#I wanted him to be chaotic and fucked up to look at

[valkyrieromanoff]

God bless your dad's genetics… Dilf! Anakin x son’s girlfriend!reader

NEXT

CHAPTER ONE: CRUISE

synopsis: when your best friend Luke asks you to pose as his girlfriend during his parents' 25th wedding anniversary cruise, you reluctantly agree. After all, you're single, he's desperate, and who can say no to an all-expenses-paid getaway? But what starts as a simple favor spirals into a tangled web of awkward introductions, suspicious relatives, and one undeniable complication: your growing, utterly inappropriate crush on Luke’s father, Anakin. Surrounded by the charming and chaotic Skywalker family, you’re forced to navigate the tricky waters of pretense, loyalty, and a passion you never saw coming.

warning: age gap (Anakin is 44 years old and the reader is in her early 20s), cheating, alternate universe, that's it for now, I'll add more warnings when the next chapters come out.

words: 1.1k

a/n: I confess that I've had this idea marinating for a while, and now seeing the latest photos of Hayden at comic-con, he's so dad coded. So, I decided to take a chance and start a story, I don't know how many chapters there will be yet, but I'm excited to see where it will take us... Slightly inspired by Fuck your boyfriend('s dad) by forcemeanakin, I'm obsessed with her writing… Anyway, that's it, I hope you like it ;)

CHAPTER ONE: CRUISE

you were meant for me to find

it's out of my hands

there's nothing left to do but

cruise and just enjoy the ride

“Wait a second, let me get this straight…” you interrupted Luke, raising your hands to halt his rapid-fire explanation. He’d been talking non-stop for nearly five minutes, and you were still struggling to piece it all together. “You want me to pretend to be your girlfriend at your parents’ 25th wedding anniversary? Why on earth do you even need a fake girlfriend?” You adjusted yourself on the bed, pulling a pillow against your chest for comfort, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

Luke let out a long, dramatic sigh, raking a hand through his messy blond hair. “You know how my parents are… always in my business. And now with Leia bringing her boyfriend, I just don’t want to be the only one showing up alone.” He looked at you with those pleading puppy-dog eyes, his voice softening. “Come on, just this once. Please? Didn’t you say you wanted to go on a cruise someday? Here’s your chance.”

You arched an amused eyebrow. “So, what—you’re trying to bribe me now?”

Luke shifted uncomfortably, fiddling with a loose thread on his jacket. “Well, when you put it like that…” he muttered sheepishly. “Look, I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. I—I trust you, okay? You’re the only person I can count on for this.”

His desperation was hard to ignore. You exhaled slowly, shaking your head. “Fine, I’ll do it,” you said, a reluctant smile tugging at your lips. “But only because of the all-inclusive package. Don’t think this means I approve of your ridiculous plan.”

A grin split across Luke’s face as he lunged forward to hug you. “Thank you! Seriously, you’re saving my life here.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you muttered, pushing him back playfully. “But if this backfires, you owe me big time.”

Luke hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “Right, um… about that. I might have already put your name on the guest list.” 

Your eyes narrowed as you shoved his shoulder. “You what? Idiot.”

---

Now, a few days later, you found yourself standing on the pier, the midday sun beating down mercilessly. You checked your phone for the third time, scrolling through messages with a faint scowl. Still no word from Luke. If he left you waiting much longer, you were seriously going to kill him.

“Hey!” His voice cut through the buzz of the crowded dock. You turned to see him jogging toward you, a backpack slung casually over one shoulder. He looked a little too cheerful for someone who had left you baking in the sun.

“You’re late,” you called, crossing your arms as he approached. 

“Fashionably,” he quipped with a smirk, completely unbothered by your glare.

“thought you’d forgotten about me,” you teased, elbowing Luke lightly in the chest as he finally reached you.

Luke shrugged, offering a sheepish grin. “Blame my parents. They were running late because my dad accidentally packed the wrong suitcase for my mom. Total chaos—everyone was scrambling to fix it.”

You chuckled, imagining the scene. Though you hadn’t met Luke’s family yet, you’d heard plenty about them over the years. His parents were something of a legend in his stories: the perfect, if sometimes chaotic, couple who’d married young and raised twins.  

Padmé Amidala, Luke’s mother, was a force of nature. A federal deputy and professor of International Relations, she somehow juggled her demanding career with being a devoted wife and mother. Strong, brilliant, and endlessly busy, yet always managing to prioritize her family.

Anakin Skywalker, Luke’s father, was no less impressive. A retired army general, he’d left his military career after the twins were born to focus on raising them. Luke often spoke of how his dad spent hours tinkering in their garage, restoring vintage cars and building gadgets—a far cry from his days in uniform.

“Come on, let’s get moving,” Luke said, snapping you out of your thoughts. He grabbed the handle of his own suitcase and motioned toward the massive cruise ship docked ahead. 

You followed, letting him lead the way. The pier was packed with elegantly dressed guests, most of whom were likely Padmé’s colleagues—senators, representatives, and a mix of politicians from all corners. The line to board snaked back farther than you could see. 

“Do we really have to wait through all this?” you asked, eyeing the crowd and clutching the handle of your wheeled suitcase. 

Luke shot you a sly grin. “We don’t wait in lines.”

Before you could ask what he meant, he veered off toward the front of the queue, guiding you toward a set of stairs reserved for VIPs. You followed, struggling a little as your suitcase bumped against the steps. 

"Luke, get your girlfriend's suitcase," a strong, masculine voice called out from behind you, deep and commanding yet tinged with warmth. "Otherwise, she'll think I didn’t teach you how to be a gentleman."

Startled, you turned toward the source of the voice just as Luke, already at the top of the stairs, groaned in exasperation. He glanced back with a tired expression but made no move to help. 

“It’s okay, really, it’s not heavy,” you mumbled shyly, gripping the handle of your suitcase a little tighter. But as your eyes met the man addressing Luke, the words caught in your throat. 

Your lips parted slightly in disbelief. Gods… what a man. 

Standing before you was, without a doubt, the most stunning man you’d ever seen. Anakin Skywalker. His angular face was framed by sandy blond hair, slightly tousled with subtle waves that gave him a rugged charm. His piercing blue eyes—so vivid and expressive they seemed to pull you into a storm—were framed by faint lines that hinted at years of experience and a life well-lived. His presence was magnetic, his confident stance and the faint smirk on his lips radiating an almost effortless allure.  

“Come on, I insist,” Anakin said, his voice softening as he stepped closer. He reached out and gently took the suitcase from your hand before you could protest. His touch lingered just briefly, and the warmth of his hand sent a flicker of heat up your arm. “Not heavy, huh?” he teased with a wink, his tone laced with amusement.  

You managed a weak nod, your heart racing as you watched him carry your suitcase up the stairs with ease. Every movement was graceful, effortless, as though he hadn’t spent years off the battlefield but still carried himself like he could command a room—or a galaxy. 

Luke rolled his eyes at his father’s display, muttering under his breath. “Show off.”

Ignoring him, Anakin reached the top of the stairs and set your suitcase down carefully before glancing back at you with an easy smile. “Welcome aboard,” he said, his voice warm and inviting.  

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to keep your expression neutral, but your mind was racing. What the hell have you just gotten yourself into?

[sunflowerseob]

Let Me Love You | Kim Jongseob

Everything changed between you and your best friend after a freak Halloween candy mishap. Now you're left wondering if you should run from that change or run with it.

🩵 Pairing: bestfriend!kimjongseob (candycurse!kimjongseob) x reader

🩵 Word Count: 3.5k

🩵 Genre: Smut, pwp, fluff, minor angst, besties to lovers

🩵 Rating: 18+

🩵 Warnings: Making out, explicit language, it gets angsty briefly sorry 🥹, Seob is so soft and sweet in this ughhhh 🫠, grinding, marking, biting, groping, lots of teasing, explicit sexual content, oral (f receiving), hair pulling, scratching, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, cum eating, soft but chaotic ending as always 🤩

A/N: Was hoping to finish this in time for Seob's bday but it ended up being a little late 🥹 This was supposed to be a drabble for Candy Curse but my severe yapitis just turned it into a follow up fic instead 😂 Thank you so much to everyone who read and supported Candy Curse, you're all so sweet and lovely and I appreciate you so much 🥺🩵 Hope you enjoy this if you decide to give it a read 🥰

Masterlist

When you’d invited Jongseob over to your place to hang out, you’d really had every intention of doing just that. But ever since your little Halloween candy incident a few weeks ago, “hanging out” always ended up leading to hot and heavy make out sessions with your best friend either on top of or underneath you. And today definitely hadn’t been an exception.

Jongseob was beaming when he pulled back from your mouth, his pretty pink lips wet and swollen. You brushed back his bangs that had started to fall over his eyes, a giggle escaping you, “What are you smiling at?”

“I just really like kissing you,” he said, his cheeks flushing adorably, “like a lot.”

Your heart noticeably stuttered in your chest. The two of you still had yet to talk about where exactly this was going. You’d been a little too busy fooling around at every given opportunity, and further complicating your friendship.

If you were being honest, you could really feel yourself starting to fall for him more and more every time you were together. And it scared the absolute shit out of you. Especially because you really weren’t sure where Jongseob was at with all of this. You were too afraid of ruining what you had by risking bringing up how you were feeling. So for now you just allowed yourself to indulge in this time with him.

“Well, the feeling is definitely mutual.”

Your favorite little crooked tooth poked out as he grinned down at you. Your hand settled on the back of his neck before pulling him back down to your lips. Jongseob grunted against your mouth, hands harshly gripping your waist. He shifted on top of you slightly, his erection brushing against your thigh and making you gasp softly. You would never get over how hard he got just from kissing you like this, and the fact that you were able to have that effect on him. You also always got wet embarrassingly fast, so he clearly had the same kind of power over you.

“Shit.” Jongseob hissed as soon as his fingers slipped inside your panties, discovering the evidence for himself.

His digits swept through your folds before teasingly circling your clit, and you whined underneath him.

“You’re always so wet, fuck, it’s so hot.” he groaned, burying his face in your neck and mouthing along the skin there.

“Seob, please.” you begged breathlessly as your hips instinctively followed the movement of his fingers.

His head suddenly shot up, and his dark eyes were hazy with desire as he looked down at you, “Let me eat you out.”

You blinked back at him in surprise, your face heating at his request.

“W-What?”

“Please. Been dying to feel you come on my tongue. Can’t get your taste out of my head, ever since that first time.” he went on, his wet muscle swiping over his lips as he talked, making you shiver below him.

Just the thought of his cute little fluffy head between your legs had you going out of your mind with want, but it also felt terrifyingly intimate. Maybe too intimate. Like if you let him do this, then you would be a goner for sure. You were already on the verge of being down bad beyond repair…

 It really didn't help matters that you also had never actually come from oral alone before either. Mainly because you were usually too up in your head to focus on the pleasure. Making Jongseob feel bad about not being able to get you there was the last thing you wanted. Fuck, why did you have to make everything so complicated with him.

“Seob, you really don’t have to. It’s okay.” you tried assuring him, but it just seemed to confuse him as he pouted back at you.

“Baby, I want to, really.” 

God the pet name. He really was going to be the death of you. Jongseob seemed to suddenly notice the emotions warring inside you because his hand stopped its movements between your legs, moving to rest on your thigh instead. 

“Y/N, talk to me. What's going on?” he asked gently as his thumb smoothed comforting circles over your skin.

Your face felt like it was on fire, and you couldn't bring yourself to look at him.

“Seob, listen, I, um, I've never… God, this is so embarrassing!” you cried, your hands coming up to cover your face.

It was silent for several moments. You peeked up at him through your fingers and saw that he was still trying to work out the meaning behind your words. His concentrated expression was so damn cute that it made your chest hurt. His eyes suddenly widened in understanding, and his cheeks mirrored your own with how deeply they flushed.

“Oh.”

You let out a frustrated sigh, “I know, I’m a total freak.”

Jongseob chuckled before reaching for you to pull you to sit up with him. You were the older of the two of you, but right now it felt like the opposite as he took your face in his hands and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“You're not a freak. Well, I mean, you're still you, so you are.” he teased, earning a glare from you, “But not for that. Can I ask, do you just not like it?”

He was being so sweet and trying so hard to comfort you, and it was kind of killing you.

“It's not that I don't like it…” you trailed off, your voice quiet.

Jongseob looked at you with all the patience in the world as he waited for you to go on.

“I guess it's just, fuck, like I'm usually too busy overthinking to be able to enjoy it. So I've never been able to get there.” you finished, wishing you could crawl out of your skin.

Jongseob appeared to be contemplating how to respond, and you honestly couldn't blame him.

“Too busy overthinking? Yeah, that does sound like you.” the man sitting in front of you quipped, and you immediately swatted his arm in retaliation.

He squealed as he dodged your next attack attempt before breaking into a fit of giggles. You couldn't help but laugh along with him. This dynamic was just so familiar and comfortable. 

“Seriously though Y/N, I don't think you're weird for feeling that way. Maybe it truly just isn't for you, or maybe you just haven't found the right partner yet. Either way, you're still entitled to feeling how you feel.”

You'd obviously been seeing him differently lately, but just when had he grown up so much? And when had he become so caring and sweet and infuriatingly attractive. Ugh. 

Plus him saying partner had your heart pounding violently against your rib cage. You were so incredibly fucked. It was about time you just started accepting it. You had feelings for your best friend, and rather than going away over time, they were only getting stronger.

“Hey, Seob?” you spoke up, hoping you’d be able to get the words out before you lost your nerve.

“Hmm?” 

He was giving you his full attention, curiosity sparking across his features. You pushed down your building nausea as the words spilled out of you, “I think I want to date.”

His eyes went wide, and his mouth opened and closed several times. 

“W-Wait. You mean like m-me? You want to d-date me?” he eventually stuttered out.

“O-Only if you want to date me.” you replied equally as eloquently. 

Jongseob was getting redder by the second, and you couldn't help but think that you’d just made a huge mistake. He groaned before letting his head fall back, and panic started to spread throughout your entire body.

“Fuck!” he exclaimed loudly.

You immediately tried to backpedal as fast as possible.

“Seob, hey, it's okay. Just forget I said anything okay? I don't know what I was thinking.” you rambled, nervous laughter escaping you. 

His head snapped back up, and now he was the one looking panicked.

“God, no, wait, that's not, that's not it at all. Shit, I’m so bad at this.” he said, raking a frustrated hand through his dual toned hair, “Y/N, listen. I was planning on asking you out. But I wanted to be way cooler and way more collected than I am right now when I did it. I just was having a hard time working up the courage in case you said no, and yeah, hah, you just kinda beat me to it I guess.”

You felt so fond as you took in the man in front of you, letting his words sink in fully. A dumb grin broke out across your face before you could stop it.

“Okay, now what are you smiling at?” he queried in confusion, echoing your earlier question back to you. 

You gently placed a hand on his cheek before leaning in to kiss him, Jongseob sighing against your lips. When you pulled back, he was noticeably calmer, but still seemed mildly confused.

“I just can't believe I’ve been cursed to have a crush on a loser trapped in a hot man’s body.”

Your best friend frowned at you, and you giggled at how adorable he was.

“Choosing to ignore the loser comment and focusing on the fact that you think I’m hot and have a crush on me.” Jongseob remarked, flashing you a cocky smirk.

You laughed and shook your head, arms winding around his neck, “It’s okay, Seobie. You’re still a hot loser, but you’re my hot loser.”

“Hey!” he cried defensively, but you were quickly shutting him up by reconnecting your mouths once again.

As soon as your tongue pushed past his lips, he was immediately using his body to frantically pin you back down against the sheets. The bulge in his pants brushed right against your covered core, and you gasped into the kiss. Jongseob repeated the movement, moaning into your mouth when your hips rose up to meet him.

Your hands were shaking slightly as they went to pull up his loose white tank, and Jongseob broke away momentarily to slip the garment over his head. Every time he bared himself to you like this, all you could think about was how pretty he was. He had the most beautiful collar bones, and they had kind of become somewhat of an obsession of yours. The spots of color you’d left on him last time still had yet to fade from his skin. You must have been ogling for a little too long because you heard Jongseob chuckle, and it pulled you out of your trance.

“Careful Y/N, your marking kink is showing.”

“As if you don’t love seeing where I’ve been.” you taunted back, making a show of slowly unzipping your hoodie.

His eyes darkened at the sight of your exposed breasts. You went on teasing him as you trailed your fingers over your hardening nipples as well as the various marks littering your own chest.

“I know I sure love seeing all your little reminders later.”

“Fuck. Baby, please.” he practically whimpered, and you felt drunk on this power you had over him.

“Please what, Seobie?” you asked sweetly.

“Please, will you let me try? I promise I’ll stop immediately if you don’t like it. I just, I wanna taste you so fucking bad.”

He sounded so desperate and so whiny, and it had you clenching around nothing. You found that you were curious if Jongseob would be able to change your mind about the act. Plus, when he was asking so nicely, you felt like there wasn’t much, if anything, that you would refuse him on. You sighed in defeat, even though internally you were tingling with excitement.

“Okay, Seob, you win.”

His face lit up and he smiled proudly, crooked canine jutting from his bottom lip. You playfully rolled your eyes, “Hurry up before I change my mind.”

He saluted you, and you couldn’t help but start giggling. Your hot loser indeed.

His weight settled back over you before he leaned down to kiss you. You groaned softly as you felt his hands greedily grabbing at your tits, and Jongseob took the opportunity to slip his tongue inside your mouth. He didn’t linger for long though, his lips sliding over your jaw, down your neck, and across your chest. He gave kitten licks to one of your nipples while his hands traveled lower to begin tugging down your leggings and underwear. You sat up so that you could help pull them down your legs before laying back against the sheets, now completely bare.

Jongseob’s eyes blew out slightly as they roamed over your figure, and you noticed his cock straining against his jeans. You looped a finger through one of his belt loops, “Need these off. Now.”

“You know, if we’re gonna date, we’re really gonna have to talk about how you sexualize me all the time.” Jongseob whined as he stood up beside the bed.

“Shut up and strip, Seob.” you retorted, raising your eyebrows suggestively.

He tried to keep up the act, pouting at you while he shimmied out of his jeans, but you still managed to catch his shy little smile. He still had his blue boxers on, and you were about to say something to give him shit about it. But then all thoughts left your head at the feeling of his tongue running a line up your stomach, one of his hands roughly palming at your breast. You squirmed as he placed loving kisses all over your tummy and hips. Jongseob’s free hand dipped between your thighs to cup your dripping cunt, and your back arched at the sensation.

“Fuck. I can’t believe I can do this to you. Don’t think I’ll ever be able to get over it.” he said in awe.

He used both hands to grip your thighs and open yourself up to him, and your legs began to tremble in anticipation. Jongseob’s lips gently brushed your inner thigh, “Relax, baby. Just let me take care of you.”

It was really hard to relax when his mouth was sucking fresh marks into your skin, his tongue soothing the sore flesh immediately after.

“Seob.” you gasped out, shutting your eyes as you tried to brace yourself.

“Hey,” Jongseob piped up, giving a soft tap to one of your thighs, “look at me for a second.”

Your eyes fluttered open, and you did your best to focus on him. His two toned hair was a fluffy mess, threatening to fall over his eyes again, and tickling the inside of your thighs. He looked up at you with so much affection that it actually felt like your heart might burst, and your favorite tooth was sticking out in the way you had come to love.

“Remember, if it doesn’t feel good, tell me and I’ll stop, okay? We can stop whenever you want, I mean it.”

You exhaled a shaky breath, “Okay, I’m ready.”

Jongseob pressed one last kiss to the inside of your thigh before finally putting his mouth on you. You hissed as he licked at your slick folds, one of your hands instinctively tangling in his hair while the other clutched at the pillow under your head. The man between your legs moaned into your cunt as his tongue pushed inside you.

“Seob, fuck, oh my god!” you cried out, nails scratching against his scalp.

Jongseob briefly surfaced and you groaned at the sight of his shiny lips.

“That was a good oh my god right?”

“Yes. Please, Seobie, don’t stop.” you pleaded, guiding his head back down.

He dove in much more confidently this time, using his hold on your thighs to spread your legs wider and give him even better access. The way his tongue hungrily fucked into you had you writhing and panting on the bed. And every time his nose bumped against your clit, it sent a little jolt through you.

“Taste so fucking good, princess.” Jongseob murmured, and your face instantly flushed at the newest pet name, “Shit. Even better than I remember.”

You whimpered, your hips bucking against his face and making him grunt as he continued devouring you. This was the first time this had ever felt good, and the sensation was overwhelmingly intense. A scream tore from your throat as soon as you felt Jongseob’s lips close around your swollen clit.

“Holy shit…wait…is that…still good?”

“Oh my god, Jongseob, if you don’t keep going and make me come, I’m actually going to kill you.” you threatened, but it came out as more of a needy whine than anything else.

“Fuck, okay. Just wanted to make sure.”

His tongue flicked over your bud in quick strokes, and you were in disbelief that he was really going to get you there. Your moans mixed together until you couldn’t even tell who they belonged to anymore.

“So close, Seob, fuck.”

“Look at me, princess.” he requested suddenly, and you clenched at how low and rough his voice sounded.

You knew it would be your undoing, but you glanced down anyway. And sure enough, you nearly came on the spot. 

You barely even recognized Jongseob, looking so fucked out with his face covered in your arousal and something truly wild glinting in his dark eyes. He held your gaze as he sucked your clit back into his mouth, and you tugged harshly at his wavy strands. You did your best to keep watching him until you couldn't anymore, throwing your head back against the pillow and sobbing his name as you fell apart.

Jongseob refused to let up, lapping at your release like he was in some kind of drunken trance. 

“S-Seob…t-too much…” you said weakly, but your words didn't seem to register to him at all.

His face stayed buried in your cunt, all his little groans and whimpers vibrating through you. Before you knew it, you were coming again, your body falling slack against the sheets soon after.

“Oh my god, baby. Fuck, Y/N.” Jongseob half babbled half moaned before finally letting his head drop to rest on top of your thigh.

You affectionately ran your fingers through his hair because that was all you had the energy for at the moment, and Jongseob hummed in content.

“I bet you're gonna try to say that was just the candy, huh?” 

God, he was such a little shit. And you were down horrendous for him.

You laughed in disbelief, “Actually, you brat, I was going to say that you’ve officially changed my mind about being eaten out. But you know what, maybe you're right. Maybe it was just the candy.” 

“Whateverrrr. Just admit I just gave you the best head of your life, you freak.” he shot back, lightly biting your thigh in reproach. 

You were too spent to keep arguing with him, and honestly he wasn't wrong. But you would never tell him that. So instead, you just ruffled the hell out of his hair until he got so annoyed that he ducked out of your reach. 

“Ah shit.” he said under his breath once he was sitting up again. 

You glanced at him, feeling confused, but then oh. All of his attention had been on making you feel good, and he had completely neglected himself.

“Aw, Seobie, come here” you called gently, reaching out for him, “let me take care of you.”

He blushed furiously and turned away from you.

“No, it's uh, it's okay. I’m fine, really.” he mumbled, sounding almost embarrassed.

You slowly sat up, but he stayed facing away from you.

“Baby, let me help, please. You made me feel so good, I wanna return the favor.”

Jongseob peeked over his shoulder at you, his cheeks still tinted pink.

“Seob, what is it?” you queried as you scooted closer to him.

“Ugh, fuuuuck. This really isn't going to help my loser image.” he groaned, covering his face with his hands.

You chuckled, resting your chin on his shoulder, “What isn't?”

Jongseob let out the world's longest sigh before gesturing at the lower half of his body. Your eyes went wide as you took in the giant wet spot staining the front of his boxers. Then you noticed the trail of cum dripping down his leg. Fuck.

“Wait, Seob, you really came just from that?” you asked incredulously.

“Can we please not talk about it?” he whined, his hands trying to cover up the evidence.

“Why?” you pressed, nipping at his shoulder, “I think it's fucking hot.”

Jongseob frowned back at you.

“Please don't lie just to make me feel better.”

“I'm not lying.” you insisted as you reached down to trail a finger up his leg.

Jongseob stared at you dumbfounded as you gathered his cum on your finger before sliding the digit into your mouth to lick it clean.

“You're fucking insane.”

You gave a nonchalant shrug, “What can I say? I think it's sexy when a guy creams his pants.”

The man next to you visibly cringed, and you giggled like a maniac.

“You really are a freak.”

“Yeah, but I'm your freak.” 

“Yeah. And I'm your hot loser.”

“Correction. You're my hot loser boyfriend.” 

Jongseob beamed at that, his crooked tooth poking out adorably, and his face flushing once more. 

“Yeah, I am.” 

[owlespresso]

dogged pursuit. dr veritas ratio. part 6 of ? / other parts summary: you’ve been appointed as the bodyguard of one doctor veritas ratio after a failed attempt on his life. he’s easy to get along with, so long as you learn when to plug your ears and focus on his washboard abs. tags. violence. filth below the tag. not beta'd.

When they assigned you the post of Veritas Ratio’s bodyguard, you expected a light workload. But it’s still been kind of boring. You can’t outright say you want your charge to be attacked by the enemy, but you feel like you’re missing out on chances to impress him. He lets you into his bed but the truth is, you are at your core a slavering beast. There’s no higher privilege than to commit violence in his name. In his honor.

So, when the chance does come, can anyone fault you for being a little too enthusiastic?

It’s a bustling night on Orchestron-IIV. The pleasure district is the last place he wanted to go, but you badgered him into it. The luxury villas and safe streets of the expat district are stagnant. They don’t hold a candle to the chaotic thrumming of the Magnolia–the part of the island where locals and tourists alike come to get in touch with their inner animal. 

It’s also a valuable opening for the opportunistic little weasel that’s been eyeing your villa for the past few weeks. You’re not sure who sent him. You don’t care. But you’d be lying if you said you didn’t hope he’d show himself tonight. 

He does, of course. You’ve got good instincts. The blood in the water can be miles away, but you’ll still hone in on it. 

It happens in a dark, cramped alleyway. You taste the metal of the knife on the air before you see him, hear the slight twitch of his boot against the gravel. The fight lasts for less than thirty seconds. Ratio watches you kick his blade far into the dark with an air of practiced neutrality, languid in the way he inspects the cretin you’ve pinned to the wet pavement. 

You wallop him twice on each side of the head for good measure, watch his eyes roll like water spirals down the train, feel the softness of his temple against your eager fists. Then you get him turned over with a few good kicks to his ribs. He shouts, but it’s cut off as you force his face into the cold concrete. Once you’ve had your fill, you stand with one of your boots on his wrist. You’re kneeled over him, his other arm caged by your knee. The fine silver of your hidden blade kisses the unblemished skin of his throat. Maybe you should have choked him for good measure. Given him a good shake. 

“I assume you’ve learnt your lesson?” Veritas’s voice breaks you from your careful contemplation. “...So, who sent you?”

“Call off your dog,” the man chokes. 

“Mm, no, I don’t think I will,” Veritas answers, the coldest you’ve ever heard him. You grind your heel into the man’s wrist, feel the bone creak in protest under your boot. He hisses out in pain, fingers curling, legs twitching as he debates whether a continued struggle would be worthwhile. “I’ll ask again—who sent you? Think very carefully before you answer.”

“Fuck you,”

“Incorrect. Zero points,” Veritas sighs, “If this is the best they could send, I doubt we have much to worry about,” He looks at you meaningfully. You give him a smile full of teeth, wind your leg back, and sail the metal tip of your boot into the bastard’s skull. Not enough to break his neck. Just enough to render him an unconscious, bloodied heap. You like it when you communicate without words. It makes you feel closer to him.

You absentmindedly kick some pebbles around while Veritas dials a number and has a quick discussion–probably contacting his IPC goonies. They’ll come collect this poor scrap of a man and work the information out of him real quick. Nothing you couldn’t have done, but you like to think he’s sparing you the effort. 

The encounter is over but your blood still rushes in your ears, and your hands twitch. Veritas is wearing a darker number, today. 

As soon as he hangs up, you’re on him. You cage him up against the wall, lips attached to the pale column of his throat and he sighs, like he’s annoyed. His big hands find your hips, but he doesn’t push you away. He only squeezes in warning.

“Control yourself,” he says, and you know he’s grimacing even though you can’t see his face. You lovingly retread old ground with your teeth, gnaw a new bruise into his skin. He makes a shaky sound at that, hands gripping you tighter. “You are not some rutting animal and we are not doing this here!” 

“Doc, c’mon,” you whine, desperate fingers tugging his shirt free from where it’s tucked into his belt. You don’t like him in suits. You like him in the flowy, free things from his homeland. “Didn’t I do good for you?” You shove your hands beneath his shirt and feel the strong wall of his abdomen twitch under your greedy ministrations. He exhales. You nose the spot where his jaw meets his ear, draw the smell of him deep into your lungs. “Tell me I did good, Veritas. I don’t ever ask for anything.”

His cock springs free from his trousers, flushed and pink and perfect. He’s already erect, the slight curve of him standing tall against his clothed tummy. The broad head already weeps with precum and you coo, hopelessly endeared. You cup him in your hand and he hisses, but doesn’t try to stop you. 

“You insatiable beast. If you’ve done any good, you are ruining it with this behavior.” He glares, but it’s a watery kind of look that’s just for show. A token show of resistance because his pride won’t let him admit that this is what he wants. That’s fine, because you know how to read him by now. As close as a bodyguard can be. 

“Wow. Did you get hard watching me beat that guy up?” you ask, and don’t wait for an answer before putting your mouth on him. Maybe, if you were more patient and less single minded, you could have teased him a little. Pressed kitten-soft kisses to his tip. But you aren’t possessed of a delicate touch.

You pull half of his length into your waiting mouth and hollow your cheeks. He gasps, hips making an aborted little thrust. His fingers curl into your hair, desperate for any form of purchase. Your eyes flutter shut as you taste the salt and sweat of his skin, humming low in your throat as you work him deeper. He’s weighty on your tongue–you have to really open up to fit him. 

If you were in a better place, you’d hold him there for a few minutes, maybe. Just to see how whiny and desperate he’d get. But the evening crowds are still milling around only a few yards away. 

“Hurry up!” he hisses, and you reward his brattiness by hollowing your cheeks. He makes a helpless, punched out sort of noise as you work him, wet mouth milking his thick, throbbing cock for all it has. His inner thigh is warm against the flat of your palm. You want to feel his skin. You want to shove his trousers down and feel the soft backs of his thighs over your shoulders. 

He’s getting impatient, though. He’s kind enough to keep a steady, mild pace as he fucks your mouth in earnest. You slick your tongue along the underside of him, coo and hum around his erection like you’re praising him. Like you’re proud of him. His back arches, nice tailored suit grinding into the wall behind him. 

You look up, and admire the forming, shapeless blues and pinks that mottle his skin. You just barely hear his nails scratching at the exposed brick behind him. He starts to lose all that good sense he’s so proud of, hips jerking helplessly into your waiting mouth. The muscles of your forearms flex as you pin his hips in place. You take him in deep, take him in relentlessly and press the flat of your tongue hard against his cock. The friction has him bucking, smothering soft sounds into his sleeve.

You can’t see it, but you imagine his stomach tensing and feel his knees begin to shake. It’s so cute, cute, cute–you can’t stand it. You want him cumming, you want him ruined. White hot adrenaline seizes you as you grab his hips and drag him forward. He nearly toppled, his shout ringing down the length of the alleyway. He catches himself with a hand on your head, gritting his teeth as he starts to fuck your mouth in earnest. 

His pace loses sync as he gets hot on the heels of his orgasm. That scholarly composure shatters. He cums with a pathetic, watery keen. Rivulets of warm release fill your mouth and stream down your throat. You swallow around him, let him fuck your mouth through the thick of his peak despite the way your throat aches and protests. 

You only let him go once he has nothing left to give. You pop off of his flagging cock with a lewd, wet sound and rise to look at him close. There’s a visible sweat along his brow, his pupils blown wide. He’s dazed. It takes him a full second to realize you’re here, and you’re lookin’ real close at him. He presses his back against the wall and schools his face into that irritated glower. The typical dignity associated with that expression is lost, considering the obvious flush painted across his pale cheeks. 

“T-there. Are you satisfied now?” he harrumphs, but his voice shakes. like you didn’t just give him the best blowjob of his life.

You’re not annoyed. You feel feverish, kind of, looking at the handsome planes of his face with a newfound, and perhaps manic kind of concentration. And oh– “Are you cryin’?” you ask, incredulous. ‘Cause there are tears on those pretty lashes of his. Pretty as morning dew. He opens his mouth, likely to deliver some sort of fuming retort, but you shove even closer, pinning him bodily to the wall. He could toss you off if he wanted, easy as cake. But he doesn’t. He just looks at you with rabbit wide eyes. “Seriously,” you whine, hands coming up to cup his cheeks. “When did you get so cute, Doc? It’s not fair, it just ain’t!”

“If I am crying, it is because I’m mourning all the time we’ve wasted here!” he fumes, finally finding the gumption to give you a hearty shove. You stumble backwards as he redoes his belt and fixes his slacks, unable to suppress a slight shiver. It takes a saintly amount of patience and restraint to not surge forward and put your hands on him again. “The pickup will be here for him in a few minutes. Wait for them. I’ll meet you back at the villa once you’ve finished.” He kicks off the wall, stomping down the alley. To the unaccustomed passerby, he might look undeniably upset, peeved even. But you’re not too worried. 

You can tell he’s not mad, ‘cause the tops of his ears are totally flushed. 

[brunettemarionette]

𝐈𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐖𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐕𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫

↠ female reader. no description of features. no mentions of size.

a/n: pictures made by me, spoilers I guess if you haven't watched Deadpool? No warnings just fluff and dumbassery.

Some time after Deadpool & Wolverine, they get back together, and you're a total surprise for them despite the two wanting a baby before Vanessa died.

"So... are we having a Sonny or a Cher?"

Not being called either of those names and definitely not being called anything 'strippery'... or Wade Jr, Wada, Darth Wader and definitely not Todd, either.

No matter how much Wade worried about being like his dad, all that went out the window when you were actually born.

"I've only had a daughter for a day and a half, but if anything happened to her, I'd kill everyone in this room and then myself... come back to life fuck shit up and die again. Rinse and repeat."

Wade leaving you with Blind Al as a babysitter (sometimes she wouldn't even realize you're there).

"Wade, you can't just leave the baby with a blind person." *Surprise Pikachu Deadpool * "...ableist..."

I feel like Wade, at some point, either dropped you or you fell when you were a kid, but it's for the best since that's how he and Vanessa found out that you're a chip off the ole' block when you heal super fast.

Despite what Vanessa thought when they first agreed to make a baby, they did, in fact, make a 'super baby.'

Always following your 'Uncle' Logan around no matter how much he tries to get rid of you.

"'Babypool' go-... play or something, okay kid?"

Growing up surrounded by mutants means you never think you're different or a freak but instead becoming very protective of your mom. After a talk with your dad about your mom dying, you realize just how fragile people are.

Surprisingly, Wade makes a great girl dad. He does the tea party thing and, of his own accord, puts on the dress and clip earrings; he serves tea to the plush bears and scoffs when others mock him.

"Clearly, you people have no class."

As you got older, you started to look more like your mom, but no matter what situation you found yourself in, you could stop the snark, so much so that it earned you the nickname 'Mini mouth' – Wade was so proud.

Wade took you to the roof of the building to 'bond,' which Vanessa knew was him teaching you how to fight – something she was okay with until you both fell off the roof... more than once.

Them both knowing that despite wanting to give you a normal childhood and life you were going to be some kind or 'hero/antihero'. So they roll with the punches, and Wade makes sure you know exactly what you need to know about it.

"No, spermpool, red is my color. Just ask your mom when we-"

"Ew, Dad... and don't call me that."

On that note, investing in headphones was something you picked up the older you got, asking the store which ones cancel noise the best and then buying earbuds to go with them.

"Minipool, Girlpool, not-as-good-deadpool, Wishpool... ow... okay! We'll think of a better name for you!"

Despite you and your dad both being mercs who have been killed or hurt in every which way, your mom still rules the house. That's how you two find your katanas confiscated when you started playing 'Star Wars' during Thanksgiving.

Your dad makes a lot of Batman and Robin jokes when you're working together, only after he made a weird Batman and Catwoman joke until he realized why that was gross. So you became his Robin.

For someone so laid back about love and sex, Wade is very protective when it comes to you. Seeing the bad guys flirt with you, his deadpan snark reaches a few levels higher than his norm – it doesn't help when your mom hypes up your catsuit.

"I told you we should have gotten her a costume like what the lady three floors down wears."

“Red, that's a Muumuu.”

Being impulsive is like an inherited trait from both of them, which just makes up a chaotic household, and yet you all love every minute of it.

"One of the best things my dad ever gave me, not by choice, are these two gold-plated 50 caliber desert eagle pistoleros...."

𝗧𝗵𝗲𝗺𝗲 𝗦𝗼𝗻𝗴𝘀

The Nights by Avicii

GDFR by Flo Rida

X gon' give it to ya by DMX

𝗥𝗲𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗽 𝗧𝗿𝗼𝗽𝗲𝘀:

Chaotic parents x Inherited Chaos (you)

Matching Family Energy

Dumbasses (wade, you) x Oh, those are my dumbasses (vanessa)

[befuddledcinnamonroll]

Heart Killers time, woot woot!

I do have to say, watching what's happening with Jack & Joker right now, I hope people are not letting their expectations get ahead of them with this one either... though I know that's probably a futile wish. Expectation is such a thief of joy, y'all.

Anyway, my only expectation in this is I will have a good time, so let's do it!

How this man doesn't just expire from Bison doing this to him, I have no idea.

Oh, this line. Jojo knows us so well.

Ooh, we're having a black vs red debate!

In Bison's defense, he looks really good in red.

Something cracks me up about Kant looking for hookups at the bowling alley. Is that really good hunting ground? Maybe in Thailand? Definitely not in the U.S.

Oh Jojo, you bad, bad man.

I am gonna get full on obsessed with Dunk's tummy, aren't I?

Also just realizing how much of this show I am going to spend thinking how good the pairings of FirstDunk & JoongKhaotung could be...

Lolol, target acquired!

Ha, this is so me when a man tries to tell me what to do.

I like Bison being all "if you wanna fuck me, just say so". We have a very direct man here.

Nooooo, Style don't be a stupid driver.

I was not expecting an early Fadel/Style meetup! See, it's fate.

Way to make a horrible first impression Style! But I am loving how their dynamics are. Fadel is such a tight ass, it's gonna be great when he cracks.

Quite a first time scene for our boys! And people say GMMTV is gonna tamp down the gay, lololol.

Also can we take a moment to admire this shot? The red, the mirrors, there's a lot going on here. Beautiful.

I like that the burger uniforms are a mix of Fadel & Bison colorwise.

I also think it's hilarious that Fadel ordered black plastic gloves to maintain his aesthetic.

Omg, I am dying that Bison shot a gun at karaoke. He's a little disaster.

Hmmmm, mother? Interesting...

Ooh, silver fox alert!

Always appreciate some eye candy for us older fans.

Ah, of course the cop is a manipulative jerk. Hot, but a jerk.

Ain't this just a mood.

Heh, when the man you just had mind-blowing sex with turns out to be an assassin you have to stalk. If I had a nickel...

Oh, I think Style is gonna be my favorite. Dumb and chaotic.

As much as I enjoy a height difference couple, there is something about two men who are the exact same height...

Also love the black & white - because they are opposites!

Wait...does Bison not know how to cook burgers? Did... did he just put the raw patty on the board they use to chop veggies? Am I going to get stressed about food safety in this action romcom?!

I like that Fadel has this subtle air of general menace about him.

Aaaaah, bashful Bison is so cute!!!!! "Take me out...nooooo...really?"

This boy desperately wants to be loved. My heart.

Style is a slutty menace and I love him!

I also love that they are establishing the attraction is there before the deal gets made.

Ah, I was wondering if Kant was a philosophical reference!

Does Jojo have a "First eating burgers" fetish? That's been two extreme closeups in one episode. Just sayin'.

"Crazy and bold" is pretty spot on for Style!

Oh don't try to complain Style, you know you want him.

Ok, the yellow & purple... Are these their real colors, or the ones hiding their real colors as they embark on their mission?

Another costuming note - both Kant & Style had sunglasses as part of their outfits when they started their lying... love that little detail.

Good lord, that many beers and I'd be peeing every two minutes.

Oh! Fadel figuring out they're friends already! What a twist!

This was so much fun!

[nightlilly0110]

We are the man-made monsters,

We are the ones who conquer,

You are a threat no longer,

I won't take more suffering from you

[winters-secret-star-wars-blog]

Omega: "Want to know a secret? I escaped from this mountain before. Know what else?"

[seilon]

my only complaint about 2005 dw is that we didn’t get more episodes with gung-ho mortal baby jack harkness. absolutely smitten by that fucker

[shannonsketches]

[faaun]

pls i need to provide updates

[bunnyboy-juice]

spent the first hour and change at work deleting some old files and am having a grand ol time laughing at myself for not realizing i was a lesbian sooner

[curiouschaosstarlight]

Way Too Much Of The Fandom: "He's just an asshole!! No one should ever write him as anything else!! He's killed people!!"

Canon: "Willing to erase his entire personality just so he can be used by others"

Canon: "First instinct to finding out he was lied to about how his first friend died is to kill himself, because that being a lie completely erases any and all meaning behind all of his meaner actions"

Scaramouche/Wanderer's Actual Chinese Voice Actor:

[astrxealis]

super busy but hi i miss ffxiv i played again today raghh happy 10th anniv the rising event makes me cry i love ffxiv :(( but anyway! bg3 thoughts in tags!

[thetangibleghost]

nightmares

the end of tags is when i woke up

there was also this part in the beginning where i made out with a guy ive met like. a couple times. and then a different guy starting trying to light a fire on the beach but a wave came all the way up to the sand line. I hand to jump over the sea weed as it came back in.

he used to cans and they were both smoldering. eventually he gave up and i was about to just throw them away but a woman was like 'fire safety what are you going to do?' and i was like 'oh right. truman show. and just decided to keep them both and deal with it later

[slytherinslut0]

SLYTHERINSLUT0’S KINKTOBER

october 18th. mattheo — hate fucking / enemies.

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST. | 2024.

summary: “at least her favourite form of foreplay isn’t an argument…” “or being a bitch her kink..”

warnings: 18+ MDNI, dubcon(meh), ex bf/gf trope, toxic behaviour, mutual manipulation, these two are chaotic as fuck, mentions of blood, gagging, degradation, rough sex PIV, hate fucking, spitting, spanking, uhhh i think that covers it. this one is a ride. can you tell this is my fav trope?

"I'm so fucking sick of you.”

"Get well soon, princess."

"Get fucked, Riddle."

Three sentences, three venomous insults that cut the room in half—heavy enough in their intensity to make you want to tear through dungeon walls, splintering stone and mortar with bare hands if it means sparing yourself another second in this blasted room, with him.

Detention at midnight—on a Friday, no fucking less—is unheard of. But leave it to your dickhead ex to make the impossible a reality. His fault, of course. Like always.

Snape had turned a blind eye for months. It was only a matter of time before something had to give. An hour unsupervised was as good as you'll get.

Sulking defeat, you sink back in your chair, rough wood digging into your spine as you eye Mattheo with a glare that could rival a bullet. He looks like hell, and it's infuriating how even in that state he manages to look so nonchalant, so maddeningly unbothered—like even exhaustion makes a home on him and he's comfortable with it. Bags under his eyes, scar cutting across the bridge of his nose, those dark curls falling messily over his forehead, white dress shirt wrinkled and open at the collar.

You roll your eyes, a gesture that feels like your only act of rebellion left.

And he notices. Of course he does.

"You haven't changed a bit," he spits, and you know it's an insult. You scowl as he swipes the blood off his chin with the sleeve of his shirt. "Always a bitch to me over something."

Bitch. The name strikes you, but you won't let him see it, won't let him know that it lands. You've bled too many times at his feet for him to draw blood again tonight.

"Am I not allowed to be pissed off that you dragged us into detention? We should be at the party, Mattheo. We should be anywhere but here." You hear the frustration rising in your voice, like it's boiling up from somewhere deep, somewhere you can't quite reach. It's hard not to let it slip, especially when he looks at you like that. "This is so fucking typical of you. You mess up, and somehow I'm the one who pays for it."

For a moment, there's silence, and it almost feels like a victory until you realize he's only biding his time, waiting to strike back.

"You really want to get back there? To that party?" He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees. You long for the chair to break from under him. "After what your new man was caught doing with Lovegood?"

You snort before you can stop yourself, the sound slipping out like a reflex. You hadn't expected that. And quite frankly, it's amusing—no, downright hilarious—that he's clearly been keeping tabs on you and "new man", and now here he is, trying to play it off like he doesn't care. Like it's nothing.

"I'll spare you the insults this once," you mutter, fingers loosening the tie around your neck with a tug. "Because, clearly, you're ignorant to the truth, even if you think you know every goddamn thing." You pause, ripping out your earrings. "He's not my man, so I don't give a shit what he does with who. He ended it last week. Good fuck, sure—but other than that..."

You trail off, making a mocking noise with your lips, a derisive puff of air, as if you could blow away the memory of him as easily as dust off an old book. A Ravenclaw. Brilliant in all the wrong ways—sharp mind, yes, but utterly thrill-less, like he saw you as just another page to flip through, a textbook he was annotating.

It is what it is.

A moment passes and then Mattheo grins—slow at first, but spreading across his face like fire, destructive in its consummation. It unsettles you. He looks more intrigued than he's been in months.

"A good fuck, huh?"

"That's what I said," you reply, clipped, your tone offering no room for him to crawl inside.

"And why didn't it work out? Too good for you?" He says, twisting the knife just because he can. "Too clean, maybe?"

Your eyes scan the room, searching for something within reach to throw at him, anything to break this unbearable tension. Insufferable. Every inch of him, insufferable.

You find nothing, so you throw words instead. "You're an asshole, you know that?"

He nods, as if that's the truest thing either of you have said all night. Of course he knows.

You barely suppress a dry laugh at his idiocy. "Like I told you—he ended it. If you're so fucking interested in why it didn't work out, then why don't you go ask him?"

There's a pause—he's chewing the inside of his cheek as he stares at you. You imagine chewing his head off as you stare at him.

"I'm sure you gave that bookworm the ride of his life," he says, voice half-dry, half-sarcastic, as if he's already bored of the conversation. As if he knew all of this information already. "Everyone knew that was temporary. Your first rebound, congrats."

And just like that, your blood is boiling. He knows how to needle you, how to get under your skin with the slightest flick of his stupid fucking tongue. Your eyes trace the cold stone of the dungeon walls, desperately trying to find something—anything—to distract yourself.

But it's no use. Mattheo's an asshole. He's always been an asshole. That's why you left. All the two of you did was fight and fuck, a chaotic spiral that was as thrilling as it was destructive. Now, he's easily your enemy—dragging you into his messes, never letting you get too far without ruining your life somehow.

And yet—

If you said you didn't miss the sex sometimes, that'd be a lie. Or at least a half-truth. The kind that slips out when you've had one too many glasses of firewhiskey, the kind you'd regret in the morning.

"What about you, dickhead?" You cut through the silence, ignoring his obvious attempt to rile you up. "That Hufflepuff you were seeing—why'd I see her all over Theo tonight?"

He answers far too fast. "They're friends."

You snort, disbelieving. "Right."

You rise to your feet, crossing the room to the bookcase as if it's the most natural thing in the world. The books feel safer somehow, less volatile.

"You're bored of her, aren't you?" You don't care to look at him. You can imagine the way his jaw tenses at the question.

The silence is telling. He doesn't answer right away. You know him well enough to understand what that means. Then, finally, he speaks, a half-answer that doesn't really answer the fucking question at all.

"At least her favourite form of foreplay isn't a fucking argument." He stands, slow, pushing his hair back from his forehead with one battered hand. You glance at him, pulse quickening. "Or being a bitch her kink."

"Does she even have kinks?" It slips out, a knife thrown without aiming. "Sounds like you're bored, Matty."

You watch as he blinks, his eyes darken. That nickname—you know you don't have the right to say it anymore, and that's exactly why you do. It's an insult wrapped in familiarity, and it hits its mark by the way his shoulders tense, jaw tight.

He steps toward you, one calculated step, and you feel it—that chaotic pull, the gravity that's always drawn you both in, no matter how far you try to stay away. A smile pulls at your lips, a cruel thing.

"How cute." He tilts his head just enough to inspect you, eyes dragging over you like he's searching for something to confirm what he already suspects. "Looks like you're jealous."

Your hand grips the bookshelf, eyes locked on him over your shoulder. Jealous? There's not a soul on this planet who could make you jealous. She may be the hero of this story, the girl that gets the guy, might even be everything you're not—

"Looks like you're learning the hard way," you're inspecting him now, too. Every piece of him you once touched. "When it comes too easy it's never gonna' hit as hard, babe."

Another pause from him—something dancing in his eyes. Anger? Maybe. Or something more, something twisted that you don't care to name. You've already lit the match, and now you're just watching him burn.

"You're so clever, huh? So full of advice," he sneers, ripping off his tie and chucking it on a desk. "Go on then, tell me more about how I feel, professor. Since you know everything about me."

You can't help the smirk that curls on your lips. Oh, he's pissed. And that means you're winning.

"What? You don't like hearing the truth? Too much for your delicate ego?" You take a step toward him, savouring every second of this. He hurt you, over and over, the scars from those days still fresh, still bleeding beneath your skin. This has been a long time coming. "You think I care about your new girl, Matty? The one you let your boys fawn over in the common room?...she kissed Theo tonight." You pause, letting that linger. "You think you're doing something, but I see right through you. You don't give a fuck about her. If you did, no one would dare touch her like that. So don't sit here, accusing me of jealousy, like I'm the one hung up on you. You're projecting. And it's pathetic."

He doesn't waste a goddamn beat—his laugh is bitter, sickeningly so—and he advances again, his shadow moving behind him, the space between you now barely there.

"That's amazing, truly. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were a goddamn oracle. All-knowing, all-seeing." His voice is infuriating. The look on his face more-so. "What's your verdict then, my lord? You think this is all an act? That everything I'm doing is just to spite you?"

Your heart races, breath catching in your throat as he steps closer. This is a dance you both know too well, the kind where neither of you win.

"I know how you operate." Your chest heaves, anger rising with every breath. "It's all a game to you, Matt. A sick, twisted game to keep yourself entertained."

"That's rich, coming from someone who played it just as well." He takes another step forward. You could reach out and touch him now he's that close. His grin grows. "Too bad your Ravenclaw figured it out before you could sink your teeth in too deep. Next time you see him, make sure to tell him I said you're welcome."

Your brows pinch—the blood in your veins screeching to a halt, backing up like New York traffic at a standstill. You feel it, hot and furious, rushing toward a place it can't go, clogged behind the wall of rage building up inside you—

"You're welcome?" You spit, a sharp snarl caught between clenched teeth. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

He's watching you, his eyes darting over your shoulder, fingers brushing over his lips like he's trying to dull that familiar smirk, that cruel little game he's always played.

Your stomach sinks, drops to your feet.

"Mattheo—" you snap, cutting him off just as he opens his mouth, before he can throw another snide word. "Spare me the cryptic bullshit for once in your life—“

His eyebrows lift at that, but there's a nod, a hint of something deeper in it. You taste the smugness in the air between you, can almost feel it slithering through his silence.

"Looks like you don't know everything after all. Isn't that ironic?" He straightens up, letting the moment breathe before his face hardens into something almost serious. "Your rebound came to me in the courtyard about two weeks ago. Had some questions about you."

"What?" Your nerves are vibrating, every cell in your body on edge. Your blood is so clogged, you swear you're seeing red. "What questions?"

"The usual sort of normal stuff. Your birthday. Your favorite colour. Childhood traumas. Our downfall. You know."

The casualty in the way he says it makes you sick, bile rising in your throat, a bitter burn at the back of your mouth. It's all starting to come together now. This stupid motherfucker—

"You're lying." The words feel weak, frail. He wouldn't—no, he couldn't. "You're fucking lying."

"Am I?" His fingers brush your cheek, but your skin's gone numb, your blood too frozen to feel anything but the cold burn of your fury. "Or, is the truth just…too much for your delicate ego to handle?"

Oh, fuck off—

Your wand is in your hand before you even realize you've grabbed it, instinct, pure reflex. There's barely a second of rational thought before you're casting, the spell hitting him square in the chest, sending him flying back into the chair he once sat in. His eyes flash, anger igniting there, and he scrambles for his wand—but you're faster.

"Expelliarmus."

One word and you're across the room before you even know you've moved, chest tight as you slam the tip of your wand against his throat. There's a cut on his lip, blood trickling down his chin for a second time tonight, but that stupid fucking smirk is still there, showcasing rubies for teeth and carved into his face like it belongs.

"Tell me what you did." Your voice cracks, but not from fear—it's fury, burgling through you, burning hot enough to make your whole body shake. You half want to cut him open just to bury your rage inside him, let him feel it. "If what you're saying is true, he ended things just days later. Tell me what the fuck you said to him."

Mattheo’s leaning back, hands raised in mock surrender, eyes glinting with the same smug amusement that's always haunted him. He's daring you, taunting you. He knows you never cared about that guy, not really.

You both know it. He was boring, easy.

This—this is something else.

His tongue swipes at the blood on his lip. "He didn't tell you—"

"Don't." Your wand digs deeper into his skin, cutting off whatever he was about to say. The pressure makes his breath hitch, but not enough. Not nearly enough. "I said tell me."

"Merlin—okay—I told him nothing, nothing really," his voice makes your grip tighten on your wand. He stares at you for a long, hard minute before he adds; "except that he should show me some fucking gratitude."

Your jaw slips, confusion rushing in like a flood. But before you can even question him—

"I told him he should be thanking me." Another pause. "When he's fucking you."

He laps at the blood seeping from the cut on his lip for the second time in only a minute and you barely notice the movement—the words hit you like a brick, but it's deeper than that, something visceral that crawls under your skin and settles in your bones. It's sharp, raw, cutting through the wall of rage so fast it leaves you breathless. You don't know how to explain it, this feeling that twists through you, something far too complicated to be named.

And then, you become aware of everything at once.

His legs, spread wide on either side of yours, the space between you so small, your chest just close enough to his face that his breath feels like it's fogging your skin. You're towering over him, wand pressed hard into his throat, your heart hammering in your chest like you're ready to ruin him—but his eyes, the way he looks up at you, says he'd let you.

"I may have even added that although you're with him, you'll always think of me. Both you and him know it’s true.“ That stupid smirk is gone, replaced with something you've never quite seen before. He pauses, before he continues. "You miss it. Us." Another pause. There’s something victorious in his tone, something that's almost breaking you. "And no matter how many times you try to forget, you never do, do you?"

Salazar save you—you should hex him. You should fucking hex him. Every nerve in your body is screaming for it, begging for it, but you can't. You can't fucking move. Your wand is still pressed to his skin, but it feels like you're the one pinned down.

"Shut up," you finally manage, but your voice is meek, thin, nothing like the fury you want to feel. "You...you're being—"

"I'll shut up," his hand finds your wrist, pressing your wand tip against his neck with more force—enough to make himself wince. "If you make me."

You blink, stunned, and you can feel your anger slipping, slipping faster than you can catch it. You don't know what's happening to you—it’s just him—his sick twisted insanity that disarms you. Time and time again. An endless fucking cycle.

"I could ruin you," you whisper, but it sounds more like you're trying to convince yourself than him. You press the wand deeper, just enough to draw a grunt from him, but the look on his face—he's not afraid. No, he's enjoying it. "I have more reasons than most to leave you here bloodied for Snape to find in the morning."

You say the words but the conviction is gone, swept away in the flood of heat between you—the dizzying proximity, the way his lips curl, almost smiling but not quite—

"What are you so afraid of?" He whispers, and there's something fragile in his voice now. "That you might actually want this?"

"I don't want this." You force the words out immediately, hoping they will make it real. Hoping they'll stop this spiral. "I regret ever wanting this."

He’s silent for a moment as he lowers his hands, dark eyes falling to trace your lips—

"I know you hate me, the feelings mutual...but I know. I know I'll always be your favourite regret," those chocolate curls shift, his head tilts closer, too close. Not close enough. "You're still my weapon of choosing."

Merlin. Merlin bloody forgive you—

"…to hurt yourself with?” It's half a question, but you already know the answer.

He nods, and that does it.

Your lips are on his, fast and hard and bruising—and the reaction is immediate, visceral. All that backed-up blood—all that rage frozen in your veins rushes forward in a single, scorching wave. It crashes low, between your thighs, a heat so sharp it aches. The shame comes with it. So does the disgust. A sick knot of self-hatred pulsing through you as you taste his blood on your tongue while his hands are under your skirt, grabbing you like he owns you, pulling you into him. It's only a moment before your wand clatters to the ground, and your hands are tangled in his hair, yanking hard, hard enough to hurt.

You want it to hurt. God, you want it to hurt.

He growls at the sting on his scalp—and then, everything flips.

His fingers tug at something, and you realize it's his own wand, the one you tucked into the back of your skirt—and before you can even think, he's got it, casting a spell that sends you flying back onto the desk behind you. You groan—the world spins, but you don't even have a second to gather yourself before he's advancing toward you, casting another spell on his tie.

Within seconds it's slithering across your lips and tying itself around your head, gagging you.

He steps between your legs, parts them with the ease of someone who's done it a thousand times before—rough hands gliding up your thighs, eyes wild. His fingers slip beneath your underwear, through your slit, and you try to hold on to any shred of control, but it's gone. You can feel it. The way you forget everything except the way he leans down, breath hot in your ear.

"Look how fucking wet you are," he spits through a sneering grin. "You're goddamn shameless, aren't you?"

You roll your eyes, but your thoughts scatter the moment his fingers shove inside you, curling hard—so hard you gasp into the tie, your back arching violently off the desk.

"He ever get you this wet?" His voice is like gravel, each word grinding into your bones. "Nod your head if he did."

Your body reacts before your mind does, arching against him, but you don't move your head. As much as it hurts your pride to give him that win. You dig your fingers into his hair and pull—hard enough to make him grunt, hard enough to hurt.

His hand comes down hard on your thigh in response, a sharp smack that stings, a warning. You squeal, and his fingers start pumping faster, deeper.

He huffs. "That's what I thought."

His fingers make quick work of you, relentless, and his thumb presses to your clit, rolling circles in a rhythm that has your blood on fire, shame licking at the edges of your vision, but it only makes you burn hotter. This is all wrong. Everything about this is wrong, something you'll regret with every fiber of your being tomorrow, but right now, it's an ache you need.

It's the wound you keep reopening, the pain you crave because it's the only thing that ever feels real.

"Fuck, you're close, aren't you?" He sounds almost shocked, like he can't believe how easily your body betrays you, but you feel it too, the disbelief crashing through you as fast as the pleasure does. Too fast. Far too fast. "Did he ever make you cum? Huh? When's the last time you fucking came?"

You can't answer, just groan, yanking at his hair again. His response is immediate, another stinging slap to your inner thigh, sharp enough to make fluid prick your eyes. Your orgasm is right there, teetering on the edge, ready to tip over—but then he slows his pace, dragging it out, torturing you.

You whine. A pitiful, desperate sound you hate yourself for.

"Look at me." His voice cuts through the haze, and begrudgingly, you do. "He didn't make you cum, did he?"

Your face burns, not from his breath or his fingers or even the astronomical amount of shame you feel—but from the truth of it. You shake your head.

"How long?" His voice shatters the air between you. "A week?"

You shake your head again, biting into the fabric of his tie as his fingers curl deeper inside you.

"Two weeks?"

Another shake. He curses under his breath.

"You poor little thing." His words are venom, but the second they spill from his lips, he pumps his fingers into you again, massaging at your walls, and your vision goes white. "Can't even cum without me."

You would've slapped him if you could, would've torn him apart, but the orgasm hits you like a freight train, ripping through you with violent force. You clench around his digits, thighs trembling as you ride the wave of pleasure, convulsing, moaning into the tie as he watches you like he's won.

"So fucking easy." He withdraws his fingers, and immediately, his hands go to his belt. "We'll make up for lost time."

Everything about this feels like a rerun. The same scene playing out on loop, again and again—a cycle of self-destruction you know too well, like running headfirst into a burning building, certain you can handle the smoke only to choke on it.

He's taking off his belt, ready to fuck you stupid, and by morning you'll be back to the same familiar hatred, tearing each other apart in new, inventive ways. Your hands move sluggishly to rip the tie from your mouth, but you're slow, too slow, still dizzy from the release that blindsided you, one that you haven't felt in so long—the fabric barely grazes your fingers before Mattheo catches your wrists, yanking them back, dragging you to your feet in one rough motion.

The spin disorients you—arms pinned behind your back, his cock sliding between your thighs.

"You've done enough talking today," he hisses at your ear as he drags along your slit. "You want this, don't you?"

Your mind screams for you to shake your head, to end this here and now. You know he'd stop—he's an asshole, but not that kind of an asshole. You know it. You almost do it, almost say the word that would shatter this madness. But then he drags his tip against your clit and you moan before you can stop yourself.

Your head nods with a wanton moan, and it's so full of shame your eyes sting with tears.

"Yeah, I know, baby." He's taunting you, every syllable smug, condescending. "This pussy missed me so much, huh?" His hand tightens on your wrists until your skin burns, the other hand finding its way around your thigh, pulling you closer to him. "Fuckin' lost without me. S'all it's good for, isn't it? Taking my cock."

You groan, shaking your head in defiance, but even that feels like a lie. You hate him. You want him. You hate yourself for wanting him.

"No?" His fingers inch toward your clit, ghosting over it—you squeal, hips jerking for more. "Maybe we should call this off then?"

You blink once and his fingers are gone—wrenching a whine out of you, pathetic as you push your ass back against him, shame burning through you as you shake your head. Fuck him. Curse him. But you need him inside you, need him to fill the aching void that gnaws at you.

"That's my slut," he growls, and before you can process the words, he's inside you—one long, brutal thrust that spears you open, the stretch burning deep. The sting mixes with shock of his fingers returning to your clit, rubbing circles that make your knees buckle. "You know you're the only girl I've fucked raw? This pussy will always be mine."

He's fucking insane. Completely insane. And the worst part is, you're just as insane for wanting him. For needing him. You can't fight it. You don't even want to. Not now. Not when his voice drips like poison and he's tearing you apart in the only way you understand.

"Mmmf—" you groan into the tie and he's matching you, his teeth grazing your shoulder, marking you in ways that will last for days.

"I hope it hurts," he grumbles against your skin, his breath ragged. He's lying, you can feel it in the way his fingers are moving, coaxing you to cum, even as he pretends to wish you pain. "I hope it fucking stings."

Your hands ball into fists, trapped in his grip, and you imagine clawing at his back until you draw blood, sinking your nails in until he feels every ounce of your anger.

"I want you to feel it—fuck—I want you to remember this," he pants, his voice barely more than a growl as your climax crashes toward you, unstoppable now. "Remember how weak I make you. How much of a slut you are for me."

Another harsh thrust and then, you're there—falling into the void—pleasure is so strong it bleeds out of you, forcing your cunt to clamp tight around him, legs trembling, barely able to support you through it. Mattheo’s curses slip through clenched teeth, but this only fuels him—his rhythm picks up, brutal, hips slamming against your ass with a pace that borders on unhinged.

"Fuck. Oh, fuck." The words are barely audible, grunted against the shell of your ear. You're whining, still twitching with aftershocks, but he doesn't care. His hands are on your hips now, fingers digging deep as he thrusts you forward, slamming you over the desk. The wood bites into your palms as you try to brace yourself, but his anger is palpable, drilling into you— "you wanna bitch at me now?"

The moan you release is automatic, instinctual. You can't stop it. Can't control it. His fingers curl around your throat, shifting the tie down to shove two into your mouth.

"Hhhhh—" you're trying to form words around his fingers, but it's impossible. The garbled sound is pathetic, but he knows exactly what you're trying to say.

"You hate me. I know." It’s smug, punctuated by a sharp smack to your ass, the sting of it making you yelp. He pulls his fingers from your mouth, wiping the spit across your cheek before he grips your jaw, forcing your head to turn, to meet his eyes. "Open your mouth."

There's no time to process the demand. His eyes are molten, crazed, filled with something raw and uncontainable. His next thrust is punishing, slamming into your cervix, making you sob—your mouth parting just enough—

He leans in close, and then he spits into your mouth.

"Swallow it." His fingers dig into your cheeks, pressing the order into your bones. "Be a good girl for once."

You choke out a laugh, even as you're panting, even as he's splitting you stupid.

"Never." The word barely leaves your lips before you’re spitting back at him—your entwined saliva landing across his chin and lips.

For a second, you expect the worst—you brace yourself for the retaliation—the slap, the insult, the way he'll tighten his grip and take back control. But to your surprise, instead of anger, there's a grin—wide and feral, big and crazed enough to reach his eyes.

You smile back. His cock twitches inside you.

"Fuck me," he mutters, then crashes his mouth to yours.

You taste the salt and bitterness of mingled spit, a mess of his and yours, and it pulls a moan from somewhere deep inside you. He devours it, greedy, his hips growing erratic, sloppy as his high nears.

His hand drops to your clit, fingers pressing with a precision that obliterates every last shred of sanity—and it takes only moments before the pressure builds again, fast and furious. Your third orgasm rips you apart, your body clenching tight, muscles seizing as you're lost in it. You're not sure where you end and he begins—your breath congealing with his, your moans swallowed in the space between you.

His release follows right after, crashing over him as he buries himself deep, spilling into you with a groan that reverberates through your bones. You hate the way it feels. You hate the way he fills you. But you also can't deny the twisted satisfaction of it—the way you sought this punishment, needed it. The shame consumes you, but it's comforting in its familiarity.

He pulls out, and the silence between you is easy, broken only by your ragged breathing. The room feels impossibly small now, your body still thrumming with the aftermath, but the moment is over. You both start to move—piecing yourselves back together, pulling clothes into place, avoiding the weight of what just happened.

You don't understand how it came to this, how it always does, but you're not surprised. Not anymore.

After a long, silent moment, he looks at you. “I don’t regret what I did.”

You know he doesn’t.

“I know.”

He blinks. “I won’t apologize for it.”

You know he won’t.

“I know.”

He nods, now, a smirk on his lips as he watches you fix your skirt. You note the hair sticking to his forehead, how he’s still catching his breath even though he’s pretending he isn’t.

“You aren’t mad.” An observation.

“I’m not.” You reply. You know you should be, but the relief you felt when that Ravenclaw ended things tells you everything you need to know. “Just, never do it again.”

He nods again. “Sure.”

You’re pretty sure he doesn’t mean that—but, at least now, as you glance over at him, there's a small comfort in knowing you no longer want to kill him.

[velvetydream]

꒰ :🥀 [ Till death do us part ] ”♡ᵎ꒱ˀˀ ↷ ⋯

Summary : What if Alastors dear little darling wife, his partner in crime, the person he thought he'd never see again, turns up with Mimzy on the day of the visit of the big boss of hell.

Pairing : Alastor x fem! Reader

Word count : 1899 Words

Genre : Fluff , Drama , Angst

Warnings ➵ Mentions of death, you're shorter than

Vaggie, possessive Alastor, swearing

Prequel -> > The radio star lost <

a/n : I love this trope ngl, tried to not make him to much out of character, hope it worked.. T T

Also I'm rather new to Hazbin Hotel, so I say sorry if anythings seems wrong or out of character! ><

┌───────────────────────── ·  ·  ·  · ♡

The whole hotel was a bit chaotic right now, Lucifer himself would be visiting in just a bit and Charlie wanted everything to be perfect. Colorful decorations were hanging everywhere, a banner was hung up for welcoming the king of hell, how does one even welcome the king of hell into their hotel? Charlie was probably the most stressed of all, but Vaggie did her best to calm her nervous wreck of a girlfriend down.

The moment Lucifer stepped into the hotel was meant to make everything go down, Alastor and his Ego had somehow always a snarky remark against Lucifer. Charlie tried her best to keep them apart, introducing her other friends, before she announced how she would be needing his help. And again the banter between the king of hell and the radio demon started all over again. As if throwing insults at each other before wasn't enough already, now they were pulling at Charlie left and right, like two babies fighting over a toy.

But all things come to an end, which Charlie was thankful for right now, as Mimzy, apparently a friend of Alastor, which was interesting to know he even had any, came barging in with a grand entrance. As the woman now settles down at the bar, talking with the others, Alastor and Charlie took Lucifer on a walk around, Husker disappearing for a second too, but soon joining them at the bar again, a scowl on his face, but something else, undescribable behind his eyes.

A bang was heard through the whole hotel as the entrance door was slammed open and heard could be an angry voice. "MIMZY! You little bitch!" A demon, a slight bit shorter than Vaggie probably, walked in. A scowl evident on the face, as her eyes scan over the place, before falling on the woman she was looking for. "How dare you leave me in the shit like that?! You've got it coming if those sharks don't kill you, I certainly will!" Ignoring the questioning looks of Angel and Husker, you stomp over to the blonde, ready to yank at her hair, when suddenly a bit of debris was thrown through the window and landed beside you, barely missing you by a hair. "The fuck?" The demon's head craned around, looking out the window and there they were, those fuckers Mimzy was in debt to.

You didn't really have time to react much, as three people stormed into the entrance hall, all you could catch was a glimpse of red before the person ran outside, screams of the sharks could be heard, at least those were finally taken care of.

The loan sharks were gone and fought off quickly by that person, his voice now directed to Mimzy, your own eyes on her yourself with a scowl. She and that red demon apparently knew each other quite well, as Mimzy was walking to the door, you finally really looked at the demon. He had short red and black hair, ears sat atop his head, despite scowling Mimzy he was smiling, though a sinister smile it seems. His attire was almost completely red too, a cane was clutched in his hands, as he watched Mimzy walk off, you could only make out a small part of his face. The man seemed so familiar as if you had known him for a long time.. Your heart was running a mile right now, it was getting hard to breathe, and then...

"Thank you Alastor, really.." The long-haired blonde spoke up.. That name, it couldn't be right? Mimzy would've told you, she knew him, she would've definitely told you.. right? You must be mistaken right now.. Your eyes were fixated on the man called Alastor, the voices and sounds around you were all a mush, drowned out as your brain was going all around. Now that you could see his face, he definitely had some resemblance to him.. to your late husband, who had died before you. You were his assistant, his partner in crime, when the news hit you that he was shot, it broke your heart, but still, you continued on alone, killing. That's probably what also got you to hell, well sooner than later you were figured out and soon arrived here in hell.

"Yo smiles, this girly is gawking at you for minutes now." Slowly voices were coming back to you, the white spider beside you talked, pointing his thumb at you, the red-haired now meeting your eyes, his ears straightening and standing alert like the ones of a deer caught in headlight. What irony if he was your Alastor, the irony of dooming him with deer-like features, after getting shot assumed for a deer while hiding one of the many bodies. That day you decided to let him go alone, oh if you just hadn't done that, maybe you both would be alive or you would've at least arrived together in hell.

Alastor was taking slow steps to you, the smile on his face looking strained, yet it never disappeared, his hand was reaching out for you but stopped. Eyes moving over your form, taking in everything. Resemblance to his wife evident, but.. how did he never notice you before? Had he ever met you, walked past, maybe even taken a second glance but dismissed this feeling he has right now.

Swiftly he grabs your wrist, dragging you behind him, ignoring the calls of his name of the other residents, his mind plagued by one only thought, more like one only person.. you.

Stumbling behind him, his grip rather firm on your wrist, yet it felt comforting as if you knew he would never hurt you. Not in your lifetime and also not now in your afterlife. Eyes watching the back of his head, you were wondering what expression his face harbors right now. Was he happy? Was he confused? Disappointed? Maybe he knew where you were all this time but didn't want to meet you. No, he wasn't like this. He may have been distant sometimes while alive, but in the end, he was always a darling to you. Taking care of you, just as he vowed on your wedding day. A distant memory, yet one of the most beautiful ones you have.

A door was opened and as you were pulled inside, the door closed. Steps echoed through the room, you noticed a forest on the other side of the room, but that didn't rather faze you, eyes on him again.. and him only. "Al-" You were interrupted by laughter, the man before you was hugging himself, his arms around him, yet you still weren't able to see his face. "D-Do you know.. How often have I thought about you?!" His voice was loud, a static sound like from a radio accompanied it. One of his hands was tearing at his hair now. "That bitch never told me... I'll make sure to kill her for that.. She kept you from me.." The laughter got even louder, as if the man before you was going insane.

This behavior was nothing new to you, he used to be like this, high on adrenalin when another murder was successful.. Or when he was close to being figured out by the police and detectives, yet he always slipped away right through their incapable fingers.

"I always wondered what happened to you, if you grew old with someone new.." If you were able to see his face right now, you would be able to see the sinister yet possessive smile on his face, his eyes darting around the room.

This all ended in a second when he felt a soft hand on his. He knew this hand, he also knew the person it belonged to like the front of his pocket. "I would never, I carried on alone in your memories, yet I was never as skilled as you darling, so sooner than later they connected all the dots to me." A low chuckle could be heard again, the static radio sound calmed down again too. The tall man slowly turned around now, his hand engulfing your own, his fingers softly running over your own, before he linked them together. How he had missed this feeling, despite having a distaste for people touching him, you were different. Your touch felt warm, like the summer sun kissing his skin, it felt comforting.

"I've missed you mon amour.." His voice was soft, probably the softest it had ever been since he had arrived in hell. His hand guides yours up to his lips, as he closes his eyes and presses a soft kiss to the back of your hand, a smile, now softer, on his lips. He was never one for kissing you on the lips, he definitely favored kissing your hand, like the gentleman he has always been. "I figured with how you were talking seconds ago my dear.." A soft smile was creeping up onto your lips too, mirroring his own one. Red eyes open again, your hand still pressed to his face, but now he was rather holding your hand to his cheek. "Oh how I wished I could've stayed with you my darling, we would've been so successful.." Giggling at his words, with him at your side, you probably would have been going for a long time. "But who says we can't be successful now?" A smirk etched its way onto your husband's face, oh how he loved your daring little mind, always thirsting for blood. With you by his side again now, he would definitely be able to get everything done that he wanted.

"Shall we go back? I want to meet your friends properly." Wanting to pull away your hand, he softly gives you a tug, your head landing on his chest now. Wide eyes look the the side now, as you weren't really able to move, his arms having snaked around you and his chin resting on your head. This was unusual much physical contact, but figured that you hadn't seen each other for multiple decades he yearned for your touch just a slight bit. Your arms lying around him, embracing the hug. "Let's just stay here a few minutes more, we got enough time to introduce you to everyone down there but for now.. let me have you for myself." Nodding softly, your head rests on his chest, as your eyes close and you simply enjoy the presence of your dearly beloved husband.

"What do you mean 'married to smiles'?!" Angel, as he was introduced to you, shouted from his place on the couch now, staring at you flabbergasted. "We've been married for quite a few years before his death." Smiling you answered his question. Alastor didn't like all the attention you were getting, but sooner than later he would have you all to himself again when you two go back to his cozy hotel room or the radio tower. "So you two fu-" Angel wasn't even able to finish his question before he shut himself up as he noticed the look on Alastors face. This time he would've been dead for sure if he finished that question.

Overall everyone invited you happily into their little hotel family, it was amazing. Charlie immediately took a liking to you and if you're being honest she quickly was viewed by you like a daughter.