#angel cake strain

[blazed-bitch]

😇🍰

[yuwuta]

EAT MY WORDS, AND THEN SWALLOW YOUR PRIDE DOWN — OKKOTSU, INUMAKI

cw: choking, spit (mentioned), threesome, established relationship

Yuuta doesn’t like to share. He’s usually all or nothing, but there’s something about you and Toge that makes you both the exception to his rule. 

Maybe it’s knowing that somehow he’s found a way to have his cake and eat it, too. That he can have both of you, that you’re both his and nobody else’s, and it grants him the privilege of knowing nobody else can take either one of you away from him. 

Except for each other, but Yuuta doesn’t quite mind that. He likes watching you two have each other, likes watching Inumaki tease you while you’re kissing, because he’s messy, flashes of your tongue while he sucks on it, whiny, desperate grinding of your hips against each other that are a clear ploy to hear you whine and plead, and it works every single time. Yuuta laughs a little from where he stands in the doorway to the bathroom, ruffling a towel through his damp hair and admiring how desperate you look when Toge’s hand creeps up your neck to keep you still, the perimeter of your lips slick with spit and you gasping for air and more and more and more and—“Toge, please.” 

But Toge likes to tease, and he knows that Yuuta likes to watch, and that you can take it, so he squeezes another moan out of you before kissing your nose, then your cheeks, then your neck, all open mouth and teeth and tongue. He groans between kisses, feeds off of your whining and flimsy attempts to grab at his shirt, and bites your lip a little too hard to use the distraction to push you back against the mattress. 

Yuuta finds himself blushing when Toge is on top of you, grinding his hips down to watch your squirm, steadying your writhing with a tight grip on your jaw. He can tell it hurts a little, but you can take more—he’s seen you take more, he’s seen Toge give you more, so when he uses his other hand to press his thumb against your tongue and flatten it down, Yuuta gasps along with you. 

Toge is the one who giggles now—and audible laugh that ghosts across your tongue before he licks against yours. It’s followed by a searing kiss, moving his thumb from your mouth to your cheek in loving contrast to his biting kisses. He releases his hold on your neck for just a second, just enough to let you gasp deeply for air, before it’s back, before you’re gasping again and with strained moans, and desperate, desperate hands pawing at Toge. 

“This is certainly fun to watch,” Yuuta slings the hand towel around his neck, rounding the bed as Toge sucks at your skin and gropes your tits, and your eyes screw shut at his mercy. Toge smiles against your collar when Yuuta sits on the edge of the bed next to him, pulls back and swipes his thumb across your swollen lips with wicked intent. “But now you’re just being mean.”

Inumaki merely shrugs, sitting up over your hips and turning to Yuuta, whose eyes flicker between Toge’s and yours, then to your lips, and his hand on your neck, and back to your face. He’d only caught the last few minutes of Toge’s torture, but from the state of your heaving chest, and the amount of bruises on your neck, and size of your pupils, he’d imagined that Toge had been toying with you from the moment he’d stepped into the shower. 

Yuuta grins at the thought. You let Toge get away with too much. You must like seeing him get drunk on you, too; Yuuta can’t fault you for that. 

“Hi, angel,” Yuuta reaches a hand out to cradle your face, a gentle hold that you easily lean into, “Toge being mean to you?” 

Your eyes go wide, fluttering between both boys hovering over you. There’s no right answer, but there might be a wrong one. When your eyes land on Toge again, he’s got his head cocked to the side, a single eyebrow raised, and then quietly, without room for argument he commands, “Answer him.” 

“No—no,” you gasp, immediately turning to look back at Yuuta, who smiles down at you, “I just... want more.” 

Yuuta’s thumb strokes across your cheek, then your bottom lip, until he can slide it into your mouth. He’s been told that his eyes can be intense, and it used to make him insecure, but there’s newfound confidence in the way it makes you and Toge pliant under his gaze. 

“You’ve got her wrapped around your finger, don’t you?” Yuuta muses when you suck on his finger, turning his head, brushing his nose against Toge before leaning into a kiss, “Poor thing.” 

They make a show of kissing each other just to tease you. Toge angles himself towards Yuuta, but makes sure to buck his hips against you to have you straining underneath him, too. The more they lick into each other’s mouths, the heavier Yuuta’s thumb presses against your tongue and you’re left gagging when Toge’s hand leaves your neck to cup Yuuta’s jaw and sucks on his tongue. 

Spit drips down their chins, filthy and wet and too much and not enough. You bend your arms to lean up against your elbows, moaning frustratedly, Yuuta’s fingers messily trailing with you. He can tell that you want to touch them, kiss them, be between them. But Toge is quick to drop a hand from his face, doesn’t even have to look your way to wrap it around your neck with practiced ease and force your back to be flush with the mattress again. 

Yuuta groans, slowly pulling away from Toge when you whine for him. And Yuuta is weak to you, so when he sees your debauched face, he can only coo, lean down and give you a careful, chaste kiss, smearing the spit across your lips when he pulls away. 

“Sorry, angel,” he apologizes, giving you another quick kiss, “Come here.” 

He helps you to sit up, back against the headboard, and Toge kneeling in front of you. Yuuta cards a hand through his hair, pulling him closer to you, not without warning, “Be nice,” before pushing him to kiss you. 

“That’s it,” Yuuta muses, sighing when you both fall into each other’s hold again, “Be good to each other.” 

It’s only Yuuta that gets to see you two like this, only him that gets to share these moments. He’ll let you belong to each other, just as long as you know you’re his, too.

[theveryworstthing]

life has been lifein’ haven’t been posting for a while but hopefully i’ll have stuff to post soon. 

without getting into the full rollercoaster of misery, health problems abound in my loved ones and every year for the last 3 years we’ve lost at least one family member. my gramma Rosezina died on July 1st after 83 years of being A Problem. her funeral was on the 8th during a day so hot that we couldn’t be at the graveside for more than a few minutes, fitting weather for a woman nicknamed Hot for her good looks and spicy temper. i loved her very much, i love her very much, and the emotional strain of everything that came after the Big Stroke fucked me up a little bit.

here’s one of my favorite stories about her, stop me if you’ve heard this one:

my gramma was schizophrenic, a fact i didn’t figure out until i was told by a family member at some time during my preteen or early teen years because the way schizophrenia was depicted on tv or movies was so different from what she was. she was an amazing quilter, gardener, cook, baker (i’ll never have a caramel cake that rivals hers), and general gold star deep country grandmother who was always sweet to me, her first born granddaughter, even when she stopped remembering who i was exactly in her later years. 

also, she never liked being told what to do.

also, also, she hung out with the devil for a while.

she said he’d just show up sometimes, the most beautiful, angelic, enchanting man you ever did see. he’d come to her when she was feeling overwhelmed, upset, or lonely, and offered words of comfort and a gentle listening ear. she had a hard life, and that comfort was very valuable to her even if it was coming from the devil, so over time he became her friend and she trusted him right up until the day he told her to kill her kids and free herself from all the problems constantly weighing her down. 

need i remind you, she did. not. like. being told what to do. (especially when the thing she’s being told to do is murdering her own children)

so of course, she told all her kids to walk up the road to my great gramma’s house, and when they were gone Hot dragged the couch the devil was sitting on outside into the front yard and set it on fire with him sitting on it. 

from what i was told he seemed very irritated but didn’t get up as she stared him down and watched him burn. 

afterwards some other family members put the fire out and she returned to her chores like nothing happened. as far as i know the devil never talked to her again.

and that’s why i grew up knowing that the, ‘the devil made me do it’ defense is some bullshit. if the devil is real he can’t make you do shit. he flounces off if told no (and set on fire) once. 

weak bitch. 

[konigsblog]

omg so i love your chubby konig thoughts and imagine sucking him off with his soft stomach pressed against your head and you’re almost suffocating because of his fat and thick cock

chubby könig has been rotting my mind all day, finally a chance to talk about it now :33 he'd be so mean, especially when he's just woken up, needing a nice blowjob to start his morning !!! 💐

könig loves a blowjob, especially when he has a firm hold on your hair, grasping the crown of your skull firmly, pushing deeper into your already stuffed mouth. the thickness, the fatness of his meaty, large cock, laying flat against your tongue, with pearly drops and beads oozing out. the taste; bitter, yet sweet, having him just eaten some austrian goodies he decided to make. he's irresistible, the taste of his hot release running down your throat as he spurts strings of hot, milky cum into your mouth, eyelids heavy and cheeka flushed, with guttural groans and harsh words flowing from deep in his throat.

“filthy, my dear... so greedy, watching you swallow my entire, thick, fat cock-- jus’ like the dirty girl you are.”

his thick, fat thighs around your body, gazing down at you, sat between them obediently. by closing his legs, your face was forced further onto his cock, pushing you deeper, grinding further down your strained throat. tears cake your pretty cheeks, eyes watering from gagging, your lips puffy from wrapping around his dick so many times... your arousal ran and dripped down your supple, pretty thighs, drooling from your sweet heat, sucking him off nicely.

könig's wet, slow thrusts had him even harder, grinding skywards against your face, practically against his bare, hairy stomach, the smell of his musk prominent and driving you crazy. :( he's just so hungry for you, to see you swallowing his big cock while you bounce on a dildo.

rub your pretty, slick cunt against his face if you don't have any dessert, you taste even sweeter, angel... ;3

[diejager]

First Cw: Smut, sex work, porn, cam girl, dildo, riding, dildo mount, self-hate, depressive thought?, whorshiping, tell me if I missed any.

Part 4

He watched your live, your body writhing in your sheets, back arched and head thrown back in pleasure. His body unmoving, body rigid underneath his armour, eyes unblinking and back straightening against the backrest, as he stared at his screen. He never touched himself when he watched you from afar, eyeing your hips rolling against the mount you strapped to a pillow, riding the dildo you suctioned to the plastic stand.

You rode it slowly, chest heaving while you ran your hands over your breasts in a sensual way, your finger running over your glossy lips, caressing your jaw and down the curve of your throat, your sweaty and shimmering skin. Your hands travelled down the valley of your tits, pinching your perky nipples with painted nails, a pretty red, powerful and vibrant —sexy in every manner. His eyes followed the hand that dipped down your stomach, over your slick mound and spreading your lips to show your viewers the silicone cock that stretched you out.

His hot breath sounded loudly behind his mask, it would've fogged up his glass if he wore any, his laboured breathing coming out in shoulder-moving puffs. His cruel eyes dilated, pupil rounder than usual as his eyes stuck obsessively at your cunt, his ears ringing with the loud, echoing squelch of your cunt and the eerie silence of his locked room, and body strained with self-restraint, fingers curled into a fist. He felt dazed, mind numbed to all but you and what you brought out of him: his slurred reaction, his oversensitive nerves and his increased heat.

You were like a drug to him —addiction, ascension, delirium. Your mewls breaching his broken mind and your bouncing body burning itself into his eyes, hearing and watching you gush around the toy, cunt fluttering wildly as you shuddered, hair sticking to your forehead and skin flushed. Despite his growing needs, the swelling that tightened his pants to an uncomfortable extent, he made no move to chase it, to soothe the pain and ache that filled his body, like a wave crashing against his scarred and disfigured body, and the wind blowing him away like the insignificant specks of sand that caked the earth.

He wouldn’t touch himself after the show, sending you money for the perfect show and drowning himself in a freezing shower to wash off the sin, his greatest mistake of loving something so precious and beautiful. He let his cock grow soft under the water, the occasional jump of his cock reacting to the arousal that still lingered in his bloodstream and the coolness of the water.

He couldn’t help himself, he promised, he fought, he glared, but nothing could stop a wandering mind, a needy and vulnerable shell of a broken man that wanted nothing but a fleeting moment of love, of affection —of utter devotion.

“Hello?” The voice was as sweet as the last time he heard it, the softness and affection that deepened his scars, “Nikto?”

“Милая,” his voice came out in a low rasp, throat dried and muscle dehydrated. He spent too much time hiding himself than caring for himself, “You did well.” [Sweetheart]

You laughed, your gentle and angelic chuckle at his compliment —fitting the stage name you used, Seraphim. He was reminded again why talking to you felt like a sin, blasphemy committed by him to his goddess. Perhaps he shouldn’t have called, daring to be so near a being much greater than him, pure and fragile. For all his self-restraint, he was a weak, weak man, always chasing for more when he’s already lost so much.

“Thank you,” you sighed. He heard sheets shuffle, your body rolling to your stomach, face propped up on your chin while he spoke to you on the phone, “When are you coming back?”

“Cкоро.” [Soon.]

Part 6

Taglist: @warenai @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @cutiecusp @ladyof-themoon @yourdaydreamerfan @blackhoodlea @daisychainsinknots @under-the-dirt @moansteur @iamnotfinedaddy @0alk0msan @katzarantos @danielle143 @bubbletae7 @artemeow @nes-kopi @notspiders @waves-against-a-cliff @brokenpieces-72 @princessboohaloo @petwifed @craxy-person  @aldis-nuts @randominstake @yanderestory @jggykhug09090 @cassiecasluciluce @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @redeveryflower @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @call-me-nyxx @cummunistcat

[zealousllamawolf]

Lost in the Woods (Alastor x Reader) Part 1

!!Minors Please DNI!!

Parings- Alastor x Reader

Summary- Alastor finds a way to help you when you're in a desperately trying to subdue your need to kill.

Word Count- 2.5K

Warnings- talks of murder

Tags- blood obsession, light sexual tension, angst

~Alastor’s POV~

  Out of the demons in hell you had to be the one to capture his every waking thought and dream at least when he did sleep which was not frequent. Alastor’s been watching you for the past couple weeks since you arrived. There were moments you slipped away from helping the rest of the residents where you would break down privately in an empty room or hallway, but already overstepping by sending his shadow to follow you he got the sense you wouldn’t like it if he came to check up on you in the middle of a private conflict, but that didn’t stop him from feeling like he should be doing more for you.

  Alastor’s grin strained, thinking back to when you walked into the hotel shaking with a knife gripped in your hand. Completely soaked in blood from head to toe, blouse ripped from the neck down falling over your chest revealing a plump breast peeking out from your bralette. Your hair was caked with congealed blood and the rest around your face, neck and arms drying as it dripped down in streaks.

  He watched as you fall to your knees in the middle of the lobby as he stood by Husk next to the bar. The knife clattered to the floor making you flinch, forcing you to look down at your bloodied hands tears falling- no pouring out of your eyes. His eyes skimmed the rest of your body as your chest heaved with sobs quietly coming out of your cracked and ripped lips.

  Alastor refrain from thinking how beautiful you look in that moment, agony and trauma shadowing your features, before he walked over to you taking off his pin stripped coat and wrapped it around your shoulders, kneeling he snugly wrapped it around your chest coving up for decency, not because he wanted to be the only one to see what lines just under your blood-soaked clothes.

  That’s when you looked at him, staring deep into Alastor’s eyes. What he saw made his breath catch. Your eyes were filled with a frantic look of desire and terror. The look in your eyes caused him to see himself in the mirror looking back with the same look after he had returned home shaking from his first kill.

“Help me,’’ barely audible you whispered though trembling lips. You looked back down at your hands releasing his eyes from your intoxicating stare.

~~~

  Alastor travels in the shadows through the hotel hallways until he reaches the lobby where you stand by Angel hovering over his phone at the bar, talking about whatever was on the screen. Taking you in he notices your twist on the staff uniform. Swallowing he looks down at your black jeans hugging your bottom snugly, through half-lidded eyes he drags his gaze up your body, trailing along your red semitransparent flowy top, just sheer enough to see a lacy, black, skintight tank top you wore underneath.

 He shifts into the shadows and pops up right behind you, leaning forward to look at the cursed technology over both Angel’s and your shoulder, leaning closer to you he breathes in your scent, his grin softening.

 Like raspberry and vanilla, just like mama’s breakfast, he thought. Before he could get carried away with your smell he reads the text in the search engine, ‘Where to hike in hell?’

 “Are you sure this is the type of place you want to go sweets?” Angel asks wearily, scrolling though the photos.

  Alastor notices your jaw tense and back stiffen. “Yes, I need somewhere I can let off steam with no distractions and I usually retreat around nature dead or not.” Your face scrunches around the word dead, making Alastor wondering why you avoided the topic of death around everyone at the hotel.

  You haven’t opened about your bloody start living at the hotel despite Charlies probing questions. Alastor knew this since he didn’t miss a single group session regardless of if you saw him or not. He had hoped during the times he was not present physically maybe you would open up and let him see the real you under the cracked mask you wore in front of the crew, just like his smile although his was permanent.

  “I may have a solution for you (y/n).” Alastor makes himself know making both Angel and you jump. “We surely can’t allow one of our hotel staff get lost and killed in that wretched part of hell.’’ His grin slowly turning malicious. “You only go there dear, if you want to sell your soul to weak desperate demons.” Alastor leans closer to your face saying, ‘’it’s a kill or be killed type of place,’ he draws out the word ‘kill’ watching for your reaction which pleased him to see a twinkle in your eye just when he wanted you to.

  So, she fancies killing, the hungriness in your eyes told Alastor all he needs to confirm his suspicions making him grin coyly down at you. He watches as your face flushes red making your already adorable face more appealing. You bring your hand up to your throat and rub it around the base of your neck nervously.

  “What’s your solution?” You ask puzzled, but the hopeful prize of being able to smell and roam free in the woods again making your whole-body hum.

  “Come along precious one.” Alastor takes your hand, surprising even himself as he intertwines your hand in his pulling you close, he wraps an arm around your lower back curling his hand around your waist pulling you taunt against his body. Your gasp did not miss his ears when the world around both of you dissolved into blackness before fading away leaving you standing alone deep in the middle of a flush mossy dense wooded area next to a large pond with a dock going out into the open water.

 Alastor lurks watching you from the shadows of the large cypress trees, branches draped with long grey-green droopy moss. He watches you as a large wide grin takes your frowns place, lighting up your eyes as you take in the beauty of the bayou, you look up at the sky he sees your chest hitch up. He follows in your pursuit as he looks up at the night sky, stars scatter every inch, the moon slowly rising slightly hidden behind the treetops.

  It never ceases to amaze me, Alastor thought letting his guard down, his grin becoming a content, thin smile. When he finally tears his gaze off one of the biggest wonders of the world and back to where you stood, you were not there. Instead, you were laying on your back in the middle of a soft moss patch, pressing your face into the ground. You looked enthralled at the scent, making Alastor’s ear twitch forward picking up your long sniffs, intriguing him. Since you didn’t notice his lack of presence lost in your own piece of bliss.

  Shifting into the shadow he fades in at your side, standing over you he says, “You look like you are enjoying yourself.” Startled you whip open your eyes to find Alastor looking down at you softly. “I must say, I am quite envious.” Alastor’s grin stretches reveling his sharp teeth. “Don’t worry dear, I am happy to give you a moment of peace,” cooing when your eyelids close halfway, relaxing further into the ground. Alastor stays silent for the time being waiting for you to speak, enjoying your small smile as you take long deep breaths.

  “Oh, how I missed this. It’s like being wrapped up with nature itself,’ you say breathlessly.  

 Alastor chuckles “My, you say that with such conviction darling.” He charmingly.

“Oh, come lay down,” you say patting the ground, hearing you say that so casually made Alastor’s face grow hot, his static becoming louder. “It’s weird when you stand over me like that” you chuckle lightly, “I want you to enjoy this will me.”

 Alastor didn’t trust himself to speak so he lays down on the moss next to you. Looking up at the sky, sliding his hand over to grasp yours intertwining your fingers together he feels your body shudder.

  “Are you cold (y/n)?” Alastor asks teasingly knowing you only shuddered at his touch, the cool air had nothing to do with it.

You laugh and say “Oh not at all,” shocked he that you would bashfully lie, but instead you surprised him even more when you said, “When I was alive I would spend days out in the wood in just my bra and panties,” he looks over at you, seeing your eyes glaze over at the memories, you continued, “Those days involved me frantically trying to convince myself not to hit the local bar and stalk a random man who showed signs of being abusive towards his partner.” Shake your head clearing your mind from your daze. “I am so-“

  Alastor cuts you off by running a clawed finger back and forth on your wrist reassuring you. “Don’t, your laying next to a serial killing demon, whatever you say will not change my view of you” he chuckles, “Pfft, light stalking is a breeze compared to what I have done.”

“That’s not all that I did” you say slowly, he could see you deciding whether you would continue before you chuckle lowly, “No, I would seduce them, ha, of course they would cheat on their one and only.” You laugh dryly, Alastor seeing you gulp as tears formed in your eyes. You push on, “It would be so easy, so easy to lead them to the back of my truck. All of them were so eager to take my body. I would be so aroused as I kiss them but not from them.” Alastor sucks in a breath, captivated hoping you would say want he wanted to hear next, he started to feel the growing tension in his gut. “I wanted to bathe in their blood Alastor, needed to feel their blood pour over my body as I jammed my hunting knife into their jugular.” You use your hand to demonstrate, clutching your first with force before releasing the tension, making his cock twitch against his pants “Feeling their blood pour over my chest, my body slick with their blood.” You run your hands up your body before gripping your throat closing your eyes at the thought before opening them again looking towards Alastor.

  It took everything in him not to pounce on you right then and there, hearing you reminiscing made his cock throb with aching. He rolls on to his side dragging his claws up your arm, making your legs instinctively rub together, noting that he knew you were aroused by your story.

“Tell me, it that what you did before coming into the hotel?” he lowers his voice thick with lust.

“Yes” you gasp. “I relished in killing demons post dying. I knew I was in Hell, so I fulfilled all my darkest desire for weeks.” You copy Alastor and roll on to your side facing him, edging close enough for your breath to be felt on his lips. “I was overstimulated when walking in the hotel knowing if I continued, I would turn into something I know I am not. I needed help so I came here,” you sigh and close your eyes as Alastor cups your cheek running his thumb across your cheekbone.

 “I for one am thrilled to have another killer in the hotel.” Alastor says making you giggle and open your eyes, your laugh sounds like music to his ears, he started to wonder what other sounds you would make at his behest.

“I haven’t even told you my worse quality yet,’ you say meekly, causing him to slip out of his fantasy.

“I am sure it nothing worse than eating the flesh of the ones you killed, I have that covered dear.” Alastor smirks at you, knowing you couldn’t top it.

  “Well, it’s sort of similar and its only enhance since dying” Alastor furrows his eyebrows before realizing want your trying before you speak. “It’s blood,” your words rushing out, “I love to drink it. Just the smell of it makes my mouth wat-.“ Your voice tailing off as Alastor removes his hand from your cheek he brings his clawed thumb up to his lips purposefully cutting into his flesh. A line of blood bead to the surface.

‘’May I kiss you?” Alastor’s voice dripping with need and anticipation.

  “Y-yes,” you pant desperately, moth slightly open.

Next thing Alastor knows he is pulling you on to his lap making you staddle him, he reaches up and grabs both of your cheeks pulling you down to meet his ripped lip. Once your mouth touched his, he felt your tongue instantly swipe across his lower lip lapping as much blood as you could making his hip rut against your core. You moan at the hard sensation you were feeling though your clothed cunt, with desperation you grind up and down his length making him go crazy from the friction.

Alastor’s hands slowly slide around to the back of your neck pulling you as close as possible tasting his blood in your mouth as he explores with a feverish tongue. The sounds as you get lost in his touch make Alastor want more than has every wanted with another soul.

  He couldn’t stop himself as he suddenly flips you on to your back, straddling your hips without breaking from the kiss. He feels your body tremble as he slides a hand down your body until he reached your clothed cunt slowly cupping your mound fully with his long-clawed fingers. Before both of you could get further lost in the heat of the moment, he hears someone call in the distance towards his room.

“Alastor, we need your help. Nifty got stuff in Husk’s ice machine… Again,” Charlie calls from the edge of the bayou. Alastor pulls back with a groan and settles down on his knees which makes him rest his groin between your legs. He peers down at you and curses Charlie.

Your hair was a tangled mess, your face flustered, chest heaving, with his diluted blood around your open lips. Unable to convince himself not to, he pushes his hips forward against your center, sees your eyes go wide with need and a gasp escape your lips.

“Okay, I’ll meet you downstairs” Alastor calls back to Charlie.

 He leans down and touches his lips softly to your lips, whispering. “You my dear, stay right here till I get back.” He grips your hips and grinds your core against his own letting out a groan before disappearing completely in the shadows.

~~~

Continue reading to Part 2

A/N Oh to be laying under the stars in Alastor's bayou. Hope you enjoyed the story, let me know if you are interested in a smut part 2

[widowsofchaos]

𝐝𝐨𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬

synopsis: your menstrual cycle always pushes you to pure hysterics, thankfully your entrusted doctor is always there for you.

pairing: dark!loki laufeyson x brown!reader

ao3 // victorian au

warnings: dubious consent (slight sexual grooming), vaginal fingering, oral, nefarious medical practice, motional grooming.

a/n: for @cake-writes . I love you so much. :) did you know that in the Victorian period, physicians would perform pelvic massages that involved clitoral stimulation with early electrical vibrators to cure hysteria? traditional pelvic massages had been conducted for thousand of years, until western technology caught up. Dr. Silver Tongue prefers the old fashioned methods, hehe. hope ya’ll enjoy, this has been a draft for over 2+ years!

Spilling ichor is a woman’s curse.

Even worse, the womb begins its horrors at the precipice of girlhood. The excruciating pain that follows in its wake, so intense it feels as if fingernails are clawing at uterine walls.

Screams and wails for God’s sweet mercy, for the pain to cease. Bodies shivering in sweats, left so fatigued that one will rot away in bed. Praying under your breath, begging to just die.

Fits of rage and delusions—- once, at the high of your agony, you thought demons were crawling through your pink wallpaper, ready to devour you. Riddled with anxiety—- paranoid of everything.

Girls call it hell. Doctors coined it hysteria.

It’s nearing noon. He’s late.

Rattles of wheezes knock against your cavity, eyes sheening wet, as your bodice sinks and molds against the mattress. Lazily picking at your reddish cuticles, and the scent of copper lingering in the air.

The compulsive urge to throttle your bodice up and down in possessed fashion against the bedding, to gnash at the air with your canines, and howl —- perhaps, your calls would beckon him.

Groans slip from your mouth, as your abdomen is throbbing and swollen. Counting sheep mindlessly, trying to inhale deeply the packaged herbs that were prescribed to you —- but nothing is working.

The moans become more undignified. Your face is scrunching up, with tears kissing your lashes.

Faint footsteps creaking against the wood flooring, and voice muffled—- a tired gasp of relief and want escapes you. Strained whines stretch and bubble at the pit of your throat, eyes hawking your door.

The knob turns and creaks open—- what a glorious sight, to be greeted by emerald hues, and that pretty smirk. Those lovely cheekbones, and smooth ivory skin.

The dull glow of the sun illuminates through the heavy stitched curtain, and through the bedroom, with pretty pink wallpaper—- but the light shines his eyes ever so gracefully. Angelic.

A courteous bow of his head, that black hat over-casting his brow; lean and stands tall in such poise. Followed by your father, imposing and watchful.

Both can see you are too weakened to speak pleasantries, but can only greet them with a small smile and lazy eyes. Your father nods and leaves you both alone, but you could have sworn for just a glance, your father’s eyes are sharp from the sliver of the door.

A click of the door, and the air shifts.

He’s smiling with a hum. Ever so the gentleman, he lifts his hat off. He puts his leather gladstone bag gently by the edge of the bed, sits his hat on the nightstand, and begins to unbutton his long coat.

Loki holds his coat by the collar, neatly folding and placing it over your velvet chair.

It’s a quiet routine.

To be honest, this is the highlight of your day. Life of a curious socialite, stuck in your overbearing parents’ manor, primed to be a proper young lady, and young eyes to see only through a theological veil.

Dr. Laufeyson is a kind, and gracious man.

He came into your life last year. The menstrual cycles have gotten worse, and it has begun to worry your parents. He was recommended by your neighbors, the Maximoffs.

He is quite different from any man you have met.

“Hello, my dearest.” His voice is liquid smooth. His hand captures yours, bringing your knuckles to his lips. Mustering all the strength to speak, “Hello, doctor.” A bashful smile soon drops to a quivering frown.

A sharp pain that slices at your gut prevails.

Loki tauts sympathetically.

His slender fingers graze gently against your thighs, feathery touch. By the glide of his palms, he lifts your sheath. Cupping the meat of your thighs, the pads of his thumbs denting, already memorizing the sore points.

It’s an unspoken ritual.

How salacious to undress an untouched lady of society —- he barely takes his eyes off of yours. Heat radiates off of you in waves.

Shivers of shyness and an foreign need for want sweeps over the hills of your legs. It is wrong for a man to touch an unwed girl.

But he is a doctor, your doctor. He has to inspect your body. He has always assured you that his touch has always been for the good of your health.

Unusual methods Loki practices. Not like any doctor you had as a growing girl. Over the time, you have known Loki, he has bathed you, fed you, and massaged you all through the cycles. So intimate, yet not befitting of your unmarried status.

Any remnants of shame melts away as his bare palms begin to massage your thighs, maneuvering your legs to part. With an expert flick of the hem of your undergarments, dragging the now stained white fabric down, and off from your body.

A strong scent of blood fans the air, making you wince at the smell—- but Loki doesn’t deter. No sign of revulsion, you watch through your lashes—- he moves with a calm focus.

Loki’s presence has been comforting.

The way he speaks with such eloquence. Speaking to you as he would to an equal, rather at you. It’s natural to him to see you as you are, instead of a porcelain doll to be seen, not heard.

Conversations of shared love of literature, and the arts. His charming words bloom warmth inside you. He has a taste for histories, and has taught you the lessons he has learned back as a young man in university.

It is not for a girl to learn academic skills, for it is more important for boys to gain knowledge. But Loki told you many things—- and in return, you confined to him.

There were many occasions where Loki has found you forlorn. The root of your problem is your father, being overbearing, and callous. Either you weren’t being dutiful enough in your responsibilities, and pressuring the idea of marriage.

Loki would comfort you, tell you that a man should not speak so cruelly to his daughter. Private conversations that bordered on flirtatious tones—- how pretty you are, and that such a cherub face shouldn’t be dew with tears.

He is your only companion. You don’t encourage yourself to socialize in the circles your family frequent in, often seeking your solitude—- many high societal folks are too boring, and vain.

But Loki is colorful and adventurous. He speaks of wonder. He is not like any other man you had the displeasure of meeting —- boring sons of the men who work with your father. Stuffy and shallow men who only want a brood mare and a slave for a wife.

Loki excuses himself, as he walks to the wash stand perched near your vanity. Putting the stained underwear in the nearby basket. Rolling up his white sleeves up to his elbow joints, readying to fetch the wash basin and pitcher.

Loki’s fingers pat the smooth glide of the pitcher, humming contently—- the water is still warm. Quickly, and securely, he grabs the handle, begins to pour the lukewarm water into the basin.

The anticipation is intense. Breathing heavily now, a filthy part of you yearn for this touch. To feel his bare smooth fingers fondle with your mound, the sensation of his hands bathing your wet pubic hair, and his fingers slipping between your folds—-

The haze is ripped from you as he feels his knuckles caress your cheek. Shyly, you sink more into your chest, your lips purse into a coy smile. Loki towers over you as a gentle giant, a smile curling at the corners of his mouth.

In one hand, he puts the basin down on the nightstand, and on the other hand with a towel. Loki leans down, unraveling the towel, and maneuvering it underneath your bum.

The dull ache of him lifting you makes you whine. Loki shushes you, his thumbs stroking the path between your inner thighs and lower belly.

He turns to retrieve a clean rag and the soap.

Loki seats, dipping his palm in the water, twirling the red soap. Soap suds form and the scent of the carbolic solvent is heavenly.

His hand nears and the droplets rain on your abdomen, earning a sigh of relief from you. Rubbing the bar of soap in circular motions on your pubic bone, diving between your vaginal lips, soaping up your bush—- it was simply amazing.

Your head leans back into your pillow, practically moaning at the feeling—- at the feeling of his hand, and the sensation of being cleaned.

The dried crust of blood now being scrubbed away by the accompanying wet rag—- you didn’t even realize Loki moved to soak it, too immersed in the cleansing.

Completely lathery now, the towel underneath you sodden, and the water in the basin crimson. Loki puts the soap in the basin, it sinks.

The rag feels nice, soaked in warm water, washing away the excess of soap. Loki wrings the wet rag, the water dripping into the basin.

Washing away the soap from your mound, Loki’s thumb simultaneously stroking between your folds, ensuring there are no remnants of soap.

Cheekily, his fingertips slither more into your sopping hole. Tender and swollen, Loki’s two fingers flex slowly into your quim. Halting at the sound of a whine, but resumes when you mewl under your breath.

Loki muses to himself, delights that your whimpers are akin to a kitten. His fingers curl and bend as he sinks deeper inside you. Leisurely, his fingers twist— staining his fingers red.

“I do believe you are due for your massage.” Loki spoke with a silky husk. He spread his fingers, roving over your thighs, heavily petting you. A gasp leaves your mouth, as Loki’s fingers fuck you a little faster.

“Such tension.” Loki says with an empathetic smirk. You huff of breath, a strained moan. Smug satisfaction floods Loki, his smirk morphs to a pearly grin.

He playfully clicks his tongue, “She weeps on my fingers.” Loki can feel your essence dripping, coating his knuckles now. You’re panting into your pillow, as a thirsty stray, eyes pinched shut.

Your muscles are tightening around his fingers, sucking him inside, needing more. Curling at the soft spongy spot that sparks fluttery delight, jolting your head up, eyes moon-wide.

Chin to chest now, mouth gaped in a lazy O, unabashed wanton moans. Toes curling against the bed sheet, as fresh blood coats your thighs, and Loki’s thrusting hand.

Your hair clings to the beading sweat of your forehead, gripping the wrinkled sheets. Unabashedly, your hips thrust and follow Loki’s electric thrusting.

His fingers flee from your thigh to your bush, playfully his thumb and index split it open, as he slows down his fingers. His eyes never leave yours, as the pad of his thumb begins to play with your clit.

You nearly choke on your breath, you inhale so deeply, it feels like your belly caves against your ribs. Leisurely and purposefully, Loki does it slow, leaving you in desperation.

Whimpering for him to move in haste. Edging you just near the cliff, but not yet there. The sharp strain of your menstrual blurs with pleasure— so unladylike of you, to be as a starving animal, but it relieves you greatly.

You crave it, his touch, his scent—- you adore him. How lovingly his eyes bore into yours, as you lose yourself. The flesh of your thighs shiver, the knot in your belly tightening, making you whine.

“Yes, my sweetling.” Loki whispers, as your body twists, and your toes curl, “Release your pain.”

A flood of pleasure washes over your body. Your head tilts back as your mouth hangs open. Throat clenching but no sounds, just an airy gasp. Eyes pinching shut, and nose scrunching.

The euphoria of your orgasm is sensational—- you’re delirious with it. Chest heaving and hands clasping at the air, giggling with relief. Loki softly seethes his fingers from your moist cavern.

Wiping his finger clean with a towel, as your erratic breathing simmers down. He finds it amusing to see you flustered, he can see your bashfulness seep through—- down-casting your gaze, staring at your legs.

In a second, your eyes flutter upwards, to catch his penetrative stare. Loki’s hand dents into the bedding, right next to your forearm, more so trapping you.

His nose just hairs away from yours, his warm breath fanning your face. It only fuels you more.

“Faring well, darling?”

All you can do is nod, with a titter.

-

Placid ease settles over you. Comfortable and clean. Not yet in your undergarments, Loki says that it’s best to air you out, with your nightgown wrinkled at your midriff.

Loki rummages through his bag, searching through his medical equipment, to grasp the dark green bottle.

Loki grabs the bottle by its neck from his bag. Revealing brown printed lettering on crismon wrapping, Loki unplugs the cork. It catches your eye, it makes your nose scrunch.

Laudanum.

A very strong poison that your palate has not yet been fully accustomed to. Over the months, Loki has insisted that you drink this in small doses.

Very small doses.

Loki spills just a little more than a drop into the spoon. The reddish-brown liquid wafting by your nose, you groan childishly, but you make no fuss. Sweetly, he puts the spoon into the cave of your mouth, your lips wrinkling into a pout.

It’s so grotesquely bitter.

“I know,” he chuckles, “but now you can rest.” His words make the drink’s icky taste more appealing, for he does it to ensure you are content, and comfortable.

-

The laudanum has settled in your belly, and lulled you to a slumber. A cocktail of poppy, morphine and codeine. Administered for the most severe of pains.

Loki seats in silence, watching your chest fall to a steady rhythm of breath. He smiles. Loki muses to himself, you look like a sleeping beauty.

A smile forms at his mouth, relishing in the granted opportunity. His slender hands flex expertly, hovering over your belly, to your cotton-clad chest.

Loki twirls and unties the strings of your nightgown between his fingers. Revealing your bare chest, plump brown breasts display. He whispers marvelous under his breath. Tilting his head downwards, his teeth scrape your skin.

Every chance there is of you falling to a pacified sleep to the poison, Loki snatches the chance to taste you. His lips leave open-mouthed kisses, littering your breasts. Inhaling your essence as he ravages you. His warm wet tongue licks and twirls against your pebbling nipple.

His nose traces your skin down to your navel, to your abdomen, and finally to your lower pelvis. The scent of faint copper hits his nose, accompanied by the fresh scene of carbolic.

He doesn’t mind. Rather, Loki enjoys your blood connecting with his palate. Leaning more to your core, Loki’s pink tongue slithers out between his lips, and flicks at your clit.

His sculpted nose connects with your mound, his lips now suckle on the hood of your clit. Grazing his teeth ever so cheekily, earning a small wheezing pants.

You stir in your sleep, your body reacting to the pleasure he’s pulling from you —- as if he tugs on the silk rope, snagging the knot in your belly.

A savage urge overtakes him. Loki bites the supple brown flesh of your thigh—- nibbles melt to a few pecks, then back to devouring you.

Loki has plans. Too sweet and pure to let go of—- oh no, he yearns for you. The chase for you has heightened. Monthly visits can no longer sustain him.

Loki intends to ask your father for your hand in marriage. His income is more than satisfactory, able to provide you a life of comfortability, and passion. As a wolf who must tear apart his prey from the inside out, to ruin you— possessive over his prey.

None of his female patients have bewitched him. All were so eager for him to defile them, so haughty and pompous. Neither of them saw beyond his beauty.

But you, ever so sweet, only sought out a friend, and how easily you entrusted him. And Loki must enact his plan now. Last month, as he walked up the stairs to your room, he overheard your father discussing with your mother, over the prospect of marriage for you.

Loki has already purchased a ring, waiting in a velvet box.

He has already begun stripping the petals of your modesty. Small stepping stones to soon deflowering you completely. His cock swells at the mere thought.

Your velvety lips tug by the scrape of his canines. He moans a gust of hot breath, this sinful act causing your body to quiver unconsciously.

Loki’s pink tongue slurps your folds into his mouth, back to sucking on your clit. His lips are wet with your slick, and, menstrual, the corners of his mouth with splotches of red.

An impulsive urge vibrates from his knuckles to his fingertips.

Loki’s fingers itch with compulsion. Instead of sweetly plunging inside you—- oh, he thinks, an act done with gentility. But, I cannot awaken her from slumber. We have not yet reached this stage of our courting.

Traditionally, a doctor must massage his patient’s genitalia, not have his fingers explored, as he has done so freely. But, ever so naive and sweet, you do not know any better—- to you, Loki is simply doing his job.

A chaste darling, to approach you with the advance of tasting you, would have had you flying to your father. No—- he must break you down, piece by piece.

He stifles the thought, keeps his fingers at bay. Loki’s mouth keeps eating at your weeping welt, his warm tongue flickering against your sensitive clit. Unconsciously, your hips shutter gently against his mouth, spasming in your slumber.

Loki can taste your essence, moaning at your taste hitting his tongue. His eyes rolling in the back of his eyelids.

He turns his face a bit, still attached to your core, pecking small kisses on your inner thigh.

-

Loki dips his palm in the now chill bowl of water, snagging the sodden rag. Squeezing in his tight grip, water dripping, and splashing, a bit of soap is left.

Wiping away your essence, and ichor. Soothingly caressing your inner thighs with the rag, until all is gone. Loki puts the rag back, standing to his feet, as he goes to wash his mouth.

A simple routine where he finds peace. It’s a quiet shared between you two.

Patting dry his hands with a cotton white towel he found from one of the vanity’s drawers. Quietly and leisurely, Loki walks with a stride towards your bed. Standing over you, admiring his work.

A familiar routine: placing a rag inside your underwear, snuggling and cladding your mound, tying the strings to your nightgown, and pulling the rest of the fabric down your body.

Loki’s checks your pulse—- a perfect rhythm. Redressing himself, a swell of pride casts him. The sensation of your velvety core still dancing on his tongue. With a click of his bag, and flick of his coat buttons—- Loki begins his departure.

Softly closing your bedroom door, Loki walks down the stairs. His ears catch a few hushed words, one of them is marriage. No doubt, they were conversing about you.

As Loki reaches the bottom of the stairs, from his side-eye, he can see your father and mother waiting in the family’s living space.

“Ah, Dr. Laufeyson.” Your father stands from his chair with a weak grunt. A peculiar strain upon his face, he can’t meet Loki’s eyes.

“My apologies, but we cannot afford your services,” your father stammers at the sight of Loki’s pinched brow. “We had no other choice, as you know our daughter can be ill—” his panicked tone is interrupted.

Loki tilts his head, those green eyes ever so observant, a slick smirk curls. Savoring the sight of this man squirming.

“And how would you propose we solve this dilemma?”

“We can pay you in food, I can provide from my garden.” Your mother’s fragile voice pleads, standing to cling to her husband’s arm. Her fingers wrinkled his sleeve. Her eyes were blood-shot red. “You are a kind man, please understand.”

A memory of your bliss-stricken face flashes before his mind, and it provokes a breathy hum. An opportunity delivered to his feet by fate itself.

“Perhaps, I have a solution to satisfy both our needs.”

[skzstoryvault]

Let Me Love You (Felix, spicy and angsty)

Just a little something I wrote while sick in bed. Story features Felix and afab reader The angst comes from reader's own bitter expectations One-shot If this is not yout thing, please scroll away. If you're underage, this is definitely not for you. Please scroll away. ***

“Wow you shouldn’t have.” Felix says, the moment he sees the cake on your kitchen table. His hands are already snaking around your waist, pulling you close. “I’ve had sugar flung my way since the day began. I was hoping for some other kind of sweet-” He interrupts himself, leaning down to suck a gentle nibble into the skin of your neck. “-treat from you.” 

You still wonder what he sees in you or when he’s going to dump you, replace you with a newer, more attractive model. He is so loved, so powerful in that way; he can have anyone. He would only need to say one word and even someone like Hyunjin would crawl on his knees before him. But Felix keeps seeking you out. Coming to your house at night, sometimes staying the whole weekend. Fixing minor things, helping you, cooking for you. Maybe it’s the fantasy for him. Of being an ordinary man, not an idol. A man, not an androgynous angel of desire or the keeper of everyone’s affections. But the fantasy only has power because it’s fleeting. No man dreams of having less power. 

When his lips find yours, his Romand Juicy Glasting Tint smears and transfers to your mouth. He always tastes clean, neutral, like taking a deep breath outside in the summer rain. It makes you doubt he’s really human. But he kisses like a god, and the gods of legends do have a habit of coming down as rain or beautiful animals to seduce unsuspecting ingenues. That tracks perfectly, the more you think of it - except you never get to, whenever Felix is around you can’t string two thoughts together. 

When you’re alone again and clarity strikes, you feel vulnerable and under siege. But when he’s with you, the spell he weaves is potent and thick like the 3D reality.

When you’re with him, your only reason for existing is to receive his love, in whatever flavour he deems you deserving of that day. It’s like he gauges his power by the way you fall apart beneath him, by how strong and uncontrollable the shivers of your body get, by how lost and inhuman your sounds of pleasure and abandon get. 

Before he set his eyes on you, you were certain you were over dick and the headaches it came with from the men attached to it. But Felix is not other men, and his pull on you is irresistible precisely because it is unique in its manifestation. Now, your small items of clothing fall away as though he wills them out of existence and he takes you in as many ways as it takes him to feel satisfied with your offerings. He knows the exact ways to curl his fingers to bring you to fountain-like, gushing orgasms that alter the cadence of your heartbeats. He measures how gone you are with his lips on your ankle, on a pulse point he can feel there, beating against his tongue. He can see it in the spasms of your leg and ab muscles, in the way your toes curl, beyond your conscious control. 

“I need you, baby. I need you to be good and take it, alright my sweetest?” He whispers in his dark, low as the pits of hell voice. Even at just that, your core tightens like the string on a bow, taut and ready and quivering with tension but not wanting to snap yet. He commands your body effortlessly with you as a mere passenger in it. 

You lose track of time and the world around you when his plump lips close around your straining clit. His fingers spread and smooth out the flesh around, exposing every idle nerve ending to his touches. It’s so mind-blowingly good, he eats you out like he really means to leave no crumbs, and you black out and come back several times before he deems you ready. Your bones have softened to mere cartilage, the contours of solid shapes only. By the time he removes his jeans and underwear and crawls between your open legs, he can plaster himself against you so closely you can’t tell where you end and where he starts. Tears run down your cheeks when he enters you, sealing you perfectly shut around him; the tears are not of pain, but overwhelm at the simple, yet unbearably intense pleasure of being perfectly filled, made whole for a fleeting, perfect moment. He doesn’t even need to prop himself up. His hands seek out yours and your fingers entwine on either side of your head. Even if he doesn’t move at all, you’ll still pass out from how unbearably flawless this feeling is; how connected he makes you feel - as though thoughts and feelings can truly pass between you unrestrained. 

He does move, wanting to witness your ruin and know that it is by his doing, over and over until your world is reduced to only him and your lips can only say his name. How does the song go? All gods bleed. All gods die. All gods will pay. You could love him unrestrainedly. You could feel like a girlfriend to him, a deserving, equal mate if he were not an idol. If the image of him that millions around the world see and worship were any less effective. You don’t want to be by-catch in the net of his allure. A footnote in a memoir written by a ghostwriter for him. So you remain a willing prisoner of this nightmare reality where he is the monster coming to feed off of whatever sweetness draws him to you for this quick moment in time. 

It never crosses your mind that the only one dishonest here is you; the only one cheating the other out of the joy of the here and now is also you. And in the process, you rob yourself of the very future you burn for. But Felix’s sweet tooth for you might just be stronger than your bitterness. 

[cherubispunk]

CHERUB (PART II) - Dealer!Joel Miller x AFAB!Reader

summary: you will forever be his fallen angel. his cherub. 

a note from Lucy: IT IS TIME! Now, I KNOWWWW i said that there woud be dp with tommy in part two...but that can wait until part three because this is just as disgusting as the last one hehehehe! Enjoy sinners, i'm off to bed. This is also unedited to just ignore any typos. I promise I’ll get round to reading it through later today. X

playlist | alternate banner by THE cherub @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin

wc: 4088 Warnings: 18+ MDNI! DARK CONTENT! Unedited for now, no outbreak, no use of y/n but joel calls the reader ‘Cherub’, porn with little plot, bombastic age gap (reader is in her early 20's and Joel is in his late 50s), Smut, car sex, very dubcon in theory but both parties want it, smut, P in V sex (unprotected — pleaseee don’t do tis irl), oral - m reeiving, handjobs, Creampie, choking, orgasm denial, slapping, dom!Joel:/sub!reader dynamic, gagging , mentions of gagging with panties, panty sniffing, nipple play, biting, Smoking, use of pet names (baby, cherub, angel, good girl...etc), Joel being foul mouthed, cursing, dirty talk. Again, some of the most animalistic, disgustingly wretched and vile porn I have written thus far...with so little plot that this earned me my place in hell, a circle lower than the last. Big Dick Joel Miller comes as his own warning.

series m.list | m.list

Lace. Pretty. Delicate and intricate. 

Torn and tossed to grimy carpet. His trailer, his bed. Laying in his large warm arms for no more than a brief moment of afterglow. Then observed by his hawk eye while you were strewn naked about his sheets in a divine headrush of oxytocin, endorphins. And numb to all but the ghostly ache of pleasure within your belly.  

Truth can be ugly. It can beat and maim even the strongest of heart and half of soul. It can dampen spirits, bash, batter and bruise a hope so bright to such a degree it is nothing but a mere flickering flame, awaiting its snuffing out from a final exhale of a familiar broken heart. It can go pummeling, plundering and pillaging a love you held so tightly to your chest, that once was so dear to one’s self, the mere idea of letting it slip through your fingers would bring on an agonising loneliness even death's pain could not compete or match with. 

One night later was your time to face truth, the world fell dark again. The rain had subsided back to choking heat, summer’s final scorch before biting winter rolled in, icy and frostbitten on its heels. You were catatonic in bed from that day forward. Contemplated the end of it all. Then got up for work again when the sun peeked over aluminium trailer rooftops. All of this…just come back to your own bed again. 

You belong to the ground now. Your purple knees might as well be caked in dirt. Each of your hairs stood on end in protest to your shivers, vexatious and unforgiving. And choked sobs suffocated you, face red, raw, puffy and salty. Everything seemed to hurt. The sound of humanity seemed so far away from you now. Even the crackling of TV static in the next room over. Nothing felt quite real. It was just…dull. Exhaustion ached in your bones, sinking in deeper - bone marrow level deeper - after twenty-four hours of little to no rest. You bit down on your bottom lip and scrunched your eyes closed as your fingers and toes curled in and you writhed in emotional pain inside yourself. Physically you were still. A weight had pressed itself into your chest, digging at you and carving a hole through your sternum. Your teeth were now gritted as you let out strained whimpers muffled by the pillow. Desperate for some form of relief, you were clasping at your upper arms, clawing your flesh until red lines rose

No one knew. No one could know. they did not have to carry the idea that someone, who roamed the halls of your mind peacefully, passively, vacantly, now rampaged through those same corridors with an iron fist and a burning torch, setting you alight, leaving breadcrumb trails for ravens to pick at and fragments such as that of sharp, cutting mirror glass for you to piece together with no map or original picture but your own memory. You tumbled, spiralling into a world of ‘was it this?’ or ‘was it that?’. And the line between each question soon grew thinner, smearing together like streaks of sunlight smudging in tears. 

—

It was a slow roll of a shift. No one but the regulars on a quiet Monday morning. The bikers who stop for coffee. The business man here for the Bessy's Diner ‘premium’ breakfast before his day starts. Greasy and warm but with the crispy potatoes. Eggs sunny side up on two slices of golden brown white bloomer bread. The smell stuck in your hair. 

You watched through the window as the world turned dark under bruising night sky. His name on your tongue at the back of your teeth. His handprint on your thigh under your yellow polyester skirt. It was the branding of him on you in the most achingly beautiful way you could imagine. You might not be bent in half any more but in your mind you are replaying each thrust that edged you over the side of harrowing oblivion. You were in his bed. Right there. You could almost feel him.

The ding of the pass bell made you blink once, twice, thrice, with a sharp inhale through your nose while you tuned in a daze to collect a cheeseburger and curly fries. You weren't much to look at by your standards – grease stains on your uniform, scuffed shoes and bruised knees; But the man you delivered the meal too had you for his appetiser. Eyeing you like a juicy cut of rump steak, plump and tender to sink one's teeth into. Your nostrils flared and you couldn't help but wonder what Joel would think of his roaming eyes as you gave the trucker a curt but saccharine ‘Enjoy!’ through gritted teeth. 

Then it was back to staring out the window while more coffee brewed and the sky sunk deep blue, a rim of purple at the horizon. Like it had been beaten and left by the sun. Clouds murking the sky above like dried blots of ink. A heavy downpour to come and you hadn't bought your coat or umbrella. Headlights beamed through the window in the blue, sailing over your eyes and the wall behind you, making you strain and squint at the familiar number plate. 

That very truck had been parked in the middle of your trailer and his. Taunted you now whenever you saw it. Reminded you that he had not come calling since a few nights ago. How long was it now? A week of no contact that made you claw at your skin and the marrow of your very bones ache with the pain as they hollowed out. Waiting for him to fill that place in you again with a sense of being needed. The place only he knew how to reach. It was pathetic and you knew it. But, oh, how you'd fall to your knees in the dirt each time to just see him. To have him call you Cherub. It felt like a dream no one would get to see or feel but you and him. A secret whisper of delight that had a pending knot of tension tighten and twist in your gut. Then a flutter when his truck door opened to reveal him in his usual wife beater tank and dirty denim combo. This time a leather jacket straining over his broad shoulders. Your mouth watered at the sight of his bulge. How, when he stood with the devils own smirk at the sight of you through the window, arm slung over the top of the drivers door, the tank rode up to give a tease of happy trail on his softer tummy. He was a man who could ruin you with a look; Have you pleading to be his anything. 

He licked his lips at the promise of his meal. You. All you could do was stand with feet planted firmly to the floor in your frilly hemmed socks and patent mary janes. His picture of innocence dressed in a ditsy diner uniform. His eyes were dark and lit only by the inside glow. They snared you in ways you often found hard to elucidate to yourself. But you'd be a liar if you refused to admit the excitement your gaze held his with. The beaming toothy grin you shone at him as he walked through the entrance. A chilly gust of wind hot on his chunky book clad heels. 

“Be right with ya!” You called to him as you took the coffee from its hotplate, unable to keep yourself from smiling. He was here. You would once again be his. Whole. 

A girl could dream. Oh she can dream up to the clouds and pass the very sun. But, lord above, how calamity hits like a stone to a dove’s wing. Causing the fall to earth and the fire to consume. This time, Icarus waited for the night. Who knew Selene would give the same backhand as Apollo.

“No need.” He cleared his throat, ambling over in his swagger to slump over the counter against the bar stool. “Lookin’ awful happy, Cherub.” There it was. It had your eyes glazing over in a haze. The first man who gave you a reason. An ability to serve and care and be wanted. “Just happy ‘cause I'm seein’ you.” You sighed. His arms crossed over themselves on the counter and there was Lucifers smile to lull you closer.

“That so?”

You nodded eagerly. “Yeah.” It was ineffable to explain, really. The temptation. But it was so damn perfect you couldn't get enough of it.

“What time you get off then, Cherub?”

“Ten.” You replied instantly. A heat warmed your core. A fizzle of something, a cramping of a dull pleasure spasm in your belly. From there he leaned over, breath tickling your ear as his scuff scratched the shell of it. Made your pulse thrum under your skin. He could feel your supple warmth, noticed how your pretty round chest hitched at the feel of his words in your ear. He ogled you like a hunter would his prey. His next feast.

“Y’think you can help me get off?” 

If you had it your way you’d trace each scar, pale of almost rare silver, raised upon his skin. Gnarled. But so unmistakably beautiful it takes your breath away for a moment. Born again, the first breath you take. Learning how to inhale, familiarise yourself with how his chest rises, to then fall with tumble of the exhale. But this was on his terms. It would do. Ideally you'd do it your way. However, he wanted what he wanted. He took. You had so much more to give him if you were just gifted the miracle of opportunity. Jeopardising this love now would be a foolish idea. 

“Yes, Joel.” You whispered, though it caught in your throat a little. Joel pulled back to eye you. Chuckling at the sight of your open wide doe eyes. A pretty helpless fawn for him to scrape off the road after being crushed by a truck. Or a bird whose wings needed patching. Little did you know he wasn't mending your wings. Merely plucking feathers from them until you could no longer glide through skies. Only be dragged by him across the ground on a leash. Rubbing flesh raw to the point of bleeding.

“Then i’ll be waitin’ here for ya, Cherub.” 

—

He had his eyes on you the whole time. In his stare you saw each scene of what could be play out. What position he'd fix you in before the descent of his hips into yours. The slap of heavy balls against your ass. The ripple of your skin while a hand clapped down on one cheek, then the other. Rendering you useless for the rest of the night. Unable to walk without legs trembling. Poor pretty Bambi. Poor precious Cherub. 

You could feel the heat of his eyes lick up the back of your neck. Flushing bright colour into the apples of your cheeks. Each time you passed him, a silent glance from you. A primal, phallic stare from him. Cogs in his mind turning to see what scenario would take his fancy. The look from other customers didn't fall short on his attention. He noticed the way that trucker had eyed you upon giving him the bill. Jealousy curled in his gut because how dare another man so much as think about touching what is rightfully his. What you were so eager to please with. The plush of your breasts, the encompassing warmth of your slick wet cunt. Joel would remember that when you stumble home, his come dribbling down your leg in a thick, gluttonous rivulet. You, so ready to flay yourself open at his word and present all to him. Your broken ribs and beating heart. The blood that bled in vain for him. 

At the end of your shift he waited while you got you things from out back, taking out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Thick fingers plucking one ready to light. 

“Can't smoke in here, Joel.” You pointed out as his lighter hissed under the roll of his thumb.

“Then hurry up ‘n let me get you outta here, Cherub.” He mumbled, eyes trained on the cigarette between his lips. You admired how the yellow hue of the lighter washed him a glow in brief flashes. The scruff on his jaw lighter. Greyer. Handsomer. 

“Okay.” 

He led you out with a hand to your back. Hoisted your bike into the bed of his truck and you had to hold your breath at the swell of his muscles under his leather jacket. Its dark shine scuffed and worn down. 

He drove you back downtown with the cigarette lit in his mouth to puff on, a hand on your clenching thigh, inching closer up to dangerous territory. He felt how you squirmed inside yourself. As if your bones were begging to be rattled by him. Until the highway bled off into smaller roads towards the trailer park where he opened the window to flick his smoke out and then shut it. You weren’t expecting him to pull over in a lay-by. The trees skeletal as leaves had started to fall here. 

The engine sputtered before shutting off with the twist of the key. You found yourself staring at your skirt, picking a loose thread from the hem of it before his finger hooked under your chin. Just like the first time. Still smelling of tobacco and something mustier. Something human. It was hard to see in the dark, but his shadow said it all. It was carved out by the backdrop of trees outside the window. It made a rattling burst of desire dart down your spine and fill the hollow slowburn in your womb. 

“Look at me.” So you did. And his finger grasped your chin, almost embedding his touch into your with trembling tingle were he to ever let go. Like a solder’s phantom limb.

“What are we doing here, Joel?” You asked, eyes innocent. Begging to be corrupted and crying. 

“Gettin’ me off, Cherub.”

His lips crushed yours like seeds of pomegranate. Chapped and split. The metallic taste of his blood on your tongue. Your lungs breathed him, absorbed him. What noise he gave you, nonsensical as it was, it was a relief there was something. Something you could do. Part your thighs.

While one hand stayed fastened to your chin in its vice grip, his other palmed himself through his jeans. Hips rolling into the heel of his hand and a groan departed from his chest heavily. One you happily consumed with a needy inhale. Desperate to feel something of him inside you. 

“Gonna make me feel good, ain’t you, Cherub? My pretty little thing.” 

It was hard to nod in his grip. But you managed with the aiding of a whimpering “Mhm!”

“‘M gonna let you feel it.”

The bulge in his jeans was straining at denim and suffocating him. You felt blindly for his erection, fumbling with the belt, button and zipper. Joel smirked into your mouth while his tongue trialled sloppily over your bottom lip, enclosing it between the prison of his gnashers. Biting down hard. The friction of his beard was coarse against the dichotomy of your soft, supple skin. 

“Yeah.” He sighed, leaning back in the passenger seat, detaching his lips from you. “Jus’ like that.” You swallowed. Aching to feel him. To have him as a part of you again. But for now you'd settle with the steady dragging stroke of his thick heavy cock in your hand. 

You watched him with curiosity, the way his eyes fluttered closed. It was more the way a child would observe a butterfly trapped in a jar. Even though he was anything but delicate. 

“Fuckin’ angel aint ya, Cherub?” He swallowed, hips twitching and bucking up into your hand while your thumb rolled over the sensitive head of his dick, smearing a bead of precum over the delicate flushed skin. You salivated like a rabid dog at the sight. The smell of his sex thick on your nose. 

You felt the curl of this large hand at the crown of your skull before he pushed you down. Pulling you with him to hell’s heat once more. 

“Suck it.” 

And you did willingly; Took him into the warm cavern of your mouth, swirling your tongue over the flushed red tip to have the heady taste of him thick on your tastebuds. His hips stuttered, meaning you had to hollow out your mouth and relax your throat to take him as far as he wanted. The ache in your oesophagus burned, bruising deliciously. Tears stung the backs of your eyes, heavy and wet and dripping over the threshold of your eyes, streaking clumpy mascara down your face like an abstract painting for him to smirk at later. His fingers twisted in your hair like brambles through hedgerows. His hands were being laid on you. More like beckoning you closer to being laid to rest in the dirt. Ready for that little death his anatomy promised. The lust between you heated the car, fogging windows slightly. 

As you went a little further, and little faster, nails digging into his jeans to ground yourself, you realised you’d never rather be anywhere than with him. Saliva running from your mouth down his shaft, collecting in a shine around the base and rolling over his tightening balls. He chuckled when you gagged, spluttering and heaving on him. Begging for more, you dared to ghost a single finger over your dripping slit. Cunt twitching at the attention. An action that was far from lost on him. 

“Did I tell ya you could touch yerself?” He hissed, ripping you from his cock as the heat of an orgasm started to bubble in his lower belly. You spluttered a no, holding your hands up in surrender to him. “Little minx.” He sneered.

You yelped at the grip on your thighs as he kicked your legs out from under you, tugging your underwear from your heat in one swift yank. He held the cotton up to his nose, taking a deep inhale. “Fuckin’ filthy. Just imagine what your uncle would think ‘bout this?  Ruining your fucking panties for me.” Shame flooded your gut, but the clench of your tight, drooling hole told you otherwise about disliking the thought. A heat warming your cheeks once more. “Oh, you like that dont you, Cherub?”

“Yeah.” You owned up to the fact. There was no point in lying. He’d fuck the truth out of you one way or another. 

With your hands still raised, you watched in fucked out awe of his tonge that darted out to taste your slick on your underwear. His eyes closed as he savoured the tang on his tongue. There was no need to commit it to memory. If he wanted it again all he need do was ask. Your legs would part open, panties in his hand again. 

“Taste like fuckin’ honey, Cherub. All sweet and sticky.” His voice verberated in your chest and his and had your eyes blurring in a split of a second. Crawling back once again to the memory in his trailer. “What do you think? Should I shove these in your mouth instead of my cock? Huh, Cherub?” You swallowed at the thought. “Nah…” He cast the thought aside, tossing them in the backseat. “I might just go easy on ya tonight.” 

That was a short lived promise, for he was sliding back his seat as far as it would go, dragging you into his lap, thick head prodding the weeping entrance of your cunt. Waiting deliciously for the stretch of him. Whole again. Make me whole again. You begged to the ears of your own mind. Please!

“Sit down.” He demanded. And you obeyed; Notching him between the slick lips of your pussy. He hands found grounding purchase on your hips, grinding you along the underside of his thick length. Smearing your juices over himself. Each time the tip so much as grazed your clit it had you whimpering his name. Had your brain scrambling to form a coherent sentence. It was sinful Disgusting. But the way it felt was enough to cast a shadow on those doubts. Turn out the light, and set them to temporary sleep in your head. 

The roll of your hips worked in tandem with the taboo buck of his thrusts. His neck strained and veins bulged under tight tension knotted, gnarled skin.

“This pussy’s made for this, ain't it, Cherub? Made for makin’ me feel good.”

“Yeah.” You mumbled while two thick fingers slipped into your mouth. The rough pads of them pressing into your tongue. You pressed your lips around them, taking his digits down to the last knuckle. His taste was rich in your mouth. One you'd never even dream of forgetting. 

Your humping got faster, more erratic and less careful. Big. Mistake. 

“Don’t go getting sloppy on me now, Cherub.”

You whined. It was all you were good for. All you could do. There was only so much finesse you could master with the steering wheel at your back, digging into your arching, aching spine. You waxed and waned over him in more careful movements now. Made sure to press down with each roll back over his shaft. All while he had an open mouthed trained gaze on the way his fingers slipped in and out of your mouth. Slow. Setting the pace for you to mimic. Lips puffy, saliva slick. 

From there, it was your dress. Greedy and heavy hands popping the buttons of it open and stripping you down to nothing but flesh. It crumpled around your waist. His lips pursed while suckling your nipples into his mouth until they were pert and erect on his tongue. Teeth sinking into tender flesh, jaw unhinged as he took a bite of their swell and mimicked it on the other side.

It was so bad. So, so, so bad. If there truly was a god you’d be signed over to hell. But you didn't care, how could you when you felt the burn in your belly of your orgasm. The stars sputtering over the backs of your closed lids in a hypnotic kaleidoscope image. Either way, you were damned. Icarus to Apollo’s heat. His heat was burning. Scalding. Making a sheen of thick, damp sweat accumulate over your skin. Chest heaving into his mouth while your back arched and held tight like the string of a bow ready to release.

“Fuck– please, Joel. Wanna– fuck– come. Wanna come!” You whined around his fingers. To which he replied by ripping them from your mouth and striking a heavy hand over your cheek. The sting was thrilling. It made the apples of your cheeks tingle, begging him to do it again. Abuse you in any way he saw fit because the pleasure burning, building in your core had your cunt clenching. Ready to let go at his given word. He bared his teats at you while he smeared his tongue and spit over your tits.

“No. You come when I say and only when I say.” 

And with those as his damning words, he lifted your hips off his, using a hand to line himself up with precision, spearing into you in one fowl swoop. You bit back a scream on your bottom lip from the intrusion. But before you could let the pain sink in it melted into brain fogging pleasure. You had to clench your walls around his thick length, his cock hot and pulsing within your cunt that spasmed with the promise to unwind. Had you a babbling crying mess in his lap while he jackhammered up into you. Balls slapping your spread cheeks. 

His palm closed around your pulse, the other in your hair as you held yourself just above him on trembling legs so he could have the room to thirst upwards, swollen cockhead nipping your cervix vigorously like the last time. Whatever broken thing inside you that made you yearn for this could rattle around within of you. It was nothing unless it got you here to the sheer pleasure you felt when in his unforgiving arms. You’d go easily like this. Tear stained cheeks as you babbled his name nonsensically. All for him to keep up the relentless pace of his hips. The coarse hairs at the base of his cock adding a friction to your twitching clit that wasn't needed. You were already on edge. God, how you lived for the little death.

“Please, sir!” If anything else you did didn't set him off, that did. The words sweetened by the whine that curled from the back of your throat and dripped into his ears like fine wine. High pitched needy for him to finish you off. Deliver the killing blow. 

The hand tangled in your hair jerked your head back, leaving your jaw to hang open and your eyes to roll back in your skull. Your toes curled in their frilly socks and shoes, the tingle turning to numbness and then to an overstimulated pain that you couldn't stave off any longer. 

“Gonna come ain ya, Cherub? After I’ve been so fuckin’ nice to ya. Let ya touch me. Feel me inside of ya.” He pressed a hand over your womb, feeling the bulge of himself each time he fucked up to meet that perfect spot inside you. “Feel me fuckin’ wrecking this cunt for anyone else?” And you nodded stupidly, finding it hard to breathe with his other hand still at your neck. He could feel the quickening of your pulse under your flesh. “Words, Cherub.” He growled with heat into your pulse. “Or have I fucked you dumb, pretty girl?”

“Yes! Yes, Joel, I'm yours! Yours yours yours!”

“The fucking come. Show me.” 

And finally, the closing scene to this act of sin. The little death you had been waiting for swelled within you, sending you falling from the stars in your eyes and back down to earth – crashing into the wall of his chest. A string of curses from his sneering lips and he released inside of you, balls tightening and dick twitching sheathed within you. His thick, hot come dribbled gluttonously from your quivering cunt. And you were twitching uncontrollably against him. 

Your chests heaved out of sync with each other. Him out, you in. You accommodated the invading rise of his chest with the crushing and concaving of your own. His cock softened inside of you and in the mess he had made of you cunt. You were well and truly wrecked for anyone but him. Your body, no matter how much you may come to hate this fact in future, belongs to his pleasure. 

You will forever be his fallen angel. His Cherub.

[iicarused]

I feel like Alastors relationship with the reader would differ depending on when they meet (spoilers for ep 5 and 8).

Like, if they grew close before they died or soon after, his relations with them would be a lot more tame, as tame as a serial killer can get. I mean yeah, there would be some cracks in the dam to be fixed depending on how chill you are with his true self. But otherwise becoming actual friends with him is easier in his early days in life compared to how he would be when the show takes place.

If they meet in present day then it would be a lot more strained, we've seen in the last episode of season 1 that Alastor can't fathom the thought of him getting attached to the gang. So I doubt that this would be healthy later down the line, doesn't mean you can't try to turn it around. Sure, I'm not gonna dismiss Rosie or Mimzy (at least i think Mimzy and Al are friends, *Angel* “So uh, you and Alastor are like what? Friends?” *Mimzy* “Well, that's your word, not mine, but I think it fits”). The girls have a strong connection to the demon but I think Alastor's view on friendship changed overtime. To the point that he sees no use in forming any new ones, which is why his relationship with the reader would be so stilted in the beginning. Until he starts to show his real sinister colors. He might just do that to try and scare them off because he's scared of commitment and won't admit it.

Speaking of Al being a scary motherfucker, one scenario that's been plaguing my mind is of him “caring” for a, too good to be in hell, sinner. Telling tales of horrid action he witnesses other sinners committed as a warning of what could happen if they leave him. But their insistent closeness to him isent just one out of fear but a sick satisfaction. Knowing that they are the only demon in hell he wouldn't hurt. Is it toxic? Yes, but I find the dynamic interesting.

.

.

.

The room reeked of death, blood and gore caked the walls and floor mirroring the man's ill intentions. But he wasn't alone, in the middle of the room stood a meek soul untouched by the carnage. As if something had deliberately prevented them from getting durtide. A mock sympathetic grin along with sly jeeringly eyes stare back at the trembling sinner as he stalks towards them with slow predatory steps. Like he's dragging out the incoming slaughter, but no harm would come to the terrified soul.

Tears ran freely from their face as they stared back like a deer caught in headlights. But instead of listening to their inner instincts of running oway from danger they fought it, because they knew there was no escape. Not like they wanted to anyways. A smal crooked smile crept onto their face as their pinprick eyes widened in recognition, though their body wouldn't let them move. Still shocked by his display from earlier.

His grip on them, as possessive as ever, clasp their cheek as he caresses it with a blood stained claw. Wiping oway some of their tears while simultaneously smearing some of the viscera on them. Without thinking they lean into it, the only source of comfort they've ever known since they entered hell. At this point they will take anything they can get. The man's smile widens at there willingness, leading them both home and oway from the murder scene.

…

Husker never liked the radio demon, and never will. He's seen him both at his best and his worst, and they're both terrifying. He tends not to think about it, but over the years ever since they enter Alastors life he has… Changed. Little by little he noticed Al's strange behavior. Like instead of the pore sinner being berated for messing up a task Alastor coo's at them in a demeaning tone. Openly babying them after giving them a task outside of their skill level. Husker doesn't like it one bit (like he likes anything Alastor does). But he keeps his snout shut, he's seen the ways the overlords grin tightens just when he's about to insinuate his faults. And he doesnt wanna be involved in another of the radio demons outbursts. Besides, Al's new toy doesn't seem too bothered by the leash around there neck.

…

Alastor be like “imma part these bitches like the red sea” *kills everyone in his vicinity*

(Can I be honest for a second, I love hearing others' interpretation of Alastor, he's such an unique character and there's so much you could do with him. Not saying that the other characters are boring or anything, I just have Alastor brain rot right now.)

you are so real for this because this is genuinely how i see his character!! the idea of commitment and giving himself to someone is something he far from enjoys, and that’s just the bare thought of it.

i feel like he would rather have someone give themself to him — while he would put in the effort — it’s the effort of keeping them tangled against his web of lies. he whispers sweet nothings into their ears and offers ghostly kisses against their skin until it becomes an addiction — until he becomes and addiction.

at the end of the day, it’s not even about alastor being in love. it’s the idea of having someone fully devoted to him without him needing to be devoted to them, yknow? they need him more than he needs them, and maybe he likes that in a relationship. it makes him feel wanted.

even if his hands are claws that can easily break silk, they never felt so gentle against your skin.

[demonvibez]

Bloodlust

Characters: Barbatos x F! Reader Word Count: 5k+ Rating: Mature [MDNI] Tags: vampire barb, accidental injury (small cut), blood drinking, biting, fangs, tail play, fingering, penetration, reader has female body parts, lil fluff ending A/N: Had a ton of fun writing this! It was supposed to be out for Barb's birthday but...eh, life in the Devildom, amirite? Anyways, who doesn't like a belated birthday gift? Happy Belated Birthday, Barbatos! ♡

There you sit on a balcony of the Demon Lord's Castle, a cup of Hellfire Rose Tea cradled between your hands, as Lord Diavolo sits across from you. He had invited you over for tea in order to thank you for your help in curing the brothers' vampiritis, as well as just catch up with each other through conversation. The two of you sip your tea and exchange stories and laughs as you await the return of Barbatos with a tray of his famous sweets. As you look out upon the Devildom's skyline, the twin moons shining down on you both, you can't help but to smile as you feel a soft breeze lightly caressing your face. The doors leading into Lord Diavolo's room are wide open, the breeze flowing through the room and back out again, the various scents of teas and baked goods intermingling with one another - much to your pleasure, for you had enough of the scent of garlic for the next millennia.  As you listen intently to the Prince's anecdote, you hear the door gently click open.

Barbatos is on the way back from the Castle's kitchen with a tray of his freshly baked sweets. Of course, the demon had made his famous Signature Cake that was all the rage of anyone that visits the Castle, but he also made sure to make a special batch of Spider's Web Cream Puffs just for you, as he knows how much you favor them. He'll never forget the way your eyes lit up like the Devildom sky when you first took a bite into one, a simple memory he is sure to cherish forever. It didn't take him long to grow fond of that smile of yours, and he's eager to draw it out of you whenever you're around - however stoic he may present himself. Much like himself, you're always doing things for everyone else - even if it's to your own detriment, even if it's not safe for you. Even this past week, you put your own life on the line in order to cure the Devildom of vampiritis, using every ounce of your available power in order to thwart a huge catastrophe - something they're unsure how to even repay you for. 

As Barbatos continues to make his way up the steps and towards the Young Master's room, he couldn't help but to feel as though something may be slightly...off with him. As he pauses at the top of the stairway, he uses the back of his glove to wipe off his forehead, furrowing his eyebrows as he stares down at his hand. Sweat? Why in the Devildom would he possibly be sweating? More strenuous tasks never seem to phase the Butler, so why would carrying a tray of desserts be able to break his refined exterior? He brushes it off, attributing it to the steam of the pastries - despite knowing deep within himself that he had, in fact, cooled the desserts completely as he was supposed to. As he glided through the hallways and towards his Young Master's door, he couldn't help but to feel a slight tingle and burning sensation at the back of his throat. He was sure that whatever was going on had nothing to do with vampiritis - the strain only infected fallen angels, after all. He figures it must be another Devildom cold, and pushes the thought to the back of his mind, refusing to deign something so preposterous as himself being sick. 

He pushes the door open with a gloved hand, a soft zephyr of the Devildom's cool night air brushing past him, and a faintly sweet scent tickling his nostrils that he finds unfamiliar. The further he continues into the room, the stronger the scent becomes, calling out to him with an intensity that rivals the thirst of a man dying in a desert. His throat dries up even more with a thirst so unbearable, it almost makes him want to claw out his own throat. Trying his best to swallow down the feeling, he marches onward with the tray of sweets, determined to see out his duties and deal with his affliction afterward. As he finally makes his way to the balcony door, another gust of wind brushes past you, and it is at that moment in which Barbatos realizes exactly what ails him.

You look up from your tea to lock eyes with Barbatos, a sweet smile displayed across your lips. He has seen you many times under the light of the Devildom moons, but tonight there is something different about you. It's not just the way the crimson moonlight paints your features, or the way your soul shines like a rare Celestial gemstone - no, you definitely look different to him. Your skin looks softer than usual, so tempting to touch and to taste. The way the wind blows your hair back, exposing your neck to him as it pulsates with the one thing he's craving more than anything in all three realms. Your blood...oh how he thirsts for your blood. He can practically see the way it dances around in your veins, calling out to him like a siren's song meant to lure him into the abyss. 

As he stands there with the tray in hands, intently staring you down with a ravenous look in his eyes, your eyebrows furrow - you knew something was wrong with Barbatos just from his demeanor alone, and looking over at Diavolo, you can tell he senses it too. 

"Barbatos, is everything alright?" the Young Prince asks the butler as he stands from his chair, his tone both equally serious and concerned. He doesn't miss the look in the butler's eyes, as if he were ready to consume you whole. Barbatos quickly shakes his head, essentially snapping himself out of the trance, and sets the tray down on the table. 

"My apologies, My Lord. It appears that I have contracted a minor cold," he explains, trying his best to minimize the situation. Diavolo narrows his eyes at Barbatos, knowing the demon isn't being entirely truthful with him, but he crosses his arms and waits for his butler to finish his explanation. "No need to worry, once I finish my duties here, I will retire to my quarters and begin treating myself immediately," the butler continued, avoiding eye contact with either of you. Somewhat satisfied with his answer, Diavolo returns to his seat, his expression softening slightly. 

"Aww, well, I hope you feel better soon Barbatos! Thank you so much for preparing all of this for us," you say, still smiling and oblivious to the subtleties of the demons around you. You pick up one of the cream puffs, placing it on your plate, before eyeing one of the Midnight Scones. Your smile grows even wider as you pick one up with one hand, grabbing your knife with the other, stabbing into the scone so that you may spread some delicious blood strawberry jam onto it. Accidently stabbing through the scone and into your finger, you instantly drop everything onto the table as you wince in pain, a droplet of blood accumulating on your skin. 

The scent of your bare blood in the Devildom air sets off a war within Barbatos' mind, causing him to freeze in place and stare at you with a certain darkness in his eyes. His bloodlust for you is currently at ineffable heights, only made slightly evident to him by the sudden growth in his fangs and the way his heart races, mind spinning with the all consuming need to just have a little taste of you. 

Diavolo is immediately on high alert, standing back up from his seat once again when he sees that look return to Barbatos' eyes. He can practically see the ancient demon salivating over you and your blood, confirming his original suspicions that his butler may have contracted vampiritis. He knew Barbatos, his ever loyal and stoic butler, would do his best to push through and carry out his duties as he normally would when he is ill - but Diavolo draws the line when it comes to endangering his students, especially you. He steps out from where he was sitting, moving to stand between yourself and Barbatos. The look in the Future King's golden eyes was one you hadn't seen before - sure, you had seen Diavolo be serious before, but nothing quite like this.

"Barbatos, you are hereby relieved of your duties. Return to your quarters at once and await my next orders," he says, his voice stern and authoritative. Barbatos continues to stand there frozen, staring at you and the droplets of blood that he wants so badly to taste. He doesn't acknowledge the Prince's orders - it's as if he didn't even hear him. Instead, he takes a step towards you, causing Diavolo to transform into his demon form and put a hand on Barbatos' chest. 

"Barbatos. Return to your room now," Diavolo declares, with a certain bass in his voice that could shake all three realms. He will physically remove the Butler if need be, anything to protect everything that he holds dear to him - including Barbatos himself. An incident like this could ruin the peace he's been working so hard towards - and of course, he would never want anything to happen to you. Not only are you his sweet little exchange student, but you're the Chosen One - the human that stands to help unite all three realms. If harm were to come to you, he doesn't even want to think of the massive consequences that will follow. Additionally, he cannot stand the thought of anything happening to Barbatos either. Barbatos has always been Diavolo's one true family member, having been by his side since the Little Prince had tricked him all those centuries ago. No, he can't let anything happen to either of you - he needs to take control of the situation, and he needs to do it immediately. Diavolo flairs out his wings, essentially hiding you from view behind the enormity of his crimson and gold wingspan. He begins to walk forward, pushing Barbatos backwards towards the door, a low growl emitting from his throat as he bares his own demonic fangs at the butler. 

Barbatos snaps out of the trance once again as he stumbles backwards, his emerald green eyes widening in horror at the realization of what has just transpired. Sure, he hadn't actually attacked you, but he couldn't deny to himself that all he could think about was how ravenous he was for your blood. His resolve is faltering, and he can't help but be overcome with shame at that fact.

"I...I..." Barbatos continues to walk backwards, his mind still racing as he fumbles over his words, unable to make eye contact with his Master. He turns and makes a break for the door. "My deepest apologies," he mutters as he exits, slamming the door shut. Diavolo stands there for a few more moments, his arms crossed, waiting to be sure the bloodthirsty butler doesn't return while you're here. When he is sure Barbatos won't return, he drops his arms and lets out a sigh, turning about face to return to you on the balcony. When he returns, he sees you still sat in your seat, holding a cloth napkin over your finger with a bewildered look on your face.

"Sorry about that," he says in his normal cheerful tone, a fake smile plastered across his face. You can still see the concern in his eyes though. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to cut our evening together a little short." Before you could even protest, Diavolo has picked his DDD up off of the table, making a call to Lucifer to come and escort you back to the House of Lamentation for safekeeping.

Lucifer had been prompt in arriving at the Castle to pick you up, having been filled in on the details of the incident during his phone call with Lord Diavolo. You were brought home with haste and a curfew was set in place for the entire House. You honestly had no idea what the fuss was all about - you weren't in danger being around all seven of the brothers when they were infected, why would Barbatos be any different? He's the most refined demon you've ever met, you'd have been just fine around him, you were sure of it. Ready to call it a day, you make your way to your room and get ready for bed.

The hour is late, and you are safely tucked away beneath your sheets as you peacefully slumber the rest of the night away. A loud clatter awakes you from your sleep, jolting you from your dreams. You recognize that the noise is coming from the kitchen, pushing yourself up out of bed to go monitor (who you assume is) Beelzebub in his midnight snack binge - it was a nightly routine for you, so making your way to the kitchen at this hour is almost a reflex at this point. Poking your head into the doorframe, the sight you see before you is a surprising one - it's not Beelzebub that you find, but instead it's Barbatos making all of the commotion, having ransacked the entirety of the kitchen. There he stands across the room, staring at you intently once again, for he could smell your sweet scent the second you crossed the threshold of your own bedroom door. When he says your name, you can tell there is a slight tremble to his voice.

"What are you doing here," he asks, a certain darkness to his tone. You finish making your way into the room, standing across the kitchen island with your arms crossed and your eyebrows furrowed.

"Uhh, you're in my house. I should be the one asking you that - what are you doing here," you respond, tilting your head to the side. You can tell there is a slight agitation that Barbatos is trying to hide as he lets out an annoyed huff and nervously fidgets with his hands, which you've never seen him do before. He stands there unresponsive, yet again, causing you to call out his name once more. 

"My apologies...I...came to see if you had any of the last ingredients I need to make the remedy for my ailment. We are all out of garlic at the Castle and I-"

"Really? You came here for garlic?" You move out from behind your side of the counter, and walk around to make your way towards Barbatos, causing him to step backwards a few paces. "Seems unlikely you'd come here of all places for that. You know we used it all to make the last batch of serum. If you really 'just needed garlic' then it seems to me you would have popped over to the 24 hour DevilMart up the street from here," you say as you continue forward, effectively backing him against the wall. You hadn't feared these demons before, and you weren't about to start tonight. You stop a few feet in front of him, a hand on your hip and a sadistic smile on your face. "So why don't you go ahead and be honest with the both of us and admit the real reason you're here." Before Barbatos could fathom a reply, you take the last step forward, reaching out to push his hair back out of his face and tuck it behind his ear. You caress his cheek with your hand before running your fingers over his lips, your eyes shining with an unmistakable lust. "Then again, I think we both know why you're really here tonight." 

Both his mind and his pulse are in a frenzy as you literally have him in the palm of your hand. You both know you are playing with fire but you don't care - you know what you want, and you're going to take it. The look in Barbatos' eyes is one of uncertainty. Between the bulge in his pants and the way his mouth is salivating, he knows for a fact that he returns that feeling of lust for you. He would love nothing more than to taste you, in more ways than one, but he's not sure if he possesses the restraint needed to take you to bed with him tonight. What if he loses himself in your essence? What if he gets a taste and finds himself unable to stop? His throat burns with an uncontrollable thirst that he is dying to quench, and the longer you linger, the intensity exacerbates.

"This is dangerous," he barely whispers as he leans into your touch. He should be telling you no - he should be opening up a portal and going back to the Castle where he belongs. But he can't find it within himself to resist you. Besides, this is what you want, isn't it? No, this is a huge risk that neither of you should be taking. You let out a soft chuckle and shake your head.

"Have you met me? Don't worry, I trust you. It'll be fine." Your hand drops from his face to grab his hand, gently pulling him towards the door. He lets out a few halfhearted protests, causing you to shush him as you guide him towards your bedroom. You push the door open and pull him inside, locking the door behind you both and leaving the lights dim. You bring him over to your bed and turn to him, grabbing his lapels with your hands. "Let's get you comfortable," you say with a smirk as you begin to unbutton his jacket.

"Are you sure about this?" You throw his jacket over onto the floor, at which he didn't even react. He just continued to stare at you, the uncertainty in his emerald eyes replaced with pure lust.  Instead of replying, you press your lips to his, which was more than enough of a final answer for him. With the remaining distance between the two of you closed, he grabs you by the hips and pulls you closer to him, before pulling you down onto the bed with him. You straddle his lap, deepening the kiss by playfully nibbling on his bottom lip, your tongues colliding in a passionate dance. He breaks away from your lips to begin trailing kisses down to your neck, letting out a moan as his lips finally caress the one spot he's been obsessing over all night. "You're all I've been able to think about," he mumbles against your skin, before pressing a few more kisses against your pulse. 

He extends his vampiric fangs, gently grazing them up your neck, before leaning back down and sinking them right above where your neck meets your shoulder. As you let out a gasp at the sharp pain, he retracts his fangs and begins to lap at your blood, letting out a moan as he tastes just how delectable you truly are. Your eyes roll into the back of your head at the sensation, your hands sliding into his scalp and caressing his horns - you hadn't noticed him slip into his demon form the second he tasted your blood. No, both of you are having such an intimate experience, you can only seem to focus on your senses and the way you're making each other feel. As he feels your sweet crimson nectar dripping down his throat, he feels revitalized in a way he hasn't felt in several millennia. All of his senses are heightened, his power growing as he consumes your essence.

You feel a rush, a certain lightheadedness as you feel him gently sucking on the flesh of your neck. You grind on his lap as you lean into him, his hardness stimulating you and eliciting tiny moans whispered into his ear. He presses one last kiss onto his bite mark before pulling away to meet your lips with his once more, the taste of your own blood meeting your tongue. As he passionately kisses you, he begins to peel off his gloves. After tossing them on the floor, he begins to make quick work of your clothes with his hands as his tails work on undoing his own.

After tossing the clothes aside, Barbatos lays you down on your bed, continuing to kiss you as his hands slide down your body. His hands stop momentarily to feel your breasts, before one of them makes its way further downward. He slips a finger in between your lips and finds your clit - you both let out a tiny moan as he feels how wet you already are for him. He begins to slowly massage you as he kisses down your jawline, briefly pausing to press a kiss onto his bite mark, and then continuing down to your breasts. You can't help but to arch into his touch, the sensations of his nimble fingers sending you closer to the edge with each stroke, the feel of him teasing your nipples driving you wild. The sounds of your moans and whispered swears reverberate off the walls as he drives you closer to the edge of your first orgasm. The effects of having your blood drawn, paired with the pleasure Barbatos is giving you, makes you feel a high you've never felt before. He breaks away from your breasts, his other hand moving down to slide two fingers slowly inside of you as he continues to rub you. His pace quickens, and he can feel the precum beading on the head of his cock as he watches you fall apart on his fingers. Your first orgasm feels amazing - but you both need more. It's almost there's an instinct within both of you that you need to become apart of each other. He pulls his fingers out of you, putting them in his mouth to taste you. He lightly moans as he savors the taste. He wants nothing more than to fill all of his senses with only you. 

He moves back on his knees, lining himself up with you and pushing the head of his cock into your tight little hole. You let out a high pitched squeal as he enters you, feeling more and more full as he slowly slides himself into you further. Once he finally pushes himself all the way, completely buried within you, he lets out a strangled moan and begins to thrust in and out of you. You feel so good wrapped around his throbbing cock, he never wants to pull out of you. The way you squeeze him, so tight and so snug, it almost feels as though you never want him to pull out either. Perhaps if he made you his familiar, he'd be able to make love to you like this constantly - but one thing is for certain tonight; you belong to him. 

He reaches down to grab your breasts, teasing your nipples as he continues at a steady pace. The sounds falling from your lips are like music to his ears, a symphony he'd love to forever hear on repeat. Your brain is flooded with pleasure, each thrust sending electricity through your body. Just when you swear to yourself that you'd never felt this good before, you feel his tails slide between your lips and start massaging your clit as he passionately fucks you. Your eyes roll back once again, your hands clutching tightly at the sheets as he pounds you to your second orgasm, your body being set ablaze as pure ecstasy washes over you. 

He briefly pulls out of you, but only for a moment. He lays down beside you and props himself up on one arm, turning you so you're on your side in the same position. He pulls your top leg up, firmly grasping your thigh, before repositioning his cock and sliding it back into you. Throwing your head back as you feel him bottom out once again, you both begin to grind against each other, the sounds of your skin slapping together punctuating the melody of moans filling the room. He spots his bite mark dripping near the base of your neck, and leans down for another taste, his pace quickening the moment your blood touches his tongue once again. You make the refined butler want to go absolutely feral, a side of himself that even he was unaware. He wants you to feel just as good as you make him feel - the way you rapture his senses and take him over completely. His tails return to your clit, rapidly rubbing the sensitive spot in circles, as he continues his unrelenting pace. Your mind is racing as it makes its way back up the crescendo to your next orgasm, your vision blurred by tears of pleasure as you chant his name in praise. A few more thrusts, and Barbatos sends you over the edge once again, your brain flooded with pure euphoria. He feels you clench around him, your pussy squeezing him beautifully tight, his own orgasm erupting mere seconds after yours. His pace slows down, but he continues to pump his cock in and out of you slowly, both of you riding the high of your climaxes all the way back down to the bottom. 

As you both lay there and try to catch your breaths, Barbatos wraps an arm around you and pulls you into his chest, your heartbeats pulsing at an increased rate. His other hand moves to push the hair out of your face, having to do so with several strokes as it is drenched with sweat and clinging to your face. He looks down at you, eyes filled with love and admiration, before pressing a kiss to your forehead. He murmurs your name, unable to stop the smile that reaches his eyes.

"You truly are a remarkable human," he says as you look up at him, leaning in to press his lips to yours. You deepen the kiss, your hand moving up to cup his cheek as your tongue enter his mouth. His free hand slides down your body, lightly grabbing at your hip, causing you to wince a little. His eyes suddenly snap open at the sound, and he immediately pulls away, his brows furrowing and eyes wide with concern. "Are you okay? Have I hurt you," he asks as he checks you over for injury. Other than the bruising bite mark at the base of your neck, he spots several other bruises on your hips and thighs. "I apologize for any of the unintentional markings I may have left on you. I was unaware that your blood would give me such vitality," he says as he stands up off the bed, starting to make his way towards your bathroom. "I assure you I will bring you back to full health, and it will no-" the butler's lamentation is cut off by the sound of your giggles. 

"Barbatos, listen to me when I say that I assure you that I enjoyed myself, and am just fine," you say, pushing yourself so that you're sitting up in bed. "Well, other than, you know." You gesture towards your neck with another giggle. "Which I also really enjoyed, by the way. But there's no need to worry, just grab me the healing potion from the bathroom, if you could? It's the red vial on the right side of my sink." You stretch your legs as you wait for Barbatos to return with the potion, your muscles feeling weak and sore in all of the best ways. A moment or two later, and he re-enters the room, handing you the vial and sitting next to you on the bed. You chug down the potion, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand and setting the empty glass vial on your nightstand as Barbatos gets situated in bed behind you, pulling you back into his embrace. 

You let out a happy sigh as you lay your head to rest on his chest, your eyes fluttering closed at the sound of his heartbeat below. Tonight was a night that neither of you would ever be able to forget, a memory that Barbatos will be fond of for centuries to come - his heart begins to fill with sorrow at the thought of the night ending. Almost as if you could read his mind, you begin to whisper to him a similar sentiment.

"Wish tonight didn't have to end...wish it could last forever," you murmur as the hand resting on his chest absentmindedly traces shapes on his skin. His heart swells as he hears your words, his own hand cupping your cheek and tilting your head up to meet his gaze. 

"The night may not last an eternity, but our time together does not have to end. My feelings for you are so deeply profound, I simply cannot imagine myself without you. You are a part of me now, as well as I am a part of you." He closes what little distance is left between the two of you, the kiss shared between you both filled such passion, that neither of you could deny the love you share for one another. 

"I love you so much, Barbatos," you whisper, after pulling away to gaze into his gorgeous lush green eyes. Even after everything you just experienced together, you can't help the blush that lightly spreads across your cheeks. You didn't really know how Barbatos felt about you, until now. 

"I love you too, my darling human. And I always will," he pledges to you, giving you one more chaste kiss before settling back down. You let out a tiny yawn, nuzzling the crook of his neck affectionately before drifting off to sleep. As his own eyelids grow heavier, he thinks over the events of the day fondly. What at first he thought was an unfortunate fate in turn brought the two of you closer together - something he will always feel lucky and thankful for. One quick little turn of fate, and now the two of you are inseparably entwined, the blood ritual and love-making the two of you shared having stricken an unbreakable bond. The refined butler usually isn't fond of losing his resolve - unless he's with you. You always bring out new aspects of himself he's never seen before - even when he's infected with an mutated strain of vampiritis. You bring excitement when his life is mundane, and he's eager to see how the two of you spend the rest of time together - with or without his newly acquired bloodlust.

· demonvibez ♡ 2023 · do not copy, repost or modify · · likes, comments and reblogs are deeply appreciated! ♡ ·

[never-forget-viva-la-pluto]

To the SPN fans that are hating on good omens rn bc of the leak, I hope you choke. I've seen some really nasty shit today from some of my (now unfollowed) followers whom I followed for spn content. So let's make one thing clear from actual posts ive seen today:

-Saying that the "wrong angels kissed", is...homophobic. I was with destiel from beginning to end and yeah we were completely shafted, but it's not okay to then say that other gay couples in media aren't allowed to kiss just because they aren't the ones you thought were hot. Jesus christ didn't think I needed to write that one down for ya-bo burnham

-I saw so much fatphobia about how Castiel deserved a kiss more than Aziraphel bc "he has far more sex appeal." Wtf wtf wtf. How do you live with yourselves saying that shit?You can pry Micheal Sheens body type Aziraphel out of my cold dead hands, you CW brainwashed morons!

-hate against the author for some reason, no one is willing to give specifics about it, but I think the majority of them maintain that GO is not good rep because they didn't kiss and now they are claiming pandering or something? Honestly that guy has only ever stood with the writers guild and queer people his whole career from what I find so I don't think it's fair whatever hate they are spouting. He isnt even saying he is upset with fans that saw or shared the video. Hes being super nice about it!

-I will say, non of us SPN fans have a fucking leg to stand on when it comes to hating something bc of the authors, OK. I saw someone saying the writing for spn was better and I can say you did not watch the show. I loved spn but don't do the late Terry Pratchett like this. He did nothing wrong

-on that same ish strain, as an ace person who thrives off queerplatonic relationships in media, maybe they kiss, I dunno. I just have to wait until the season comes out. Not 1 SPN fan gets to bitch about GO asexualty rep when SPN never even tried that route with any of its characters. But also ace characters are allowed to kiss, so you can write them that way of you want and interpret them that way if you want still. This is your viewing experience.

-this leak is truly not the same as the SPN yo a ti leak, solely bc the episode hasn't aired yet. "None of you GO fans would have survived the yo a ti leak." No I think you wouldn't bc the spn leak was clinging to an already mangled straw, while the angel's in GO are queer already. Queer queer queer and no amount of kissing or lack thereof is going to change that. We have no idea what happens in that episode of GO, but we saw the creators butcher the only moment in the show that could have meant anything real for queer viewers in SPN.

-"SPN crowly was kissing dudes first so this one is not that impressive". I see two cakes. One was made with the intent to make gay people look evil, but over time got kinda funny and a little better bc gay people liked it, and the other was about telling an interesting story about how love is so important, especially at the end of the world, and gay people liked that one too! So for me it's YaY two cakes!

-again the anti aziraphel is so plainly just fatphobia. You have no excuses. Sorry you don't think someone who looks like a slightly chubby micheal sheen could ever get kissed by someone who looks like David tennant, but you are not only wrong, you are also childish.

OK I'm done. Go watch good omens s2 when it comes out for my fucking sanity please. Or don't if all you are going to do is try to rip it apart like you do to all media that tries to be better.

[braidlottie]

Can i req lottie x transmasc!reader where she takes care of us after getting top surgery :D?

okay i dont know how i didn’t see this before but this is fucking adorable

lottie taking care of transmasc!reader after top surgery

- when the two of you come home from the hospital, she already has the couch all set up for you

- like 5 of your throw blankets, some pillows, and even some of your stuffed animals :((

- even in slight pain and weakness, you were still as stubborn as a nail

“what do you want to eat, angel?”

*strained* “gummy worms.”

“you need real food though, baby.”

“but i want- :(”

- eventually cooking for you and literally feeding it to you (she doesn’t want you to move a MUSCLE)

- lets you play xbox, but will take it away after a while because she wants you to rest :(

- catching you using your arms and gets upset n scolds (but not for too long! lottie can’t ever stay mad at you)

“ah ah ah! what do you thinking you’re doing?”

“…i want cereal.”

“well, you should’ve called me to come get it for you, sweetheart. that’s way too high for you to reach.”

“but you were busy.”

- she just smiles and kisses your head, helping you with a bowl from the cabinet and the heavy carton of milk

- after a week or so, lottie lets you have some visitors

- misty bringing you a cookie cake with some stupid shit written in icing like “I LOST MY BOOBS!” or something 😭😭😭

- van telling you how to take care of of your scars and whatnot

- u n nat playing video games on the couch and he hits u playfully on the shoulder bc he beat you in cod co-op for the fourth time and go along with his bit and wince

- but lottie actually thinks nat hurt you fr and gets mad at him 😭😭😭

sorry this took so so LONG i apologize @antlerbf 🤕

[allmoshnobrain]

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐫

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

part 23 of ? | masterpost

word count: 3319 | ao3 link | fic's playlist

Finally, I spotted him, chilling on a couch in the corner, rocking a beer and a smoke as his serious eyes stared at me. My heart tightened seeing him like that; normally, when he saw me, it meant smiles and a hug. Now, however, he just watched me, his cool blue eyes meeting mine from across the room. I held his gaze for a while, my face turning a bit warm as we looked at each other. Heart skipping a beat, I wondered: was he gonna brush me off? Stand up and bail, pretending I wasn’t even there?

✦ summary: Reuniting with James forces Nore to confront the complicated feelings that arose after their kiss.

✦ on this chapter: dave mustaine x female!oc, james hetfield x female! oc, oc is cliff's cousin, +18, language, slice of life, angst, love triangle, drinking, smoking, recreational drug use

✦ a/n: Hello! I'm finally on Christmas break and have lots of free time, so I'm trying to write as much as I can! I'm really glad I could post this chapter before the end of the year, and I hope it won't take me too long to post the next ones :) We're on the final half of the story, and things will get a bit more intense from now on. So, how do you think James and Nore are gonna deal with their feelings from now on? I'm really excited to write about it! Thank you so much for reading, feedback is welcome and motivates me a lot! ❤

✧ I want to be the girl with the most cake / He only loves those things because he loves to see them break / I fake it so real, I am beyond fake / And someday, you will ache like I ache ✧

It didn't take too long for me to catch up with my friends again. Just a bit over two weeks post-Leanne's birthday bash, Cliff gave me a ring with some exciting news: the band had landed a gig at a renowned venue in Los Angeles, and if the first show drew a good crowd, there was talk of a repeat performance to wrap up the year.

I hadn’t crossed paths with James since he had kissed me; gotta admit, the idea of facing him after all that had happened had me feeling a bit uneasy. But I was hopeful that, when the time came, we could have a conversation about it. I just hoped we could keep our friendship. There were many things I could handle, but losing him for good was not something I was ready for.

The band needed to fill the place, so Cliff asked if I could bring someone along. I ended up inviting Pat, my friend from the record store, to join me at the show. I mean, asking Dave was out of the question; as time went by, he was getting more and more bitter every time Metallica came up. Even though he wasn't thrilled about me going to the show, having a companion seemed to ease his mood a bit. Ever since I came home with a bruised hand from having to defend myself, he seemed to gradually become more protective and concerned every day. I knew he'd rather I not navigate crowded spots alone, especially at a metal show. But, when it came to Metallica, his wounded pride still had the upper hand.

I met up with Pat right outside the record store before the gig, so we could go to the venue together. She greeted me with the biggest smile, her blonde locks and blue eyes all dazzling.

"I'm so stoked!" she exclaimed, practically bouncing with happiness as I handed her the ticket and the backstage pass. "I've never had backstage access before. This is gonna be rad!"

"Yeah, it's cool. But don't expect anything too fancy; we usually just score some drinks and access to the dressing room," I said, throwing out a strained smile. I tried not to let the nerves creep in about seeing James again, but now that showtime was approaching, my anxiety was cranking up by the minute.

"Oh, don't be a buzzkill," she pouted. "You’re in a bad mood today? Aren't you happy to see your friends?"

"Sorry, Pat. I'm just kinda on edge," I replied with a sigh. Despite really liking Pat, I wasn't up for diving into the whole James-kiss situation with anyone. Truth is, I had been mulling over it way more than I'd like. Couldn't wait to clear the air with James once and for all.

We rolled up a bit later to the venue, and there was already a decent line of fans. It always blew my mind how they had just dropped their first album not long ago but were pulling in a hype crowd that was growing by the day. I could sense the West Coast getting too cramped for whatever they were cookin' up. And, like always, no need to wait in line for us; the IDs whisked us straight backstage, where the guys were getting their act together, getting stage-ready, and already a bit toasted.

I couldn't really zone in on the whole scene that kicked off with Lars, Kirk, and Cliff swooping in for the welcome party; drinks were handed out, cigs were fired up, and Lars, as usual, threw in his cheeky comments ('hey, your friend's a total babe!'). But honestly, none of that was grabbing my full attention. My eyes were on a mission, desperately looking for the only person I wanted to see. No matter how much I tried to fool myself, all I cared about was making sure things were cool between James and me.

Finally, I spotted him, chilling on a couch in the corner, rocking a beer and a smoke as his serious eyes stared at me. My heart tightened seeing him like that; normally, when he saw me, it meant smiles and a hug. Now, however, he just watched me, his cool blue eyes meeting mine from across the room. I held his gaze for a while, my face turning a bit warm as we looked at each other. Heart skipping a beat, I wondered: was he gonna brush me off? Stand up and bail, pretending I wasn’t even there?

Instead, he just got up, strolled over, and handed me the beer bottle.

“Want some?” he asked, throwing a faint smile my way. I blinked, kinda surprised. The way he talked, it was like nothing had happened. Like he never had kissed me. Like I never had bolted out of Joe's kitchen, leaving him all alone.

But, hey, wasn’t that exactly what I wanted? For things to be normal again. For us to stick to being friends, no drama.

“Of course. You ever see me turn down a beer?” I replied with a grin. He let out a soft chuckle and handed over the bottle, his cold fingers brushing mine for the briefest fraction of a second before he brought the cig back to his mouth.

Before long, the venue staff gave us the heads up that the show was about to kick off. The guys wrapped up their final checks, and Pat and I joined them, enjoying a beer by the stage. Pat was all hyped about it; even though she didn't know the band, she was really getting into the music, full of the enthusiasm you'd expect from a dedicated fan. As for me, I was a bit more reserved this time. Don't get me wrong, I was always happy to catch up with my friends, but I couldn't ignore how uneasy I felt, especially when I noticed James's glances, splitting his attention between the crowd and shooting looks my way, a silent storm brewing in his blue gaze.

After the concert wrapped up, he handed his guitar over to a puzzled Kirk, not even bothering to look at him. He headed my way, big steps and a bit of annoyance wrinkling his forehead; at that point, I was almost sure he was going to cup my face in his hands and kiss me again. The idea had my face turning hot, my heart racing, and the palms of my hands getting sticky with nervous sweat, recalling the feel of his lips on mine. Instead of that, he just stopped and locked eyes with me for a moment, carefully studying my face before saying:

“So? How was the show?”

“It was awesome! You guys rock, I loved it!” Pat exclaimed, all excited, breaking the momentary electricity that had arisen between us two. James raised an eyebrow, curious, as if just now realizing she was there, and shot me a puzzled look. I just shrugged, wearing a slight smile.

"It was killer, like always," I said with a grin, and he shot one right back at me. There it was — the familiar, genuine smile I'd been missing all night. I couldn’t help but feel relief wash all over me when I saw it.

We wrapped up the night at some random downtown bar. Most of the time, I stuck with Pat since she only knew me there. A couple of beers, a joint, and watching her all hyped up did the trick; I started to unwind, and soon enough, I was enjoying the night with a lightness I hadn't felt in ages. Had a cig between my lips, just chilling and keeping an eye on the guys from a distance. Cliff and Kirk were deep into some serious chat, sharing a joint. Lars and James had found some fans from the show, cracking up and talking loudly while passing around a bottle of vodka.

"Can I ask you something?" Pat threw out. I shifted my gaze from the scene, catching her curious, kinda fuzzy look — probably thanks to a bit of the booze. Before I could even answer, she kept going: "What's the deal with you and James?"

"Me... and James?" I raised my eyebrows, totally caught off guard. She nodded, a little smile playing on her lips. "We're... We're friends."

"And that's it?" She raised an eyebrow, and I furrowed my brow.

"Of course, that's it, Pat! You know I'm dating Dave."

"Yeah, I know. It's just..." She started, letting her eyes wander over to Lars and James before turning back to me with a mischievous grin. "He's quite the looker. Mind if I flirt with him a bit? Just for fun, you know."

I blinked, caught off guard, and then burst into laughter, my face heating up in a mix of surprise and confusion. Out of all the scenarios playing in my head for that night, Pat showing interest in James was definitely not on the list.

“Sure, why not,” I said, and she shot me a smile before strutting in the direction of James and Lars. I watched her go, a little smirk on my face, a tiny pang of envy sneaking into my chest. Maybe life would be more of a breeze if I could summon that kind of confidence in myself so easily.

"So now you're playing matchmaker?" I heard Cliff's familiar voice, and I looked up to meet his brown eyes staring at me. I grinned as he lit a cigarette, handing it to me before popping the top of the beer can he had in his hand. "Are you okay?"

"Never been better. And you?"

"Are you sure?" he raised an eyebrow. "Last time I saw you, you weren't very happy."

"Yeah, felt a bit down after... you know, what happened," I confessed with a sigh. "But I think that's all settled now, isn't it?"

Cliff didn't seem entirely convinced. He took a drag from his cigarette, the smoke billowing out before he reached out to me. I took the cigarette from between his fingers, bringing it to my lips.

"I thought James liked you," he commented, his attentive gaze fixed on my face. I shrugged.

"Maybe he does. But you know I have a boyfriend, Cliff. Maybe it's good for him to be distracted by some other girl for a bit," I said, and Cliff snorted.

"Not even you believe that, Nore."

"What do you mean?"

"What do you think? Are you sure about what you're doing, throwing your friend at him like this? Or will you regret it later?"

"Why would I regret it?" I furrowed my brow, then stared at him defiantly. "I know what I'm doing, okay?"

"If you say so," he shrugged, taking the cigarette back from my hand.

I watched him walk away with a frown, scanning the area for James, my stomach churning uncomfortably when I couldn't find him anywhere.

We bounced out of the bar late at night, still riding high on excitement and energy, a bit too drunk but not giving a damn about it. Lucky for us, the guys were staying at a friend's house nearby, and a quick call to Pat's dad had us sorted for a ride home from their place. I said my goodbyes to the guys and enjoyed the cruise home. Pat, usually a chatterbox, was oddly quiet on the drive. When I nudged her about James, she blushed so hard I couldn't help but crack up.

When I got home, I made a beeline for the shower. The hot water washed away the remnants of the night's boozing, helping me unwind and finally realize how tired I was. I slipped into my PJs, hopping into bed next to a knocked-out Dave.

I let out a soft chuckle when his arms wrapped around me, his lips landing on my neck. It was like he had a sixth sense that woke him up the moment I was back, even from the deepest sleep. Like he just knew I was nearby. How could I think of anyone else when Dave loved me like this?

“Hey,” he mumbled, his voice all sleepy, planting a kiss on my shoulder.

“Hey,” I replied with a smile, turning in bed to face him. I swept his ginger hair away from his face, and he grumbled before pulling me closer, burying his face in my neck.

"Missed you tonight," he murmured, his raspy voice making me shiver in the best way. "Glad you're back."

"Course, I'm back," I whispered, running my fingers through his hair. "We’re not gonna fight tonight, right?"

"Hmm..." he grumbled, his lips making their way up my neck until they met mine. His hands grabbed my waist as he settled on top of me. "No fights... got something else in mind."

I laughed into his kiss, my face warming as he turned up the intensity, making my whole body heat up. In that moment, wrapped up in his arms, I was sure I was loved. I was sure he loved me. And that was, and always would be, enough. 

Or, at least, that's what I told myself.

✧ if you'd like to be tagged on the next parts, let me know and I'll add you to the tag list! ❤ ✧

[mikanlardyclinic]

"oh hello! Don't pay me much mind! Miss lucifer informed me this place should be perfect for my research about gluttony! Pandemonica suggested I'd stay with miss lucifer to see true gluttony.. But I'd belive it's better to start from the bottom before going to the top! "

A pure white aura emerged from the angel a big smile on her face.. Where a little bit of frosting and cake could be seen her white shirt a tad bit strained some pudge forming on her midsection

Feel free to send her asks!~

[violettduchess]

hi violet, can i req for gilbert, prompt forbidden love? if it's ok i'll leave it up to you whether if it's gonna be a fic or hc :) thank you

A/N: You all voted for this to be an Angel / Devil AU and here we are.

CW: death, sickness, war

Gilbert x Reader

Word Count: 2650

1095: the Holy Land

The first time you see him it is over a rising cloud of brown dust, stamped from the earth by a cacophony of hooves and sandaled feet charging at each other. Sunlight glints off curved steel and chain mail as blades from both sides bite into flesh, punctuating the haze with red droplets.

Through the blood and dust you see him, walking amid the chaos. He is, quite simply, the most beautiful being you have ever seen. Every movement exudes grace, from the bend of his torso to the tilt of his head. He is so arresting that you stop in your tracks, frozen under the burning sun, watching him across the din until he turns his head. Fatefully, his gaze finds yours. His eyes, the clearest, deepest red you have ever seen, pull you in, like a fishing line cast into the ocean. You find yourself moving towards him, the epicurean tide drawn to the beauty of the ethereal moon, breathless with something. Time stands still, all sound dwindling into nothingness. The screaming of men, the groaning of the dying, the frenzied cries of horses, it all fades when he smiles, your heart suddenly caught in the curve of his lips, the line of his jaw.

And then he sees you clearly, as the dust begins to clear, as the last man lays gasping, calling for his mother. He sees you and his beautiful face darkens with an emotion you are all too familiar with. The shadowed mask of fear.

You blink and he is gone.

1348: London, England

It is nearly a millennium before you see him again. You step outside of the small, dank house, the smell of sickness lingering in the air. It clings to you, the sheen of rot and ejecta, and you are grateful for a moment’s respite. It is then you see him, walking alongside the rickety wooden cart piled high with bodies, some still oozing sickness from their sores.

“Bring out your dead!”

The man pulling the cart and yelling is sweating, salty droplets of water leave tracks in the dirt caked on his sallow skin. His heartbeat is too fast, too erratic but he fights it, the fist squeezing his lungs, wanting to get just one more footstep further away from this thing they call the Black Death.

But then his voice is gone, his knees buckling as his heart finally gives up the fight. Gilbert, draped in robes the color of twilight, kneels in the dirt road beside him. You watch as his pale hand touches the man’s face and soothes back his matted hair. He speaks and whatever you expected his voice to sound like, it is not this. Not like the soft sound of the wind sweeping across rolling plains. Not like the velvet depth of night, when darkness blankets the mortal world.

“Hello Richard." He is gentle, so very gentle. "My name is Gilbert." He cups the man's face with a tender hand. "It’s ok, my friend. There is nothing to fear. It’s simply time to let go.”

Like a being transfixed, you watch as he guides the soul from its prison of flesh and bones, and with a wave of his hand, sends it on its way.

“You look so young.” 

The words leave you before you can stop them. You know speaking to him is forbidden and yet, somehow, it feels as natural to you as sunlight.

He looks up at your words and again, the flicker of fear burns in the red brightness of his eyes. He rises slowly and you admire the way he conquers it so quickly.

“I’m older than you.”

He knows he should not answer you and yet he does, turning to face you fully now. You tilt your chin upwards, letting him look, letting him drink his fill of the sight of you.

“I’ve never seen you before.”

Something dances across his face, tears his gaze away from your form.

“My duties were elsewhere for a time.”

The story behind his words is in his eyes, straining to be freed. His lips burn with the need to tell you more.

And then the bell tolls and you both look in its direction.

Time is fleeting. You have work to do.

With great effort you turn away from him, walking toward the next sad building reeking of death. When you look over your shoulder, past the curve of your leathery wings, you find him watching you.

And you smile.

1839: Mazatlán, Mexico

The winds and water have washed away the small town on the coast. There is nothing left of it, aside from bits of broken buildings and bodies lying in watery graves.

An old woman with a broken back lays, panting heavily as the light slowly fades from her dark eyes. You approach her, your heavy robes trailing in the dirty water and mud. When she sees you, her breathing quickens, her eyes widen and her fingers, old and gnarled and broken, scramble to touch the worn silver cross that has hung around her neck for the last sixty-eight years. Little does she know it too has been lost in the storm. You kneel beside her and she whimpers, her whole body trembling as you reach down, laying your hand on her forehead.

“Por favor,” her voice creaks, “por favor.”

“Begging won’t save you now. You know the life you led. The women you sold. The children.” It doesn’t matter what you say. They can always understand you.

Her body spasms as you reach for her, the real her, the essence inside. Her last words die unspoken on her lips as you send her soul to its journey's end..

Rising, you scan the debris, feel the call of so many souls and you are weary. You make your way towards the beach, stepping over the rubble until you have reached the soft, white sand and smooth gray boulders. You slump down against one of them, tired. The sand is soft, the boulders warm with collected sunlight. You have learned to appreciate the simple things of this plane of existence. The sound of the ocean. The smell of the salty air.

“So even your kind needs a break.”

That voice.

He is standing above you, backlit by the sun, and you wholly believe he is worthy of the countless prayers shot to the heavens by pleading lips.

You can’t help but smile. “Come sit with me. Take a break yourself.”

He smiles back and your heart cracks open, bursting with something newborn and unexpected. Something you can’t give a name to, yet.

“Isn’t there a story about a garden and a serpent that starts this way?” But he lowers himself until he is next to you. His arm brushes yours and it feels like holy fire.

“I shouldn’t be here.” Your voice is softer than usual as you watch the roll of the waves along the beach. A single shoe made for a tiny foot bobs alone in the water. Its former owner is his responsibility. Babies always are.

“You’re doing your job.”

“No, I mean here. With you.”

The words sound as loud to your ears as the waves crashing into the rocks scattered about the shallows. Embarrassed, you start to move away from him, from his warmth and his light and his heavenly smile.

And then you feel his hand wrap around yours, the dawn grasping the dusk, and he pulls you towards him.

Falling into his embrace is easy, so much easier than you ever would have believed, easier than you could have dreamed. Easier than all the rules that say it is forbidden would have you think it is. He is light and warmth to your shadow and shade. You drink him in, wrapping your arms around him, pulling him close against you. He gasps softly into your hungry mouth, stunned by the feel of you.

His kind have always been told a litany of warnings to stay away from you. That nothing good will ever come of associating with devils. That he would burn in the pit fires of hell if the rules were ever broken. And oh he is burning, just not the way they described. 

As he pulls you against him, your softness yielding to the planes of his body, he does burn. He burns with a singular need to kiss you, to touch you, to claim you as his. He burns with a desire far more dangerous than hellfire. It sharpens him, hardens him, shifts his purpose with every movement of your lips against his. Your mouth is ambrosia. Nothing will ever taste as good ever again. He will forever be thirsty for it. The feel of your hands, pressed against his back, just under his wings, is branded into him, changing him, claiming him.

It is only the tolling of the celestial bell that falls like an ax through the haze of your lust. The call to work.

“I must go.” He looks over his shoulder, then back to you, his dark hair falling across his forehead in a way that makes your fingers ache to touch it. “We’ll meet again.”

He stands slowly, spreads his large, white feathery wings and in a rush of wind, a flash of light, he’s gone, leaving you alone on the beach with the mournful sobs of the dying, the monotonous lull of the ocean’s waves and his kiss burning on your lips.

October 1916: Somme River; Picardy, Northern France

It feels wrong, rushing to meet him with the thunderous sounds of war rocking the world, and the deadly fog of mustard gas rising like a cobra to sink its fangs into shaking men. Even you shudder as the shrill cry of artillery shells and the spitting rage of the machine guns echo hell on earth. Men are dying in record numbers but it is precisely for this reason that you can meet. The bloody ground with its endless sea of death and destruction masks your movements from anyone who may wonder where exactly you are. Too many souls departing too quickly. Everyone is busy, thanks to men and their thirst for war. Angels and devils alike roam the ravaged fields, answering the call of the doomed.

He waits for you behind a burned-out house amid charred, leafless trees. You gasp when you see him. One eye is covered by a swath of black silk. 

“What happened?” Your hands are on his face, now familiar to your touch. You have loved him for almost a century, a drop in the ocean of time, and yet, short as it may be, it feels essential. Sacred. 

“They know.”

Those two words sink into your heart like a stone, dragging you down into a trench of despair. He has lost an eye in punishment. There will be more coming. The sky above you explodes orange against gray.

There are so many words that they stifle your speech, stacking one behind the other in your throat. None of them will change anything. None of them will save you. He reaches out, pulling you into the shelter of his embrace, a tender kiss placed on the top of your head, between your short, black horns.

“It will be alright. I have a plan.”

You tilt your face up to look at him as the world rumbles, heavy tanks rolling like moving fortresses through the dead fields.

“I will come for you. Give me time.” He sounds so sure.

Dread crawls up your spine with tiny, grasping claws but you nod slowly. You trust him. 

He leans down, pressing a light kiss to your lips, a small beacon of hope in the darkness that surrounds you, the darkness that fills you. Then he steps away, unfurls his pristine wings, and vanishes, leaving you alone amid the wreckage.

2023: St. Anne’s Nursing Center; Regina, Canada.

The old man sees you, although his eyes stopped working years ago. Ignoring the exhausted muttering of the overworked nurse, his drawn face, etched with lines and mottled with brown spots, turns towards the doorway where you stand.

You are never who they want to see. You with your black wings and horns, with your fiery eyes and ashen skin. You, devil. His heart, worn and faded, skips its final beat as you walk over, curling your cool fingers around his frail wrist.

He wants to scream but all that comes out is a wheeze of fetid breath. Holding his wrist in your hand you lean down, lips close to his ear.

“It’s time.”

Every last living cell in his body wants to fight and you sigh, tightening your hold on him. It’s not a pleasant end when they fight, especially once they realize where they are going. And this one has reason to fight. His soul is as tainted as can be, a history of violence and hate and a pile of bones that will eventually be unearthed in the far corner of his remote property. Too many for just one person.

He submits, his soul needing to be pried from its cage of weak bone and flaccid muscle before you are finally able to send it down, down, down where it belongs.

There are others here, dancing on the edge of this life and the beyond, but none require your attention. Not today. You leave the now still body, making your way down the generic beige hallway and across the dated, olive-green tile of the entrance until you are outside, breathing in the cold, clean winter air.

Above you, the sky is black, the moon only a sliver of silver amid the twinkling stars. You’re about to move on when you hear it. The unmistakable beat of wings.

You turn and you see him, dropping down to the ground in one elegant movement. What you see brings both hands to your mouth, snatches the breath from your lungs.

Gone are the soft white feathers of his wings. They have been plucked out, burned away. The bloody leftovers re-formed into the stretched black leather of bat wings, darker than yours and wider. His robes are darkest obsidian, his hair midnight kissed by stars. And sprouting from it, the surest sign of what he has done: long, black horns, curled like a ram’s and deadly sharp.

“No…..no……” You know what this means and it brings you to your knees, right there on the icy pavement. His red eye is aflame with determination as he walks over to you, leaning down to take a strong hold of your arms and lift you again.

“It was the only way.” His voice is steady, gentle but sure.

You shake your head. “You are Fallen. You know what He will do. What you will have to do to prove yourself.” The Morningstar is cruelest to those just like Him.

Gilbert brushes your soft hair back, his skin pale as bone, now cold as ice. 

“I will not only endure it, but I will conquer it and prove that I have earned a place among His agents. Perhaps….even….conquer Him.” His expression softens as he cups your face, his thumb stroking the line of your cheekbone. “I can master anything. You are by my side. You,” he pauses, his voice a whisper that roars louder than thunder, “are the reason for it all.” 

And then his mouth is on yours and you melt against him, love for him clouding the danger of his words, the fear of what is to come. You wrap your arms around him and you return his kiss hungrily, greedily, covetous. His teeth sink into your lower lip, his wings extending to black out the sky before wrapping themselves around you, his hands grasping at your robes, yanking handfuls of it away from your skin until he can take hold of the soft underside of your thighs. With a deep growl he lifts you, pulling you against him, his unbound lust finally free. 

After all…..he too is now a devil.

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-writer @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @redheadkittys @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @queen-dahlia @aceuuuuu @scorchieart @bubblexly @joiedecombat