her alcohol reeked warm breath against my nose. “so my Master, what is you first command?", she said jokingly.

PART 4 I chuckled, while thinking. "May I take pictures of you tonight?". She slightly tilted her head back, "Is that all? I don't have to do anything?". "Yes, that's enough for now", I answered while taking my first picture of her on that night (PIC 5). She looked very gorgeous, her eyes are beautiful, and I couldn't believe it that I was the only person her eyes are looking at for the whole night.

We continued the game. This time my turn. “Black.”

Saerom’s eyes twinkled as she unfolded the card—red. She clapped her hands in delight. “Yes! Truth or dare?”

“Dare,” I said, feeling a bit excited.

Her eyes scanned the empty bar, almost like checking if we're really alone, then returned to me with a sudden foxy smile. “I dare you..to show me your kinks through action, you can't back down now! haha!”

I was frozen. "A-are you crazy? I think you drank too much". "No..I'm not joking..", she replied. I looked deep into her eyes trying to confirm her decision, and it seemed she's excited about it. With that, I then asked her to raise her arms, exposing her milky, foldy pits that I love so much(PIC 6). Feeling a bit shy, I closed my eyes then moved my head closer to her pits, the scent of her perfume mixed with her sweat becoming more pronounced. They smelled sweet, almost flowerily. She tilted her arms back slightly, giving me better access, and my heart raced as I put my nose right on her pits and breathed in the delicate smell from her. I lost myself from her scent that I kissed her pits and licked them. She giggled slightly from the tickle yet didn't say anything. I kept continuing kissing and licking her pits, savoring the slightly salty, sweet and sour taste of her foldy pits meat and fat. The scent, the warmth of her pits filling my tongue, emitting an intimate taste that made my heart beats faster. Her hair brushed against my cheek, and I could feel the slight rise and fall of her breath. The world outside the bar seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of us in this moment.

PART 5 Regaining my consciousness, I realized I had gone too far. "I-I'm, sorry! I think I got carried away!"

She smiled shyly , her eyes were like she's in absolute intoxication, her breath was uncontrollable from what I just did to her, “It's okay, that was fun, I kinda enjoyed it”, she said with a giggle, her voice was gentle.

Alright, Round three. Saerom guessed red again, and this time she got it wrong again. She didn’t hesitate. “Truth or dare?”, I asked.

“Dare,” she said, feeling bold after what just happened.

She leaned in, her voice barely above a whisper. “So what do you want me to do?”, while looking sweetly to me.

I paused, considering. I must have gone crazy that time, because my very next request, was asking her to take off her clothes.

Saerom raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. She hesitated for a moment, then smiled, accepting the challenge. She held up her hands and began to slowly taking off her white dress, one finger at a time, clamping down her dress hook, then her bra, and lastly, her nipple pads. Her movements were deliberate and almost mesmerizing. I have never seen a woman undressing in front of me, let alone someone that I adore very much. Flovers keep calling her fox, but what I see she's more like a swan, every gestures she made was so satisfying to see, she almost like a ballerina, gentle and grand.

Her nipple pads came off, revealing her breast. I have never been so intimate to anyone in my life, yet right now I finally able to get into the hidden part of her personal world. I couldn’t take my eyes off her as she neatly folded the dress and bras and set them aside.

“There,” she said, her eyes twinkling with a mix of challenge and shyness. “I'm nude now. Happy?” (PIC 7)

“Very much,” I replied, my heart beating faster, I couldn't even blink, my eyes are locked onto her breasts. There was something about seeing her like this, more relaxed and natural, that made the moment even more special. I gulped, while holding myself from doing anything stupid.

Round four. I guessed black, and won. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare,” I said, my confidence somehow went unwavering.

I grinned, leaning closer to her. “Now, I dare you to make me as your lover tonight”.

PART 6 Without missing a beat, Saerom stood up, with bare naked body. Without a single word, she came to me and sat on my lap, facing me so closely. She kissed my lips, we ate each other lips and tongue like its a alcohol laced lollipop, it was sweet, sticky, intoxicating and I couldn't get enough of it. I was overwhelmed with all the feelings. Love, Lust and sense of loyalty filled my head all at once. She let out a little moan as I started to kiss her neck. I teased her by gently groped her breasts. she let out a little groan again, only turning me on more. I slowly started to kiss her down her chest, on her tits, sucking on her nipples. I kissed down to her tummy, while gripping hard on her thighs, then removed her underpants. I carried her on my shoulder like she was a doll. Her bare skin pressed against my chest and shoulder, they were so soft yet tender. Her body is truly the epitome of health. I laid her down on a sofa I had in the bar and I spread her legs out for me. I could see her bare pussy, open wide for me, they're perfectly shaved, with small labia and slightly pinkish. Some transparent liquid was oozing out from the precious hole, they looked almost like its begging me start stick in something into it.

I licked all the love juice that was oozing out, swallowed it, and gently bit her clit as she let out another moan. She was too perfect, too much of a goddess. she deserved the best this world could offer. My feelings to her has grown from a friend, to a fan and now the only thing I want in the world is to spend the rest of my life with her. I love her, I love her so much I could die at any moment. She started to moan louder as I licked and sucked hard. I put my fingers in her entrance and started pumping my 2 fingers into her at the same time. I curled up my fingers, making sure to hit her g-spot every time. I thrusted hard while my other hand rubbing her clit fast. I sucked her breast again, making sure all her sensitive parts are teased. Her breath hitched and she started to moan louder and finally her body convulsed wildly as she finally came. that's all I needed to know i was doing a good job. I used my hand to hold on to her hips and arched her body forward, so that we're now facing each other very closely.

PART 7 Her eyes met mine, we exchanged our breath from very close proximity and for a moment, the world seemed to pause. We then shared a kiss, turning all of our emotions into physical contact. Now that she knows I love her pits, I asked her if I could rub my dick onto her pits. She was shyly hesitant at first but she could not refuse it. She then sat on the floor raising her hands up while I stick my dick's tip on her pit fold and started rubbing it all over her pits(PIC8). I could feel the texture and the warmth from her lymph node, her pits actually enclaved deep enough to enclose my whole dick's tip. Fckkk suddenly I felt was going to come but I managed to hold it. I then moved to her back and asked her to squeeze my dick with her pits and inner arms like a sandwich. I knew she does workout regularly and that explained why her arms felt tight like a pussy. I rubbed my dick into her pits slits faster and faster, her sweat and my pre-cum made her pits extra wet and slimy as she clamped down even tighter and let out a moan "emmwahh", her moan was so cute that I finally couldn't hold it, "Ahh!! Saerom ahh!!" I spurted out my cement all over her pits and breast. My heart beat so fast that it could stop any moment and I was so lightheaded I thought I would faint, I have never felt so weak yet completed and happy in my life.

After that, she borrowed my bathroom to take a shower, while I cleaned up the mess we made on the bar's floor. When she was finished, she came out still fully naked, sitting on the bar's chair asking for a glass of scotch. "Really? more drinks??" I was baffled. "Of course! Drinking is number one!" with a smirk on her face(PIC 9). Looking at her breasts suddenly made my dick standing hard rock again, and it was clearly visible to her. Suddenly, she smiled naughtily and whispered, "Hey, wanna go another roulette round after this?" -End

[alastorthirsty]

Hooray For Makeup Sex! ch. 2- Alastor x f! fallen angel!reader

Words: 10k

Warnings include smoking, alcohol use, drugs are mentioned, Alastor is a red flag but an in love red flag, Herbert learns to speak, explicit language although I really shouldn’t have to warn you about that considering the source material, partially clothed sex, barely there breath play, affectionate use of the words whore and bitch (not by Alastor), (angelic) blood play (if you were fine with it in part one you’ll be fine with it this time, it’s a very Alastor thing to do), established relationship, references to past break up, vaginal intercourse (p i v), bff Angel with the mad hugs, reader is literally physically ill from stress regarding a secret, description of physically and emotionally threatening/traumatic behaviours (not by Alastor. You need to decide right now whether or not you can handle that sort of thing. If you can’t, don’t read, my feelings won’t be hurt (I don’t want to seem like a meanie! Love you 💖💋) There are fleeting references to it throughout and then it is openly discussed at the end of this part.), physical violence and abuse (not by Alastor. Again, use your own discretion as to whether or not you can handle that).

Tags: @babyfoxflower, @valerie-is-in-the-cupboard, @littlebluefishtail, @shealizxx, @l3rittany, @ghostofajinx

Chapter One | Masterlist

Comments and reblogs sustain me <3

Things really picked up for Alastor following your reconciliation, at least it did from his viewpoint. His shows, for example, did not increase in measurable quality, but he was no longer filled with such terrible aching emptiness, so they were improved in some way. Everything was improved. Even the first post-reconciliation argument went by smoothly, for the most part. He thought it was a bad idea to teach Herbert the alphabet and he lost handily, just as he always lost when it came to Herbert—oh, this was unusual.

Alastor was lost in thought, whiskey in hand at the bar, that bright, peppery flavour still on his tongue, when his reverie is broken up by the sight of little shimmering orbs floating slowly towards him. Alastor looks around, but you were nowhere nearby. He has never seen Herbert without you, and he doesn’t trust the little bastard to begin with.

“Where is your mother?” he asks suspiciously when Herbert came near enough, brilliant pops of colour shimmering in his light.

“Its ‘mother’?” Husk remarks, wiping down a glass.

“His mother, yes.” Alastor sighs and downs the rest of his drink. “It’s a hopelessly bizarre story, Husker. Be glad it is not required of you to participate in this macabre charade.”

“What is that thing, Smiles?” Angel asks from one of the parlour chairs, popping gum. “Some kinda angel disco ball? Strobe lights, maybe? Under the right circumstances with the right pills that thing could be fun to look at.”

Again, Alastor sighs. “I am sure that I do not know what you mean, spider.”

Herbert keeps drifting closer and closer until the little being was pulling at his lapels. Alastor’s eyes widen. Herbert keeps pulling and pulling, grunting, sounding like a human toddler.

A macabre charade indeed. The little creature seems to absorb the sickly green of the bar, like energy. Alastor’s eyes widen as he looks from Herbert to the bar and back.

“What is it, little one?” Alastor asks, trying to make Herbert stop his mischief. He doesn’t like for the others to see how he interacts with Herbert, how he humours you and Herbert both.

“Heh. Heh. Heh-ell,” Herbert murmurs, and his body seems to spin in place. He truly is a remarkable little thing, regardless of how annoying he can be.

Alastor sighs once more and rubs his forehead. “Ah, how delightful, she’s teaching you to speak now, is she?”

“Heh! Heh-ell. Ell…Hhhell!”

Aware of the eyes on him—very aggravating and insolent eyes—Alastor puts his tumbler down on the bar and opens his posture. “What is it, little one? What is it?”

Herbert grows brighter, more luminous. He is truly a sight to behold, if a grating one. “Heh-ell-pop.”

“What a moment.” Alastor stands immediately, hackles raised. “Help?”

“‘Help’?” Angel repeats. “Are you sure that’s what he’s saying?”

Herbert begins moving around excitedly. “Heh-ell-pop! Heh-ell-pop!”

“Apparently so, I have only seen him get this excited about A-P-P-L-E-S and P-O-P-C-O-R-N. Help with what, little one? Show me,” Alastor says, and the luminous pain in his ass zips ahead of him, leading him…

To your bedroom. Alastor becomes alarmed beneath the surface, but betrays none of that to Herbert. He doesn’t bother with the door, rides the dark to where you are, inside your dimly-lit room, passed out on the bed, with its many palatial pillows and frills and whatnots. It smells of lavender and gardenias, which reminds him of his mother’s little garden growing up, the sunshine upon the petals. Herbert floats through the door and straight to his mother, a sentinel over your sleeping form. You seem to cant slightly in his direction, a soft mumble on your lips.

Alastor frowns. You didn’t appear to be in any danger or duress, so why had the little bastard come for help? He looks at you and begins to understand, unfortunately. There are used tissues here and there, and your eyes look puffy and raw from tears. Herbert takes to throwing the crumpled up tissues at him. God, he hates it when the fucker finds new ways to have amusement at his expense. Alastor bats the tissues back at Herbert and this was a horrible mistake; Herbert babbles happily, thinking it is a new game.

Like hell he was going to play games with Herbert.

Alastor gets into bed beside you, slinging one arm across your body. “I’ve got you, my love.”

He never would have dreamed, before an angel fell out of the clear red sky, that he would have been capable of looking at another person and saying the words ‘my love’. Alastor takes a moment to be in awe of what you bring out in him. A beast with a bloody maw, drawn in to the comfort and warmth you provided, uncaring of the carnage he dealt.

He hears you take a deep breath and feels you stir.

“What’s…?”

Alastor stops you before you can sit up. “Rest. You’re upset.”

“I’m okay,” you say.

“You’re upset and lying, how lovely,” Alastor remarks. He pulls you into his embrace. “Why did you not come to me? Why did Herbert have to do it?”

“Aww, Herb,” you say, patting the little creature. “I love you, too.”

Herbert clings to your arm and somehow makes happy noises. How was he doing that? How could he have even spoken? He has no mouth, none that Alastor could see, and that also posed the question of how exactly Herbert eats all the apples Alastor bribes him with. He ordinarily never likes to pose questions about Herbert, either to himself or aloud.

“What is going on?” Alastor says. “I demand to know why you’ve been crying and why you hid it from me.”

“I didn’t hide anything from you,” you say. “Just chalk it up to hormones, that’s what I’m doing.”

“And why are you so keen to ‘chalk it up to hormones’, hm?” he asks. Oh fuck, could it be? He can only hope his enthusiasm for a possible pregnancy isn’t too apparent. He should probably stop rubbing his hands together…

“Because everything feels so big and I feel so small and everything feels hard and I feel too soft,” you say, words thick with impending tears.

Satisfied with that, Alastor holds you closer to himself.

“It is okay to feel that way. That is what I am for. Being the big and hard thing when you are not feeling that way yourself.” He kisses your hair. “How was ballet?” It was something you picked up in heaven and so continued down in hell with the Cannibal Town Ballet Theatre.

“Oh, it’s not that,” you say. “Busy time of year, that’s all. I’m tired. I’m not even properly taking care of Herbert.”

“This is an impassioned plea not to teach him how to speak,” Alastor says, enunciating each word sharply. His eyes are quick to notice the hints of darkness underneath your eyes.

“That’s like saying ‘let’s not let our two year-old learn how to speak’,” you chide gently. “He just picks things up, that’s all. I doubt he’ll ever be fully verbal.”

Alastor sighs and rolls his eyes, shifting his weight over the burgeoning decorative cushions. “Thank God for small miracles, I suppose.”

“Wait, so how did Herbert come and get you? How did he know where to find you?” you ask.

“Your guess is truly as good as mine. For all we know he floated about the many corridors in search of me for hours. I was at the bar and he came up to me and tried to jerk me out of my seat by my lapels.” Alastor runs his hand up and down your side. “He was asking for help.”

“Aww!” You pull Herbert close and kiss the top of his head. “Always looking out for mommy.”

Alastor rolls his eyes. “Ugh.”

“You should decide on what you want him to call you.”

“Not daddy,” Alastor says immediately. “That thing will not be our first child.”

Damn, he let that slip. His heart pounds, but thankfully you look too tired and out of it to pick up on it.

“Then choose something before he makes it up on his own. He’s been babbling like a cockatoo here lately and I know you don’t like it, but he’s part of your life and you’re part of his.” You elbow at him. “So you decide.”

“I’ll think on it the next time I feel like shooting myself in the face,” he says, drawing a sigh out of you. “Is Alastor a bit too complicated for the little son of a gun?”

“Probably,” you affirm. “He’s a thinking creature, but not terribly complex. Maybe he can just call you Al?”

“That works well,” he says, and then pats Herbert on the head. “Fine. You’ll call me Al, Herbert.”

Herbert gets closer to him, eyes all alight and filled with hope. “Apple?”

It actually makes Alastor smile. So there’s a word he can say, enunciate clearly. He pulls one out of the ether and holds it up for him. “Apple.”

Herbert gasps softly and takes his apple treasure under the bed to munch on it.

“Do they provide him with enough nourishment, or are we supposed to begin supplementing his diet?” Alastor asks, fingers gently pushing hair out of your face.

“Oh, Herbert eats darkness,” you say. “He has no need to eat food, he just likes to.”

“A-P-P-L-E-S and P-O-P-C-O-R-N, yes.”

You smile brightly, proudly at your partner and pull him in for a kiss. “I love you so much. You make my heart full.”

“As you do mine, my love,” he says casually, fingers drumming gently on your ribcage. “You are the only one. Mine in every way, in every conceivable reality, tethered in all ways that matter, absolutely and infinitely. I love the hell of you.”

Now you sigh, holding this dear (and deer) man close to yourself. “You always know how to make me feel better. Work, well…everything… is stressful, but you make the shittiest day so much easier.”

He pulls a face. “You know I don’t approve of you working.”

You tut. “And you know that I consider that to be a red flag statement.”

Alastor rolls his eyes. “No, this is benevolent. No wife of mine should ever have to work. Your life is meant to be one of luxury, of ease, not driving yourself to exhaustion each and every day at the damned studio. Call me hopelessly old-fashioned, but it is what I believe and what I feel.”

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes. “I do what I love.”

“And that is why I tolerate it—for the time being,” Alastor adds, his finger pointing at you.

“Did you just call me your wife?” you ask.

He pauses, then narrows his eyes, as if to challenge. “So I did. So what?”

You light a cigarette, an amused yet soft gaze in his direction. “You consider us a married couple?”

“Why not?” he asks, arms crossed. “We are committed to each other for eternity. If anything, ‘marriage’ is rather paltry.”

You laugh quietly, fingers in his hair. “I want a ring. Big, sparkly. And I don’t want a wedding, I think it’d be dangerous anyway. Maybe have a drink with Rosie, I’m sure she’ll take it and run.”

Alastor hums. “You are an easy-to-satisfy wife.”

You lean over to kiss him. “You don’t have to wear a ring.”

“But I will,” he says, rubbing his head against yours in an attempt to get you to mess with his horns or ears or, ideally, both. Alastor has never been tactile with anyone else, has never wanted to feel bare skin against his palms. You truly were the one and only exception, and it pains him to know just how easily it could have been that you never would have met. Had you never fallen…

“I am not afraid for all to see,” he continues. “Many Overlords take lovers and spouses. It’s a matter of proper protection, and that you shall have at all times.”

You smile and kiss him again, finally scratching at his ears. You offer him the cigarette and he takes it. White and grey tendrils float above your heads to the gauzy canopy of your bed, imitating Earth’s night sky, the twinkling stars themselves a gift from Alastor. You lean against him, scruffling his ears for a while.

Troubling thoughts cause your heart rate to skyrocket. You swallow, throat dry.

“Is everything going to be okay?” you ask softly.

“Yes. I will make it so.” Alastor holds you closer to himself, your back to his chest. He closes his eyes and just breathes you in for a few moments, still smelling of florals, evoking some of the lighter moments of his time on earth, amongst the living. “Yes, Mrs Bergeron. All will be well.”

You sigh happily. “Mrs Alastor Easton Bergeron.” When he startles and sits up to stare at you, you laugh. “What, you didn’t think I knew who you were, Mr Bayou Butcher? True crime is a major form of, I don’t know, I don’t want to call it entertainment, it’s a…At a high level of intrigue. I know all about serial killers.”

“You know so much about serial killers that you know my full name? What else do you know, troublemaker?”

You laugh at the feeling of him poking you in the shoulder. “I know you were an only child, biracial, I know your mother’s name…”

“Those are vital statistics!” he exclaims, then crosses his arms. “And what is her name, hm?”

You smile. “Elodie. Beautiful name.”

Well, well. You were correct. “I would rather you have found out from me.”

You turn around in his arms and suck your teeth. “Don’t be sore. I knew all of that long before my death. If it makes you feel any better there’s not a lot of other information about your life that’s easy to find or even extant. Did you really kill nineteen people?”

Alastor scoffs. “What an insulting—nineteen? People believe I only killed nineteen?”

You laugh softly again. “All right, big shot, what’s your real kill count?”

“Thirty-seven!” He blinks. “Wait a moment, wait a moment, you don’t seem…perturbed about any of this. I was under the impression you did not know this about me.”

You laugh, a little melody for his ears alone. “Alastor, think about the things you knew I did know about you. You’re an incredibly cruel and sadistic Overlord, you’re a cannibal, et cetera. I knew you were in hell for a reason. Accepting that you dabbled in quite a bit of serial murdering in life really isn’t so difficult.”

He thinks this over and sighs. “Well, don’t go running, you know I’ll never allow you to leave me.”

“Another one of your endearing red flags,” you say.

“I’ll wave that one proudly!” he replies, his grip on you tightening. “I had enough of being left and now that I have you back I will never let you go again. I will remind you also that you are my favourite, my treasure, and my prize. Who wouldn’t protect that with their entire being?”

All of a sudden, you begin to convulse, shivering violently, and Alastor leaps into action, an old hand. He picks you up from bed and brings you to a roaring fire in your favourite colour, then goes to get all the blankets in the linen cupboard. He raises his core body temperature, arranges himself around you, and then wraps all three down duvets around the two of you.

Part of your punishment, part of your unique experience as an angel in hell, is being forever cold, but most of the time it is manageable. You still have spells like this, though, episodes that worry and sometimes frighten him. Frost collects around your eyes and nose and it takes a long time for the violent shivers to subside, leaving you panting.

“You will not like my saying so, but I am going to anyway: you exhaust yourself too much working and when you have stressful days at the studio this happens. You demand too much from your body and it cannot fight these horrible spells,” Alastor says, trying to reason with you, but he could already feel you shrug it off. “You are blue.”

“Always goes away. Can’t die again. Heaven wouldn’t allow me to die again, I’m out here to suffer.” You shudder with the aftershock of the attack. “It’s just stress.”

Just not the sort he that thought.

You can feel his Look of Disapproval™️ but weather through it. “Al, I could really use a bit more rest.”

You hear him scoff. “You’re goddamn right. If you think I am letting you out of bed all night then you are a fool.”

“I feel like passing out.” You close your eyes, heart pounding.

“Darling, Herbert and I would prefer if you had something to eat before you fall asleep again.”

Now your eyes roll. “Cheap trick, invoking the Herbert.”

At the sound of you calling his name, Herbert floats up from under the bed, humming softly. He rests on top of Alastor’s shoulder.

“Al!” he says proudly.

You gasp, sitting up straight, eyes full of love. “Herbert said your name! Herbert said your name!”

Never, never would he tell a single soul, let alone you, but it was…It was cute, and he felt a bit proud of the little bastard himself. Alastor chuckles softly. “So he did. Maybe there’s use for him after all.”

Six.

Six more times he holds you in his arms while you shiver uncontrollably, all within the space of one week. It takes, on average, an hour for it to completely subside, and every single time Alastor’s brow creases with a worry he carries within himself; saying anything to you has already proven to be less than useless. Every time he tries, the look he gets in return is enough to shut his mouth.

At the bar again, because he can’t find you, Alastor slams his glass down, tongue flicking away the little bead of whiskey left on his lip. “Another, Husker.”

Husk fills the glass, eyes narrowing somewhat. Whatever trouble in paradise was going on, it meant Alastor was spending more time at the bar, which is the last thing the bartender needs. “Okay, Boss?”

Alastor gives an unamused huff, not looking at the cat demon. He stares down at the glass and its contents, swirling it for a moment. He’s a bartender, but Alastor also owns his soul, so it isn’t as though he can spill his guts to him about marital troubles even if he wanted to. He doesn’t, so he worries in silence and drinks until he’s just a tad bit buzzed. Just a smidge.

He feels it when he gets on his feet again. He leaves without a word to Husk, which actually makes the bartender stop polishing so aggressively.

“Help! Help!” cries out a voice all of a sudden. Herbert floats over to Alastor rapidly. “Help!”

Assuming you’re convulsing from cold again, Alastor takes Herbert under his arm before riding the dark to your room.

“Oof!” Herbert bounces on the rug, but Alastor is more concerned with you. The bathroom light is on and he can hear you being sick. He takes a step towards it but his boot crunches on something. Alastor looks down and sees your phone, shattered in several pieces.

“Darling?” he calls out.

He hears you curse under your breath and then the sounds of you brushing your teeth. When you emerge from the bathroom, you look miserable and exhausted. “Hey.”

“Where have you been?” Alastor asks. “I was at the bar but I did not see you come in.”

“I thought I told you. I had a late photoshoot, they’re promoting the new show. I don’t know why you didn’t see me.” You rub your eyes. “Sorry, I just don’t feel well.”

Morning sickness?

He really needs to stop doing this to himself.

“You broke your phone,” he points out. “Here, I will fix it.”

“No!” you shout before he can pick up the pieces.

He lifts a brow. “No? You? Without a phone?”

“I don’t like that one anymore,” you say. “I’m getting a new phone tomorrow after I’m done at the studio. Someone is picking it up for me and dropping it off, easy peasy.”

His brow lifts. “Why aren’t you getting it for yourself?”

“Because I know at the end of the day I’m going to want to just come home and not go to a VoxTek location. I already picked out the one I want. It’s a newer version anyway. It’s white! I’m strangely excited about that.” You sit down on the bed with a hint of a smile on your face and that quells some of his concern. Some of it.

“My dear, what happened to this one?” Alastor gestures to the one on the floor.

You wave a hand. “Oh, it was just an accident.”

He comes to sit beside you now. “If that’s the case, why did Herbert come begging for help again? And why do you look as though you’ve been crying?”

“Alastor, I’m not going to talk about being sick with you. I was sick, that’s all. It startled Herbert. I’m going to have to teach him not to go zipping off to find you over every little thing. You’re full of questions today. And you’re drunk, aren’t you?” Your hands go to your hips, but your smile reaches your eyes now.

“I was pleasantly buzzed before he showed up.” Alastor pulls you into his embrace. “He’s mastered the word help. He made things quite a bit dramatic. I thought you had another polar spell.”

“Is that what we’re calling them now?” you ask at the crook of his neck, making him shiver.

“To say you’re cold would be a drastic understatement. Polar sounds silly, but is more evocative.”

“That’s what you want to be? Evocative?”

Alastor hums. “Should I be?”

You laugh softly, leaning against him. You go quiet for a time and he looks you over, and then he notices it.

Alastor snatches your arm as gently as he can and pulls up the sleeve of your t-shirt, revealing a hand-shaped bruise. “Tell me immediately who did this to you and why you hid it from me.”

“Hey, ow,” you say. “I’m not hiding it if you can see it, Alastor. It was just an accident. I slipped so my partner just grabbed me to keep me from falling. It was just a mistake, no big deal. Don’t be upset.”

He decides to accept that answer for now. “What is the name of this individual?”

“I’m not telling you because that would potentially go very poorly for him, and all he did was save me from crashing.” You kiss him softy, quickly, then smile at him. “Okay?”

“Hmph.” Alastor pulls you into his lap. “Have you shivered yourself half to death today?”

You opt for extreme honesty. “No, but I’m expecting it any time.”

“Why?” Alastor clutches you closer against himself. “Why do you accept that this is the way that things have to be? You’re free to spend all of your days playing games with Herbert, helping Charlie with the hotel, going shopping with the porn star, doing as much or as little as you want. I have these gifts to give to you, why will you not accept them?”

“I don’t get cold just because I’m not idle, Al. The solution isn’t to just give up what I love doing. There is no solution to begin with. This is what my hell is like. I don’t get to burn, I have to freeze. I can’t do anything but accept it and make the best I can out of life.”

“No, there may be no permanent solution, but this happened infrequently at best before our affair ended. Since it has resumed, it has been almost daily. Is it…is it my doing?”

Your eyes widen and you place your hands on his shoulders. “No! No! No, Alastor! Honey, no, you’re my everything. You don’t do this to me. This is not your fault. It’s not ballet’s fault, either, I danced just as much before we ever even split up and you complained just as much about it as you do now.”

“Then why do you think this is happening to you, my love?” he asks sharply, but not unkindly. “How can you…how do you bear it when you don’t have to? You look so scared and miserable, every single time. Even if there is no absolute, perfect solution, I would give anything to make it better, so that it’s not a daily suffering you simply must endure. No wife of mine—“

“I was sent here to suffer, Al,” you remind him. “You were, too, you just strangely…defy. I don’t notice you suffering much. It’s like you were made for this place.”

“In Hell, I am truly free,” he explains. “Heaven would have made a better punishment and I would have wound up falling like you.”

Alastor immediately wishes he had not said that. The topic of your fall from heaven was forbidden. He himself, your husband and partner for eternity, knew nothing of the details of why this happened to you, what you had done to warrant your expulsion from the divine. He watches as your eyes water. Losing heaven was not easy for you, as it would have been for him.

He leans closer to kiss you, his clawed hand catching in your hair. “You are mine, you know,” he says a moment later, between kisses. “You are mine and I don’t care if heaven sent an envoy begging for your return. You belong to me and I will crater hell itself before I let anyone take you away from me—God help any fool stupid enough to try.”

Then the tremors came, the little shivers that preceded a polar spell. Alastor took you to the fire and wrapped you both up in blankets as a precaution, to keep you as warm as possible and make it easier on you.

When it begins in earnest, Alastor stares coldly at the fire that failed to make you warm. Seven times in just as many days.

#

Trouble in paradise. Angel’s jaw sets uncomfortably when he passes by Alastor, who was in a semi-permanent state of sheer anger and aggression. The radio static gets louder as he passes, and Angel can feel those creepy eyes on him, so he walks faster.

All he wants is a popsicle, for fuck’s sake. Alastor doesn’t stop to glare at him, though, so he lets out a heave of relief as he walks a bit more quickly down the burgundy halls. The lights keep dimming here, on the way to the kitchen, and ordinarily that would be Alastor’s job, but no one, not even Charlie, was willing to speak a word to the man, let alone ask him to accomplish a simple job around the hotel. Poor Husk is tasked with keeping the rye flowing for someone he ordinarily was afraid of, but now…

Now Husk is now in a near constant state of panic. The cat demon was on edge, even with Angel. He knows better than most the taste of Alastor’s ire.

And what was it all for, anyway? That’s what Angel wonders, gold tooth sharp on his lip. The two of you are back together…right? Were things already turning sour again? Alastor always makes sure that everyone knows, absolutely everyone knows that he practically owns you. Even if it wasn’t the same way he owned Husk or Niffty or probably countless others. Alastor is guarded about how this is expressed publicly, but it has an aura of threat towards anyone that doubted or would contest it.

Lucifer hasn’t even been by in a while, and that was usually what set Alastor off to this extent. To top it off, no one has seen a mere wink of you.

Angel jumps when he hears a series of bangs coming from the stone staircase that leads to the basement. Ordinarily he wouldn’t follow the noise; that leads to horror movie-type shit. He finds his feet carrying him toward the source anyway.

When he sees it’s just you, banging the shit out of a pair of silky pink shoes, Angel approaches with caution. “Hey toots.”

You startle, a strangled gasp escaping your lips. You almost dropped the funny shoes, hand to your chest. “Oh, holy hot sauce cream cheese cake, you scared the fuck out of me!”

“Guess you didn’t hear me coming over the racket,” he says sheepishly. “You mind if I sit with ya for a minute?”

“Yeah, sure. I’m just breaking in a new pair of shoes.” You take out an exacto knife and cut something out of the inside of one of the shoes.

Angel stares at this peculiar behaviour. “You gotta destroy them to break ‘em in?”

You laugh softly. “Yeah, essentially. They don’t really come in as wearable, so we have to break them in.”

“What are you cutting out?” he asks softly, hugging his knees.

“It’s called the shank. I cut out a bit of it to make my arches prettier,” you explain as you cut it out of the other. “Everyone does theirs differently. It’s all about comfort and support.”

“Why were you bangin’ the shit out of them?”

“Partly to soften the shoe, partly just because they’re so damn loud and you don’t want that when you’re performing.” You move on to your ribbons and elastics now.

Angel takes a chance and leans against your shoulder. Used to be, the two of you were thick as thieves. His hair touches yours and you stop what you’re doing. Angel lifts his head again. “Hey, sorry.”

You put your pointe shoes aside and hug him as tightly as you can, so he returns the embrace. Just before he begins to speak, you start to cry in his arms, so he wraps all of them around you. “It’s okay, toots, I’m here. I’m here, I got you.”

“Angel, I don’t know what to do. It’s all so fucked up, I can’t even…” you sniffle. It’s embarrassing to cry like this, but better Angel than Alastor. You squeeze him a bit tighter. “I don’t know what to do. It’s out of hand. I thought if I could just…”

“Hey, um…” Angel’s heart is racing, both for fear of Alastor and fear for you. “It ain’t…him, is it?”

“Who, Al?” You lean back and wipe your eyes. “No, absolutely not. He’s just in a mood because of me, because he thinks I’m working too much and that’s what’s making me sick. So I’m sick and dealing with him at the same time, on top of everything…everything else.”

“What’s ’everything else’, doll-face?” Angel asks softly, his fingers now in your hair soothingly. “You know I’m here for you, you ain’t gotta handle shit on your own. It’s been…I’ve missed you. Not like this, but I’m missin’ the days we did the podcast.”

You smile weakly and kiss his cheek. “Love you, whore.”

Angel laughs softly and nuzzles yours. “Love you, bitch face.”

You laugh too, and it feels good. It feels good to harken to the good old days, Angel taking you under his wing to acquaint you with some of the trickier aspects of living in the shambolic horror show that was hell. Al offering to do you one better, privately, later that night. Things weren’t so complicated back then, and you wish more than anything to just…go back.

“What’s goin’ on?” Angel asks cautiously. “You said it ain’t Al…If that’s the case, why ain’t he helping?”

“Because I can never tell him. And you won’t either,” you say sharply.

“Do you know he’s been doing?” he asks. “He’s got the whole hotel on eggshells, terrified of incurring his wrath. I don’t know what you won’t tell me, but—shit, did you…find a different man?”

“If I found another man then Alastor would have just killed him and then come back around with a spring in his step.” You rest your head on his shoulder and sigh. “I’m not with another man. Another man found me.”

Angel thinks on what that means for a moment. “Oh. Oh.”

You hold up a finger. “Not a word, understand?”

“Not a word, huh? And why the fuck not? Alastor could probably do something about it. Why not say something? God knows what all he’d do for you.”

“Alastor would do anything for me,” you say softly.

“Then why?” Angel questions.

You rub your eyes hard. “There are reasons. Namely he’ll probably leave me.”

Angel tilts his head. “But if you’re not, y’know…seein’ anybody…”

“I think you know I would never do that,” you say.

He nods now. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Not my point. Tell him or don’t, I kinda got…a big, huge fuckin’ favour to ask.”

You turn your head to listen and shrug. “Go on.”

“It’s just…I know it’s personal, toots, and you’re a bit shy, but…when’s the last time you and Al…y’know.”

Your cheeks grow warm and you sigh. “Oh, probably…ten days?”

“Oof,” he says. “Can you just…maybe…? Are ya mad at him?”

“No, I’m not mad at him at all. He just thinks I’m too sick,” you tell him.

Angel looks at the shoes pensively, He knew how shy you got about your sex life with Alastor, therefore knew better than to look at you right now. “So…can you do it?”

“Yeah, of course,” you assure him. “Why, is he being a menace?”

Angel looks up at you again, his brows slanted. “Menace don’t even begin to describe it. Everyone’s on edge. Everyone. Even Charlie can’t delude herself into thinking everything is okay, and shit, this is the first time anybody’s seen you in a week. Conspiracy theories are beginning to spread like crazy.”

“I’m just…busy. Al is really pushing for me to stop working and just go on shopping sprees with you and maybe do the podcast again. He was never thrilled about the notion of podcasts in principle, but he’d do basically anything for me to quit ballet,” you explain.

Angel nods along. “And will you?”

“No fucking way!”

He laughs, two arms wrapping around you again. It feels nice. Safe. Cosy. Easy. “I wanna ask you something I never asked before, but I’ve always been curious.”

“Yeah?” You turn your head to face him properly.

Angel’s little grin turns devious, his gold tooth glinting. “What’s it like? Rolling in the hay, I mean. Come on!”

“I honestly don’t know how he’s as good as he is. I believe him when he says he’s never been with anyone before, never watched porn, none of it,” you say.

Angel smirks, full on gossip mode activated. “I’ve been in hell a long time. Not quite as long as him, but not far off. He’s always been a topic of conversation. ‘Oh, the fearsome Radio Demon’. It was known he had, like, zero vices except for ripping souls apart and the occasional glass of whiskey. Everybody, and I mean everybody, knew that he wasn’t interested in dick or pussy or anything in between.”

“And then I showed up!” You cry out, smile on your face, arms in the air.

“So…did you wind up teaching him a lot of stuff? You can tell me!”

“Not really, I just told him what I liked and didn’t like and he sort of…” You hum and bite your lip. “Ran with it. He’s not afraid to be experimental, especially since he soundproofed his room.”

Angel drums his fingers over his other arms excitedly. “He won’t do it in yours? How come?”

“Well, partly he doesn’t like having separate rooms at all, but more specifically he says he doesn’t want to do it above Herbert’s little nest under my bed. Most nights I sleep in Alastor’s room and he’ll sit beside me and read or work on scripts or god fucking knows what else.” You stretch before picking up your pointe shoes. “I’m going to find him. Thanks for talking to me, and not one word, understood?”

All four of his arms shoot up. “Hands to God, I’ll keep my mouth shut if you promise to be my little bitch face pal again.”

You kiss his cheek before standing. “Ten-four, sweet whore. Talk to you soon.”

With that, you got up and go to your own bedroom first to put away the pointe shoes, but when you open the door, there are tiny scraps of paper everywhere. Your jaw drops as you look around at the white confetti spread all over the bed, the rugs, everywhere. Finally your eyes settle at the epicentre of the massive mess.

“Herbert!” you shout. “What have you done, you asshole?”

Immediately you regret your tone and Herbert sniffles so you go to pick him up. “Now, now. Listen. You’re not allowed to play with paper, Herbs. You’re definitely not allowed to shred it to pieces and litter all over the room. The next time I come into this room I expect to see every scrap in the garbage, do you understand?”

“Mad?” he asks softly, prompting you to kiss the top of his head.

“Not mad, frustrated. You made a big mess, Herbert. Why?”

“Fun!”

You shake your head. “No, not fun. You’re not allowed to do that ever again, okay?”

Herbert sighs, deflates. “Kay.”

You kiss the top of his head again. “Mommy’s got to change. Get this cleaned up and you can play with your dolls.”

Herbert gasps softly and zips down, collecting pieces of paper. You smile and go to the closet to find something to wear. Little red dress, black fuck-me pumps, diamonds—all gifts from him, and you know how deeply that affects him. When you feel put together, you go up to the wall and whisper to your winged shadow. She makes a little move, covering her mouth as if to giggle, and flies out of the room, on her way to Alastor.

You, in the meantime, make your way over to Alastor’s hotel room, letting yourself in. Smiling to yourself, you sit on the side of the bed, legs crossed, and within seconds Alastor materialises in front of you.

“Hello my love,” you say, a big grin on your face.

Alastor looks down at you for a good few moments before shoving you down on the bed and attacking your neck.

You laugh softly as he bites and licks and sucks at your neck, reaching between you to unbutton his coat. “Ooh, you’re certainly excited.”

His breath is hot on your neck. “Do you know what I’m about to do to you? I almost don’t even want to say it aloud.”

“Hm…” You run your fingers through his hair until your fingers brush against his ear and he gasps audibly against your skin.

“Fuck, darling, don’t stop.”

You move so that it’s you kissing his neck. “So, is this why you’ve been terrorising the residents of the hotel?”

Alastor pants softly, not eager to respond. “…Maybe. Maybe my demeanour has changed in response to our…lack of intimate contact.”

Now you kiss him several times. “God, I’ve been wanting you so badly. You smell so good and feel so right when you’re against me like this. You make me want to do everything to you, with you, for you.”

He growls and pins you back against the bed, one hand shoving the skirt up over your hip, the other lightly squeezing your throat.

“May I drink from you, my darling?” he asks in a throaty whisper near your ear. “Are you well enough? Can I take from you? I would never want to hurt you. You are my darling, my prize.”

“Oh, please do,” you say, turning your head to expose the best possible angle on your neck. With a sharp fingernail, you pierce your skin, producing a rivulet of pure gold.

Alastor sits back for just a second to enjoy the sight of it, the beauty of the golden liquid as it ran down to your collarbone. “You are the most precious, beautiful sight I have ever seen in my life. I’m going to make you very happy woman from now until the end of all things.”

His tongue collects the golden blood that has pooled at your collarbone and laves upward, gathering every little drop and moaning loudly.

He could never forget the first time he saw it, the first time the scent of it made all pride and shame flee him so that he begged you to let him taste it. You didn’t tease him, didn’t judge him. You had offered yourself to him, and he would never forget that one act of pure love and loyalty.

The mere act itself is not exciting to you, but his responses makes your blood rush downward. It works down from your thudding heartbeat, down to your belly, making you feel warmer between your thighs. Because he knows you, knows your mind and body so well, his hand flows downward too, hiking up the skirt of your dress even further up. His claws trace lightly over your exposed hip, making you quake, spreading goosebumps.

When he feels the tremble in your thigh, he blunts his fingertips and rubs you through silk underwear. Suddenly he pulls away, though, stands up, starts shedding clothes. When you reach back to unzip your dress, he snatches your hand.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he says in a low, dark tone. He lets go of your hand after a moment, holding eye contact. He licks the last fleck of blood off his lip and continues to undress when he’s certain you’re not going to try anything stupid.

Your hand falls to your side and you stare up at him with half-hooded eyes.

Alastor pulls the underwear down over your hips, down your thighs, throws them backward across the room to heaven knows where. His boots come off, followed by his trousers, but you still don’t move to unzip your dress.

You think he’s about to, but then he just rips the dress open to reveal your chest to himself.

You gasp, agape. “Alastor, I loved this dress!”

“I can buy you all the dresses you want,” he says, pulling you down to grind against you for a moment. His thumb swirls over the point of your left nipple and he stares at it as he performs this action. “All that you want, you will have.”

“And what do you want?” you ask, leaning on your elbows. “What can I give you that’s even comparable?”

“Comparable?” Alastor repeats. “Equivalent with what? A thousand dresses?”

You laugh softly. “No, not dresses. What you want. I want to give you everything.”

Alastor thought for a moment and determined that no, this was not the right moment to bring up all his thoughts on fawns. Instead, he leans down and kisses your forehead, his lips fluttering against the damp skin as he speaks. “Do you think that you can be good?”

You nod, breath picking up. The room is getting hot and he pulls your thighs up to his hips.

You lick your lips. “What can I give you that you want more than anything?”

“What you’ve promised me. Eternity. I’ve told you, my darling, I no longer know how to be without you, and in fact I won’t. I will never be without you again.” One of his hands slides between your legs and you see a smirk caress his features when he feels how wet he’s made you. He runs two fingers through your slick and presses them against your lips. As you lick them, his smirk slowly stretches across his face. “Now there’s a very good girl.”

You smile and wink. “And what do good girls get?”

Alastor doesn’t move at first. “Close your eyes, darling.” When you do, he takes himself in hand and presses up against your entrance. “My dear, I’m going to tell you a secret.”

You swallow and lick your lips, eyes still closed. “Yes, Alastor?”

He leans down so that his lips brush against your ear when he says it. “The reward for being a good girl is the same as the punishment for being a bad girl.”

In a flash of a moment, he’s buried so deep inside of you that it forces a shocked whimper from your lips. Alastor hooks your knees on his shoulders and leans down to kiss you, almost chest to chest.

“You are so very beautiful,” he states, matter-of-fact, as though a universal truth, never to be questioned, never to be tampered with, never to be challenged or broken. He pushes even deeper inside you, claws scratching the inside of your thighs. “Do you believe me when I say this to you?”

Your cheeks warm and you turn away. “Why do you ask?”

“Because you always do that. You hide your pretty face from me every time I compliment your beauty. I want you to stop, once and for all. You will accept that I find you beautiful and that you are beautiful, do you understand me?”

“A-Alastor…” Horrifically enough, your eyes sting with tears. You blink them back and moan when his cock drags against your walls.

He fucks you harder in turn, wanting to press some boundaries at least a little bit. In his very core he knows something is wrong, even though what you’re doing together now is right, natural, what should always be, what will always be, as long as he has breath in his lungs, the lungs you filled with air for the very first time.

“My darling, my darling,” he whispers as he fucks you harder and harder, your diaphragm working overtime. Your own lungs are finding it hard to keep up, but oh, it’s so worth it to feel him this way. Like an idiot, you almost cry again, because you will lose this. It’s only a matter of time.

In his state of ecstasy, he notices nothing askance. You manage to beat your thoughts away because the pleasure soon overwhelms you as well. Your fingernails catch on the silk sheets as you desperately grab for purchase. When you can’t, you go for his back instead; he has long since given his consent to scratch the multitude of scars there.

“Alastor, please,” you whine, calling out for him, for his voice, for sweet mercy. “Al, I can’t hold on.”

“Then come for me, my lovely,” he says, pressing a kiss to your knee. “It was never prohibited.”

In the next few rough strokes your head dips back and you’re so grateful for the soundproofed room. You scream for him, your love, trying to impart the depth of your feelings even through the din. You shake and tighten with such intensity that he only lasts a bit after your orgasm before he paints your walls white and promptly gets into bed beside you, arms around your middle.

Alastor places his head on his shoulder and gives the same grave promise you always received after intimate acts. “I will protect and love you always.”

You take in the sight of him, during these disheveled moments where he can’t seem to care less about being put together and perfect. And to think, you’ll lose it all.

“Always?” you ask.

“Of course always. Do you doubt my words, my intentions?”

It wasn’t a matter of doubt. Not really.

You play with his sweat-slicked hair and shake your head. “No. You’re one of the only things I actually hold faith with. I find very little in hell that deserves my trust, but you do. You’re my love.”

“Indeed I am, and don’t ever forget that.” Alastor frowns and grabs your hand. “You are not wearing your ring. Why do you never wear it?”

You look down at your hand as well. “I do wear it. It’s on the dish you bought for my jewellery. I can’t wear it at rehearsals and I don’t want it stolen or lost. Does it make me any less a wife to you?”

“No,” he says in a pondering tone. “I suppose it does not. But you know how I feel, both about ballet and you wearing things I give you. And it is a special item, is it not? Unique in its purpose and meaning. I assume you will resume wearing it daily when rehearsals end.”

“And I gather that’s not an assumption, but a command?” you ask.

He huffs. “Correct.”

This time, he is in the library, waiting for his love to come home. Alastor sits in a buttery soft leather armchair with a glass of wine and The Master and Margarita. He’s just about to take a sip from his glass of wine when he hears it, like a crash in his ears.

Herbert flies into the room like a bullet. “Help! Help! Help mommy!”

Alastor sighs and drinks the wine anyway, making no move to stand. “Herbert, this is my reading time, not my ‘putting up with tiny jackasses’ time. I’m sure your mother is perfectly well and I will see her when she gets home.”

“Home! Home!” Herbert says, repeating it again and again.

“She’s home already? I asked her to meet me here. Well, that’s no cause for concern. Your mother will join me here soon. Do you wish to wait here for her as well? Sit on the ottoman, you foolish creature.”

Somehow, the creature with no mouth and no hands rips the book away from Alastor and throws it across the room.

“Help!”

Alastor growls and stands. He takes Herbert into his grasp as he walks. “Listen to me, you little bastard. I tolerate you for the sake of your mother, but even she agrees with me about your asking for ‘help’ over nothing. No more apples.”

“No! Apples! Help!”

“Oh I’ll fucking help you, you little—“ Alastor opens the door and hears the sobs right away. You’re sitting on the floor against the foot of your bed with at least six broken phones in front of you. In fact, your television screen is cracked and your laptop is shattered up against it.

Alastor takes all of this in with his heart rate skyrocketing. He pushes Herbert away from himself and goes to you, quickly wrapping his arms around you.

“Darling,” he says, watching as you try to pull away from him. “Darling, what are you doing? I will not let go of you, stop that. Stop that right now. Wait a moment.”

He sits up straighter and tilts your head, revealing a shiny bruise on your cheekbone. He takes in a deep breath, gripping your shoulder. “Who did this to you?”

You brush his hands away, but that just makes him hold you tighter.

“You will tell me who hit you and you will do it now,” he says, his voice rising with every word.

You brush your fingers against your cheek and the bruise disappears. “Don’t yell at me!”

Alastor’s jaw sets, his teeth creak. “I am going to find out. You can either tell me or allow me to find out by my own devices, starting with your pals at the studio. Ah, that’s the look I wanted. Tell me.”

“Alastor, it’s not as simple as all that,” you claim. You reach for a pack of cigarettes but he stops you. Your hands begin to shake.

“No, it is. I am your husband, your partner for eternity, and I am utterly incensed. Someone has put their hands on you, assaulted you, and you know that is something I cannot abide. I don’t care how close you are to whoever did it—“

“We are not close,” you interject.

“Then tell me who did this to you,” Alastor says, gently caressing the spot where the bruise had been.

“You’re going to break up with me,” you say.

Alastor scoffs. “I assure you that I will not be doing that. You know that I’ll never let you go.”

You shift and sigh before sitting up. “Let me change out of this leotard and be broken up with in comfortable clothes.”

“How was ballet?” he asks derisively.

“That’s…part of it all, actually,” you say as you peel the leotard off. There was no reason to be self-conscious or shy in front of Alastor so you didn’t try to hide or cover up. You pull on a pair of comfortable pyjamas and slowly make your way back to the bed. You take a deep breath and sigh.

“Okay,” you say, hugging your knees. “I have a stalker and I’ve been…hiding it from you.”

Alastor falls into silence while you look on at him, brow creased in worry, lip between your teeth.

Finally, he speaks. “You are going to tell me every detail right now, without skimming, without skipping. You will explain to me why you did not come to me for protection. I will not break up with you, that is utterly ridiculous, but you will tell me everything.”

Hearing he wouldn’t leave makes you so happy that you reach over and hug him. He stiffens and does not return the embrace, so you sigh and fall backward against the silk sheets. “It started when we were split up. I was at the Tower meeting with Velvette along with several other members of the ballet corps because the company wanted us to do photoshoots.”

He nods. “Continue.”

You reach over to touch him, but he rebuffs again and your eyes begin to water. “Really, Alastor, I’m sorry.”

“And I am upset,” he says. “I don’t want to be touched right now.”

“I’m sorry,” you tell him, sitting up and holding Herbert in your lap. “I won’t touch you again. I’m so, so sorry.”

“Continue the story.”

You nod a few times and push your hair behind your ear. “So what happened was I was getting up to leave the room where the meeting was located and I wanted to listen to music, so I picked up my phone and pressed play, but my stupid earbuds didn’t connect so my phone is just blaring “Layla” at full blast.

“So I’m scrambling, trying to get my earbuds to work, and he happened to be walking past the room, so he heard the music and came in to tell me it was one of his favourite songs in life and we chitchat about music for a while before I needed to leave.”

When you go silent, he motions for you to continue.

“Well, that’s my entire input in the whole…deal. For a while,” you say. “But then it was too late.”

“What do you mean?”

You chew your lip and sit back again. “Not long after that day, drones started to follow me. I swear, I didn’t piece together what was happening for a while. I mean, who suspects being stalked like that? But I noticed a pattern in the drone behaviour.”

“Continue.”

You wince, chewing your lip again. “Alastor, I’m sorry, but it gets worse. He gathered the information, somehow, that you and I had broken up, and I guess that meant I was fair game to him. He sends me roses to the studio every day, in the morning and whenever I leave. He won’t leave me alone. I’ve changed phone numbers eleven times, but he always figures it out, so I stopped trying and just mute him.” You gesture at all the broken phones on the floor.

“Is it just roses?” he asks.

You shake your head. “It’s never just anything. Remember when you saw that bruise on my arm? He’d had me essentially abducted to have a lunch date when he found out you and I were back together and he grabbed my arm and screamed at me for exactly fifty-six minutes, talking about me cheating on him.”

Alastor drags you over to him and holds you tight. “And what happens next?”

“Oh, Al!” You throw your arms around him and don’t bother to hide the tears, heavy and thick in your throat. “Since he’s found out we’re together again everything has been a hundred times worse. He’s threatening you, he’s threatening me. He had me abducted by some goon again this afternoon when I left the studio and took me to meet him. He was deranged. He yelled at me, he touched me, you know, inappropriately, he hit me!“

“He touched you?” Alastor shouts. “He hit you? And why did you hide this from me until now? Don’t think I fail to notice that you never did come to me, by the way. You never even sought my help, Herbert did. Herbert.”

You nibble at your lower lip. “Because there’s nothing you can do about it, Alastor. I don’t mean that to offend you.”

“You honestly believe there’s nothing I can do to protect my own wife?” Alastor asks incredulously. “I have laid claim to you and he has tried to take you away from me. You think there’s nothing I can do? You think so little of me, you think me weak and ineffectual?”

“It’s not that,” you’re quick to say, your arms coming around yourself again.

“Then what is it?” Alastor snaps.

“I…I don’t think that you’re weak. I just don’t…I don’t want to risk you getting involved and it bringing more trouble to our door. We just got through being accosted by Exorcists. Adam nearly killed you, nearly took you away from me. I’m sorry, but you’re not the only injured party here. We both have a right to be concerned about what’s going on and how to deal with it.”

“So you, at the very least, are mature enough to understand that I do have a right,” he asserts with a snap.

You sigh softly. “Of course you have a right. You do. I just wanted to avoid it for as long as I could. I really thought…being together again would make him back off. I always told myself ‘This time he’ll go away’.”

“And instead it worsened things to the point where he’s now gotten physical with you.”

You sigh. “Yes. I don’t want you to kill each other.”

“That fucking coward cannot kill me,” Alastor says. “I lasted three rounds with the First Man and lived to tell the tale, hard as that is to my pride. You and Lucifer and Vagatha are the only angels residing in hell. Whoever else this is cannot match me.”

“There’s a lot at stake,” you say.

Alastor bristles. “And you need only trust me, but you can’t even muster that.”

You sniffle and grab a fresh tissue to blot away new tears. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. It all started just because I was doing my job. All I want is for him to leave me alone and to somehow make you trust me again.”

Alastor gently pulls you against himself again. “My darling, I do trust you. Generally. Just not about this. Have you told me everything?”

You rub at your raw eyes until Alastor pulls your hand away by the wrist. “I’m trying to think.”

“He touched you intimately, you said? How and where?”

You hesitate, but take one of his hands and place it on your breast, squeezing his hand around it.

Alastor grows very, very quiet. You move his hand away from your chest and squeeze it, but he doesn’t respond. After several moments filled with dread, he speaks again.

“Tell me his name.”

You swallow, throat tightening. “It’s Vox.”

Music mentioned:

[fayes-fics]

Breathe (In The Air)

Pariring: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, 1970s AU

Summary: A night camping out under the stars

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, recreational drug use (cannabis), body hair used in foreplay, vaginal fingering, blow job, woman on top, unprotected vaginal sex.

Word Count: 2.6k

Authors Note: Request fill for Anon (HERE) asking for a sequel to 1970s hippie Benedict, travelling around in his VW bus selling his artwork at music festivals. Sorry for the gif; there was nothing else that remotely fit. The original story is HERE. The title is a Pink Floyd song. Thanks as always to @colettebronte for the beta. I hope you enjoy Nonny. I do enjoy this AU ngl. <3

“What do you want from life?” 

You loll your head to the side to observe his handsome profile as he stares towards the dome of vibrant stars above.

“I have no idea,” you confess, turning to look skywards again, moonlight glowing through the swirl of smoke you exhale, your fingers toying with the tassels of the soft cotton blanket you both lay upon.

“I want adventure…” he declares, rubbing a hand over his bare midriff absentmindedly.

“Hmmm, that sounds wonderful,” you admit, handing him back the joint, that languid feeling enrobing your mind as the THC kicks in.

It's a temperate summer night, and you are lying together naked, tinny strains of music from a portable radio as you camp in a wildflower meadow en route to the next festival. After a series of magical nights with Ben in his VW bus at the last one, you couldn't resist when he offered for you to continue the journey onwards together. 

He takes a deep drag, the tip glowing like the campfire you are lying in front of, before placing it aside into a metal ashtray and rolling over so he hovers above you, warm skin upon yours.

“I am glad you are on this adventure with me,” he remarks with a lopsided grin, the captivating beauty of his face dancing in the firelight.

“Same.” you concur, reaching to touch the daisy chain buried in his halo of riotous curls, somehow the blooms looking more vibrant in the serene state you are slipping into.

His hand slides languorously down your body from your throat to your lower belly, mapping your fire-warmed skin before lacing his fingers into the downy hair at the apex of your thighs, stirring that nascent buzz between your legs.

“I think this beautiful garden needs some flowers,” he opines silkily, his fingers circling in the strands there, petting gently as his brow twitches into a tempting arch.

He leans over you and plucks a few forget-me-nots from the tall grass, carefully separating each bloom on your stomach. Then, delicately, he weaves each tiny flower into your small thatch of hair, a mild tickle as the stems brush over your skin, making you giggle quietly. He smiles softly, your eyes meeting, then both tracking down the plane of your body as he continues to work quietly, humming gently along to the music.

“There… perfect,” he pronounces proudly; a few moments later, 

It does indeed look pretty: bright blue tiny flowers that contrast strikingly with your hair and skin. 

“Even in this, you are an artist,” you quip blithely.

He smiles demurely through his lashes, shuffling lower and resting his head upon your diaphragm, his fingers tracing soothing patterns around your belly button, his breath puffing warm over your flesh. Allowing the jangle of electric guitar from the radio to fill your bones, your fingers run idly through his luscious locks as your mind floats like cotton in a breeze. The moment seems fleeting but everlasting all at once, profound but insignificant, being so small under the twinkling constellations above. It all coalesces into a sharp need to feel rooted in your body. So you draw your knees up and allow your legs to fall open—a blatant invitation. The apple of his cheek presses into your belly as he smirks knowingly without looking up at you, sensing your need without you needing to voice it, so in tune with your body and desires since the night you met.

“Every beautiful garden should have a sacred fountain…” he rumbles, fingertips spidering down again over the floral weave to tease your splayed inner thigh before sliding casually lower, parting your folds, exhaling roughly at the wet warmth he finds there.

You moan; the mellow cloud you float upon heightens the sensation rippling through your being as his fingers circle your clit, his warm lips suckling gently on your stomach as you writhe under his touch. His name is a sigh upon your lips, his movements unhurried but the perfect amount of pressure. He huffs sonorous praises into your belly as he forms a tighter circle over your swollen bud, moving faster now, your hands flying to the blanket, scrunching in your fists as your head rolls to one side, wanting to bite down upon something, the pleasure coursing through you amplified by your high. 

Whimpering as he slides his fingers lower, two breaching your body, desire thick and viscous dripping upon him as he pushes further in your pussy. The sensation of his knuckles dragging over your walls makes you gasp and call out, your body arching up off the blanket, a heavy throb in your abandoned clit. 

“Please, Ben…” you implore, greedy for more.

He shushes you and unfurls slightly, his fingers flexing inside you as he rearranges to press his whole body into your flank, his cock teasingly hard against your hip, using his free hand to haul one of your legs over his, pulled open to his attention now.

“Don't be impatient; we have all the time in the world,” he tuts sinfully, his lips hot on your throat, grazing the tip of his teeth lightly over your jugular. 

Your protesting mewl is cut short by his fingers twisting inside you, a dragging sensation that makes your eyes roll and your whole abdomen clench.

“I could do this for hours,” he confesses silkily, his breath hot on your temple. “I love the look on your face when I do this…”

He curls his fingers, a probing sensation that makes you groan and your face contort, your mouth now hanging open. He chuckles triumphantly before twisting his wrist again and beginning a rocking motion, wringing a sound from your body that, before you met him, you may have been ashamed of, but he lauds every time. Him murmuring how proud he is that he can do this to you.

But it is not quite enough to push you to the edge as fast as you are craving, more of a slow swirling ascent that has you lighthearted and with laboured breathing, your abdomen rippling as all your muscles tense and release in waves, as if willing your orgasm closer, an itch in your brain you need to scratch. It has you pleading with him to take pity, go a little faster, rougher, anything…

“Syncopate, sweet girl…” he purrs, “listen to the music, breathe in the air, float away with the universe…”

Each word is a lyrical wave tumbling from his lips in a rhythm that matches the movement of his fingers inside you. So you relax back, savouring the multisensory journey, allowing the flow to take you rather than chasing immediate pleasure. Something morphing in your body as you do so, a serenity that is bone-deep, riding the gentle waves of pleasure that lap at your edges while his fingers dance lightly upon your g-spot.

“That’s it….” he rumbles approvingly, intuiting your surrender.

He slips down to enclose your areola in his hot, wet mouth, once again causing a spike of pleasure that has you clenching upon his fingers and canting up. A firm hand on your solar plexus pushes you back down with a chuckle that vibrates your nipple, now firm under his tongue. And so he continues the slow, wondrous torture, swapping to your other breast.

You swear you can feel every blade of grass under your shoulders through the soft cotton weave, the energy of every star above you in the sky coursing through his touch deep inside, every note of the song playing reverberating under your skin. A high, so delicate but earthy, as if everything is turned up to eleven on a dial, tangy and bright, like popping candy throughout your entire being.

It's then he swipes his thumb over your engorged clit; you could swear a supernova fires in your synapses, the sensation all at once too much, and with a few flicks, you are clawing at the blanket and his skin, biting your lip, circling that phenomenal bliss.

This time, he doesn't relent, his lips sucking your neck as with a cry that you are sure startles every animal burrowed in the surrounding fields; you are breaking. Almost febrile, your entire being flushing hot, every muscle tensing, your pussy grasping his fingers to the point he growls, driving his stiff cock into your hip, precum smearing over your skin. Still, it’s something you barely sense, your entire focus pinpointed on the sensations coursing through your body.

At last, you fall back, exhausted and panting, feeling his fingers slip slowly from your body with a gush of moisture that leaks across your bottom. You turn your head to look at him, mind awash, unable to form words. His responding smile is smug, crooked and sheer debauchery, his fingers still wet with your arousal, tracing soothing patterns over your ribs as you come down.

“May I return the favour…?” you croak finally.

Before you know it, he is rolling onto his back next to you, an expectant, joyous look upon his face, eyes tracking pointedly to his navel as do yours. His cock standing proud and leaking slightly—a mouthwateringly inviting sight.

He howls, and his whole body flexes as instead of taking him in hand, you dive low and bring his cock into your mouth, so rigid and searing. That tart taste is strong on your tongue as you suckle upon his head, allowing your tongue to press against his frenulum in a cresting wave. He groans staccato, his pelvis tilts, unable to resist the urge to push a little deeper, one hand landing heavy in your hair, twining some strands between his fingers, an anchor he needs as you begin to bob up and down sucking hard, your cheeks hollowing.

The wash of your high enhancing every second, as if in tune with his body—the micro spasms rippling across the plane of his washboard stomach, the flutter of his long eyelashes, the blunt scrape of his rounded fingernails over your scalp, the pulse of his vein on your lips as you slowly allow him to pass through the tight ring of your mouth, teasing him as much as he did you.

You chuckle as he huffs as you pull away and instead lick the length of his shaft with a questing tongue, your hands encircling his base and squeezing softly, enjoying the handful he provides, watching a bead of precum form that you lavishly lick up. He groans again, his head thrashing upon the blanket, the delicate fronds of daisy petals scattering like confetti into his chestnut waves as he does so, his lip flushing magenta where his incisor worries it.

It makes you sit up and stare down upon him wantonly, so utterly beautiful in his untamed arousal. His eyes fly open, glassy and pleading in the campfire glow, pouting fractionally at the lack of your mouth upon his cock, your hand still pumping him gently. Instead, you swing a leg over his and, without a moment of hesitation, sink onto him, inhaling shudderingly at the invasion, your pussy still inflamed from your recent orgasm.

The look of absolute pleasure and reverence that claims his handsome features feels burned into your retinas as his hands fly to your hips, pushing you down flush to his body, his pubic hair tickling your distended slippery clit, his tip rocking into your hilt in a way that makes your eyes roll.

“Don't move, not yet, just feel…” he counsels, his eyes closing, licking his lips and encouraging you, with the flex of his fingers, to rotate your pelvis, to feel him drag against all your walls. 

And so you do, scratch your nails delicately down his abdominals as you stare out to the inky horizon where the navy sky meets the blackened outline of the hedgerows in the distance—again, letting the melodic song seep into your bones, feeling the heat from the dancing flames.

You lean back and arch your spine, placing your hands upon his kneecaps, his legs bending slightly to meet your grip. His hands roam upwards, over your belly and ribs, enclosing each of your breasts in his large grip, a beeline right to your core, already a live wire again, desire coursing in every fibre of your being. 

Then in a deliberate slow drag, you rise slowly before dropping swiftly, revelling in the way his cock pushes you open. A groan from deep inside your being a match to his—throaty, low, wrecked. You begin to set a languid pace, riding him, gripping his knees behind you and staring at the stars above, feeling as if they surround you, tiny lanterns floating just beyond your reach.

“Look at me,” his call is soft, unfocused, imploring, and you tilt down, your breasts squashed into his palms as your eyes meet, something profound in the glimmer you find in the dilated blackness.

Sex has never been this unrestrained before now. Being with him is liberating, wild and luxuriant every time, be it under the influence or not. But tonight, somehow greater than the previous, an inherently verdant setting, alone in the wilds on a balmy night, away from the crowds always in your periphery at the music festival. A large part of you wanting this to be your new forever—naked and feral, entwined together for a blur of future days and nights. A want to live a primitive life of base urges, to feast and to fuck, to be at one with the land, the seasons and the bounteous simplicity of nature.

Time feels elastic as your thighs start to burn from the exertion. Still, you do not stop, not for a moment, too caught up in the tide slowly rising once more and sensing the same in him. A growing desperation in the way his fingers dig into your flesh, in the wild beating of the prominent vein in his neck, in the rise of his hips to meet yours, spearing up as you bear down so it feels like there will always be the imprint of him inside you.

He calls your name, the callus where he holds his paintbrush catching perfectly over your clit as his fingers quest between your legs, hooking you with unerring precision. Catapulting you fast towards a dizzying high again, his movements growing urgent, his jaw tight, so close to breaking. It is barely a moment before you snap again, stilling upon him as you scream with abandon, fluttering around his rigid cock. He groans loudly and, with a few final jerky spasms, comes hard, his toes curling over, his ropey thighs turning rock solid under your bottom as he fills you, a symphony of praise falling from his lips, some not even in English.

And then you are slumping on top of him, his smooth chest tacky under your cheek as you gulp for air, the rustle of the breeze through the nearby trees and the hiss and pop of the logs upon the campfire the only sounds now, the radio falling silent, likely needing new batteries. He slips from your body as you curl your hands around his biceps and snuggle upon him. His long, lean arms wrap around your torso, enveloping you within the large blanket you were lying upon and dropping a kiss upon your dewy brow.

“We can bathe tomorrow in the river,” he hums gently into your hairline.

You nod drowsily, the pull of sleep too beguiling to resist. And that is how you drift off, resting atop him, his heartbeat strong and steady under your ear, the burbling sounds of nature encircling you.

Benedict taglist pt 1: @makaylan @longingintheuniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @sya-skies

[books-and-catears]

Raphael: It seems you don't realise just how lucky you are sometimes Lucifer

Lucifer: Am I supposed to be grateful for something you've done?

Raphael: No not to me. To the humans. *Points at MC playing games with Mammon, Levi and Luke*

Lucifer: I am always grateful to MC but as for Solomon well except his occasional well timed help, he has only given me headaches.

Raphael: You better show a little respect for the only being that could save you from possible annihilation.

Lucifer: ... what kind of annihilation? *Stands up* Have the angels prophesized some more chaotic events again?! We'll sorry to tell you but we're very much at peace do unless the Celestial realm has hostility in its future plans-

Raphael: It's the humans who might threaten your peace this time, not us.

Lucifer: Spare me the baseless speculation.

Raphael: You don't realise their combined power do you?

Raphael: One of them single handedly went to war against Devildom and escaped unscathed, and the other can summon and use you and your brothers at will.

Lucifer: ...what does your prophecy suggest we do to avoid confrontation?

Raphael: Donot force seperation on them and if you harm one, the other will come back stronger for revenge. And they won't be defeated until the realm is destroyed.

Lucifer: ...what?

Raphael: The only thing keeping them content and controlled is each other. If you want this hard-won peace to continue, ask your brothers to behave.

Lucifer: ....

Mammon: Lucifer! Oi Lucifer! Solomon's not letting MC stay for the sleepover again!

Lucifer: Does MC want to stay...?

Levi: Well they keep making excuses for Solomon and wanting to go back to him saying he's lonely or something but I'm sure that's just them trying to be nice and-

Lucifer: Then let MC go.

Asmo: But Lucifer-

Lucifer: Let them go.

Raphael: Wise choice. I'll be taking my leave now.

MC: Solomon I'm home! *runs and hugs him*

Solomon: *spins them around* Welcome back! The brothers let you leave easier today huh?

MC: Yes! I'm so relieved I didn't have to waste another hour making excuses!

Solomon: I'm glad too.

MC: Are you finished working on that transformation potion yet?

Solomon: Yes I did. Tried and tested - it is ready.

MC: Aw you tried it already? I wanted to see! Who did you turn into? And how long did it last?

Solomon: I was Raphael for an hour and half.

MC: Did you manage to prank someone?!

Solomon: *chuckles* Indeed I think I did.