#but its been mostly pleasant for the most part

[usedpidemo]

Getting closer (Kang Hyewon)

“All I’m saying is—” Hyewon looks away, drink in hand, taking a little sip, calm and alluring as ever, “if you only want to see me naked, then you could have just said so.”

You widely stare back, silent, indifferent—or at least pretend to be. It’s gotten you a fair amount of awards, after all. It’s not the slightest bit of convincing whatsoever.  

She laughs, softly, as if this was the expected outcome. “So I’m taking that as an admission.” 

Setting down the near-empty wine glass on the bathroom sink, Hyewon attempts to walk away, only to be stopped by a sudden pull. Your hand appears tightly wrapped around her dainty wrist, unwilling to let go. Your eyes aimlessly wander up and down the empty void that is her black dress. There are hardly any thoughts behind that predictably empty head of yours, only the simplest of desires.

You catch the subtlest grin forming on her saccharine lips. You fucking hate how she makes you feel. How she makes your heart race with every exchange.

Despite all the time you’ve spent together, you wish you got to know her better.

—————

The last year and a half of your career has mostly centered around one thing, or in this case, one person: Kang Hyewon. There’s also this drama starring your pairing as co-leads, and you’ve been promoting together, but your names make up more of the headlines than the very show. Your names are synonymously tied together akin to an actual couple.

Unsurprisingly, Hyewon is damn gorgeous. It’s how she’s getting the calls to begin with. Another one of those former singers turned actors looking to be taken seriously within the larger entertainment industry. Most never make it past their first project and fall back on their old careers, with some completely flaming out of the spotlight altogether. She’s an exception. A minor part here, a supporting cameo there—until she’s more than pleasant eye candy. A starlet who knows how to pick what roles would showcase her talents the most. 

She’s the perfect blend of beauty goddess and hotshot young star that the internet can get behind.

So it comes as a surprise when she’s casted as second fiddle to you, the first billing—and everyone comes away talking about her more. The scene stealer. 

(This plucky rival agent, investigating a case your character has been trailing for years, barely scraping by with the thinnest of clues, only for her to uncover the mystery only days after starting the investigation. The writing screams Mary Sue, but she acts convincing and vulnerable enough to escape the scathing think pieces that’s commonly associated with such characters. Not to mention: you both look damn good together on screen and during your public appearances.

It’s a team that sailed a thousand ships—both for your characters and in the real world.)

The consummate professional you are, you don’t think much of it. Your filming experience can only be described as businesslike. Except for the scenes where you’re together on screen, you’ve been separated at arms’ length, only exchanging words between takes to keep any further relationship from developing. It’s only during the press tour where you’ve finally gotten somewhat close.

Perhaps a little too close for comfort. Enough to make video compilations by overzealous fans who think you and Hyewon are really an item. The evidence is everywhere—in interviews, behind the scenes content, and on both your Instagram pages. At least, that’s what they want to believe. Everyone else brushes it off as two hot people being hot together, and not much else.

Here’s the thing: you love Hyewon—that much is true. The question now is: does she love you back?

Thankfully, your duo doesn’t get in the way of the show being lauded, despite making up a majority of its fandom. Positive reviews from both critics and viewers, especially in regards to your chemistry. The connection between you two is one in a million, something that can’t be built over years and years of working together. It also helps your performances sell the dynamic incredibly well—well enough to create those delusional shippers that form the bedrock of your partnership. 

Your names were positioned to go far during awards season. Not the consensus top pick, but as dark horse contenders to steal one every now and then. And while you both won your fair share of accolades, neither of you ended up walking away with the top prize. The conversation during the final ceremony of the year consisted primarily of the media and viewers talking about how your appearances together these last few months—and how you’re a match made in heaven. 

Everyone’s gonna miss this pairing—and so will you.

Now you’re back at square one. Having snuck away from the afterparty currently celebrating the dozen or so awards your show won earlier tonight, you’ve brought Hyewon back to your hotel room. Neither of you cared once you both lost your respective categories. The pundits thought you each only had the slimmest of odds to win, so why bother. Hell, you were both itching to leave as soon as the red carpet concluded. 

It’s all behind you now. You’re finally free from the glitz, glamor, and chaos of these vanity ceremonies and can really focus on what really matters—the pretty girl that you most likely won’t be seeing starring tomorrow. Your careers and interests couldn’t be any further apart: your main focus is movies, while hers are dramas. Both of you remain booked and busy for the next few years with different projects, with not a single one reuniting you two for the foreseeable future.

Back to Hyewon. She’s looking down at her wrist, tightly held by your hand. She allows it. You can feel her pulse. You sense that your hearts are racing in unison, tense and anxious.

“Are you gonna do something?” she questions, daring you to pull the trigger. She knows something you don’t—or maybe you do. You’re blinded by fear to realize it. “The night is fleeting. If not now, then when?”

Her words ring through your head. 

If not now, then when?

The same five words, ordered in the exact same way—etched in tiny letters on her skin.

You still remember everything—frame by frame, down to the last details. On screen, it’s implied. In your mind, it canonically happened. She took her shirt off, exposing herself and the scars of battle, and you were gonna go there. In your characters’ supposed words, ‘Clean’’ in your own unique way.

It was ultimately never shot. Bare minimum of fanservice and completely unnecessary, the director said. 

The tattoo sticks out, not only because of how it's deeply embedded on her otherwise pristine, lithe figure, but also because it represents the last 18 months of your career.

During this period, there are a lot of things that you’ve regret—and will regret. The fact you’ve kept contact with her during filming at a minimum, keeping your interactions strictly between takes and creating a negative air around you in her eyes. The fact it took you so long to exchange numbers, only getting it done during the press tour. The fact that you never return her messages when she constantly reaches out to you, whether through text or on your Instagram. The fact you haven’t thanked her enough times during your acceptance speeches, even when you mention her name in almost every other sentence. If there’s anything you want to admit, it’s that Hyewon is everything.

Most importantly, the fact that you fucking love her, to the point where you’d yearn moments when you’re not beside her—and you still lack the will to confess to her. Even right now. When she’s right at your fingertips.

Perhaps she knows this. The signs were there all along. How she often posts your red carpet photos together and tags you in them. How she also mentions you as much during her acceptance speeches and credits you as a reason for her improvements in acting, even referencing specific advice you’ve given her. The biggest hint, however, are the dresses she’s been wearing to these galas, most evident being tonight. Simple all black, tailor made for her frame, showing off her assets for flaunting to the cameras. 

Earlier, she led you to an empty part of the theater to say something in private. “I wore this just for you,” she said—and from that point, you had to get her alone, whatever it takes.

Really, Hyewon has no intention to leave tonight. She’s just waiting for those magic words. There’s no other logical reason for her to be here, other than for you.

She might as well be holding up a huge signpost with all her requests written in capital letters. 

“If you’re not gonna do anything,” she says, tone casual, slipping one strap of her dress down her shoulder, the one half of the fabric dropping a fair amount. “Then I might as well do it myself. I was hoping you’d take this off me—”

“Stop.” 

You grab her other hand, close to touching the other strap, the dress more than ready to fall down. She raises her eyebrows in amusement. Afterward, she puts the seized hand down, convincing you to release the grip. 

Another win for Hyewon. You’ve lost count as to how many times she’s been messing with you throughout awards season. Probably in the hundreds. Thousands if you count the interviews and little jabs during her speeches. Every mention of your name is an immediate sign of trouble. You can sense she’s enjoying every single moment, relishing the remaining time you have left. Meanwhile, it’s clear on your face that you’re stressed. 

But for what?

“If it hasn’t gotten through your thick skull, then I have no choice but to explain it.” Hyewon climbs atop the bathroom sink, strong enough to lift herself off the ground. She pours the glass with new wine; it’s not meant for you. Her attitude flips instantaneously like a switch, composed and readying herself as if it were another photoshoot. 

Taking a sip of the drink, she pours the rest all over her dress. It serves no purpose anymore. it’s undeniable that she knows what she’s doing. That elegant yet cocky smile is permanently seared into your brain. Someone this haughty shouldn’t be this beautiful and seductive. “You can stand there and waste the night away, or you can do something about it. All up to you.”

You can only sigh. Whether out of wistfulness or annoyance is up for interpretation. You can add taking her back to your hotel room and taking this role in your ever growing list of regrets. When it’s all said and done, it’ll definitely be as long as the career documentary they’ll make about you in 50 years.

What more do you have to lose? 

This will all be behind you soon enough.

You finally stop giving her the cold shoulder. “God, I really wish you weren’t such a tease,” you remark, pulling on the dress strap she previously slid down. “Because otherwise, it would have been so much easier.”

Hyewon seems to have taken your words seriously, because she suddenly kisses you—as in, relentlessly smothers you. Her arms wrap around your neck, slowly pulling you close into an embrace. She smells of alcohol and perfume. An unusual concoction that you can drown yourself in.

“Only if you say the magic word,” she says, gently laughing between kisses. The lower half of your face is full of pale lipstick marks. It was foolish to think she had turned a new leaf, knowing how intentional Hyewon can be with everything.

You’ve really got no other choice.

“I love you,” you confess, but in the smallest audible voice imaginable—hiding that reluctance behind your tone. 

Hyewon pulls herself back, smiling toothily at you, borderline snorting. Her expressions convey the idea that you told her a joke, which it may as well be. 

“That’s it? Doesn’t sound like someone who loves me,” she remarks, tone evidently disparaging.

“Fuck me.” The groan comes out instinctively, as if this wasn’t your first time getting burned like this. Your head is raised to the ceiling, asking the gods for an out.

“That’s my line,” she spouts, her response almost as instantaneous. Wit comes naturally to Hyewon. The countless viewers and interviewers who’ve laughed can speak on her behalf.

“You’re gonna turn everything I say into a joke, are you?” you ask, knowing you’ve willingly fallen for the easiest bait in the entire world.

“You’re gonna turn everything I say into a joke, are you?” she repeats, mockingly imitating your voice, much to your utter chagrin. This isn’t part of some romcom or a sketch. This is real. Everything comes back around to Hyewon. She laughs—basks in your suffering.

It’s the kind of trait that would leave you second guessing whether you really love her or not. As it turns out, the public loves celebrities with a playful sense of humor. Not even you are innocent—you’ve been caught red-handed on camera a few times. Hyewon doesn’t need to reaffirm herself.

But she would love to hear it straight from the source.

“Say it. Say it.” Hyewon is urging you—demanding you—as if it were a matter of life or death. Her hands are everywhere, gripping you by the cheek and the throat like her prized possessions, threatening to choke the life out of you. 

Truthfully, this was coming the moment she stepped through those doors for the first table read. Hyewon’s gravity is inescapable.

“Love you—Hyem, please—” 

Struggling to push back against her hold, you can tell that she’s taking pleasure in every moment she has you like this: wrapped around her finger, so whipped over her that it’s alarming. There’s little use in trying to be coy or subtle. If she wanted you to go down to the afterparty in nothing but your boxers, you’d fold in a heartbeat. She’s the kind of girl you’d happily end up in a scandal with, someone you’d throw your career away in exchange for one timeless night, against the advice of everyone who knows better.

She knows this too. Look at the coy grin spreading on her face. A smile perfect for the front cover of any magazine or commercial. It’s the perfect facade for the attitude hiding beneath.

“I love you Hyem,” you repeat, showing a bit more desperation and sincerity this time. You’re breathing against her neck, the idea of pressing your lips against her skin a dire need. It’s unfortunate you can’t make it look like an accident—as is the idea of your bodies sinking down on the bathroom countertop. “For the longest time, I wanted you, but—”

Only now do you come to the simplest realization: there are no accidents.

Normally, you should feel some shame for being this oblivious. How a girl like Hyewon is giving out all these hints, to the point where she might as well be spreading her legs wide and pointing down at her cunt with a colorful sign. Hell, a thigh is peeking through her dress, pressing on your leg right now. If there’s one thing you’ve learned about working with other actors, it’s that chemistry comes naturally—it can’t be taught.

And your bodies are doing exactly that. The friction between you can’t be any more tense.

“Then show me.” She sighs against your ear, pulling on the topmost button of your suit, pushing down the matching coat. Her leg extends around your limb, goading you to pull away, even though leaving the pretty sight right in front of you is the last thing on your mind. 

You can only breathe. Slow. Hesitant. There's not a lot of hours left, and you’re wasting more by taking your sweet time—resting your gaze on her pale shoulder, admiring all the little details. In essence, you’re doing the complete opposite of what Hyewon wants. She’s showing a little frustration, proving how much better of an actress she is than you. Imagine being in her shoes, beckoning to someone astronomically unaware for months. So much energy and effort could have been saved if she chose to leave you out to dry. If you weren’t so preoccupied with thoughts of her, the many ways this little scene can go, you’d be wondering why she’s this persistent. 

Maybe you’re just as important of a character in her story too, or you’re both stubborn in your own ways. Perhaps both.

None of that is your concern right now. You’re cupping Hyewon’s face, kissing her, nibbling down on her creamy skin, reaching up to her lips by the way of her neck, pulling on the strap of her dress little by little. In response, she’s whispering sweet nothings into your ear, removing your dress shirt one button at a time. It feels like you’re going through the motions, acting under the words of an intimacy coordinator and a director. Slowly but surely, it’s all coming together, until—

“Stop.” 

You pull back, noticing your shirt is nearly undone as you look past her and at the mirror. Both dress straps are halfway down her arms, the fabric a mess, waiting to be swept away. 

You raise an eyebrow, puzzled. “What’s up?” 

Hyewon tilts her head at an angle, unsatisfied. She’s staring at you intently, taking a moment to analyze you like you’re a problem to solve—which you are—before coming to a rather alarming conclusion. “You don’t seem like you want me that bad.”

The remark doesn’t register in your brain. “What do you mean—”

She yanks you forward for a deep kiss, cutting you off. Reciprocating her passion comes naturally—and so does everything else. The movement of your hands, taking lease of her back, tearing through the fabric of her dress, coming back to her cheeks, until you stop feeling cloth and register more flesh. Feeling her skin becomes your new addiction, something you can’t get enough of. 

Watching her other movies—for research purposes—you knew she was well endowed, even when they were not on full display.  Some of her previous gala dresses truly put a spotlight on her cleavage. Part of you thought it was editing trickery, a perfectly taken photo at the right time, or a bra doing the heavy lifting. All three even. But holding them now, with nothing in between, you simply couldn’t believe how well they’ve been hidden from you. 

Her tits fold, go flush, and her nipples stiffen at your touch. They feel so right—as if they were handmade for you.

“God, Hyem—” you breathe out, savoring the sensation of her mounds in your clasp, unwilling to let go. Her taut nipples jerk with every run of your palms. If only you could rest your head between them, but your current position won’t allow you. 

“They feel so good right?” Hyewon moans in response, shedding your unbuttoned shirt off your body and tossing it to the floor, taking lease of your muscles and back. Her dress bunches up around her waist, practically collapsing when she decides to get up from the sink. Although an expected outcome, you’re both surprised that you’ve managed to get each other’s clothes off.

And you’re only getting started.

Pushing you away, Hyewon meets you at your level. Gravity does the rest. She stands before you in nothing but heels. What a mental image to remember her after tonight. She leaves you frozen and trembling, jaw agape, your eyes in a daze, unable to find a place to settle your fleeting gaze on—until she rests her hands around your shoulders. You’re caught up in your own disbelief to meet her lovely gaze and that rather sweet smile, quite the difference from her bare state.

She lifts up a leg, pushing herself onto you for another passionate kiss. Taking advantage, her legs eventually wrap around your waist, bearing all her weight on your grasp. Despite her surprise attack, she’s feathery enough to carry around. It certainly helps that she’s not the heaviest girl you’ve lifted before; you have some experience—mostly unpleasant and usually backbreaking. Still, you’ll treat her like some delicate object that crumbles at the slightest touch. Something—or someone—you can’t ruin, or else you’d be ruined too.

You both end up in the living room, deeply engrossed in a fiery passion that’s too hot for cameras. Lifting her high, your lips find their way to her chest, pressing them in the place where they rightfully belong. Hyewon is stubborn, pushing your head further up to meet your lips in a direct, frantic kiss. Back and forth, you take turns between her tits and her lips, unintentionally slamming her against a wall, eliciting a few yelps out of her. 

It doesn’t bother you both in the slightest. You hold her there, kissing down her abdomen and ribs, coming to the tiny inked part of her figure. The same tattoo that’s been ingrained in your head since you first saw them.

You mutter the very words against her skin. 

“If not now, then when.”

They’ve never been so relevant till right now. You softly kiss the ink, silently thanking her for saving you from a lifetime’s worth of regret.

Hyewon winces, throws her head back, moans up to the ceiling. Her nails brush through your hair, then claw at your nape as you remain fixated on her tattooed rib. She deserves to be adored and worshiped.

“Look at me babe,” she murmurs, gently tilting you up, faint at your touch. Against your desires, you follow. “Put me down. You know why I’m here.”

You oblige without a second thought—and you’re both on a level playing field again.

Still, you can’t help but kiss her right after. She reciprocates the favor. You’re a perfect match. Even as you’re making out, you’re thinking of ways to get messy and get the jump on her while she’s preoccupied. 

It ends up being your biggest mistake.

Both of you wrestle for control over the other, a scuffle that ends up knocking down a few appliances and tableware. The sound of glass shattering rips through the hotel room floor louder than your collective moans ever will. For someone with a lithe figure, Hyewon proves to be much stronger than you were led to believe. It shows when you try to push her onto another table; you both end up crashing to the floor seconds later. 

From there, it’s whoever is the first to get up, and you knew it was all over from there.

Hyewon leads you into the sole bedroom, shoving you onto the mattress. Unrelenting, she slams onto you right after, pinning you down with her bare hands. Surprising her with your own strength, you reach for her raven locks through her ironclad grip of your wrists. Your lips continue to crash like waves against rocks, neither of you willing to back down. There’s a clear disparity between you: she wants you more.

To further prove her point, she presses her palms down on your chest, sitting over you upright, straddled on your lap. She’s never looked better.

Making quick work of your trousers, your cock is freed from its confines, only to be immediately caught up in Hyewon’s hand. Her grip spreads through your groin, turning breathing into an absolute nightmare. The one fear that’s been haunting your mind these last few months, finally realized. 

And it’s staring you down with an innocent yet wicked smile.

“You have no idea how long I wanted this,” she remarks, her sultry voice sending shivers down your spine. Arching down, she presses her tongue forward on your throbbing tip. Combined with the pressure she’s building with her hand, holes puncture through your lungs. And right on command, you’re leaking. She’s lapping your cock in circles, slow and agonizing, taking every little drop of precum seeping. You can only tremble beneath her, utterly defenseless. “Remembering when I was tapping your foot with my heel earlier tonight?”

She leaves you in such a dizzying spiral that you can’t even look directly at her, let alone formulate a reply. Meanwhile, her eyes remain fixed on you, doe-eyed with innocence, yet her actions are cruel. Breathing proves to be a struggle, let alone returning with a response. “What about it?”

“I wanted you to follow me to the bathroom. And I wanted you to fuck me in there.”

Honest to God, that was not the first thought on your mind. If anything, the presence of many proved to be the ideal shield in keeping yourself away from Hyewon. Losing best actor was the greatest blessing in disguise, as it meant you didn’t have to look straight into her magnetic eyes during your theoretical speech and make an embarrassment of yourself in front of hundreds in attendance, and millions watching on television. 

Now that you’re in bed with no way to escape, you can only accept your fate.

“I’m not the best at reading the room,” you comment, sheepishly shaking your head.

“Not surprising, honestly,” she says, rewarding your candor with a kiss—on your tip. Then another. More heartwarming than arousing, if anything. “Anyone ever told you that you’re kind of a dork?”

“Not the first time I’ve heard it from a girl,” you say, in an attempt to show some wit, only to be met with a stiff grip on your cock. “Ah—fuck—”

A bit more force and Hyewon could break you in half with her mere hand alone. She’s cold, calculating, and cruel. Her expression seems apathetic, yet deep down, you can tell she’s having so much fun toying and teasing you, stealing what little semblance of willpower you have. And to think she’s this demure, sometimes funny celebrity with a certain image that’s universally admired by many. 

Behind that gaze, she’s thinking of more ways to further ruin you.

“I don’t think a dork like you has been with other girls,” she remarks, leaning forward to tease a kiss, only to leave you dry. “But looking at this cock—”

She stops to admire your shaft once more. Ultimately, she can’t help herself. She has to give your tip another ceremonious flick with her parched tongue in appreciation. Two, actually. If she doesn’t stop, you’ll soon be deep in her throat, and you know she’s not letting you go. Thankfully, she finally regains sight of what she wants in the first place.

Lifting herself ever so slightly, Hyewon takes a deep breath—then slowly melts into you. 

It’s a car crash you can’t look away from. It’s inevitable, but you’re completely powerless to stop her. You can only groan in agony as your bodies intertwine, creating a union that only she can break. Inch by inch, you helplessly watch as Hyewon slowly takes you into her suffocating heat. The sensation is unlike anything you’ve ever felt before: vicious, intense, and painful. 

It doesn’t help that she’s taking her sweet time, keeping you on edge for what may as well be an eternity, bracing for the certain explosion she’s going to leave in her wake. 

“Oh—fuck—it’s so perfect,” Hyewon throws her head back, her jaw dropping slow, every word delivered in a near-inaudible sigh. Eventually, she buries herself in you deep to the hilt—and she keens. “That—that’s it—that’s the fucking spot—”

Your hands cling to her waist, your maw similarly agape, breathing tensely as the pleasure slowly courses through your muscles. “God—you’re fucking tight—”

She hums in return, satisfied by your response, before losing herself in the sensation of your cock impaling her—and she begins to move.

As you fight the urge to cum right then and there, Hyewon slowly lifts herself off your lap, your cock reappearing with a fresh coat of her drenched pussy, before sinking back down. She rips the breath right from your lungs, while you’re forced to shut your eyes. Anything to keep your brain firing as the pleasure rushing throughout your body sends you into overdrive. 

You’re an outlet of ecstasy, a conduit for her to loosen all her pent-up frustration and lust. Her palms grip to your thighs, keeping you in place—as if you’re in any condition to move anywhere except for her whim. She’s crashing into you at a punishing pace as a result of keeping yourself away for so long. And she’s being open about it too: “Why did it take us so long—ugh—”

You can only moan back. Truthfully, you’re wondering the same thing too. 

As your eyes alternate between wide open and completely shut, you catch glimpses of Hyewon using every inch of you to fill her wanton pussy with cock. When she’s not cursing or screaming your name, her moans fill your ears with sweet, sultry music. It’s a sound not of her high class image. She’s riding you like it’s life or death, like her heart will stop beating if her cunt isn’t being stretched out.

With every bounce, so do her breasts. Up and down, settling into a rhythm, forming a hypnotic motion that your eyes get lost in. Your obsession reaches a point to where the movement of her tits stirs you on, reigniting your tired muscles. You can’t lie there and be a helpless viewer any longer.

And so, you meet Hyewon halfway, matching the grind of her hips with your thrust at the apex, setting her alight. This particular stroke. The hot sensation. It utterly shatters her. Her voice cracks. She trembles violently, giving you breathing room to sit upward and lean close to her chest. 

So while she staggers back, overwhelmed by your cock spearing her cunt, you go down on her succulent breasts, squishing your face between them. Despite having Hyewon’s body all to yourself, the friction between your bodies creates this wracking storm that drives you insane. It isn’t enough that you’re feasting on her tits, that her boobs are bouncing so hard it’s downright pornographic, and that she’s screaming her heart out in response to each stroke. This will be headline news tomorrow. Yet, none of that is your concern. You have to pour everything into her. It’s now or never.

“Fuck yes—oh fuck—fucking take me—fuck—” Hyewon’s riding your cock, forcing all the air out your lungs, rendering you speechless. Doesn’t matter, you’re drowning in her slick and her tits, pounding away with twice the effort. She’s swearing through her tongue like she’s a cop in a crime picture, biting down on her lip in a flimsy attempt to restrain herself, but anyone with a good ear nearby could have easily identified her voice through the four walls of this hotel room. Knowing her, it’s intentional. She’s determined to put you through a world of trouble, leaving you with no other choice but to shut her up.

And you’re going to do just that.

You end up yanking her by the waist as your bodies repeatedly collide with each other. Each impact the equivalent of a cosmic explosion, the aftermath echoing through the room. The sound of skin slapping skin fills your ears louder than what it seems in the movies. Sex with Hyewon is much, much better than in your fantasies. Here’s another thing that can’t be found on camera: her soft pleas begging you to keep going, interlaced between harsh whines and airy moans that can’t be faked.

“God, I’m gonna fucking cum, Hyewon.” There you go, your silly side showing at such a serious moment. Everyone knows you don’t proclaim your impending climax. Rookie mistake. You’re not shooting a porno, but you might as well be with how hard you’re fucking her. She can’t help but cackle even as you relentlessly pound into her cunt. What should be a moment of weakness immediately gets brushed aside as you hold her when she slams down, and you finally fall apart.

Impaling your cock hilt deep inside Hyewon, you’re digging your palms deep into her soft flesh, unwilling to let go. She rests her head beside yours as you blast her with thick, warm cum. Her prolonged, saccharine-sounding moan is nothing compared to the loaded groan that ripples through the room. The supplication she makes, demanding you to fill her with every little drop goes through deaf ears. Your dick seems to have heard it loud and clear, though. The amount you’re filling her is enough to rip through her body violently too. She follows with her own peak afterwards, hitting a previously unheard octave higher, your bodies finally melting into one. 

Just like that, she’s clinging to you like you’re her personal life support, completely drained of all her strength. 

The ecstasy lasts for a brief moment. The fall off happens too soon for your liking. Like her, you’re sapped of energy and you fall down to earth with Hyewon in your arms. The end comes—not with grandiose drama or spectacle, but by a calm, uneventful stir.

You should be done at this point. It’s been a long day. You’ve been up as early as sunrise, spent hours behind makeup and measuring tape for a suit you won’t wear more than once. Smiling comes natural, if not downright fake; in front of the cameras, on the red carpet, on screen, and even during the afterparties. Every time you step out in public, there’s an image, a reputation to uphold. You’ve done this a dozen times in the past few months alone, bearing a lifetime’s worth of and it never gets more comfortable or easier. It’s a miracle you haven’t cracked or had a public breakdown, even though your mind is calling for it.

And yet, all that labor and agony is worth it for what you have now. The awards, the recognition, the adoration—but most especially the girl. What are you now, taken out of a story. One that feels all too familiar and done to death, but it never grows old or tired. 

By all accounts, it should be a happy ending. 

Except you’re not done. You’re not satisfied, and so is Hyewon. Even though she’s settling down in your embrace, resting her head against your heartbeats, mumbling these sweet nothings about how much you’ve ruined her and fucked her to shreds, she’s quietly begging for more. It isn’t about keeping a sanctimonious image anymore; it’s about how far you’ll push her and use her. Your throbbing cock buried inside her cunt says it too.

If there’s anything you’ve learned about acting, it’s that one take isn’t enough.

Like a damsel in distress, you scoop Hyewon into your arms. Through what you might consider a second wind, you carry her into the bathroom again on wobbly legs, stepping into the shower, showing that you’re ready to take your relationship a step further. You’ll hash out the details in the morning—if she hasn’t left by then.

The sound of running water serves as background for the airy, lewd noises that quickly fill the shower. 

Hyewon feels incredibly soft to touch. Pliable in your grasp, like a doll to bend, twist, and use at your whim. You’re squeezing her flesh, fondling her mounds tightly till you’re seeing red everywhere. Her tits, her shapely ass, and everything in between. Kissing down her body, giving every little part its much needed attention. You’ve fucked her to pieces, yes, but she’s still housing a divine figure that deserves the same level of praise. 

With two fingers stroking at her cunt, she’s keening, her head tilted up to meet the relentless downpour rushing down over your bodies. Her voice is in tatters after an hour of tireless screaming, in addition to all the mindless chatter from earlier tonight. Part of you wishes to have taken up her offer. Something this good shouldn’t be kept secret, but you’re more than selfish enough to keep Hyewon all to yourself. 

Your raging impulse gets the better of you, and you slap her tits from behind. She yelps a cry of pain and pleasure. The recoil and sound activates something in your brain like a sleeper agent. You do it a second time, then a third. You stop counting after, indulging yourself in the satisfying noise of her mounds smacked over and over, every squeal, every strike equally as gratifying as your cock slamming into her pussy. She’s clinging to the walls as a respite, her body shuddering vigorously, but you don’t give her a moment to breathe. It’s what she would have wanted: to be used and taken like a ragdoll.

Hyewon screams again when you swing her around, lifting one leg around your waist, and slam your cock inside her. No pleasantries, no talking through the process—only a desire to fuck. Burying your face against her neck, growling into her skin like a ravenous beast, you hammer away without care for neither your comfort nor hers. You’re counting the hours, minutes, seconds before she disappears from your life, and you’re gonna make sure that years from now, she remembers this night in particular.

You’re too engrossed to see her expressions twist in impossible ways that average humans can make. But that’s the point: Hyewon is no ordinary person. She’s one actress, something that can be found in others who are more talented and have more resounding qualities, but more than that, to you, she’s everything. The clench of her cunt on your cock continues to invigorate you and push you further. With every thrust, she jumps and sends aftershocks coursing through your veins. God, you love how incredibly well she fucking takes it, and the slightest tilt of her lips struggling to form a grin reinforce this. You’ve got nothing else to say, really; you easily lose yourself in your own lust, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

It doesn’t take too long before you feel it again. The end. It’s approaching faster than you can react. You knew it wasn’t going to be a drawn out affair, but you’re so desperate to reach that high, no matter how brief it may be. It was too good to pass up, and you’re beyond waiting a second more.

You’d give everything up for even a single minute longer, but the period of bargaining has long passed you by.

“Gonna cum again—fuck—” is all you can muster, your first words after a long while. Her pussy feels so good to form coherent words. Lust has utterly consumed your brain more than anything. The entire time, Hyewon’s mewling, keening in every direction, trying to find purchase on the walls or the shower door, only to fall a few inches short. She ends up coming back to you, hanging on for dear life. You’ve never let up, terrified that she’ll magically disappear into nothing at any second. 

Acting fast, as if you’ve got a ticking bomb in hand, you draw your cock out, coated in a thick sheen of your own cum and hers, pumping yourself with a few strokes of your hand until you finally explode. The shower washes down the milky white blot you’re unloading on her skin, never leaving a permanent mark. It does, however, bring you back to the place that began your undoing.

The tattoo on her rib. 

Water wipes the cum blocking the view. Despite those same five words occupying your mind for the last few hours, it still hits like a fresh revelation. You hear her voice repeating them inside your head as you come to your senses, your lust being satiated—for now. Even when Hyewon is completely broken before you, reduced to a quiet pile of flesh. One hand on the surrounding wall, the other in limbo, her leg still coiled around your waist, forcing oxygen into her tired lungs wherever she can. 

With the ‘quick’ shower done, and after hardly any cleaning was made, you carry her back to the bedroom. 

You don’t even make it past the living room before your legs finally give up. You end up crashing onto the floor together before you both finally call it a night.

—————

“This is your fault you know,” says Hyewon, drawing circles on your chest, over your calm heartbeats. “I’m supposed to be in London tomorrow for my table read. And yet I’m still here. My flight was five hours ago by the way.”

It’s already high noon when you finally regain consciousness, your head still spinning despite not taking more than one alcoholic drink the night before. Hyewon’s doing marginally better, having woken up 30 minutes earlier. No wonder it feels so hot; her body is snuggled up on you, your limbs tangled. Despite the urgency she’s speaking about, she doesn’t seem to be interested in moving any time soon.

At least you’re awake and sensible enough to fire back. “Who’s fault is that? I wasn’t the one inviting you to come over and have you fucked senseless.”

She chuckles into your skin, little ripples forming where her lips are gently pressed. “And I wasn’t the one who spent the last 18 months saying we’re just friends.”

You’re already lying flat on the floor, but the rebuttal only makes you want to get up only to fall back down. So you settle with an expressive sigh. 

Hyewon laughs. It’s what won over millions, including you. You’re taken back to that fateful day you first met. Right then and there, you knew there’d be no one else like her. If given an opportunity to go back and change a few things here and there or, you’d do it over again, mistakes included. Last night was worth all the waiting and teasing. 

“So—about that show,” you lean up, pushing her closer to your face, “What was it again? Something about you being a nymphomaniac? Delete what?”

“You mean Delete This? Let’s not.” 

Mention of the premise alone is enough to set her gummy cheeks on fire. For someone whose career has been built up on mostly more general audience friendly programming, leading a sexual soap opera is quite the jump.  

She buries her head on your neck, embarrassed, feeling guilty. “Yeah. I mean, last night was—different, you know? I’ve shown my tits and body already, but I’ve never had sex—on screen before.”

You should have known. She needed a reason to get in your pants without your working relationship only centering around your bodies. And those were clearly stand-ins based on how her face is never shown during her older scenes.

“Jesus, Hyem. If you wanted to have sex, you could have asked anytime. You have no idea how annoyed I was when they scrapped our scene last minute. It was only you taking off your shirt too.”

“On the bright side, we didn’t have an intimacy director getting in the way, right?”

She does have a point. Still, your personal cold war didn’t need to last 18 months before either of you would make the first move.

But with all that tension a thing of the past, the chains are unfettered. Now both of you have the ability to take this little secret in any direction you desire. You could simply be a workplace couple; it’s been the story of your year so far. Or you could take things a step further. The possibilities are truly endless.

Hyewon’s cheeky grin slowly reforms, her hand snaking up to cup your cheek. “Shame we only had one night. I could spend the rest of the day here, but—” she huffs, “I’m running late. Too bad I won’t get to have this cock for a long, long time.”

You lift an amused eyebrow, barely able to keep your new cockiness from showing. “Will you, though?”

She’s taken completely by surprise. “What do you mean?”

“Check your phone.”

After rising to her feet, Hyewon walks over to the console table where her purse is set. Fishing her phone from the handbag, she scrolls through the apps, her attention di–vided between the screen and you on the floor, finally getting up as well. 

Her stare then lingers on the phone, as if whatever headline of the day has caught her attention. 

Next thing you know, she’s grabbing you by the chest, dragging you back to the bedroom before shoving you back onto the mattress—right where you belong. Pinning you down and dead to rights, Hyewon mounts herself on your lap, your cock pressed against her aching core, ready to receive a fresh beating.

Some jokes can go a little too far.

“You fucking asshole. You mean that—”

“Yep.”

“And it’s not—”

“It’s not.”

You can feel her hips slowly grinding against yours. You’re gonna love—and hate—the next 18 months with Hyewon.

“I’m going to kill you. And I mean: kill you.”

“No better way to go out.”

—————

(A/N: Thank you for the commission! That Hyewon dress is so ripe for material, and I had to incorporate her tattoos into it somehow. She doesn't show them quite often—heck, she hasn't publicly addressed them even once, I believe. That little nod at the end is for everyone still waiting for Delete this to return. At this point, a reimagining or remake must happen first before the next actual episode because good God my writing back then versus now is night & day. Even comparing the last update from 2022(?) to today is also radically different in style. I'm still interested in reviving it; it's just a matter of when, not if. Thank you for reading!)

[brain-rot-hour]

I've said it once and I'll say it another thousand times but honestly, sincerely, I really want to thank this fandom for being so welcoming.

I've been drawing for a very long time and I've been in dozens of fandoms. Before IY, my main hyperfixation was Dragon Age, and I poured HOURS into art and even a little fanfic over the course of two years for it to be met with just.....eh. Good job. And don't get me wrong, I definitely don't do art for clout, but it becomes a little discouraging when something that gives you joy and inspires you to create doesn't like.....encourage you, ya know?

Meanwhile I've been in the IY fandom for almost a year now and you guys constantly encourage not only me, but everyone else. This fandom has been so supportive and welcoming that it really does feel a bit like coming home. Since joining I've created more art than I ever have for anything else (over 500 fanarts and several fanfics) and not only have I been encouraged, but I've improved, and as an artist that's something that I constantly strive for. Sure, it's a TON of fanart, but I can take what knowledge I've gained by drawing Dog With Hands and turn around and apply it to something else.

If I ever felt like it 😂

(I used to HATE drawing hands but now I love them. As long as they have little claws at the end akdnamdmak)

It's just really great and I thank each and every one of you over and over again. From the fic writers that fill my brain with your words to artists that I admire to the people in my notes that are constantly getting excited over something. You da real MVPs 💚

[beejunos]

ANIMAL INSTINCTS | Alastor x f.reader

Summary: An unexpected rut makes you and Alastor act upon your feelings. Desperately and intensely.

This story was requested by @ohmylovewhereartthou-blog. The idea for the story is completely theirs; I just had the pleasure of putting it into words, and hopefully, I did a good job. Enjoy, darlings!

Tags: Dom!Alastor, rut, biting, smut, doggy style (the position is actually called prone bone, but that's a weird name if you ask me), creampie

For the most part, life in Hell mirrored life on Earth. There were homes, stores, libraries, work and gyms. Sinners went to restaurants with their friends and bought flowers for their lovers. Life in Hell could be quite pleasant if one could ignore all the violence and chaos.

Alastor revelled in the stark contrast between the underworld and Earth. Here, he found that everyone had shed their masks, revealing their true nature without the façade of modesty or fake politeness. The freedom he felt in Hell was unparalleled. Here, he didn't have to suppress his instincts; he could openly embrace them without fear of judgment or reproach. In this realm, he no longer needed to lurk in the shadows or carefully stalk his prey. Instead, he basked in the unbridled power and control he had meticulously crafted for himself, relishing in the unfiltered expression of his true self.

There was just one thing that put a wrench in his otherwise perfect afterlife. His demonic body.

In the depths of Hell, Alastor had encountered a multitude of sinners over the years, each with their own unique and otherworldly appearance. Some exhibited minor demonic features such as pointy ears and sharp teeth, while others had undergone a complete transformation, like the sinner whose very essence had been twisted into a demonic couch. At first, Alastor had felt a pang of sympathy for the unfortunate soul trapped in such an unusual form. However, as time passed, he found himself more amused by the bizarre and often tragic circumstances of the damned. Such encounters became a part of his daily routine in the underworld.

Alastor considered himself among the fortunate few with a body almost identical to a human's. Despite initially struggling with his large and overly sensitive ears, he was still considered quite handsome by demonic standards. However, it was not just the ears that were new to him.

When alive, Alastor quickly realised that while others did not share his murderous instincts, he lacked some of the instincts others seemed to have. For all his life, he never sought to do the devil's tango, as one of his old friends used to call sex. He had tried it a few times, mostly just to see what the fuss was about and because it seemed to be expected of him to want it, but after it all, it just seemed more trouble than it was worth. For most of his short human life, Alastor never desired the human body but the blood that pumped through its veins.

However, this all changed the day he woke up in Hell.

It quickly became apparent to Alastor that he had woken up as some form of demonic deer-man, something he had initially been quite disappointed in since he didn't feel like it conveyed a strong enough message to the other sinners. However, when his shadow had manifested with increased powers, Alastor embraced his new, formidable body with contentment. For years, Alastor revelled in his new body and his new life in Hell.

He was strong. Stronger than his human body had ever been before, he found that he could finally live entirely after his compass with Hell's lack of rules. But Hell is still Hell. Meant to torment the souls of the damned, and torment did strike Alastor after a few years in the afterlife.

As he would later come to name it, the Need crept into Alastor's being like a shadowy predator stalking its prey, stealthy and deliberate. It didn't strike all at once, but rather, it sank its insidious teeth into his tender flesh slowly, so slowly that he barely noticed at first. Like a venomous serpent, it released its poison in measured doses, corrupting his thoughts and warping his desires, turning his own body into an alien battlefield. Once sharp and disciplined, his mind began to fragment under the strain, waging war against the primal urges that had begun to claw their way to the surface.

The first time the Need truly manifested within him was nothing short of a revelation. It started as a faint tremor in his gut, a gnawing sensation that he couldn't quite place. It was an ache, a deep, pulsing hunger that steadily grew, coiling tighter and tighter within him until it felt like a living thing pressing against the confines of his very skin, desperate to break free. The hunger wasn't for food, though; it was something far more dangerous and primal. It was a desire that went beyond the physical, a craving that no amount of flesh could satisfy. This hunger wanted more—to hunt, chase, and devour. It yearned to sink its teeth into the tender skin of another, to drink deeply of their essence, to taste the raw, pulsing vitality that lay beneath.

At first, Alastor was bewildered by these new sensations. He had known hunger before, of course, but this was different, more intense, more consuming. It felt as though a part of him had awakened that he hadn't even known existed—a part that was wild and untamed, a beast that had slumbered deep within him, only now rousing from its ancient sleep. He tried to dismiss it, to ignore the insistent, throbbing ache that had settled into his bones, attributing it to the peculiarities of his demonic form. Perhaps, he thought, it was merely a quirk of his new existence, a strange dietary need that would soon pass.

Driven by this belief, he made his way to Cannibal Town several times, drawn by the tantalising scent of fresh, raw flesh. There, in the beautiful shops, he indulged in every manner of meat, tearing through pounds of it in search of relief. He savoured the rich, iron taste of blood, the texture of muscle and fat, and the crunch of bone between his teeth, but it was all in vain. No matter how much he ate, the hunger remained, gnawing at him from the inside out, growing stronger with each passing day. It was as though the food he consumed simply vanished into a void, leaving him more ravenous than before. The Need was insatiable, a bottomless pit that could not be filled by any earthly sustenance.

As the days turned into weeks, the hunger grew stronger and more demanding until it became a constant, aching presence in his life. It whispered to him in the dead of night, its voice seductive and dark, urging him to give in, to surrender to the primal urges that coursed through his veins. The Need was no longer content to simply lurk in the shadows of his mind; it wanted out. It wanted to take control, to drive him to the brink of madness. Alastor could feel it in every fibre of his being, a relentless, thrumming pulse that matched the beat of his heart, pushing him ever closer to the edge.

The realisation of what the Need truly was hit him like a bolt of lightning on a stormy night, sudden and terrifying in its clarity. It wasn't just a hunger for food, for flesh—it was a hunger for something more profound, more intimate. The Need wasn't just physical; it was carnal, a desperate, all-consuming desire for connection, for the raw, sensual meeting of bodies. It was a hunger for a mate, for the sweet release that could only come from the merging of two beings, from the surrender to the primal dance of desire.

With this revelation came a new kind of fear, one that gripped him tightly and refused to let go. Alastor was a creature of control, a being who prided himself on his ability to remain composed and detached, even in the face of the most extreme temptations. But this…this was different. The Need was something he couldn't control or suppress, no matter how hard he tried. It was a force of nature, a storm that raged within him, threatening to tear him apart from the inside out.

In his desperation, Alastor withdrew from the world, retreating to the safety of his own home, where he could hide from the prying eyes of others. He couldn't bear the thought of anyone seeing him like this, of anyone witnessing the raw, unbridled Need that had taken hold of him. The isolation was a double-edged sword—it gave him the space he needed to think and regain control, but it also left him alone with his thoughts, with the dark, twisted desires that refused to be ignored.

The Need gnawed at him day and night, a relentless, insistent presence that demanded to be satisfied. It filled his dreams with visions of flesh and heat, of bodies entwined in a desperate, frenzied dance. He could feel it in every touch, every breath, every beat of his heart—a yearning, a craving that consumed him utterly. He was starving, not for food, but for the touch of another, for the sweet, intoxicating release that could only come from the union of two beings.

As the days stretched into weeks, Alastor found himself on the brink of surrender, teetering on the edge of a precipice from which there might be no return. The Need had become a living thing, a beast that demanded to be fed, and he knew that it was only a matter of time before he could no longer resist its call. The hunger was too strong, too all-encompassing, and he was only a man—demon or not—trying to resist the inexorable pull of nature.

Ultimately, Alastor knew he could only hold out for so long. The Need was a part of him now, a dark and twisted companion that would never leave him, never allow him a moment's peace. It was both a curse and a revelation, a reminder that even in the depths of Hell, even in the heart of a demon, the most primal of instincts could never be wholly denied.

And then, just as it had once been there, the Need disappeared, and he was himself again. However, that did not comfort him, for he now knew that this new existence was just a part of his new body, his new life in Hell—a seasonal rut.

Life at the hotel often teetered on the edge of sheer chaos, like a tightrope walker balancing precariously above a roaring fire. Yet, in its bizarre way, it maintained a strange sense of peace—well, as peaceful as one could hope for in a place that served as a rehabilitation centre for wayward souls in the depths of Hell. The air itself seemed to hum with the constant tension between serenity and madness, as if the very walls of the hotel were alive, listening, and waiting for the next outburst. But despite the madness that swirled around you, you found solace in the routine of it all. You had a roof over your head, work that brought a sense of purpose, and friends who felt like family, albeit an unconventional one. In a realm where despair could easily consume you, in your humble opinion, these small blessings were worth more than all the riches in Heaven.

As a hotel maid, your days were usually filled with mundane housekeeping tasks—dusting off ancient chandeliers that hung like eerie spectres from the ceilings, scrubbing the seemingly endless floors that stretched out in labyrinthine corridors, and changing the sheets on beds that often bore the remnants of restless nights. The hotel itself was a monstrous, sprawling structure, its architecture a twisted blend of grandeur and hellish decay.

Occasionally, a guest or someone connected to the guests would lose control of their composure and attack the hotel. You had witnessed more than one instance where someone's emotional outburst resulted in a massive hole being blasted through the wall, or worse, through the roof. Alastor, the enigmatic and unsettling overseer of the hotel, would then swiftly summon shadowy, spectral figures to repair the damage. These figures moved with a ghostly grace, their forms flickering like candle flames in a drafty room, and they worked with an efficiency that was both mesmerising and unnerving. You had learned early on not to question it. Alastor had an aura of menace about him that made the others shy away from him, but to you, there was something intriguing about him. Something that pulled you to him. It could, naturally, be that he was a deer type of sinner, just like you, and you had never seen someone else like that before him.

Then there was Nifty, your fellow maid and a whirlwind of energy. She was small in stature but mighty in her work, flitting from room to room like a hyperactive sprite, cleaning with a speed and precision that was almost supernatural. She had a knack for tidying up even the most disastrous of messes in record time, leaving rooms spotless and gleaming as if nothing had ever been amiss. In the beginning, you had tried to keep up with her pace, but it quickly became apparent that this was a futile effort. Instead, you decided to focus on another crucial aspect of the hotel's operations—cooking.

In a place like this, where the boundaries between reality and nightmare were often blurred, food became an anchor, something tangible and comforting in an otherwise unpredictable existence. You took it upon yourself to prepare meals for the staff and guests, finding a strange kind of peace in the rhythmic motions of chopping vegetables, stirring pots, and seasoning dishes. The kitchen became your sanctuary, a place where you could lose yourself in the art of cooking and crafting meals that provided a brief respite from the chaos outside. You would experiment with recipes, combining ingredients in ways that were both traditional and wildly unconventional, catering to the eclectic tastes of your infernal clientele.

Each dish was a labour of love, an offering to those who, like you, sought comfort in the small pleasures that life—or the afterlife—could still offer. And when the day was done, the last plate was washed, and the kitchen was quiet, you would sit back with a cup of tea, savouring the calm that settled over the hotel in those rare, precious moments of tranquillity. Ultimately, it wasn't just about surviving in Hell; it was about finding those fleeting moments of peace and holding onto them for as long as possible.

On a day much like any other, you awoke in your bed, the soft rays of early morning light filtering through the gaps in your heavy curtains. The light seemed to dance as it crept into your room, casting delicate patterns on the floorboards and chasing away the remnants of sleep from your eyes. The air was still, with only the faint hum of a distant world waking up beyond the confines of your room. You lingered for a moment, savouring the stillness, before reluctantly pushing back the covers and rising to meet the day.

Your feet touched the cool wooden floor, the sensation both grounding and invigorating, pulling you further from the grasp of sleep. You moved through the motions of getting dressed, slipping into your familiar work clothes—soft, well-worn fabrics that wrapped around you like an old friend. The final step before heading downstairs was the comforting weight of your apron, slung over your neck and tied at your waist.

The Hazbin Hotel, usually alive with the bustling energy of its residents, was enveloped in a rare, profound silence. With its long, winding corridors and grand, if somewhat faded, décor, the building took on a different character in these early hours. The ornate walls, adorned with tapestries and portraits, stood still as if holding their breath, waiting for the inevitable stirrings of life to resume. Yet in these moments, before the chaos of the day began, you found a certain peace that was otherwise elusive. The quietude of the morning allowed you to appreciate the old hotel's charm—the way the light from the grand windows caught the intricate patterns of the wallpaper, the scent of old wood and polished floors, and the echoes of footsteps long past that seemed to linger in the air.

Descending the grand staircase, your hand brushed along the polished bannister, the cool surface smooth beneath your fingers. The echo of your footfalls on the wooden steps was a comforting, familiar, and constant sound. Each step brought you closer to your favourite part of the day—those first few moments in the kitchen, before anyone else stirred, where you could begin your morning rituals in solitude.

The kitchen was the hotel's heart for you. The dark wooden cabinets stood tall against the walls, their surfaces worn from years of use but still sturdy, holding all the secrets of your culinary endeavours within them. The floor, a classic checkered pattern of black and white tiles, was cool underfoot and always spotlessly clean—a testament to your careful attention. And then there was the range, a magnificent maroon beast that dominated the wall opposite the kitchen entrance. It was more than just an appliance; it was an old friend, a companion that had seen countless loaves of bread, pastries, and roasts emerge from its fiery belly.

You approached the old pantry to the left of the entrance, its door creaking slightly as you pulled it open. Inside, shelves lined with jars and tins, spices and dried herbs greeted you with the promise of a thousand possible dishes. But this morning, as with every other, your hand reached for the small, hand-cranked coffee grinder and the tin of coffee beans. The grinder was a cherished antique, its wooden body smooth from years of use, its metal crank polished to a dull sheen by the countless hands that had turned it. The beans rattled lightly as you poured them into the grinder, their rich aroma already beginning to fill the small space.

With a steady rhythm, you began to turn the crank, the gears inside humming quietly as they crushed the beans into a fine powder. The scent of fresh coffee intensified, mingling with the faint smell of cinnamon and vanilla that still clung to the air from yesterday's baking. You allowed yourself a moment to enjoy the fragrance, the anticipation of that first sip bringing a small smile to your lips.

Once the beans were ground to your satisfaction, you carefully emptied them into the percolator, setting them on the stovetop. As the percolator began to bubble and hiss, filling the room with the comforting sound of coffee brewing, you turned your attention to a small plate on the counter. Nestled on a doily were some cardamom buns—a remnant of yesterday's efforts. The buns were golden brown, its surfaces dusted with sugar, and the scent of cardamom was still strong.

You took one of the buns in your hand, breaking off a piece and savouring the soft, fragrant dough as it melted in your mouth. It was smooth, buttery, spicy and comforting, the perfect balance to the strong coffee that was nearly ready. You knew that starting your day with only coffee on an empty stomach wasn't the wisest choice, but with the cardamom bun in hand, the morning felt just a little more right.

As the last drops of coffee dripped into the pot, you poured yourself a cup, the dark liquid steaming gently. You took a deep breath, savouring the aroma before taking a cautious sip. The warmth spread through you, a quiet joy. This was your moment, a small piece of serenity before the day began. And in this stillness, in the gentle light filtering through the curtains and the soft hum of the hotel around you, you found contentment.

As you sat perched on the kitchen counter, your legs gently swinging back and forth, you sipped your coffee and savoured the last bite of your cardamom bun. The comforting warmth of the cup in your hands and the sweetness of the bun created a perfect start to the morning. The kitchen, bathed in the soft glow of the early light, was a tranquil haven, and you felt a sense of peace that was rare in the Hazbin Hotel. Your thoughts were only on the present moment, relishing the quiet solitude that these early hours afforded you.

But then, the serenity was gently disrupted by the soft creak of the kitchen door swinging open. You glanced up to see Alastor enter the room. His presence, though familiar, always sent a slight thrill through you. Today was no different. Clad in his trademark red and black striped suit, he appeared every bit the dashing and enigmatic figure you had grown to love. His posture was impeccable, as always, with his shoulders square and his back straight, projecting the image of effortless composure. But you noticed something others might not—a slight lethargy in his movements, a subtle delay in his usual brisk steps. Though still glowing with that unnatural red intensity, his eyes seemed to carry the faintest hint of weariness. He looked like he’d had a restless night.

It was a knowledge that only came with time. You had spent countless hours watching him, learning his habits, his idiosyncrasies, how his smile would linger just a fraction longer when he was genuinely amused or how his voice would drop ever so slightly when he was tired. These were the details that no one else noticed, the hidden truths you cherished as a testament to how well you knew him.

"Good morning, Alastor," you greeted him cheerfully, your voice light and melodic, not unlike the chirping of birds heralding the dawn. The words slipped out with ease, a reflection of the joy you felt in these quiet moments alone with him.

Alastor's eyes, as crimson as freshly spilt wine, turned towards you. Though sharp and intense, his gaze softened slightly as it met yours. And then came that smile that never failed to send butterflies tumbling through your stomach. It was a smile that could charm or disarm, depending on his mood, but to you, it was simply Alastor, the man who had somehow captured your heart.

"Good morning, my sweet," he replied, his voice carrying the remnants of sleep, a slight rasp that added an unexpected intimacy to his greeting. The nickname, one he had affectionately bestowed upon you, never failed to make your heart skip a beat. It had originated one evening when he had wandered into the kitchen in search of the bottle of rye Vaggie had hidden. Instead, he had found you, elbows deep in a mixing bowl, powdered sugar dusting your nose and cheeks as you prepared a batch of cookies. The moment had been simple, unremarkable to anyone else, but it had marked the beginning of something special between you.

A faint blush crept across your cheeks as you recalled the memory. The warmth of his words mingled with the warmth of the coffee still cradled in your hands. Alastor's presence always had that effect on you—an intoxicating mix of excitement and comfort, of familiarity and mystery.

"The coffee is ready, just as always," you said with a smile, nodding towards the cup you had thoughtfully placed on the counter beside you. It was a small gesture but one that had become a part of your morning routine, a quiet act of affection that you performed without fail. You knew how much he enjoyed his strong and black coffee, and you took pride in ensuring that it was ready for him the moment he stepped into the kitchen.

Alastor's gaze followed yours to the cup, and his smile widened, a glint of appreciation in his eyes.

"Thank you," he murmured, his voice now smooth and warm, like honey. He reached for the cup, his fingers brushing yours for the briefest of moments—a touch so fleeting yet so charged with meaning that it sent a shiver down your spine. He lifted the cup to his lips, inhaling the rich aroma before taking a slow, deliberate sip. You watched him, your heart swelling with quiet happiness as you observed the way his eyes half-closed in contentment, the weariness in his expression easing ever so slightly.

As you sat there, the two of you cocooned in the quiet of the kitchen; you couldn't help but reflect on how these small moments had come to mean so much to you. It was in the stillness of the morning before the rest of the hotel awoke that you felt closest to him. These were the moments where you could be yourselves without the pretence or bravado that often accompanied life at the Hazbin Hotel.

You had long since discovered that Alastor, for all his flamboyance and charm, was a creature of habit. He liked his routines, and once you realised that he preferred to have his morning coffee around the same time as you, it became a shared ritual—a way to carve out a small piece of the day that belonged to just the two of you. It was a subtle dance, a quiet partnership, and you cherished it more than you could ever express in words.

As he took another sip of his coffee, you found yourself lost in the simple pleasure of being near him, of sharing these unspoken moments. There was a comfort in the routine, in the knowledge that, for this brief time each day, it was just the two of you against the world. And in that thought, you found a sense of contentment that made the early mornings all the more worthwhile.

As you sipped your coffee together, the familiar comfort of Alastor's presence mingled with a growing, unbidden sensation deep within you. The fluttering butterflies in your stomach, which had always been a pleasant reminder of your feelings for him, began to stir with a new intensity. Their delicate wings, once only a source of lightness and joy, now seemed to brush against something more profound and primal. The tingling sensation spread through you, igniting a warmth that travelled lower, coiling deep within your core. You blinked, startled by the sudden realisation—the butterflies had transformed into something else entirely, a throbbing ache that could only be the unmistakable stirrings of arousal.

Startled by the intensity of your own desire, you quickly jumped down from the counter, your feet hitting the cool tiles with a soft thud. In a hurried attempt to mask your flustered state, you downed the remainder of your coffee in one swift gulp, the liquid scalding your throat but distracting you momentarily from the heat pooling in your lower abdomen. The sudden rush of movement seemed to amplify the blood pounding in your ears, and you could feel the heat rising to your cheeks.

Desperate to avoid Alastor's gaze, you rushed to the sink, your hands trembling slightly as you fumbled to place your cup and plate inside. The clatter of dishes rang out, the sound unnervingly loud in the otherwise quiet kitchen. Words tumbled out of your mouth in a clumsy attempt to divert his attention, to keep him from noticing the flush that had crept up your neck and settled on your cheeks.

"Well, this was truly wonderful, Alastor, as always, but now I really must get back to work!" you stammered, your voice higher than usual, betraying your anxiety. Without daring to look back, you spun around, intent on making a hasty retreat from the kitchen and the overwhelming tension that had suddenly thickened the air.

But instead of the open space you expected, you found yourself colliding with a solid chest. You gasped, the breath catching in your throat as you realised that Alastor had moved completely silently and now stood directly behind you. Your heart leapt into your throat as you tilted your head back to meet his gaze. His crimson eyes, usually so playful and full of mischief, were now darkened with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

Alastor's right hand was hidden behind his back, his left still holding the coffee cup, though it seemed to have been forgotten. He studied you with an almost unnerving focus, his gaze piercing as if he could see straight into the depths of your soul. Yet, something was distant in his eyes, as if part of him was lost in thought, grappling with something unseen. His breaths came slow and deep; each inhale seemed to draw the air from the room, leaving you breathless in his presence.

You instinctively backed up, the edge of the counter-pressing into the small of your back as you tried to create some distance, though your body betrayed you by leaning forward, drawn inexplicably closer to him. The air between you was thick, charged with a tension that felt almost palpable as if it had a life of its own. You could feel the energy crackling between you, something heavy, potent, and utterly intoxicating.

Alastor's eyes bore into yours, and you could see the flicker of something carnal, something raw and unrestrained, within their crimson depths. The intensity of his gaze sent a wave of heat coursing through you, settling deep in your belly, where the ache from before had grown into a full-fledged hunger. His laboured breathing mirrored your own, the rise and fall of his chest almost hypnotic as you matched his rhythm, each breath filling you with a heady mixture of anticipation and longing.

For a moment, the world outside the kitchen ceased to exist, the only reality being the charged space between you and Alastor. The very air seemed to hum with the unsaid, the unacknowledged desires that had long been simmering just beneath the surface. The silence stretched out, heavy and loaded, thick with unspoken words and the magnetic pull of mutual attraction.

And then, as if on some unspoken cue, Alastor took a step closer, closing the small distance between you, his body heat enveloping you like a warm, intoxicating fog. His free hand, the one hidden behind his back, suddenly appeared at your waist, fingers brushing against your side with a touch so light it was almost imperceptible. Yet, it sent a jolt of electricity through your entire being. The delicate caress was enough to draw a soft gasp from your lips, a sound that seemed to hang in the air between you.

His touch lingered, the pressure of his fingers increasing ever so slightly as he held you in place, preventing any thoughts of escape. You could feel the power in his grip, the barely restrained strength that lay beneath the surface, and it thrilled you to no end. Your pulse quickened, each beat echoing in your ears, and you found yourself leaning into his touch, craving more of the sensation, more of him.

Alastor's eyes darkened further as he noticed your reaction, a slow, predatory smile curling at the corners of his lips. His head dipped slightly, his breath ghosting over your ear as he whispered, voice low and laced with a dangerous, seductive edge.

"What is it, my dear? You seem… restless." The sound of his voice, so close and intimate, sent a shiver racing down your spine, igniting a fire within you that threatened to consume you whole. You couldn't tear your eyes away from him, couldn't suppress the desire that was rapidly spiralling out of control.

"Alastor, what are you doing?" Your voice, though quiet, held a steady resolve. Even as your heart raced with the thrill of being this close to him, a flicker of concern danced in the back of your mind. This behaviour was unlike anything you had ever seen from him before. Alastor had always been composed, a master of his emotions and actions, yet now there was something different in how he looked at you, wild and untamed. The intensity in his crimson eyes stirred a mixture of excitement and trepidation within you. You didn't want him to stop, but you needed to understand what was happening and what that look in his eyes truly meant.

As if your words had snapped him out of a trance, Alastor blinked, his expression momentarily softening. He seemed to realise how close he was to you, and with a slow, deliberate motion, he withdrew his hand from your waist. The absence of his touch left a cold void where his warmth had been, and a strange sense of longing settled in its place.

Without a word, he turned slightly, reaching over to place his cup in the sink. But to do so, he had to lean forward, his body brushing against yours most tantalisingly. Your breath hitched as his face came mere centimetres from your neck, and in that moment, you felt his breath warm against your skin. Then, he inhaled sharply, his nose grazing the curve of your neck as he took in your scent. The intimate gesture sent a jolt of electricity through you, making your entire body tingle with awareness.

The soft sound of his inhale, almost a sigh, was filled with a hunger that sent your heart racing, and before you could react, the sharp clatter of the cup hitting the metal sink broke the spell. You flinched slightly at the noise, your startled gaze flying back to his face. But before you could form the words to ask him why he had done it, why he had drawn so close only to retreat, he was already moving away, his form dissolving into the shadows that clung to the edges of the room.

Your breath came in shallow, uneven gasps as you stared at the space where he had been, your mind reeling from the sudden shift in the atmosphere. The air still crackled with the remnants of his presence, heavy with an unspoken desire that had hung between you like a charged storm cloud. You could still feel the ghost of his breath on your neck, the faint warmth of his body against yours, and it left you yearning for more, craving the touch that had been so abruptly withdrawn.

For a moment, you remained frozen in place, your senses still overwhelmed by the lingering traces of his closeness. His scent—a mix of dark spices and something uniquely Alastor—still clung to the air, wrapping around you like an invisible cloak. Your skin tingled where his hand had rested, your neck burning where his breath had touched. The memory of that fleeting moment was enough to set your pulse racing once more, the ache in your core intensifying with every passing second.

You couldn't shake the image of his eyes, the way they had darkened with something raw and primal as he had leaned in. It was as if a dam had cracked within him, and for the briefest of moments, you had glimpsed the depth of his desire—a desire that mirrored your own. The thought sent a shiver down your spine, your body responding to the mere memory of his touch.

But then, just as quickly as it had all begun, it was over, and the kitchen was once again empty, the shadows swallowing him whole. You were left standing there, your heart pounding in your chest, your body still humming with unfulfilled need. You knew that this encounter had changed something between you, and you had opened a door that could never be closed. And even though he had disappeared into the darkness, you couldn't help but feel that this was only the beginning, that whatever had ignited between you was far from extinguished.

The hunger in his eyes and the way he had inhaled your scent as if trying to memorise it were not things that could be easily forgotten. And as you stood there, the silence of the kitchen pressing in around you, you realised that you didn't want to ignore them. You wanted more. More of the closeness, more of the heat that had flared so suddenly between you, more of the man who had just vanished into the shadows but who, you knew, would never be far from your thoughts again.

The encounter with Alastor in the kitchen earlier this morning had left you confused, yet you couldn't deny the raw energy that still coursed through your veins. His touch, the way he had leaned in so close, his breath on your neck—it had all been so brief, yet so intense. The memory of it lingered, simmering just beneath your skin, a constant reminder of the hunger that had been awakened within you. It was a sensation you couldn't shake, a burning need that gnawed at your insides and left you restless. You tried to make sense of it, to understand what had transpired between you, but the more you thought about it, the more you realised that understanding was not what you craved. What you wanted, what you needed, was to find him again, to confront the tension that had sparked between you and see if he had felt it too.

With a sense of determination, you decided to channel that restless energy into something productive, something that might draw him to you. Alastor had always had a peculiar taste when it came to sweets—he wasn't one for sugary confections. But you knew he had a weakness for rich, decadent chocolate, the kind that was bittersweet, with just the right balance of indulgence and restraint.

The idea struck you then, sudden and insistent. You would bake something for him, something that would carry the weight of your unspoken desires, a message wrapped in layers of dark chocolate and anticipation.

In the quiet of the kitchen, you set to work, your movements purposeful and precise. You gathered the ingredients, each one a piece of the puzzle you were crafting for him: dark cocoa, rich butter, a hint of espresso to deepen the flavour, and just a touch of sweetness—enough to balance the bitterness without overpowering it. As you melted the chocolate and mixed the batter, your mind drifted back to that moment in the kitchen, the heat of his body so close to yours, the intensity in his gaze. The memory only fuelled your determination, adding a particular fervour to your work. You poured the thick, glossy batter into the pan, smoothing it out with a spatula, your hands steady despite the wild beating of your heart.

As the brownies baked, the aroma filled the kitchen, rich and heady, curling around you like a dark, enticing promise. You found yourself imagining how Alastor would react when you presented them to him, how he might lean in close again, his sharp eyes studying you with that same hunger you had seen earlier. Would he be able to sense the emotions you had poured into every step of this creation, the longing that had driven you to seek him out?

Once the brownies had cooled, you carefully cut them into neat squares, arranging them on a plate. The sight of them, so dark and tempting, filled you with a strange sense of satisfaction. You could only hope that they would have the desired effect on Alastor, that he would understand the message hidden within the folds of rich chocolate.

With the plate in hand, you made your way through the winding halls of the Hazbin Hotel, each step bringing you closer to the man who had left you in such a state of turmoil. The hotel was quiet, the usual chaos subdued in these early hours, allowing your thoughts to swirl unchecked. The closer you got to the radio tower, the more your anticipation grew, your heart pounding in time with your footsteps as you climbed the stairs to the roof.

Finally, you reached the door to the radio tower, a place that was as much a part of Alastor as the suit he always wore. You hesitated momentarily, the plate of brownies warm in your hands, the reality of what you were about to do sinking in. But the memory of his closeness, the tension that had crackled between you, pushed you forward. You raised your hand and knocked, the sound echoing in the quiet corridor.

The door creaked open, and there he stood, Alastor, with that ever-present smile that could be both charming and unsettling. His red eyes glinted in the low light, and for a moment, the two of you stared at each other, the memory of the morning's encounter hanging heavily between you. Then, with a graceful tilt of his head, he stepped aside, gesturing for you to enter.

"Well, well, what have we here?" he asked, his voice smooth, with an undertone of amusement that sent a shiver down your spine. He eyed the plate in your hands with interest, his gaze flicking back to you, curiosity—and something else—lingering in his expression.

"I thought you might like something to go with your coffee," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady even as your pulse quickened, ignoring the fact that he’d had his coffee over an hour ago. You stepped into the room, the door closing softly behind you, sealing the two of you in the intimate space. He took the plate from your hands, his fingers brushing yours in a way that made your breath hitch.

"Chocolate brownies?" he mused, his tone almost teasing. "You do know me well, my sweet." His smile widened, though there was a sharpness to it now, a glint in his eyes that spoke of a keen awareness of the game you were playing.

As he placed the plate on the small table near his desk, you couldn't help but notice the way his movements were deliberate and overly controlled. He turned back to you, his gaze once again locking onto yours, and you felt the air between you grow thick with the same tension that had crackled in the kitchen. Only this time, it was more intense, more charged with the unspoken desires that had brought you here.

Alastor stepped closer, the space between you shrinking with each measured step. You could feel the heat of him, the magnetic pull that had drawn you to him this morning. His presence was overwhelming, and as he leaned in, his voice dropped to a low, intimate murmur.

"You didn't have to go to all this trouble, darling. But I must say, I'm flattered."

There was no mistaking the intent behind his words, the way they wrapped around you, pulling you deeper into the web he was weaving. Your pulse raced, your body reacting to his sheer proximity, the dark allure of his presence. You could feel the same simmering heat that had driven you to seek him out, now burning brighter, hotter, in the confines of this small room.

He reached out, his fingers trailing along your arm, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

"What are you really here for?" he asked, his voice a soft purr laden with meaning. The question hung in the air, heavy and expectant, as if he already knew the answer but wanted to hear it from your lips.

Your mouth was dry, your thoughts a tangled mess of desire and uncertainty. But as his hand came to rest on your waist, pulling you just that little closer, the answer became clear. You had come here not just to deliver brownies but to confront the tension that had been simmering between you, to see if he felt the same electric pull that you did. And as his eyes bore into yours, filled with a hunger that mirrored your own, you knew he did.

The radio tower felt both intimate and suffocating as you stood before Alastor, the heavy air around you thick with the tension that had been building all day. You had come here intending to confront him, to get answers about the strange encounter in the kitchen that morning. But as soon as you stepped inside, you realised that something was terribly wrong. The room was filled with his scent—rich, intoxicating, and overwhelmingly powerful. It invaded your senses, curling around your mind and body, leaving you feeling dizzy and unsteady.

You had heard of this happening before, this surge of uncontrollable desire, but you had never experienced it so intensely. An instinct and power that overwhelmed sinners with certain animalistic traits, and since both you and Alastor were sinners with deer traits, it was only natural what had come to pass. Your heat had begun, and the sudden realisation sent a wave of panic through you. The heat in your body was growing unbearable, every nerve alight with a desperate need you couldn't control. And here you were, standing so close to him, your body betraying you, pulling you toward him as if he were the only thing that could satisfy the fire raging inside you.

You tried to focus on why you were here, trying to form the words that would explain your confusion about what had happened between you this morning. But the scent of him was all-consuming, clouding your thoughts and driving you mad with desire. You could barely speak, your voice catching in your throat as you looked up at him, your eyes wide with a mixture of fear and need.

"Alastor, I… I need to go," you stammered, your voice shaking as you stepped back. You couldn't let him see you like this, couldn't let him know what was happening. It was too humiliating, too raw. But as you turned to leave, you felt his eyes on you, sharp and intense, and you knew he had already figured it out.

The flicker of understanding in his crimson eyes sent a shiver down your spine, your body reacting to the silent acknowledgement of what was happening. He knew. And worse, he understood because he was feeling it, too. His rut had started, and the primal part of him, the part that thrived on dominance and control, was warring with the more civilised side that knew it wasn't right to keep you here, wasn't right to let the Need within him take over.

You could see the conflict in his eyes. His muscles tensed as he fought to hold himself back, his breath coming in slow, controlled exhalations. For a moment, you thought he might let you go, that he might allow you to escape before things went too far. But there was a hunger in his gaze, a dark, consuming need that made your heart race even faster. And you knew that if you didn't leave now, you might not be able to at all.

With a burst of adrenaline, you turned on your heel and fled the radio tower, your heart pounding in your chest as you bolted down the stairs. The corridors of the Hazbin Hotel twisted and turned as you ran, your footsteps echoing in the empty halls. But no matter how fast you moved, you couldn't shake the feeling that you were being watched, that something was stalking you from the shadows.

The presence was palpable, a dark, looming force that seemed to close in around you, even though you couldn't see him. You knew it was Alastor, that he was there, following you, watching you. The knowledge sent another wave of arousal crashing through you, your body reacting to the chase, to the danger of it all. The thought that he was hunting you, that he could catch you at any moment, only heightened your desire, the heat in your core growing unbearable as you neared your room.

You slammed the door behind you, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you leaned against the wood, trying to calm the frantic beating of your heart. But it was no use. The room felt small, the air thick with the remnants of his scent that had clung to your clothes and skin. Your hands shook as you fumbled to lock the door, knowing deep down that it wouldn't matter. If Alastor wanted to get in, no lock would stop him.

For a moment, there was silence, the kind that presses in on you from all sides, heavy and oppressive. But then, as if summoned by your thoughts, the shadows in the corner of the room began to shift, twisting and writhing as they took form. Your breath hitched as Alastor stepped out from the darkness, his eyes gleaming with an intensity that made your knees weak.

He was in front of you instantly, moving with the fluid grace of a predator closing in on its prey. You backed up instinctively, but there was nowhere to go and hide from the desire radiating from him in waves. His scent was overwhelming now, intoxicating, filling your lungs with every breath you took. It clouded your mind, pushing aside any thoughts of escape, leaving only the raw, primal need that had been driving you since this morning.

Alastor's gaze locked onto yours, and the world around you seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you. The tension between you crackles like electricity in the air. His hand found your wrist, pulling you closer with a firm, unyielding grip that sent a jolt of heat straight to your core. His touch was searing, his presence overwhelming, and as his other hand came up to cup your chin, tilting your face up toward his, you knew there was no turning back. The need in his eyes mirrored your own, a dark, consuming fire that threatened to burn you both alive.

You trembled under his touch, the last remnants of your resistance crumbling as you looked up at him, your body screaming for the release that only he could give you. And as he leaned in, his breath warm against your ear, you knew that you would give in to that need, would surrender to the fire that burned between you, no matter the consequences.

"Tell me to stop. One word and I will, but tell me you desire me as I desire you, and you will be mine for the night and all the nights to come," he whispered his voice a low, dangerous static that sent a shiver of anticipation down your spine. But you couldn't, didn't want to. You were too far gone, too consumed by the lust that had been building inside you since the moment you entered the radio tower. Instead, you leaned into him, your body arching against his as you gave yourself over to the heat, to the need, to him.

"Alastor, don't you dare stop," was all you needed to say.

His lips were warm and soft against yours. The kiss was only gentle for a split second before the desire, the Need, overtook both of you. Hands clawed at your clothing, and it did not take long before you could feel his skin against yours. His body heat felt scolding against your skin, making you wonder if he was leaving marks all over your body. His hand travelled down your back as the bottoms of your shirt were opened and pushed down your body. The feeling of his fingertips against your spine felt almost sinful in nature, and you wondered if you would ever be the same.

Alastor pressed you against the wall of your room as he stopped kissing your swollen lips and turned to rain kisses down your neck. In between every kiss, he would stop and drag his teeth or nibble your flesh, making your skin feel raw and hot. Having enough of his attention directed towards your neck, you buried your hands in his thick hair and pulled him back towards your lips. His ears laid flat for a second against your hand but sprang up again after he realised that you did not pull him back in rejection but to encourage him to kiss you again.

As you continued to make out against the wall, you continued to strip each other clumsily. There was no way of being gentle or structured in the heat of passion, and some clothing pieces could be heard ripping, but none of you cared at that moment. However, everything seemed to stop as you felt Alastors hand sneak into your underwear and drag a finger slowly against your wet pussy. You tried to inhale, but your breath was ragged and hitched at your throat.

"My sweet, sweet little dear, are you desperate?" Alastor teased as the tip of his finger slowly started to circle your clit. Your nails dug into his shoulders as you looked back up at the radio daemon. To someone else who did not know Alastor, it would look like he was unaffected by what was happening, but you knew he was far from untouched. His smile ever so slightly wider, pupils blown wide, his shallow breath hot against your skin, and the feeling of his erection pressing against your hipbone.

"Tell me, do you want it here against the wall," he asked, pressing you closer to the wall, "or do you want us to move to the bed?"

"Bed, please." The words whispered against his cheek, but Alastor heard you clear as day. With strength you didn't know he had, he helped you jump up with your legs around his hips as he carried you to the bed behind him. He softly put you down against the soft and cool navy bedsheets, following closely as he laid down over you, encapsulating you between his arms that leaned against the bed, his pelvis pressing against yours between your legs. The meer pressure from his cock against you made your legs shake, and your body feel all tingly.

His lips, his hands, they are all over you, and it’s almost too much. Every touch leaves a feeling behind, almost like a mark, and you revel in the thought of Alastor leaving something behind on you that’ll show everyone that you are his just as he is yours.

Alastors skin is warm, almost scolding hot, under your fingertips as you help him strip from his clothes. You kiss him with desperation you had never felt before as you buck your hips to put pressure on his cock, making him moan against your swollen lips. He presses you down against the bed as you drag your fingers through his soft hair, pulling his head back as you trail wet kisses down his neck. His breath hitches as you find a sensitive spot where the neck meets the shoulder, and as you suck on his tender skin, leaving a small purple mark, you can’t help but feel pride. You pull back and look up at the man above you with smugness. His cheeks had darkened in a soft blush as he panted above you, red lips swollen and eyes almost black with desire.

As if the final mental blockade fell away and all inhibitions flew out the window, you and Alastor tore away each other's clothes. Leaving only tattered pieces of cloth on the bed and claw marks on your bodies. Later, you would wonder if the pulsing and desperate neediness that had built between the both of you had just enhanced what was already there, but for now, you revelled in the warmth and tingling sensation of arousal. You were wet, and you could feel the slickness of your pussy as Alastor removed your underwear at last. The cool air shilled you at the same time it sent waves of pleasure down your thighs.

“Look at you,” Alastor said, his voice husky and laced with desire as he looked down at you. “Such a sweet delight you are—sweet enough to eat.”

As he said those words, Alastor slowly pushed his finger into your vagina, coating his finger in your essence before slowly pulling out. You could not help the moan you let out turn to a gasp as you looked up at him, who started to lick his slick finger clean. His eyes blazed with uncontrollable heat.

“Truly delicious. Come, my sweet, have a taste of yourself.” Alastor put his other hand behind your head and pulled you up from the bed to meet his lips in a messy kiss. His tongue forced itself between your lips, mingling with yours and effectively leaving the taste of yourself on your own tongue.

“Stop being such a tease, Alastor.” You said against his lips when the kiss ended. Your hot breath merged with his as you dragged your hands down his torso. You could feel every muscle jump underneath your fingertips as if they were shocked with electricity as you pulled your hands lower and lower. His pants, opened and barely hanging off his slim hips, weren’t difficult to pull down and made a soft sound as they hit the floor across the room. You gently pressed your thumbs down between his underwear and skin as you slowly pulled them off him. You could feel the goosebumps covering the man above you as your finger glided over his hot skin.

The first time you felt Alastor’s cock against your heated pussy, it made you believe that there was never going to be anyone else after him who could match the feeling. Hot liquid pooled between your legs as you instantly lifted your hips to get even closer, effectively pulling a low moan out of the man's trembling lips.

“Naughty, naughty little doe of mine. Control yourself,” he chuckled as he pressed open mouth kisses against your neck, but you didn’t want to control yourself. You wanted the passion, the heat, the feeling of Alastor pounding inside you as your legs shock from pleasure. And so, letting the instincts take over, you grabbed his cock gently, making Alastor let out a gasp against your shoulder as he gently moved his hips to make his manhood glide back and forth between your fingers. Desperate for the touch and the pleasure you could give him.

“Alastor, please, my dear, I want you inside me. I can’t wait anymore. I need you so badly,” you mumbled against his ear right beside your head, and with every word you said, you could feel Alastor’s teeth and nails dig a little bit deeper into you.

 With one single thrust, Alastor entered you after you had aligned him right in front of your opening. It has heaven in Hell, this moment when you first felt him inside you, and your legs instinctually closed around his hips to press him as deep within you as he could go. Everything was heightened. Every touch felt electric, every breath a heave, and every thrust sent a feeling of fullness and belonging inside you. The feeling was addicting, like the sweetest of wine, the nectar from the gods, and it begged and begged for more.

“More, more, Alastor, give me more,” you chanted against his skin as your fingernails dragged long red lines along your lover's back.

“Greedy, oh so greedy, my sweet.” you could feel his smirk against your cheek as he kissed your temple. “You deserve the world.” Was the last thing he said before he pulled away to sit up on his knees. His band quickly found your knees as he prided your legs open and started to slowly and agonisingly thrust into you. You could feel everything. His eyes roaming over your body, the cold air against your heated skin, and his thick cock slowly pushing in and out, filling you, teasing you. It was as if Alastor wanted to drag out your pleasure for as long as possible.  

In an instant, Alastor pulled out and flipped you around on your belly with a strength you didn’t know he had. Two strong hands took hold of your trembling hips and lifted them high enough to shove one of the thick pillows underneath. With your hips resting against the pillow and chest against the mattress, Alastor sat up further on his knees, towering over you, as he dressed your legs together with his knees so that your legs were now snuggled together between his thighs. You could feel your cunt flutter in excitement as you bit your lips, waiting for Alastor to enter you again. And he didn’t disappoint.

With one thrust, Alastor buried himself within you again as he bent down to whisper in your ear.

“Is this what my sweet little doe wanted? To be bent over, used, fucked till there isn’t a single thought in that head of yours? Do you want me, my darling? Do you want to be mine?” Every word he whispered was further emphasised with a slow and deep thrust. Pressing you against the pillow. Your finger dug deep into the bedsheets as you pushed your mouth to the mattresses to disguise your primal moan in desperation. But Alastor would have none of it. Instead, his hand snuck underneath your chin and bent your head back, effectively filling the room with the sound of your moans and the slapping against bodies as Alastor continued to fuck you.

“Don’t hide for me. I want to hear every pathetic little sound you make. I want to hear how good I can make my little mate feel.” Those words were the drop that made the goblet overflow and the last thing you need before an orgasm ripped through your body uncontrollably. Your pleasure seemed to snap something inside Alastor, too, for he quickened his pace. Chasing and intensifying both of your pleasures as you pulsed around his cock.

“Yes, yes, yes, your mate. I want to be your mate,” the words came tumbling out of your mouth as your whole body chook from the orgasm that beat within you like stormy waves against a cliffside. Nothing had felt more right than Alastor within you and the thought of being his as he was yours.

Alastor kept thrusting at a quick pace as your orgasm started to subside, but a new pleasure hummed with pride within you as you felt him come inside you. With every throbbing of his cock, Alastor’s nails dug deeper and deeper within the mattresses until he tore them apart.

Shaking, sweaty and tired, you let out one last moan as Alastor put all his weight against you as he lay above you, pressing you against the mattresses. You could feel his hot lips against your neck as he said,

“Well, aren’t my sweet little mate full of surprises?”

Well, would you look at that! I'm back! Did you miss me?

Jokes aside, I hope you enjoyed this smutty little story!

Hazbin gen. taglist: @reath-solia @everwolf-20 @alastorthirsty1

[gamarancianne]

Hi, how are you? I had an idea and I wanted to ask you if you could do an angst with Azriel x reader in which she is friends with Elain and has been in love with Az for some time, but has never told him because they hardly have any contact apart from the Valkyries and Elain's training. Then they get a little closer and she decides to tell Elain all about her feelings for Azriel and pushes the reader to confess her feelings and that's exactly what she does, but Azriel's reaction isn't the most pleasant and he lets out a "How can you fall in love with someone you hardly know? Only fools are like that. So she is devastated and disappears for a few days, until she returns and catches Azriel and Elain in a very intimate moment in the bedroom and realizes that they were already together even before she confessed her feelings to him and they end up drifting apart. So the reader begins to do everything she can to forget Az and concentrate on herself and, in the meantime, becomes friends with Lucien, to the point of braiding each other's hair. After a while, they break up and Az starts to notice the reader, but she's looser than ever and doesn't care much about him. And he chases after her a lot and in the meantime an obscenity occurs to her so that she ends up saying it was just a one-night stand. And the ending is up to you :)

Azriel x reader - In Between part 1

Part 2

Okay first of all thank you so much for this ask it is my first so its precious to me !! And I am really fine and you ?? I love the plotline and I am sucker for angst, especially with our little azzy so it's perfect !!

Warnings : angst, smut allusions, heartbreak, mean Az, mean Elain

Summary : You are in love with Azriel, but you don't know him, that's what he said when you confessed. Heartbroken yes, but you surely didn't think that he would end up being with your dear friend Elain.

Note : well this has gotten longer than I thought so it will part 2 and I am already working on it don't worry. Also I didn't know if Elain knew that it was Az or not so I improvised. I hope it fits your standards and you can all tell me what you think about it in the comments. And I am again sorry for my English 😭💗

There he was, in all his glory, sweaty from his fight with Cassian, his shadows swirling around him and you had never been more attracted to someone.

Elain had finally convinced you to join her at training and you instantly regretted, looking at how hard the Valkyries were training but mostly feeling your cheeks heaten up at the sight of him. Of his naked torso full of black ink and fight scars. 'Gods, cauldron boil me why did I accept this' you thought. But Elain was quick enough to shove the thought away when she brought you to introduce you to her family. You had already seen them many times when you had picked her up after training for a walk or a tea party, thing that you both enjoyed a lot, but it was never a proper meeting like this one.

"Hey guys !" She exclaimed, full of joy "This is yn, a friend of mine and she's coming to training for the first time so I hope you are all gonna be nice to her. Especially you Az, don't scare her away" she chuckled looking a the main concerned. After quick presentations, she made sure you were okay and went with her sister, Cassian and the Valkyries for their already known exercises while you stayed there, blush creeping up to your face and ears, with Azriel. Because, with your luck, he was the one to train you today to show you the basic exercises in order to not hurt you during the first day.

"Follow me" Azriel ordered and you obeyed, walking to a smaller ring. He showed you some stretches before starting to teach you many combat basics. It was awkward, for both of you. Every time Azriel came behind you to correct your position, you would blush extremely hard and shiver at his touch. And you could tell he noticed it by the way he straightened and did everything to avoid this kind of situation. To ease the tension between us, you engaged the conversation. "they're really beautiful" you said pointing with your head the blue gems on his arms and torso now dressed with his leathers.

"Oh thanks..." he only responded. Elain did already tell you that he was a silent one but you didn't expect him to be that silent to be honest. But you were stubborn so you continued. "And.. where did you buy them ? I think it could be a nice present for my brother for next solstice". And then he froze, stared at you dead in the eye and laughed at your face. Despite the facts that you didn't understand and that you were even more embarrassed you couldn't stop yourself from enjoying the most beautiful sound you had ever heard. His beautiful laugh was clear and ran to the deepest parts of your soul.

"Wh-what is so funny about what I said?"

"They're siphons, I earned them by being a Carynthian, because I am an Illyrian soldier, you cannot buy them !" He bursted out of laughter a second time.

"Oh mother above, I am so sorry if I offended you by saying that, I don't know anything about Illyrians I am sorry. Really" you stuttered, feeling even more ridiculous than before.

He reassured you about it. You had made a fool of yourself but the air was lighter and the training went on with a more smiling and nice Azriel, with whom you had joked, laughed and exchanged soft innocent touches, until it was over. The bubble in which you and Az had been, exploded when Elain came checking on you two.

"How did it go ?" She asked excited.

"Really well" you answered quite proud of you.

Azriel nodded, and you felt his eyes linger on you when you left with your friend.

You came back the day after, and the day after and after... until it became a routine to train and laugh with Az very morning. Now you were also training with Elain and Nesta because of your quick improvements. But one thing was certain, you had fallen completely and utterly in love with Azriel. You didn't know what to do because he was always staring at you from afar when you were coming or leaving but you two never really talked about your life or anything.

While stretching with Elain, she asked about your love life and you decided that you would ask her opinion.

"Speaking of that, I need you to be brutally honest with me El' "

"What are you seeing someone ? Why didn't you tell me ?" She exclaimed.

"No I am not, don't worry I would've told you" she relaxed. "But you know there is this guy that I see almost everyday and I think we get along well. I feel like he is looking at me sometimes but we never really talk to eachother, like about our lives or anything. It's odd, but I really like him and I don't know what to do."

She smiled at your scrunched eyebrows and responded more calmly: "Follow you heart dear, you are so much beautiful and kind, there is no sane male in all Prythian who could resist you. Besides who is this man ? Isn't it the brown hair guy at the coffee shop you work at ? Because if it is he totally has a crush on you!"

"Haha no I won't tell you but thanks for the advice though, you are clearly the best! I love you Elain!"

"Me too yn, a lot. But now go get your lover before I kick you out myself for you to do it! Fly you fool!" She pushed you out the ring while you were laughing with her and you ran as fast as you could to get to the source of your desire, Azriel. He was almost shooting in the sky when you screamed his name. He turned around to see your exhausted figure running toward him.

"Hey are you okay ? What's going on ?"

"I'm fine thank you Az but I got something to tell you if you don't mind"

"Of course not go on", he responded almost too quickly and straightened hearing his nickname coming from your mouth. You always called him Azriel but never Az or Azzy. Never.

"Well, I meant to tell you for a while but I hadn't enough courage so here am I... I love you" you spoke in one breath your head down and your eyes shut.

You waited for an answer and waited again until you were almost shaking with fear and looked back at Azriel's face. What you saw made your eyes well up with tears. He was shocked, in a bad way, even disgusted at your confession.

"You don't want that yn" he finally answered.

"What ?" You asked your voice breaking.

"How can you fall in love with someone you hardly knows ? Only fools are like that". And with that he flew away, leaving you a crying mess on the floor of training.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Your body and heart were sore. You had been crying for hours. After training, well, more after your mean rejection by the love of your life, you had run away to your apartment and cried without stopping, you sometimes just changed the place: your bed, the couch, even the floor.  You felt broken, of course, but above all ashamed at your actions. Your bad thoughts were flooding in your head without stopping. Your anxiety, insecurity and doubts about yourself surfaced once again: he was right, how could you have fallen in love with him without even knowing him ? And then you cried again, this time at your window looking at the stars above you. Two of them were shining more than the others and you just hoped that one day the mother would give you a male, capable of loving you back so that you could both be like those stars, shining together amongst others.

It had been a few days now, and the same routine happened again everyday. You would wake up, your eyes sore from crying not remembering anything, and you would recall your conversation  with Azriel and start crying again all day, only eating ice cream or cookies. Elain had sent you many notes, asking what was happening to you and why you weren't at training. You still hadn't answered yet but, today, you decided that it was time for you to get up your feet and not cry about that lame excuse of a male anymore. You dressed up and went to Elain's apartment near the Sidra.

When you arrived, the door was already open, but when you called her, she didn't answer. The worst scenarios already came to your mind and you entered in her home, scared for her. You stopped in your tracks when you heard noises coming from her bedroom. It was voices, her and Azriel's voices. You didn't want to do anything involving Azriel so you walked back to the door but froze when you heard your name. You didn't want to be nosy, but you heard your name, so it was fair to listen right? You approached slowly and silently her bedroom in which you two had have countless sleepless girls nights, and listened to their conversation.

"What ? You are the one she confessed to ?" Elain then bursted out of laughter and you felt another knife stabbing your heart. Your dear friend, who encouraged you to confess the deepest parts of your heart was mocking you in front of your said love interest. But you weren't supposed to be there, so it was your fault. You deserved it for making a fool of yourself. That's what your thoughts were screaming at you in your head.

"Yeah, but stop it now, I don't wanna talk about another woman right now" Azriel said, his voice low.

You had enough now but still decided to take a look inside yhe room and instantly regretted when you saw them together, naked from their previous activities, tangled in the sheets, now making out with eachother. Your heart already broken in a million pieces, broke again when he said those words you will remember for life "Anyway you know I only love you Elain".

You ran as fast as you could, bumping in the table, and making a big noise in the living room but you couldn't care one bit. You just had to leave the damn place. Tears were streaming down your face knowing your face, and you didn't even noticed it, only focused on the worst pain you had ever felt. The pain of your heart: of a love and a friendship broken. It was too much, too much in just a short amount of time.

And then everything hit you : Azriel had never looked nor stared at you, he was looking at Elain all this time when you were both arriving at training. He was never interested in you, it was always Elain. How could you have been so stupid and think different : the first time you two had ever talked, you had made a fool of yourself and he was only nice to you because you were Elain's friend. For the past month, in need of affection, you had lived in complete delusion of a love that never existed.

[mphoenix-7]

Bitter Allies [Soap x Reader]

Chapter 12: The Cabin: Day 5 (pt. 3)

Summary: Soap thinks that taking a walk through the woods is just what you need to help you get over your new fear. Your walk isn’t as pleasant as you hope it’ll be.

Word Count: 5,176

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, swearing, angst, strong language, panic attack, arguing

A/N: I didn’t know if this would be ready or not to be posted on time, but I managed to get it done! Please enjoy loves!!

Masterlist | <- Previous | Next ->

Bitter Allies • Part 12

This was such a bad idea. Why the hell did you agree to this? The hike was most certainly not helping you overcome your anxieties; it was making them worse. You thought being cornered in the outhouse and standing in the open field was bad, but try walking through thick foliage where you can’t see your surroundings. Your poor heart is doing double-time in your chest, pounding so hard it feels like it might burst.

Soap, oblivious to your mounting dread, is making so much noise as he plows through the brush that you can’t even listen for any potential threats. Every rustle of leaves and snap of twigs sends a jolt of panic through you. The fear in the pit of your stomach is growing stronger with each step. The oppressive canopy above blocks out most of the sunlight, not that it would help to ease your nerves if it didn’t. However, it does make it feel as though the forest is closing in on you, suffocating you with its dense undergrowth and unseen dangers.

About five to ten minutes into the hike, you desperately want to turn back. By now you’ve gone at least a mile, but the feeling is the same. Nothing has happened yet—you haven’t even run into any animals—but that doesn’t help to quell the anxiety flooding your system. It feels like you’re just waiting for something terrible to happen. Just waiting for another bear to catch your scent and come after you.

Like it had that morning you went out by yourself…

A shiver runs along your spine as you recall the feeling of being chased. The heavy, thudding footsteps behind you, the growl that sent you sprinting for your life. That had been your warning, your sign of the dangers waiting in the woods, and you hadn’t listened. Maybe the fear gripping you now was also a warning, screaming at you to head back before it was too late. Your hands tremble slightly, and you clench them into fists to stop them from shaking.

“Holding up back there States?”

You glance up, your teeth releasing their hold on your lip as you meet Soap’s eyes. He’s been walking ahead of you this entire time, leading the way and stomping down the brush for you. You’ve been mostly silent since you left the cabin. The only communication you’ve had since you left are moments like this where he’s just checking to make sure you’re still following him and not completely breaking down.

“Yep, just peachy.” You tell him, the answer seeming to be enough to satisfy him for the next few minutes. He turns forward again and keeps on going.

As you continue trudging through the forest, your mind races with what-ifs. What if a bear does come? What if you can’t handle it? What if this hike is just a terrible mistake? You should just go back now… give up and-

No.

You were not going to just give up and quit. That stubborn, won’t quit attitude had gotten you through a lot during your time in the military. It was the very thing that kept you in the Task Force despite how much of an ass Soap was.

You can do this… you can push through it.

“Hey Soap,” you start, hoping that talking might help distract you. The only problem is, you don’t know exactly what to talk about. “Uh… do you know where we’re going?” You settle on.

“Course.” Soap answers easily, not even so much as glancing over his shoulder at you. “I know of a few bear caves around here that we can-“

“Are you fucking serious?!” You shout at him, stopping immediately in your tracks. The thought of walking to the den of a bear, practically handing yourself over on a silver platter, is enough to make you want to ditch Soap and bolt. He can’t be serious.

At your outburst, Soap instantly turns around, his eyes locking onto yours. He sees the panic glazing over your eyes and immediately raises his hands in a gesture of surrender, his expression shifting from confusion to concern in a heartbeat.

“I’m kidding! Just joking! Fucking hell, States. I don’t know of any bear caves around here.” Soap's quickly says, a hint of defensiveness in his tone.

“Don’t fucking do that! My God, you’re going to give me a fucking heart attack!” You shout, your voice shaking with a mix of fear and anger, fists clenched at your sides. You were stressed enough as it was, you didn’t need him saying shit that was only going to add to that stress.

Soap gives you an exasperated look, his mouth hanging open just a bit. “Fuck’s sake! It was a joke! Lighten up!” He snaps back, his initial confusion giving way to irritation.

“It’s not funny!” You retort, your own anger only growing the more defensive he gets.

“Oh come on. Anyone else would have taken that as a joke.” Soap's tone turns sharper, his frustration evident as he glares at you.

You’re steaming now, fists clenched at your sides. The fear that had been bubbling under the surface is now mixed with a growing anger. Your heart is pounding, not just from the anxiety of being out in the woods, but from the frustration of dealing with Soap’s insensitivity. You already felt vulnerable and on edge, you don’t want to have to deal with Soap being a total ass as well.

“Really? Forgive me for not wanting to laugh about walking into the home of the animal that almost took my life. I’m already freaking out about seeing one out here, so what makes you think I’d find that funny? This isn’t a joke to me, and I don’t want to joke about it.”

Soap rolls his eyes right back at you. “We haven’t even seen anything yet. You’re working yourself up over nothing.“

“Nothing?” You snap back. “It’s not nothing to me!”

“Well, it needs to be,” Soap retorts, his tone firm. “The 141 doesn’t get hung up over stuff like this.”

You feel another surge of anger rush through you at his words. “Easy for you to say! You weren’t the one with a bear practically on top of you, trying to claw and bite your face off.”

“And you think I haven’t faced things just as bad, if not worse?” Soap counters, stepping closer and invading your space. “I can tell you this, States. I have faced much worse than something like a bear! If you’re this freaked out over a little joke, maybe you should reconsider if you’re cut out for the military.”

His words cut deep, reopening old wounds. From the beginning, Soap has always been trying to get you kicked off the Task Force. You’ve lost count of how many times he’s told you that you should quit. Hell, he’d even told Price to get rid of you while you were in the room with him.

You stare at him for a long moment, disbelief mingling with hurt. “Is making me quit all you ever think about?”

Soap’s expression hardens. “Maybe I wouldn’t if you didn’t keep proving to me that you should.”

You bite your cheek harshly. “If my fear of a bear that nearly killed me is a reason enough that I should quit, then what about your fear of thunder? Shouldn’t freaking out over that mean you should quit too?”

Your words are met with a confused expression from Soap. It’s like he doesn’t remember having a full blown panic attack the day it stormed.

“What?” He finally says after a moment of not being able to figure out where you got that idea from. “The fuck you talking about? I don’t have a fear of thunder.”

You roll your eyes at him and cross your arms over your chest. “What do you mean? Yes you do. You don’t remember that big storm that rolled in like the first or second day we were here? It was thundering so loudly, and you had an episode. How can you not remember that?”

Soap is silent another moment while he thinks back. He opens his mouth to reply, but then shuts it, his face shifting as he figures out what you were referring to. However to you, it looks like he realized his argument was flawed and is now trying to come up with some kind of excuse. He couldn’t tell you to get over his irrational fear if he had an irrational fear himself.

“I-I’m not scared of thunder. That’s not what I was…” He trails off, further adding to your suspicion.

“Really? If you’re not scared of thunder, then why the hell were you freaking out like that?”

Soap is silent for a moment, his eyes distant. You think for a moment he’s trying really hard to come up with an excuse, but when you really look, his eyes look slightly glazed over and there’s a pinch of worry between his brow. It’s almost like he’s actively reliving something. His thoughts are racing, though with what, you aren’t sure. The silence stretches on and almost begins to get uncomfortable. You’re about to say something, but Soap finally speaks up.

“It wasn’t the thunder…” He finally says, his voice tight. “Just... let it go, alright?”

You scoff at him. “Let it go? So you can give me shit about being scared of a bear, but you can have some irrational fear yourself, and it’s just fine? You’re allowed to be scared and have stuff freak you out but I can’t?”

Soap instantly snaps back, his voice firm and defensive. You’ve hit a sore spot.

“What happened that night it stormed was different! Alright!? What happened to me is nothing like what happened to you and that bear. I actually got fucking hurt! All that bear did was fucking growl at you and threaten you, I took fucking glass to the face.”

He points at his face, specifically more towards his chin than any other area. Your glare dips down to where he’s pointing, naturally locking on to the now faded, but still visible scar that runs along his chin.

You follow the thick, long scar that runs in a jagged horizontal line below his lip. It was his most noticeable scar and one that you’d always been curious as to how he got it. Apparently there was quite the story to go along with it. You always imaged he’d got it from some kind of explosion to the face, though he didn’t sport any burn scars that would support that theory. It was far too complex to be from a knife, but a shard of glass made perfect sense.

He must have been tortured. Maybe at some point in his career, he’d been a POW and gotten tortured for information. You did not put it past the enemy to go to any means necessary to get information. Using broken glass off the ground to slice someone up for military secrets was quite a common tactic too. Soap’s files didn’t say anything about him ever being taken hostage though. Then again, it could have been something that had been redacted. A lot of the things in his files regarding missions were heavily redacted.

You don’t focus too heavily on his comment about the broken glass though. That was something you could table for a little later. Right now you’re far too upset that he’s completely dismissing your own fears just because he’s seen worse.

“So would my fear be more valid then if I had gotten hurt? Almost getting hurt isn’t enough to justify having a fear of something? Whatever the fuck happened to you, it would have been absolutely nothing if your precious face hadn’t gotten cut up?”

Soap tenses up, his voice dropping a few octaves and taking on a dangerous drawl. His entire body goes rigid, and his fists clench as his sides. “States, you have no fucking clue what you’re talking about, so I suggest you shut the hell up.”

He’s probably right. You have no idea the kind of things he’s been through, so you shouldn’t be making assumptions without knowing the full story. But you’re so angry with him right now that you can’t bring yourself to care.

“And you have no idea how I feel, so you can shut up too!” You shout back at him, and his eyes ignite with anger. You can practically see the spark before it flares up, and you’re sure he can see the same thing happening in yours.

His inhales sharply through his mouth prepared to absolutely lay into you, but before he can, you notice his eyes flicker away from yours for a moment. They quickly snap back to you, but then look away once again, his mouth slowly closing. At first, you don't think much of it, but then the hairs on the back of your neck begin to stand up. Your body senses danger before your mind can process it.

The anger drains from you in an instant, replaced by a growing unease as you try to understand why Soap isn’t looking at you anymore and why you suddenly feel so on edge. Then Soap says the most panic inducing words, his voice dropping to an unnaturally calm level after the shouting he’d been doing not a second prior.

“States, listen to me, do not panic.“

You feel yourself instantly freeze. Usually when someone tells you not to panic it’s because there’s a reason you should be. The nagging feeling of danger intensifies, your hands almost feeling numb from the rush of sudden adrenaline.

“What? Why?” You ask softly, mouth quickly going dry.

“Don’t turn around, don’t freak out.” He tells you carefully, eyes staying mostly locked off somewhere behind you now. “Just walk over to me, lass.”

“Is it a bear?” You ask bluntly, feeling your whole back tense up. You want so so badly for him to say no. You wouldn’t care if he was joking. You wouldn’t even care if it was any other animal, just not a bear. Not right now.

“Yes, it is. Just stay calm.” He reaches out to grab your arm, but you move it away from him, hugging it to your chest instead.

“No… no please…” Tears start to blur your vision. “Tell me you’re joking. Please. This is a joke, right?” You feel yourself starting to shake. You so desperately want him to be kidding. “I swear to God if there isn’t a bear, I’m going to kill you.”

“I swear to you, I’m being serious, lass.” He insists.

You want to call his bluff, convinced for a moment that he's just being an asshole and there really isn't a bear. But then you hear it—the sound of something big moving slowly and deliberately. Each step is measured and heavy, rustling the foliage on the forest floor. You hear a snorting sound, similar to the one that the bear at the lake had made as it sniffed the air. Your heart skips a beat as the reality sinks in: there really is something behind you.

You feel the panic set in, your body simultaneously hot and cold. Adrenaline surges through your veins, making your hands both numb and hypersensitive. Your heart pounds in your chest, and you can hear the blood as it rushes through your ears. Your breathing starts to quicken, shallow bursts as your mind races. Every muscle in your body tenses, poised for action, wanting to bolt and create distance between you and the thing behind you, but also frozen in fear.

“States…” Soap says, almost in warning. He’s trying to watch you while also trying to keep an eye on the animal behind you. “Please, just walk over to me.”

You want to do as he says, but first you just need to see for yourself. You need to know there really is something behind you.

“Don’t.” Soap warns, almost like he knows exactly what you’re thinking.

You don’t listen though. Gathering any remnants of courage you had left, you take a deep breath and start to slowly peak over your shoulder. And there, a few feet away, is a black bear. You don’t give yourself proper time to really look at it. The second your peripheral vision spots it, your terrified gaze snaps back to Soap.

Your eyes lock onto Soap's, breathing picking up now that it’s been confirmed. You want to scream and cry out, but you’re too scared to even do that. “Soap…” You sob, making him just reach out for you instead of continuing to wait for you to come to him.

He grabs ahold of your arm firmly, gently and slowly pulling you close to him. “Shh, it’s alright, come here.” He says as he moves an arm to wrap around you. It’s surprisingly comforting to feel him holding you. Your bickering, all the things that were said, are momentarily forgotten.

“Just stay clam, it’s gonna be ok.” He mutters to you, and you nod, more out of instinct than understanding. You’re a bit more focused on listening for the bear than you are to Soap’s words.

You try to sneak another look at the animal, only really wanting a quick glance, but Soap takes that opportunity to turn you fully so that you’re facing it. His hands settle on your hips to keep you in place, and your breath hitches as your eyes land on the bear. On instinct, you press back firmly into Soap, his chest acting as a solid wall to keep your from moving any further.

“I’m right here.” Soap reminds you, whispering softly into your ear. “Not gonna let anything happen to you.” He promises, thumbs brushing softly against your hips, though you can hardly focus on that right now. Still, his presence alone is grounding. Feeling him behind you, him holding you tightly, it reminds you that you’re not alone.

Facing the bear now, you can finally take in the scene before you. The bear is a few yards away, its black fur glistening in the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees. It’s a smaller bear, not as large as the one that attacked you, but the sight of it still sends a jolt of fear through you. Its eyes are fixed on you, nostrils flaring as it sniffs the air. The memory of the bear in the lake doing the same thing before it approached you flashes through your mind.

Your heart pounds faster, and you feel your breathing stutter. For a moment, you're back there, alone and vulnerable, with the bear bearing down on you. Stalking towards you, about to strike.

Then you feel Soap give your hips a squeeze, and his voice cuts through the haze of fear. “It’s okay, States. It’s just passing by. It’s more scared of us. It doesn’t want anything to do with us.”

His voice brings you back to the present, and you shake your head a bit to focus on what’s happening right now. “Look at it,” he whispers softly in your ear. “It’s just curious. It’s not here to hurt us. Not all bears are aggressive.”

The bear takes a tentative step forward, then pauses, its ears twitching. You tense the second it moves, and Soap’s arm around you tightens slightly, a subtle reassurance. “Stay calm. It’s going to move on. Just keep breathing.”

The bear snorts, shaking its head before taking another step. You can tell that its muscles are tense under its fur. It takes a few more steps, its eyes never leaving yours as it slowly moves. A deep growl rumbles in its chest, and you are tempted to take a step back, but you can’t with Soap standing directly behind you.

“Don’t back away.” He tells you gently, able to feel the muscles in your back twitch against his chest. “If it starts to come this way, wave your arms above your head and shout at it. Just like I showed you.”

“I don’t think I can.” You whisper back to him. Your mouth is so dry, and it feels like your throat has completely sealed itself off. Even talking was a challenge, and your voice already sounded weaker and slightly hoarse.

“You can, States. You can do this.” He encourages you.

The bear takes a few more steps, still just trying to move perpendicularly past you, but it stops once more to huff softly. When you don’t react to it, it takes a small steps towards you, its head lowered cautiously, but eyes still fixed on you.

“It’s not being aggressive, it’s just curious. Just tell it to go away. Nice and firm.” Soap whispers to you.

You take a deep breath, trying to gather any bit bravery you had. “Go away.” You say, voice a bit wobbly, but still managing to be firm.

The bear hesitates, lifting its head a bit as you speak to it. Its glossy eyes keep locked on you, and it starts to sniff the air once more. Speaking just seemed to make it more curious. It takes another step forward, and you feel Soap’s grip tighten again.

“Alright, it’s getting too curious now. Gotten show it you’re not something to mess with. Get loud now, wave your arms and yell. Make yourself big.” Soap instructs, his voice steady. He’s not panicked at all, or at least he’s not showing it. “Do it now, States. Nice and loud.”

You take a deep breath, trying your best to push down all the anxiety eating away at your courage. Drawing on every ounce of strength you can muster, you raise your arms above your head and yell.

“Ahh!! Go away! Get out of here!”

The bear stops, taken aback by your sudden outburst. It jolts back, retreating a few feet away before stopping and looking back at you. Its ears are standing straight up, its eyes widen in surprise. You can see its hesitation, its uncertainty.

“Good, again!” Soap encourages softly from behind you.

“Go! Get out of here! Go away!” You shout again, making it jump again. This time, it turns and bolts, clearly not wanting to mess with you.

You watch as it crashes through the foliage, moving quickly to get away from you and Soap. Your arms stay raised while you watch it run off, only becoming heavy and dropping once the sounds of the leaves rustling fade into the distance. Your eyes stayed locked on the path it took, froze in shock for few seconds.

When it finally registers that it’s gone, you can feel your entire body become suddenly exhausted. You let out all the air in your lungs and sink back. You probably would have fallen to the ground if Soap hadn’t been behind you. He instantly wraps his arms around you, holding you tightly to him.

“Oh fuck...” You curse, making Soap laugh. “It-It’s gone, right?” You ask hesitantly. It was like your brain hadn’t fully processed what happened yet.

“Yes, it’s gone. You did it, States! It’s not gonna be coming back, you scared it.” He chuckles, his tone becoming light and filled with genuine joy. It felt like he was proud of you, excited that you’d been able to scare the animal off.

“Holy shit...” You curse again, still trying to wrap your head around it. And when it finally sinks in, you feel a rush of relief wash over you. Your body starts to tremble, not from fear, but from the overwhelming realization that you did it. You managed to scare off a bear. It’s a mix of pride, disbelief, and a strange sense of empowerment. You did it. You really did it.

“I did it...” You mutter, smiling as your shoulders behind to feel lighter.

“Hell yeah you did!” Soap laughs from behind you, giving you a squeeze. “You did fucking great! You just stood your ground against a bear!”

“Yeah! I… I….”

The intensity of the moment finally catches up to you. All the fear, the tension, and the adrenaline suddenly give way to a flood of emotions. You feel a lump form in your throat, and your vision blurs as tears well up in your eyes. The relief is so overwhelming, it’s like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders, and you can't hold back any longer.

You begin to cry, tears streaming down your face as you let out any remaining pent-up emotions. It’s relief, and stress, and joy, and shock, and pride. It feels good to let it all out, your body shaking as it releases everything through your tears.

Soap’s laughter quickly fades when he hears your sobs. He pauses for a second and then quickly turns you around to face him, concern etched across his face. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?” He asks, his voice soft and full of worry.

You try to speak, but it just comes out as a jumbled mess. The words catch in your throat, choked by the intensity of your emotions. You want to let him know you’re fine, but you just can’t get the words to come out. The more you struggle to speak, the more worried and confused he looks.

“Fucking hell, States, it’s okay, you’re okay,” Soap whispers, rubbing your arms soothingly. “You’re safe now. You did it. You faced your fear. The thing ran off.”

You nod at him, that being the only way you know how to communicate. Finally though, you manage to settle enough get a few words out. “I’m fin-e… j-just hap-py...” You choke out. “I-I feel b-better.”

Soap has to strain a bit to hear what you were saying, but he gathers just enough to make out what you said. It makes his shoulder relax and the worry lines in his face soften. He lets out a relieved sigh, hands dropping from your arms so they can run through his hair.

“Steaming Jesus. Thought you were going insane or something. Shite. I never know what it means when you start balling.”

You start to calm down, laughing a little at the poor man’s distress. Taking a few deep breaths, you steady your breathing and wipe at your eyes to dry them. “I mean I very well might be.” You giggle softly. “I’ve been hanging around you for five days, that would drive anyone insane.”

Soap scoffs at you, but there’s a smile on his face that he can’t hide. “You sound like Ghost.”

“Well, good to know it’s not just me who thinks that.”

“Oh shut your mouth.” Soap grumbles, giving you a light shove and making you laugh again. “That what I get for helping you? Should have just let the bear eat you if that’s the case.” He mutters, arms crossed over his chest as if he’s pouting at your teasing. “I am only kidding of course too, yeah?” He adds, making your laughter fade.

“Yeah, I know.” You sigh, feeling a little guilty now about earlier. Soap had always been the guy on the team to make jokes and lighten the mood when things got too serious. That’s all he’d been trying to do earlier, and you snapped at him for it.

In your defense, you had been horribly stressed out, but that didn’t give you permission to lash out at Soap. He’d only been trying to help you this whole time, both last night and this morning. Of course that didn’t excuse him from lashing out at you in return, but you could understand why he did. You would have done the same thing if you were him.

“Hey, I… I’m sorry for yelling at you earlier. When you made the joke about the bear caves. I was just really stressed out, and I feel a little bad now. I know you’re just trying to help and… well I appreciate it.”

Soap blinks at you in surprise. He looks shocked that you’re apologizing, though to be fair, normally you didn’t go around saying sorry to each other. That was something that only started happening recently.

“Oh, you know it’s… it’s whatever, really.” He stammers, clearly taken aback. “I shouldn’t have said the things I said either. So I’m sorry too.”

You smile at him, watching as he rubs at the back of his neck. You can feel your heart softening just a bit for him. “Thank you for that, Soap.”

Soap gives you an awkward smile back, nodding his head a bit. Neither of you are great with apologies. It feels unnatural for both of you, and it’s quickly starting to get a bit awkward.

“Well… Should we head back? Or did you want to go explore a bear cave?” You try to joke, which earns a laugh from Soap.

“I think I’ve had enough of bears for a good while, so I think I’ll pass.” He smirks, able to look back at you now. “But hey, if you wanna go though, by all means don’t let me hold you back.”

You giggle softly, shaking your head. “Nah, I’m alright. I think I’d rather just go back to the boring ol’cabin. I’m getting hungry anyway.”

“You hungry now?” He questions. “I packed us both a lunch since I didn’t know how long we’d be out here. And I know this really nice spot where we can stop and eat.” He says, which surprises you. Not that he’d packed a lunch—you were aware of that. What surprises you is that he’s suggesting you both go out and eat instead of going back.

“Really?” Ask before you can stop yourself. It makes Soap pause, his expression shifting just a bit.

“I mean unless you don’t want to. We can just head back if you’d rather do that.”

“No! No, I think eating out here would be fun. I haven’t been able to do too much exploring, and I could use a break from just hanging around the cabin all day.” You quickly say before he can change his mind. “Lead the way.”

Soap watches you for a moment, almost like he’s trying to figure out if you really wanted to go or not. He makes up his mind in a second and starts back the way you came. “Alright, follow me. We’re only about five minutes away at most.” He says, and you quickly rush to fall into step beside him.

A comfortable silence falls between you like it had before, though this time as you follow him, the tension and fear from earlier are gone. All your anxiety has seemingly melted away. The natural sounds of the forest no longer bother you, and even the thought of running into another bear isn’t as terrifying as it was when you first left. It’s a relief to be able to walk around without feeling the need to constantly be on alert. You just hope it stays that way.

[thelov3lybookworm]

I Didn't Ask For This (Part 9)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Summary: Marriage had always been something sacred to little Y/n, something dream like, where her husband would come and whisk her away to a fairyland. At least, that's what she had always thought.

All her dreams would be shattered.

But maybe she can salvage them?

•○●⛦●○•

Tw: forced marriage, none more that I can think of, so let me know if I need to add anything.

A/n: I've been soo excited to write this part, especially the ending. Despite the almost whole thing being erased because I didnt save it, I like this part. Hope you do too.

Enjoy!

•○🌑○•

Y/n smiled softly as she stared at the Sidra, standing next to Azriel while leaning against the railing of the bridge.

"It's very peaceful." She murmured.

"That it is. It feels more so at night, because there's more chaos nearby." He offered. She nodded.

They had been walking around the city for a couple of hours now, and it was almost dinnertime. They had decided to rest for a few moments before continuing. She was so tired that she was sure that her legs would fall off if she took another step. Obviously, she hadn't considered the consequences when she promised to spend the whole day with him.

The whole morning and afternoon was spent with him pointing at shops and telling her of how he and his brothers terrorised Velaris in their younger years. Y/n's stomach hurt from how much she had laughed. From those stories, she knew that most of his five hundred years had brought him happiness. And that made her happy, for a reason she didnt want to think of.

He tilted his body so he faced her more. "Where do you want to eat?"

"I don't know...can't you decide?" She glanced at him, quickly turning back to the river, because she couldn't look at him for more than a moment without blushing. Especially with the intensity with which he looked at her. As if she was the only person in the world and if he didn't pay attention to every word she said, he'd die.

She could feel him smile as he straightened. "There is this place along the banks of Sidra. Its the inner circle's current favourite place to eat."

"Okay." She mumbled as she turned to him. "How far is it?"

"Don't worry. I'll carry you."

"Excuse me?"

He grinned, turning away from her and giving her instructions to wrap her arms around his neck, ignoring her protests. She finally relented, his hands going under her thighs to hoist her up. He couldn't look at her, which she was glad for, because all he would've seen was the redness in her face.

She clutched him tighter as he started walking, mindful of his wings. He again started telling her stories.

"There used to be a restaurant there." He pointed to a tailoring shop with a jerk of his head. "When we ate there for the first time, we were obsessed. We made plans all week to eat there on the weekend. When the day came, Cassian starved himself in hopes of being able to eat more. And, because he was so hungry, he gobbled down all the food without chewing. When we were leaving, he started feeling nauseous."

Y/n grinned and rested her head on his shoulder, having an inkling of where this was going.

"As soon as we stepped inside the town house, he threw up all over the threshold. After that he never even stepped foot in the general vicinity of the restaurant, as if it was somehow cursed."

Y/n laughed. "He is... a masterpiece."

"That he is." He agreed. Soon, they had reached the restaurant he was telling about and he helped her settle before he took seat.

As they ate, he managed to get Y/n to tell him about her life. And, because there were not really any happy or pleasant memories in her life, she told him of the less gruesome and painful ones. She watched as his anger grew with every word from her mouth.

When they were flying back, he stayed mostly quiet, as if lost in thought. Before they landed though, he turned to her.

"There is a family dinner tomorrow at the river House. I'd be happy if you came."

She considered it for a moment before nodding. "I'll come."

"Thank you." Quiet joy took over his face as he set her down, his lips twitching as if he was holding back a smile as he kissed her hand before flying away.

She stared at his form until she couldn't anymore, smiling.

Azriel had been extremely adorable today, and she would be lying if she said that she wasn't excited to see this side of him again.

•○🌑○•

The darkness was creeping in again as she stared at her abdomen in the mirror. Her shirt was stuck around her wrists as she clutched the cloth to her chest. The disgusting thoughts and vile ideas she had regarding the disgusting marks on her body swirled through her mind.

She hated herself for it.

She hated everyone who played a role in bringing her to this point.

Everyone who had a hand in turning the hopeful little soul she had been into the unoptimistic female she was today.

Somewhere deep in her she knew it was wrong to think about herself that way, but she didn't care. Her father and the other men's laughs were too loud for her to hear the rational thoughts.

This was the sole reason why she never looked at herself when she changed. It bought back those dark memories and thoughts. But today she couldn't help it.

She was getting ready to go to the dinner with the inner circle when she had peeked at herself, and now she couldn't stop thinking of how disgusting her body was.

She knew if someone came in from the door, they would have an unobstructed view of the map of horror on her back. But she couldn't bring herself to care at the moment.

While she was busy thinking of these things, she didn't hear the soft footfalls nearing her room. She didn't hear them until it was too late.

A knock sounded before her husband poked his head in, the smile on his face disappearing as she pulled the shirt back over her head. She gave him a shaky smile as she watched a muscle feather in her jaw.

"Az– Azriel. Did you need something?"

He didn't reply, entering the room fully, the door clicking shut behind him. He prowled closer, ignoring her questions and attempts at distraction. When he was close enough, he traced lines on her now clothed back, exactly where some of those scars were.

His eyes slowly lifted to meet hers in the mirror, his voice quiet and deadly as he spoke. "May I?" His hands brushed the hem of her shirt. She wanted to say no, but she nodded.

He slowly and gently lifted her shirt as she clutched the front of it so she didn't get completely naked in front of him. His eyes traced the marks on her back with a fierceness that would've sent people running.

"Who did this to you?" His voice sent shivers down her spine.

"My– my father and a few other men."

He met her eyes again, his eyes flashing before glancing down at her abdomen which had gotten exposed. He stepped closer, curling his arm around her around her to reach the scars. His face was murderous, but his hands were gentle. So gentle her knees nearly buckled.

He traced those scars, completely silent. The air was filled with tension as she watched his every move, her eyes prickling.

His eyes slowly lifted to hers again, his voice lower and more dangerous as he spoke. "Anywhere else?"

She knew he was asking if she had more scars. Which she did, so after a moment of consideration, she unclasped the few of the clasps at the top of the shirt and pulled the flaps aside.

A startled gasp full of horror left him as his eyes flew wide.

There, on her chest right above where her heart should be, was a nasty scar.

"How did you survive that!?" He questioned, his voice wobbling.

She smiled. "He wouldn't have let me die that easily." She turned to him. "Before the bargain between us was made, he wasn't that bad. Then he slowly started ignoring us. Mother wasn't talking to him, spending most of her days with me. But then, so deep in despair she was, she stopped taking care of herself. And that was the start of her slow and sure demise." She took a deep breath, tears gathering in her eyes.

"After she died, he only got worse. He started yelling at us, and then hitting us. It soon turned to whipping us." She searched Azriel's face before continuing. "After you left, the Camp Lord kicked us out of the camp, not wanting to share the power when he was no longer getting something out of it. We stayed nearby for a few years before father somehow convinced him to let us back into the camp.

"Later on, we found out that he had made a bargain that he would let the males in the camp beat us for their own sick pleasure. He–"

"What?" He had gone rigid.

She swallowed. "They started an event. It took place every year. The men who wanted to feel like they were great warriors would come and fight with the women, who had no experience. Seeing their opponent, especially a female, beaten and bruised, gave then satisfaction. Some of those scars are the result of this event. But it was stopped the moment Rhysand became High Lord.

"One day, father got so frustrated for something that I can't recall right now, and conveniently, I was nearby. He got a blunt knife that he was about to sharpen, ant stuck it in my chest. It hurt." A tear escaped her eye as she recalled the pain. "And becuase it was blunt, it took more force for it to pierce skin. When he was done and I was nearly dead, he got a healer to get me healed."

At this point, tears were streaming down her cheeks. He pulled her to his chest, his lips ghosting over her temple. He murmured things in her ear, but she couldn't make anything out over the sound of her sobs and her heart beating in her chest as she clutched onto Azriel as if he was the only thing keeping her alive.

He didn't complain, holding her back just as fiercely.

Sometime later, she decided to get dressed. So she pulled away and walked into the adjoining bathroom. When she came back out, Azriel smiled at her.

"I'll drop you off at the house. I have an important thing to do."

She nodded, despite wanting to ask him to not go.

Soon, she was sitting with the inner circle in the sitting room of the River House, glancing out the window continuously, hoping he came back soon.

•○🌑○•

It was somewhere near midnight when Azriel returned, smiling at her. She smiled back, a blush already creeping up her face. He sat next to her. He smelled and looked like he just taken a bath, his hair damp.

Almost an hour later, the High Lord left the sitting room, saying someone had brought some reports for him. Azriel watched him go, his jaw clenching. But when he found Y/n looking at him, he smiled again, relaxing.

It wasn't long before Rhysand burst back in, fuming. He walked straight to Azriel, who was already standing.

"What is this Azriel?" Rhysand waved some papers in front of her husbands face. Confused, everybody sat straighter, somber.

Unease started swirling in Y/n's stomach. If the High Lord was so mad, it must be something important.

Azriel glanced at the High Lord's hand before back at him, speaking calmly. "Those are papers Rhys. More specifically, they look like reports."

Rhysand looked on the verge of murdering someone. Y/n stood. "Tell me why, tell me fucking why, an Illyrian camp was burned to the ground. That too exactly while you were absent."

Her heart stopped as she stared at Azriel, his face void of any emotion or remorse. If anything, he looked proud.

What in the name of the cauldron did he do?

•○🌑○•

Taglist: @bubybubsters @maxxieluvs @bubbbllee @buckyandgeraltsupremacy @waytoomanyteenagefeels @tell-me-a-poem @the-lake-is-calling @spaxxxi @japanese-wonderland-blog @valeridarkness @moonlwghts @deadratio @esposadomd @harrystylesfan2686 @missusbarnes-rogers @whatthefuckshappeningrn @hyacinthoideshispanica @historygeekqueen @lizziesfirstwife @nastynesta @aroseinvelaris @nightless @cleverzonkwombatsludge @kodokunarisu-blog @selillusion @eos-princess @moonfawnx @a-court-of-milkandhoney @emilyo-218 @wannabewolf @ailyr92 @chronically-online-cheese @myheartfollower @hells-sluttiest-new-arrival @marina468 @menaosama @starryhiraeth @hereticdance @mali22 @valencia-rou @azrielsstarlight @marvelouslovely-barnes @luvmoo @starlight-hope @a-frog-with-a-laptop @fall-myriad @alt-ghost @elleofdragons @ruleroftides @5moremin @stargirl1714 @bunnymallowo @ivy-34

Part 10

[fuctacles]

Ao3 | divider by @penny00dreadful

Steve was taking a break from calling clients and munching on his sandwich when his frazzled co-worker stormed in. He never liked the guy, and could never trust someone driven by money like that, but the stormy look on his face gave him a pause. Bill was always composed and giving off the air of a rich boy looking down on anyone else. Whatever put him in such a state must have been big. 

When Bill disappears behind the doors of their manager, Steve curiously leans towards Angela. 

"What's gotten into his pants?" he murmurs, hoping for a piece of gossip.

Angela scoffs.

"Idiot thought he could sell the Creel House."

Angela wasn't a pleasant person. But she was also blunt and always ready to talk shit. And she had the cutest cats, even if she was a bit obsessed with them. She was Steve's go-to for office gossip. And sometimes extra information he missed as one of the newer employees. Office lore, as Dustin would call it.

"What's the Creel House?" he asks genuinely. She eyes him like he's stupid, but he's dealt with those stares long before her, so he holds it down until she folds.

"It's this old house we haven't been able to sell for years, probably around a decade. There's all kinds of stupid rumors around it, like curses and hauntings," she tells him with an eye roll. He snorts to let her know he shares her opinion, as scoffs, snorts, and eye rolls were the language she understood the best. "Bill thought he could go for it after his selling streak last month. Guess the streak just broke." She smiled in that evil way only introverted old ladies could. A chill went down Steve's spine, but he snickered alongside her. 

"What a loser," he commented and focused back on his sandwich, but his imagination was running wild about how the house might look. As soon as he was done with his paperwork for the day, he went looking for the file on Creel's House. 

His manager eyed him weirdly, but he assured him it was mostly curiosity speaking through him.

The file had photos from soon after it was built and more recent ones, after a decade of neglect. There weren't many capturing the interior, but if it was anywhere similar to the outside, it should be in good condition for small renovations. It was big, too. Could become a home for a family, their dog, and visiting friends. Maybe someone's lesbian best friend and her love interest, too...

Needless to say, as soon as Steve found out about it, the house wouldn't leave his thoughts. It had a huge backyard that extended into the woods behind it. It was cheap for a house this size, probably because of its bad rap. And, the most important part, it was closer to Robin than the apartment he was currently renting. 

The last thing to check off on his list was seeing it in person. 

His manager didn't take his request well. 

"You think you can do something Bill couldn't?" he asks with his eyebrows raised. 

It takes all of Steve's strength not to scoff. 

"I'm not planning on selling it. I'm actually considering buying it."

That seems to only amuse his boss further. 

"Ha! You wouldn't be the first. Be my guest then." He shrugs, turning to reach a locked cabinet where the keys to the houses are stored. He hands him the ring of old keys. "Knock yourself out." He grins.

"Thank you." Steve nods and turns around to leave the office as soon as possible. He didn't share his plans with any of his coworkers, not interested in hearing their opinions, but he could feel the amused stares Angela was giving him over her coffee when he was packing to leave for the day.

When he's passing by her desk, she leans forward on her elbows, her proper, trimmed nails posed like claws on the mug. 

"Any plans for the weekend, Steven?" she asks with all the charm of a feral cat. 

Steve knows for a fact that Angela doesn't care about her coworkers' lives unless there are felines or police involved. There's only one reason she could be asking, and it's inside the pocket of his blazer. 

"Not really. Might visit a friend." He shrugs. "You?" 

"Well, good luck with that," Angela completely ignores his question. "I hope nothing spooky happens on your trip," she says as if she hopes something does happen to him.

"Thank you, Angela, you too." Steve nods to his coworker and leaves hastily so nothing evil attaches to him before he even enters a haunted house. 

The house was located an hour's drive away, and he didn't want to rush his exploration, so he waited for the weekend to come around before he went to see it. According to the map, it's been built off the main road, giving a sense of privacy and solitude. It was more part of the forest than the nearest neighborhood. A great place for an eccentric loner or a loud family that didn't want to be a bother.

Steve packed the house files, a notepad, measuring tape, and some lunch for his trip. And, upon some consideration, the upgraded walkie Dustin had given him. He wasn't going to risk being stranded miles from civilization without the means of contact. 

It was a Saturday, before noon, but he dialed the number he called at least once a week.

"Hello?" His favorite person picked up on the third ring, the tone of her voice indicating she had been asleep not so long ago.

"Hey Robs."

"Steve! What's up?"

His smile grew. Hearing her always felt better than he imagined when grabbing the phone, and soon he might be able to see her in person. 

"Do you have any plans for tonight?" he asks coyly, leaning on the wall in his kitchen. 

"I have some papers left to grade and might go grab drinks with the girls later. What about you?"

"I'm about to head out to scout a new house," he says, thumbing at the keys in his pocket. He doesn't want to share his plans yet, since they were mostly wishful thinking. Maybe the repairs were too out of his budget, maybe the house has gotten worse since the last photos of it had been taken. Or maybe there was something weird about it like everyone claimed. "It's on the way to Indianapolis, so if you don't mind, I could make a detour—"

"Do I mind?!" Robin screeches into his ear. He grins despite the volume briefly disorienting him. "I haven't seen you in a month, get your ass down here!" 

"Well, how could I say no, when you ask so nicely," he laughs.

"Damn right, I do!" she snickers back. "Now go go go, the sooner you start driving, the sooner you get here!"

"Okay, Jesus, so bossy."

They say their 'see you soon's and Steve grabs his duffel bag. Even if the house is a total bust, at least he'll spend the weekend with his best friend. 

The house is not a total bust.

He almost misses the turn leading to it, hidden behind overgrown bushes. The drive quickly turns from asphalt to gravel and then disappears completely, and he hopes the overgrown grass framed with young trees is leading him in the right direction.

His worries subside when he spots the roof peeking from between the trees and he's soon rolling into what probably used to be a driveway.

The sound of his car door closing resonates loudly in the rural scenery, scaring some birds above him. As he eyes the bushes between himself and the house's entrance, he wishes he had taken something other than a club with him. Albeit the worst of it has been torn or pushed aside, probably by Bill who's been here before him. The house itself looks like the pictures, maybe the ivy on the side has grown since then. Despite its age of about forty years and being abandoned, it still looks nice. 

He rounds the car and opens up the trunk, where he always had a couple of necessities. A first aid kit, a fire extinguisher, a flamethrower, and such. And the metal bat he reaches for right now. It's better to be safe than sorry, as he's run into squatters before.

He locks the car and using the bat, moves the bushes out of his way to the porch. He tries the steps first, and they seem sturdy so he steps up to the door. The colorful glass in its frame forms a rose. He's not a big fan of the design choice and wonders if it would be hard to get a matching door without it.

The hinges creak loudly when he pushes inside and takes the first proper look at the house's interior. Whoever planned the placement of all the windows did a great job because it felt illuminated from the inside, despite the dust covering everything. On his left is a study room, covered by shelves and with a huge window to provide proper reading light. He gives the cozy-looking chairs a cursory glance and moves on. On the right extends the front porch but with a couple of steps he finds the living room, with an old TV and a collection of couches that indicate the previous owners had a huge group of friends. 

Further down, he finds the dining room, the steps to the back porch, and the kitchen, where he stops for longer. Because there on the fridge, in colorful letter magnets, somebody has spelled 'fuck off'.

Steve snickers. He thought it was a nice touch for an allegedly haunted house. 

Some of the magnets were holding up drawings of dragons and similar creatures. He spotted some yellowing Spider-Man stickers too, so maybe whatever kids used to live here were also little nerds like his friends. Curiously, he opened the fridge to find an ancient can of Coke inside. The cupboards held long-expired jars of herbs, rice, and pasta. It seemed like the house was never properly cleaned out. 

Next on his journey was the upstairs, where he found three bedrooms and two bathrooms. The master bedroom held the biggest and most expensive bed he's ever seen. Dragging it upstairs, even in parts, must have been hell. It had a canopy too, semi-translucent and dark. It partially hid the painting hanging over the headboard, and he had to step closer to take a look at it.

It was another dragon, with its wings spread and toothy mouth dripping with drool on a small figure beneath it - a woman in a skimpy dress, with dragonfly wings. Steve makes a face. 

"A man of peculiar taste, I see," he murmurs to himself, backing away from the bed. The rest of the walls had similar paintings of mythical creatures, making Steve wonder what kind of person the previous owner was. And why would he abandon art and furniture that must have cost a small fortune? 

He opened the door on the side, which turned out to lead into a small walk-in closet. It had a full length mirror and the few things left on hangers looked more like costumes than regular clothes. The owner must have been an eccentric artist type. An actor, maybe? Or a musician, he notes, spotting an empty guitar stand in the corner. 

At least the bathroom looks relatively normal if you don't count the gargoyle faucets added in.

The guest room paintings are far more tame, giving the impression the owner wanted the saucy ones for himself. Aside from that, there's nothing really exciting about them. The furniture looks to be on the more expensive side, but if Steve didn't have his realtor knowledge he proably wouldn't even notice.

He checks the windows, which seem to be in good shape, maybe one or two need replacing, and others just need extra insulation. The back porch looks even better than the front one, but the backyard is a mess. It's surrounded by a tall fence to keep the wildlife away, but throughout the years, the forest started creeping through, the roots digging beneath, plants dropping their seeds to grow. It would be a lot of work to get rid of it.

The whole house was a lot of work, but not as much as Steve had feared. The construction was solid and it stood against weather and abandonment for years without taking much damage. He probably wouldn't need professionals for most of it. 

He stood in the middle of the foyer, listening to his guts while looking around the abandoned, empty house. He knew he had time to make a decision. He could talk it out with Robin if he wanted, although keeping it a surprise sounded more fun.

Giving the ground floor one last lazy stroll, he spots a door he had missed earlier. It's smaller than the usual door, making Steve assume it leads to the basement. Or, as the wooden plaque on the door claims, "The Dungeon". Which was not mentioned in the house plans he'd looked through. 

He pulls out the key ring from his back pocket to look for the right one, though he doesn't remember 'basement' being among the labels. He flicks through all of them again.

Main. Back. Master. Guest 1. Guest 2.

No basement in sight. 

Perhaps the key went loose from the keyring, or it was somewhere in the house. He wasn't about to go on a wild goose chase to see some cobwebs and spiders when the alternative was getting on the road to see his friend. 

He steps into the library once again, probably the most normal room of them all, and takes a closer look at the titles on the shelves. It's more fantasy, as he expected, with some classics he's heard about from Dustin, but mostly titles unknown to him. He finds a whole shelf of D&D manuals, too. He picks one up with a curious hum, wondering if there's a way to get those even if he doesn't go with the house after all. 

He's not sure how old the game is (Dustin had told him multiple times, but he always forgets) but he wouldn't be surprised if all the released material so far was in here. He gently places the paperback back in its place, assuming that they were stored in order and he didn't want to disturb that. He took a step back to take the room in.

Walls covered in books, floor to ceiling, a fireplace with figurines on the mantle, four cozy armchairs, and a low table with a map under a glass pane. Middle Earth, of course. 

The Party would love it, he muses. It doesn't feel like a coincidence, that the house he considers buying, has things that would appeal to his friends. But he knows he has to make a smart decision. And nothing clears his mind better than a night out with his best friend. 

read the rest on Ao3

[heartfullofleeches]

Oh god PLEASE do a short with creep reader giving horrible torture ideas to Host while the contestants look on in horror.

(sorta forgot the short in your ask, but I hope you enjoy)

You are in an office.

The wall directly to your south is missing, but you can't see that far behind you - and so it is still there. A man sits cross from you at the other end of the table. You sense the presence of others in chairs beside you, but trying to make out distinct features from their grainy silhouettes only worsened the dull throbbing in the back of your skull. The amount of attention should bother you, but the significance of that man and yourself overshadowed them like the phantoms they were. Besides you, he's the most important in the room. He's your boss afterall.

Bathed in grey from his suit to his slicked back hair to even his skin, the man nurses an equally monochrome mug branded with the cheeky title of "A Show Host." The only bout of color on him was his tie which was curiously the exact shade and hue as your favorite color, and the book he held in his free hand. A quaint little journal with its lock popped and the key still in your pocket. Your brain screams to steal it back, but same as you can't look anywhere except ahead your body has lost all control of the rest of its motor functions.

The man barks a chuckle at the twisted thoughts you've put to paper. He removes his tie and tucks it smoothly between the pages of your journal, folding his hands neatly on the table as he closes it shut. His excessively wide grin peaks further as your eyes meet where his should be.

"Before we begin our meeting I must say what an honor it is to have such a clever mind in our little studio. Been a big fan of your work for quite some time and I think it's time to put some of your works to action."

The man tilts his sightless gaze towards the table. There are three folders where blank space once preoccupied. You gain control of your limbs as your fingers wiggle in the direction of the one closest to you.

"Those folders contain everything you need to know about the lovely contestants joining us today. Hopes, fears, ambitions, regrets- All you need and more to cook up some delicious punishment for our losers. Anything and I do mean anything is on the table. Give us your deepest, darkest fantasies and we will be more than glad to make them reality. The ball's in your court, and the pen is in your hand."

You open the first folder - gripping the pen in your sweaty palm as you read. As told, the folder is chalk full of notes on some guy just a couple years your senior. Someone's entire life held within rubber bands and pages. You sit in silence for a while. Circling some pieces, crossing out others. The Host watches intently from his end of the table feeling the swell of pride and admiration towards your dedication in whatever part of him resembled a human heart. You set down your tool and gather your notes as you begin your speech.

"Contestant A has severe claustrophobia resulting from locked in a closet by siblings as a child and forgotten for several hours. They also have fears of the dark and needles which are mostly unrelated on the surface. A potential punishment is to lock them in a room with just enough space to move. The walls are covered in spikes, slowly closing on them as time passes. The walls move at different paces so they believe it's safer elsewhere when in reality there's nowhere for them to go."

Silence. The silhouettes turn face each other, muttering amongst themselves with words you can't quite make out before facing Host sitting patiently this whole time. One by one, the silhouettes rise - striking their palms together in a chorus of applause which reaches its peak as one final member joins the frey. Host wipes a fake tear of his cheek. It almost feels...pleasant to receive positive attention for once.

"Beautiful, just beautiful. Childhood trauma, the hopeless hope or escape. I knew there was nothing short of genius in you. Keep going."

Host returns to his chair, resting his chin on the ball of his palm as you reach for another folder. Your hand naturally falls on the next one in order, but upon picking it up the letter on its cover is C. Host picks up his cup and holds to his lips as you look up at him. Skimming through the pages a strange feeling settles in your stomach. The same that plagued when writing nearly every entry in your book. You set the folder down and pick up the third. Then the first. It all clicks.

"Contestant C.... Contestant C is someone who tried to make my life a living hell in the past. In spite of this, with your permission I'd like to make them an offer. The other contestants are close friends of theirs. Life long even. Contestant C is now both an star athlete and plays guitar on weekend. They are also selfish and care for no one but themselves. I would like to give them the opportunity to free themselves and their friends in exchange for their dominant arm. If they refuse they are free to leave, following immediate punishment, torture and killing of their allies they must sit through."

Host stares at you - least you assume so given his lack of eyes, for quite some time. So long whatever he was drinking had to be cold by now. His cup turns out to be empty as it rolls across the floor. Thand resting on his chin covers his entire face as he folds, head bouncing off the wooden as his body twitches and jerks with every giggle he stifles. His attempts are in vain as his laughter echoes through the shadows around you, and the unseen crowd behind you. They convulse in ways unnatural foe the human forms they mimic. The sound reverberates from every corner, drowning your thoughts. You pick up the mug at your feet, reading its message for a second of clarity.

"Reality's Greatest Co-Host."

Host gradually regains his composure. He cards a hand through his hair and fixes his collar as he lifts himself off the table. He shutters returning to focus to you having never known more love or appreciation for the human mind than what consumes him now.

"I... could honestly kiss you right now. Forgive me for my brashness, but you have proven yourself a second time as the perfect member of our team. I'd kill to have a look at your brain, but I much prefer it in that pretty head of yours. I simply can't wait to see what you have in store for future guests, but for now let's focus on the ones we have now. We've kept them waiting long enough..

Blinking once, Host stands over you, holding out his hand as bright light blinds your vision. You're no longer facing the table and now in view of the stage hidden behind that wall that never existed. Three people stand behind podiums, each expressing terror, dread, anger or a perfect mixture of the three. Your lips pull into a smile as you take Host's hand and step out onto the stage. The crowd's cheers pitch higher seeing their favorite hosts hand in hand. A whisper soft as a lover's embrace meets your ear as his lips meet your temple.

"In the impossible chance they agree, you don't plan on letting any of them go - do you?"

He knows you so well.

[darling-i-read-it]

Limo

Johnny Cage x fem!reader

Word Count: 2.3k 

Warnings: jealousy/insecurity, insinuations to smut (natural johnny jokes), lots of drinking for some reason idk what i was on 

Author’s Note: i loveee johnny and writing for him is so fun. I think i kinda mixed the spicy fluffy lol, i hope you liked it darling!! I had sm fun with him <3 

Requested: by anon, I loved your Johnny Cage fic. Can I request another one where he’s with the reader, but she’s still nervous he still has feelings for Sonya? Fluffy or spicy ending is completely up to you, but a happy ending for everyone is all I ask. You’re the best!!

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director/creator

(not my gif)

Johnny wouldn’t call himself a frequent drinker. He liked to have a beer at events and a glass when he was winding down at home. Sometimes he would have a nightcap, just to end things right. Every once in a while he would go out drinking with friends. Well, he liked to drink with you, that was always fun. 

So maybe Johnny was a frequent drinker. But he wouldn’t call it a problem. 

Your giggles were like music to his ears. He could hear them from another room, identify it in a crowded space. He sat across from you on your shared California king bed. The bedroom was filled with posters from his movies, larger than life, a huge TV hanging from the wall. There was a discarded beer bottle beside you. You had a glass of your favorite in hand, something Johnny had made for you. He was a bartender in a movie. Ten years ago. 

“No more Jon. No more,” you said, and you were still giggling. 

“C’mon, c’mon. Don’t be a party pooper.” His words were slurred. You could understand him despite it. 

“There’s no party!” you argued lightly. It was just the two of you at home, in bed. He had turned on some music, connecting it to a speaker in the lights. He had the whole place rigged with random electronics. 

“This is our party,” he said, grabbing your hands. He spilled your glass and you were both laughing again. 

“You’ve been to real life parties Johnny. All the good ones, the crazy Hollywood ones. You call this a party?” 

“Yes! This is my favorite kind of party!” 

You were only slightly intoxicated. In fact, you were mostly drunk from Johnny's presence. You enjoyed moments where you just got to sit together, laughing at his absurdness. People tend to think it’s his downfall. In truth, it was the most charming thing about him. You had never known Johnny to be anything except pleasant and funny. 

“Oh come on,” you said. You put down your glass beside you. Your bedside table was covered in things, from tissues to pills. You looked back up at him. He had sunglasses on top of his head, even though the sun had gone down ages ago. He wasn’t wearing a shirt. His natural state of being. “What’s been the craziest party you went to?” He thought about it for a moment. He sat back, letting go of your hands. You raised an eyebrow at his studious gaze. 

“There was one like five years ago. People were hangin’ upside down, snorting stuff!” He shook his head, laughing fondly (and drunkenly) at the memory. “Like from the ceiling from hooks! I tried to get up there but Sonya told me I wasn’t allowed to. She was always a party pooper, never wanted to have any fun in front of other people.” He shook his head, a far away look on his face. “She did let me lift her up so she could order us drinks over everyones head. That was hella smart,” he pointed out. 

Your face lost some of its joy at the mention of Sonya. You tried to bring your smile back, not let it bother you. Johnny had always been open about his past romances. He was a womanizer, it was part of his image. Even after his constant assurance, it bothered you a bit. The random girls less so. 

Sonya Blade though…

It was his longest relationship before you. They still worked together sometimes. He still mentioned her, off handedly, like she was a fond friend. 

“You good babe?” You blinked a couple of times, looking back in his eyes. You plastered a fake smile onto your face, trying to let the alcohol in your system sink in. You nodded quickly, grabbing your glass again and bringing it to your lips. 

“Perfect!” You cleared your throat. “Sounds insane.” 

“We should try that next time,” he said. “It was one of my better ideas.” You nodded again. He squinted, sitting all the way up on the bed. The comforter was all messed up from the two of you moving around it. He couldn’t exactly place what had gone wrong but he knew something had been changed.

“You have plenty of good ideas.”

“Yeah, one time I used my powers to get us free drinks.”

“You still do that.”

“It’s really successful. Can you blame me?” You shook your head. You finished your glass. Johnny studied you, squinting his eyes.

“I’m gonna get another glass.” 

“Wait wait, woah!” He grabbed your hand before you could go far. “Wait, something just happened but I don’t know what it was. The vibe changed.”

“Nothing changed,” you assured him. “I just want another glass!” Johnny didn’t know a lot but he knew you. He knew the way you smiled and the way you sometimes covered up your emotions to save him. Even when he said you shouldn’t, you did. 

But arguing with you seemed like a mute point. He wanted things to stay good. That’s all he’s ever wanted. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes Jon.” You leaned forward, giving him a kiss. His lips were plump and extremely kissable. It never failed to make you feel better. You kissed the edge of his mouth, leaving faint flutters on his skin. He smiled, shining his movie star smile. 

“Can you get me another too?”

-

Johnny hadn’t even broken a sweat. He could go for round after round and come out of it unscathed and ready for another. You hopped back up, rubbing the tiredness from your face. You stretched your neck back and forth. 

“Tired already?” he teased. You rolled your eyes. You guys had started to train more together. It saved you both a trip to a gym and it proved that you could get all your anger out in a healthy way. Healthy being a relative term. 

“I’m goin’ easy on you,” you joked. You stood up straight. 

“I don’t like it when you lie to me,” he joked. You rolled your eyes and walked over to the edge of the matt so you could grab a drink of water. You were less ‘indestructible’ based and more ‘power’ based. “You know there’s always other stuff we can use the mat for.” He walked over to you, grabbing his own bottle. You gave him a look as you gulped down your water. He smiled suggestively. 

“I’m not falling for that this time.” 

“You make it sound like you aren’t a willing participant.” He flipped his water bottle and caught it. “Hey, there’s a party in the hills tonight. I was gonna go but I figured I could take you.” You hummed in consideration. He watched you eagerly. 

“Sounds like you have ulterior motives.” 

“I always have ulterior motives.” He was looking down at you with a hopeful gaze. Johnny’s eyes crinkled at the sides. Parties with him were always fun, if not overwhelming. He knew everyone and always wanted to talk to them. He dragged you around like a trophy. But by the end of the night, you were always laughing and always gleefully drunk and happily tied to his side.

He tilted his head. 

“Please?” 

You bit your cheek, making an exaggerated face of contemplation. 

“Alright.” 

“Yes!” He kissed your forehead, giving you finger guns. You rolled your eyes. “I’m gonna go start getting ready. Takes me forever, you know.”

“I know Johnny.” 

“I gotta call the limo.” 

-

“Drink! Over here!” 

“Johnny, you have to order the drink!” you said, laughing. He looked down at you, shaking his head. 

“They’ll figure it out!” “What’cha want man!?” 

“Fuck!” Johnny exclaimed. You laughed, knocking your head against the booth. You were shoved right beside Johnny, close enough where you were practically sitting on him. You had an arm over his shoulders, tracing things into his neck. It was making him restless. Which made him hot. “Something fruity!” 

“For the lady?!” 

“For me! I like fruity things!” Your laughter intensified. He turned back to you. 

“What? What?!”

“Nothing,” you promised. You patted his chest. You were both down a few. It was so loud. The flashing lights made you feel immediately higher than you were, Johnny’s voice drowning into the music. People’s voices were overlapping in excitement, there were bodies on bodies, sweat and spit swapping. 

The waiter gave Johnny some magical drink of unknown origins. He started to drink it immediately. 

“Oh fuck,” he muttered. “Sonya used to love this shit.” You tensed. You didn’t want to have this conversation here, now. 

“Yeah?” You receded your hand. You put it in your lap. 

“All tough girl but always liked the fruit drinks,” he explained. “Pineapple juice or something.” You grabbed your drink and took a swig. The liquid going down your throat felt good, despite the burn. 

“Hm.” He turned to you, noticing the absence of your touch. 

“You good?” 

“Great!” you lied.

“You sure?” You turned to him. You couldn’t be sure if it was the liquid courage or the environment but it made you want to say something. You wrapped your hands around the glass tightly. 

“You sure talk about Sonya a lot,” you observed. You hadn’t meant for your voice to come off as aggressive as it did. It was fueled by the constant silence, the moments where you bit your tongue. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. There was a flash of hurt across his eyes but you didn’t catch it. “I mean, if you wanna talk about her that much, you don’t have to do it with me. She’s your ex Johnny.” 

The music muffled in Johnny’s ears. It was like he was watching you speak outside of himself, like it wasn’t him you were speaking to. You were always fun and easy to bounce off of. You never showed any sort of issue with Sonya outwardly. 

“I didn’t know,” he said, voice almost inaudible over the club. 

“C’mon,” you grumbled. “I know all of the dates you guys used to go on. What kind of books she would read, the drinks she would order.” You fidgeted in your seat. You weren’t sitting on top of him anymore. “I mean, it’s like you still love her.” Your voice was laced with venom, all the insecurity behind it coming through. 

Johnny’s big puppy dog eyes fell. He had no idea you felt like that. He wished you had told him before. He started to shake his head aggressively, turning to face you with his entire body. He grabbed your hand gently. His big hand held yours with such soft intentions. 

“I don’t. I swear to you,” he said, trying his hardest to ground his voice. “I don’t love her anymore. I love you.” You didn’t make eye contact with him. “We were just together a long time, some of the stories I wanna tell you have her in it.” 

You finally met his eyes. You felt immediately embarrassed, sobering up quickly. 

“You’re right. I’m sorry I brought it up,” you said, shaking your head. 

“No, it’s something. It clearly bothers you.” He made you face him. His eyes were oozing with concern. He still looked kind of drunk but he could have fooled you. “I’m sorry.” He held your hands tightly, putting your drink back on the counter. 

“Me too.” 

“Don't apologize.” He bit his lip. “Baby.” 

“Johnny.” 

“You wanna dance with me or somethin?” You laughed gently. 

“I do.” 

“I promise I’ll stop bringing her up so much. I don't love anyone but you.” 

“Samesies.” 

“Cool.” 

“Cool.” He gestured with his head towards the dance floor. “Dance?” 

“Or we could skip the dancing all together and go back to the limo?” 

“My girl. My girl, my girl.” He inched closer to you, kissing you cupping your face. You felt entirely consumed by his scent. He stood up, holding your hand. He slipped off his shimmery jacket and handed it over to you. “It’s gonna be cold outside for a minute. Put this on.” “Yes sir.” He moved around the other people at the table, saying quick goodbyes to anyone sober enough to pay attention.  He threw his arm over your shoulder. You put your arm on his hip. He leaned down to whisper to you as you left. He tossed some money on the table. 

“I just wanted to put more clothes on you so I could take them off.” “I know Johnny.” 

“We should get matching tattoos.”

“Johnny, one thing at a time.”

[spoopydeboop]

Hello, and welcome to…

Pointless Palia Head-Cannons!

This is a segment where my hyper-focused and obsessive brain will shower you all with all of the pointless very important head-cannons I have about the MMO Palia and its many NPCs!

Today’s topic is:

Which Palia NPCs can sing well and which ones simply cannot carry a tune?

Now, in the words of the famous Italian plumber, “Here we go!” (List below the cut!)

NPCs are listed in alphabetical order.

• Ashura - Absolutely yes, but in a very deep, sea-shanty / Gaelic tune way. He’s not the most technically sound, but his voice is very gruff and soothing. Absolutely sang his son lullabies every night.

• Auni - No, I’m sorry. Convinced that he cannot carry a tune AT ALL but thinks he can. Sings loudly with zero inhibition whatsoever. Gotta give him credit there!

• Badruu - We know this man was in a traveling Bard group, so he’s musically inclined for sure. I feel like he would have been killer backup and filler vocals and he can harmonize beautifully.

• Caleri - Doesn’t believe in fun, jovial activities like singing. (Elouisa informs you later that her sister can in fact not carry a tune at all.)

• Chayne - Absolutely. He’s naturally musically inclined, but part of his spiritual training involved learning to lead chants and hymns. Bass level vocals, v soothing.

• Delaila - Not at all. Where do you think Auni gets it? Part of what entranced her about Badruu in the beginning was his musical abilities. She’ll still sing along with a group and put her all into it though!

• Einar - The concept of producing a vocal stimulation to create a pleasing melodic sound is lost to the robot. But if it’s your Oneness, he respects it.

• Elouisa - Cannot sing, but definitely played clarinet in high school and was first chair!

• Eshe - No way. Cruella de Vil type vibes. She definitely was classically trained on the piano, but doesn’t often exercise the skill.

• Hassain - Can absolutely carry a tune and harmonize well! Definitely low baritone or higher bass in range. Can harmonize with higher ranges very well!

• Hekla - Her Jina often sings to herself as she works, but the ability and desire to produce a series of melodies is not within her rune programming.

• Hodari - Not the biggest fan of singing, but has a decent voice that comes off pleasantly gruff and southern. I imagine if Pedro Pascal’s ‘Joel’ from The Last of Us sang a slower, more reserved tune. (My other example was the dad cow from Back at the Barnyard that sings “I Won’t Back Down”… Let me know if that woulda been better or worse.)

• Jel - Definitely took vocal lessons with his sisters. Has a very pleasant and airy singing voice that is very technically sound.

• Jina - Doesn’t really sing much except for to herself. Massive stage fright on this one! Hekla says that her Jina seems happy when she sings, and that’s what matters.

• Kenji - Honestly? 100%, yes. Maybe like a broadway or an operatic voice. Doesn’t sing much but I imagine it would sound really jolly if he was a jollier guy.

• Kenyatta - YES! Doesn’t sing because she thinks it’s ‘lame’ (she gives me massive ‘too cool for school’ vibes) but has a delightful and powerful singing voice (kinda like the wolf Porsha Crystal played by Halsey in Sing 2.)

• Nai’O - Yes absolutely. Got his talent from his dad! He’s very shy when put on the spot though, so he doesn’t sing in front of people often — mostly when he works in the field with his animals by himself.

• Najuma - Not at all! But it’s okay because Najuma has zero desire to, haha. Kid is happy to be tinkering!

• Reth - On god, YES. Man has a beautiful and casual singing voice with a little rasp around the edges. Sings to himself while he cooks or gets really focused on something. I’m thinking “Feelin’ Good” by Michael Bublé, but maybe bit more rough around the edges.

• Sifuu - Not much of a singer, but I know our Muscle Mommy definitely has a few war chants or something up her sleeve! Lady can keep a beat for sure.

• Tamala - Thinks she can, but makes it way too sultry. You heard me. There’s such a thing as too much!

• Tish - Yes! Absolutely. She seems like she would 100% have like a Mandy Moore or Kristen Bell vibe. Very Disney Princess-esque!

• Zeki - Okay, honestly I think yes — but not in a conventional way. Kind of like Ashura; I think he would be great at singing like traditional Grimalkin shanties or folk-songs. Not very practiced, but he’s got spirit!

OKAY FINALLY DONE! I plan to do a lot more of these! Let me know if you have any suggestions!

[scarredwithcruelintentions]

chapter 1: this is a gift

Find the masterlist here!

W/C: 2,700

Over the course of his unnaturally long life, Astarion had experienced many things. However, he couldn’t recall ever having had the displeasure of acting with such altruistic compassion before now. It was almost as if Cazador himself had thought up an entertaining new way to torture him, forcing him to don a mask of tight-lipped humility to maintain his facade of belonging.

One thing was made abundantly clear from the start of this journey: Astarion did not belong among this group of would-be heroes. His first taste of freedom in two hundred years, consistently squandered by the incessantly self-sacrificing actions of his traveling companions. He found himself in a constant state of exasperation these days, an eye-roll or a scoff away from striking out on his own, for better or worse. 

No matter how uncomfortable a role it was to play, far be it from him to turn down the objective safety in numbers that his companions provided him with, however unwittingly. It wasn’t as though he was a stranger to playing uncomfortable roles for the sake of his survival. Were they ever to find out just what it was they were traveling with, they’d surely turn him out in an instant, if not stake him outright. Neither being vulnerable to recapture by Cazador nor the finality of death quite tickled Astarion’s fancy, so he kept his head down and the worst of his sarcastic quips to himself in hopes that he would remain relatively safe from prying eyes - or more accurately, prying thoughts.

And it worked - for the most part. The gith and the cleric were too busy quarreling amongst each other to pay him any heed, and the warlock was all too consumed by his loathing of his contracted owner. The wizard, while clearly educated and well-read, didn’t seem to have a perceptive bone in his body if the way he carried on was anything to go off of. Astarion could swear that listening to him speak was the closest he’d come to truly sleeping since he’d been turned. The tiefling woman, bless her infernal engine, had heart and brawn to spare, but had been less than fortunate in the intelligence department.

You, however, were far harder to read, and therefore far harder to trust. Not to say that he trusted his other companions, but he could at least trust that they remained steadfastly oblivious as to his true nature. He was never sure with you, occasionally catching a glimmer of something deeper in the warmth of your gaze when you exchanged pleasantries, or looking up from his book to find you staring at him from across the campfire, your pleasant voice lilting the harmonic accompaniment to the lyre in your arms. Your eyes held far too much keen interest for him to be comfortable, so he kept an especially safe distance from you.

At least, he tried to.

As the days wore on and the fights became more grueling, he found himself growing weary and bone-tired beyond what his typical nightly hunt could satiate. He felt sluggish and weak; stringing together rational and coherent thought had become burdensome. He could scarcely breathe in the company of his companions without feeling overwhelmed by the sheer might of his bloodlust. Luckily, he’d mostly learned to ignore his bottomless hunger over the span of his enslavement, and whatever wasn’t held in the firm grip of his self-control was allayed by the fear of Cazador’s retribution.

The longer he spent away from Cazador, though, the more that fear shrunk alongside his waning self-control. The fact that he’d left his most recent kill, mangled and exsanguinated, in the middle of the path for his traveling party to stumble across was testament to his current lack of presence. Under different circumstances, its discovery could have been his death sentence. As it were, he only had to listen to the shocked and horrified exclamations of his companions, none of them the wiser that the beast in question capable of such a grisly and disturbing kill resided in their camp. For his part, Astarion remained steadfastly silent, watchful gaze leveled on the back of your head and fingers twitching toward his dagger.

After a quiet “hmm” and a shrug, you stood from the corpse of the boar and brushed your hands off. 

“Nothing to be done for it now. Best be on our way,” you said gravely. Astarion’s fingers stopped their twitching, and he released a silent breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding.

Later that night, as his companions sang and danced and made merry around the campfire, Astarion began to hatch a plan. An ill advised plan, mind, and not one that he was proud to have conjured up, but he was so hungry and could no longer ignore the mouth watering smell of the sentient life around him. All that was left was to pick his target and wait for the right opportunity to strike.

As he pretended to eat his bowl of stew that the wizard had prepared, he sorted through the list of his companions in his mind, weighing his options. Both the gith and the warlock were sure to kill him if they caught him in the act, so they were immediately discarded. The tiefling would melt his face right off if he got too close to her, which made her an impractical option. Something about the wizard smelled off, so naturally he was struck from the list. That left the cleric… and you.

Just as he was preparing to puzzle out the best option between the two, you waltzed past him with your gentle instrumental and sultry lilt, and he made the mistake of inhaling. His mouth practically watered at the smell of you: jasmine blossoms and orange peel and heady musk. Without any further thought, he had his vict- target. 

He shook his head warily, attempting to clear his disquieted thoughts like so many cobwebs from his mind, just as you turned to send a soft smile his direction. 

His insides twisted with the sharp discomfort of shame and he smiled back, taking care to keep from baring his fangs. He couldn’t tell if the vise grip of unease was of his own or his master’s making, but it was almost strong enough to make him reconsider. Almost. Then, his hunger returned to him full-force and all at once, and his resolve was strengthened. Once everyone else had reached the land of dreams, Astarion would have his first true taste of freedom: ‘the blood of a thinking creature’. ______________________________________________________________

Astarion volunteered to take first watch, so, mercifully, he was the only one awake. If he were capable of nervous sweats, the back and underarms of his shirt would be soaked through, his palms clammy and the curls at his forehead damp. One would think that being abducted by mindflayers would make the prospect of drinking his companions’ blood pale in comparison, but he found himself more terrified now than those handful of nights ago when he’d been snatched up and imprisoned on the Nautiloid. Perhaps it was the fear of Cazador’s wrath, when he inevitably found out Astarion wilfully disobeyed his cardinal order; perhaps it was the fear of losing control and hurting you, and then paying the price with his life.

Whatever the case, Astarion made a concerted effort to steel himself before proceeding with his plan. He crept from his post, silent as the grave with the practiced ease of a night stalker and crossed the camp to your tent, its flaps open to dispel some of the muggy summer air trapped within. The closer he got to his prize, to you, the further his wits were flung from him until he knelt at your side, salivating at the thrum of the pulse in your neck. He licked his lips and leaned in, intoxicated by the smell of you, fangs poised to puncture your carotid artery -

“You could ask, you know,” he felt more than heard you say. “It’s impolite to touch people without first gaining their consent.”

Astarion reeled back as if he’d been struck, a muffled curse escaping him as he hastily tried to retreat.

“Move any further and I’ll scream. I’d fancy a guess that you don’t want the whole camp to find you unwelcome in my tent, so I suggest you quit squirming away and explain yourself,” you grumbled, and though your voice painted a perfect picture of disenchantment, Astarion could see the way your body had drawn taut with adrenaline; you were prepared to fight your way out of this if necessary.

“No, no! It’s not what it looks like, I swear,” he pleaded, voice just shy of frantic and hands held aloft in placation. “I wasn’t going to hurt you! I just needed - well, blood.” 

The shame returned to him at a near dizzying magnitude, his last words falling flat in defeat on a final exhale, sure to be his last.

You sat up, body still tense and prepared to strike if the need arose, and scrutinized him with narrowed eyes. To his surprise and immense relief, you only questioned him further.

“How long since you last killed someone? Days? Hours?” 

Though your voice held the edge of cold steel, it could not conceal the glint of curiosity in your gaze. Despite his better judgment, Astarion decided to tell you the truth, hoping to appeal to the bleeding heart of your empathy.

“I’ve never killed anyone! Well, not for food,” he sneered, then schooled his expression back into something non-threatening after remembering that he did not want to make his predicament worse.

“I feed on animals. Boars, deer, kobolds - whatever I can get. But it’s not enough. Not if I have to fight. I feel so… weak.”

“Ah, so that was your dinner we found so carelessly discarded this morning,” you bit back.

He weighed his next words carefully after examining your body language, still finding you tense but sensing no fear.

To Hells with it, he thought.

“If I just had a little blood, I could think clearer. Fight better. Please,” he begged, eyes wide and round with desperation.

He watched in relative discomfiture as the tension drained from your posture, expression morphing to regard him with no small amount of pity as your tadpoles connected and you were granted a fleeting glimpse into his centuries of abuse and torment. It took all of his courage to not shut you out; he felt painfully flayed open and on display with what little you were able to glean from the brief brush of your minds. 

To your credit, you didn’t ask about what you’d seen.

“Why didn't you tell me, Astarion?” you whispered.

“At best, I was sure you’d say no,” he scoffed, then sighed, “More likely, you’d ram a stake through my ribs. No, I needed you to trust me. And you can trust me.”

He held his breath again, daring to hope that you might actually be amenable to helping him.

“Hells. I do trust you, Astarion. Believe it or not, I do. Would have preferred you to just ask instead of having this uncomfortable confrontation in the wee hours, though,” you chuckled.

He almost couldn’t believe his luck, or perhaps it was your stupidity, and he waved a hand noncommittally in front of him.

“Does this mean…” he breathed, his nerves alight with something akin to elation.

“Yes, you may make a meal of me,” you sighed.

“Wonderful! Thank you, truly-” he began, abruptly cut off by the hand raised wordlessly to silence him.

“But you’d better not take a drop more than you need, or there won’t be a next time,” you finished with a resolute nod.

Astarion nearly balked at your words, simultaneously blessing and cursing whatever gods would listen for leaving something so preciously stupid as you alone in his company.

“Of course, darling. Not one drop more, on my honor,” he said, placing a hand over his undead heart.

You snorted inelegantly, “Right, honor. As if you have any of that, Rogue. How do you want me?”

“You wound me, my sweet. More to the point, how don’t I want you?” he drawled, playing up the flirty charm in an attempt to ease the stiffness of anxiety that had once again overcome you. 

However, it seemed to have opposite the desired effect, and he watched in disconcerted fascination as your hands balled into tight fists at your sides. You rhythmically unclenched and clenched your fists a few times before releasing a shaky exhale.

“Do you plan to bite me sometime before the sun rises or not? If you’ve changed your mind, I’d very much like to get some sleep before we have to spend another day meandering through this blasted forest, hunting down an impossible cure for our stowaways,” you huffed out.

“My apologies, do get comfortable,” Astarion mumbled as he scrambled to kneel at the edge of your bedroll once more. He brushed the wisps of your hair away from your neck, fingers trailing down the delicate column of your throat almost reverently. He wanted to savor this moment, this first.

“Will it hurt much?” he felt the rumble of your words through his fingertips.

“Not terribly, but it will be uncomfortable for a moment. I will try to be gentle,” he murmured back, steady gaze leveled with your apprehensive one.

“Get on with it, then,” you gritted out, turning your head to expose more of the tender flesh of your neck.

Astarion leaned in, once again overwhelmed by the smell of you in this close proximity, but no longer dogged by the feeling of malaise at what he was about to do. He gently dragged his fangs up the column of your throat, searching for your pulse point. He heard your quiet gasp and felt the slight shudder that ran through you, one of your hands flying up to nestle in the silvery curls at the nape of his neck and the other twisting in the furs of your bedroll. It was then that he struck.

The first splash of blood across his tongue was like the finest wine he’d ever tasted. He vaguely registered the sound of a groan, but whether it was yours or his, he wasn’t sure. Everything beyond your lifeblood spilling from the puncture wounds in your neck and his tongue lapping at it was hazy with his euphoria. He could taste the salty musk of your sweat coupled with the ferrous tang of your blood, the fleeting sweetness of your desire giving way to a deeper, more buttery contentment. 

He quickly lost himself in the act of drinking from you, gulping down great mouthfuls of your blood like a man having stumbled across an oasis after spending too many long nights parched in the desert. He drank deeply and greedily, rational thought all but gone as he slaked his bloodlust.

Eventually, he registered the bitter taste of your fear and felt the fingers buried in his curls tighten and pull.

“Astarion,” you garbled in warning, “that’s enough.”

Reluctantly, and with no small amount of effort, he pulled back. 

“That - that was amazing,” he mumbled in awe, tongue darting out to clean the blood from his lips and wiping up the droplets that spilled down his chin, only to lick his fingers. 

“And strangely intimate,” you laughed breathily.

“Indeed. My mind is finally clear. I feel strong, I feel… happy!” he breathed, voice full of wonderment. 

“I’m looking forward to seeing you fight,” you whispered, the ghost of a smile playing at your lips.

“Shouldn’t take long,” he smirked back, “So many people need killing. Now, if you’ll excuse me, you’re invigorating, but I need something more filling.”

He stood and turned to exit, then thought better of it and paused at the mouth of your tent. He looked over his shoulder to find you seated upright, looking at him expectantly.

“This is a gift, you know. I won’t forget it.”

He didn’t miss the way your face fell as he turned to continue out into the waiting darkness. This time, it was guilt that made his gut churn unpleasantly. As to why, though, he couldn’t say.

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Bela + Morning/Aftercare

Not requested, just felt like giving myself a prompt. This was originally just Bela + Morning but my brain kinda shifted it, so oops, guess this technically isn't a one word prompt fill anymore. Features a gender-neutral reader, Bela's implied to be your wife (I don't think I used the word, but y'all have rings), and there's the heavy implication that the two of you fucked the night before (maybe a bit roughly, at that, but she is a vampire lady, so...).

Under read-more for length, at 1200 words.

-----

Always being the first to wake had its perks, at times, even if it often meant overcoming pangs of loneliness. Most mornings have Bela going for a short walk, then perhaps taking care of a few things for her slumbering siblings and mother. Other times she simply used the opportunity to relax in peace. Today was one of the latter days, and for good reason, her body still pressed tightly against you, the soft blanket your only protection from the cool morning air.

Last night had been… eventful, for the two of you. Undoubtedly you would eventually awaken to find yourself sore, perhaps with a few light bruises, but with the bite on your shoulder freshly bandaged. Bela never neglected aftercare. Most of it had occurred before you fell asleep, of course, some tasks simply bear repeating now.

Carefully, slowly, Bela untangles herself from the sheets, leaving a gentle kiss on your brow when you instinctively reach out for her. All the air in her lungs becomes pointless at the sight of your sleeping smile. Even in the depths of your dreams, her touch was something to savor, a source of great comfort. Bearing a grin of her own, she forces herself to turn towards the ensuite. She’d get to admire you plenty while taking care of your scratches.

Glancing down at her nails, she can’t help but pause, inspecting the dried blood under the edge. Perhaps her grip on your back had been tighter than she remembered. Making a mental note to grab some soothing salve from the cupboard, she quickly cleans up by the sink. It’s not thorough, mostly just taming her hair and washing off the aforementioned dried blood, but she fully intended to save her bath for when you can join her.

By the time she returns to bed, you’ve started to stir. Briefly, your eyes open, squinting up at your beloved, and you offer her a meek murmur for a greeting. With the way you look at her, but don’t quite see her, Bela can only assume that you aren’t truly awake yet. Allowing herself a chuckle, she sets up her medkit next to your weary form. Ever so gently she sets about removing the temporary bandage from your shoulder. Instantly the scent of dried blood hits her, making her dizzy for a split second, and she looks at your bite marks with both pride and desire.

Part of her is eager to bite again, to further mark you as her own. But she quashes those instincts, suppresses them, knowing that there is no need to be so possessive. Not only are you loyal in your affections, the ring on your finger makes it clear to others that you are her partner. When she leans in close, it is not to reopen wounds. Instead, she allows herself a single, slow lick. Not much comes from it, the metallic taste less strong than she preferred, yet it still sends a shiver of pleasure down her spine.

“My sweet darling,” she murmurs, pressing a kiss to your collarbone before beginning to dab a wet cloth against the bite. Each touch is gentle, soothing, only barely enough pressure to clean the dried blood. Bela begins humming one of her mother’s songs as she works. It’s a light melody, flowing and curling around itself, that fills the air with a pleasant buzz. “There we go, much better,” she speaks, applying an antibacterial cream, continuing her humming until the bandage is in place.

At last, you stir further, blinking up at her with growing awareness. Something warm blossoms in Bela’s chest when she sees how quickly you light up at the sight of her. Immediately your hands are reaching for her, wanting to cup her face or intertwine your fingers with hers. The first she allows, the latter she pulls back from, making a clear display of wiping her hands off on a spare cloth. No need to get medicine all over your hand. With the way you pout, she wants nothing more than to kiss you until you’re both desperate for air.

“Soon, draga mea, let me finish tending your wounds, understood?” Bela says, taking on a playfully stern tone. Although it takes a moment for you to process her words, having forgotten the ache of your body until now, your pout soon subsides. Then you cautiously shift, allowing her easier access to the pattern work of scratches across your back. “Very good.” This time her voice is more intimate, reminiscent of the night before, sending blood rushing to your cheeks. Once more she kisses your skin, this time where the back of your neck meets your shoulder.

“I love you,” you murmur, voice muffled by the pillow you cling to. Naturally, it’s the same pillow that Bela had been laying against half an hour ago. Your own was pushed off to the side, forgotten, teetering dangerously close to the mattress’ edge. The sight amuses Bela, and she has to stifle a chuckle, lest you think she’s laughing at your affection instead.

“And I love you. Now hold still, this may sting but for a moment, then the pain will fade,” she explains, a smile evident in the curl of her words. She waits for you to give a hum of acknowledgment before beginning to rub the salve into the skin of your back. True to her word, it has a slight burn, but it’s not enough to make you wince or whimper. Compared to the pain you gladly endured for her love-bites, this was hardly even a nuisance. If anything… the feeling of Bela’s touch, the gentle kneading of your flesh, is rather pleasant. Of course she notices, and leans down to murmur something teasing in Romanian.

Even if you don’t understand the specifics, you get the gist, and once again feel heat rushing to your face. This time Bela does not try to hide her laughter, the sound almost lilting. It’s bright. Warm. Entirely perfect, just as she is to you.

A few minutes pass, far too quickly for your liking, before you hear the sound of the medicinal jar closing with a satisfying click. For a moment, Bela makes no move. It’s not until you try to turn to look at her that she shifts, a hand on your shoulder keeping you down, the feeling of her breath fanning against your neck making you freeze. Pleased with your obedience, Bela releases you with a soft hum. Then she slips into bed next to you, in a familiar position, gesturing for you to lay on top of her.

“Come closer, draga mea, let me savor your warmth while the salve does its job. We can bathe once the medicine is absorbed,” Bela explains, and you start obeying before she even finishes speaking. As you curl against her, ensuring your back remains off of the bed, she quickly glances at the clock. Good, she muses, still plenty of time before breakfast. 

Yes, there are many perks to being such an early riser. The grandest of which is that she can enjoy this time with you, her duties fulfilled, her only work left to care and cherish her darling.

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

Hi, I had a random thought about Wylan Van Eck and it accidentally turned into a world building rant so enjoy… I guess?

Every so often I randomly remember that Wylan has canonically been to the races at Caryeva in Ravka and I just can’t help but wonder what the hell this situation was like. I don’t recall a lot of specific descriptions about Caryeva so correct me if I’m wrong but I believe it’s an environment quite similar to that of the Barrel and that boy was not thriving in the Barrel okay the stress of imagining young Wylan stuck with his father at the Caryeva races is so real. Like I’m not saying the entire place must be a hellhole but the key information we know about it (at least to my recollection and what I gathered about two minutes ago from the Grishaverse wiki) is that its main points of interest are gambling in horse races and producing alcohol, and we know that Vasily gathered a less than pleasant reputation whilst spending most of his time there gambling away what little fortune he had left. And also what the hell was Van Eck doing there in the first place? The version of Jan Van Eck we see him present to the other characters and therefore to us as the reader (since we don’t ever get his POV) would simply cease to exist at the impropriety of it all, he can’t get through a conversation about the Barrel without cringing and you’re telling me he went on a trip to Caryeva and took his presumably very young son with him? (I’m assuming this bc Wylan says he *used* to take him everywhere with him and Van Eck found out he couldn’t read when he was about eight). What was this situation???? Why was he there???? I wonder if this is another subtle hint towards the potential extent of less than savoury business Van Eck is involved in beyond Wylan’s knowledge, like when he suggests meeting on Vellgeluk (an island used mostly by smugglers and traffickers) and Inej is surprised he knows about it and Kaz responds something along the lines of “perhaps he’s not so much the upstanding merch he claims to be”.

The reference to Caryeva just always sticks out to me as slightly random in comparison to the other places Wylan lists his father as having taken him to - the Shu oil fields? Absolutely, this is a world (at least as I’ve understood it) currently moving towards its Industrial Revolution at top speed of course Van Eck of all people is looking to invest in oil futures he may be the worst but he is clever; the Ice Court? It’s a diplomatic event between the leaders of two countries, one desperately trying to maintain its neutrality to hold tightly to its place in the world economy as it very quickly develops (Kerch) and one desperately trying to impose itself as a greater world power than its being given credit for via violence and focusing its development on military-based progress like the tanks (Fjerda) (btw I think I’ve talked about this before in my worldbuilding posts but I have thoughts about the tanks and the general global development of the grishaverse so if anyone wants more theories/analyses on that let me know), so yes it absolutely makes sense especially since we’re starting to see (or at least I think we are but I’m not a historian I’m basing this on my understanding about how these things happened in our world and how they would develop in their world based on the distinctions between the two) the globalisation of the Grishaverse beginning; the Jurda farms in near Shriftport? We all know Van Eck has a vested interest in jurda and we also know it was a big part of his business long before parem came to the scene because it is a massively used stimulant throughout Kerch; Weddle? Absolutely, I don’t know if it’s been confirmed as the capital but if it isn’t it’s still a major city in Novyi Zem there are a thousand reasons Van Eck could’ve been there; Elling? Once again it’s entirely reasonable to imagine Fjerda having a vested interest in an alliance with Kerch to secure their place in the global economy and to manipulate what is almost definitely and imminent and unavoidable collapse of the country’s questionable neutrality; Elling makes sense because Van Eck probably visited Fjerda a lot and even if there wasn’t anything about alliances and military tactics and etc going on Elling is a port settlement and it makes plenty of sense to assume large amounts of trade take place here. (My theory about the military stuff if below, sorry the paragraph was too long to get it all in together)

(Ravka is in severe debt to the Kerch government and we know Fjerdan intelligence is well aware of this, especially since Matthias knew when he hadn’t been in the government for over a year and never worked anywhere near espionage, and Kerch is also a massive global power. Support for Fjerda from Kerch would mean support from the Southern Colonies and possibly even division in Novyi Zem, and whilst it would probably prevent the Fjerdans from any kind of alliance with the Shu due to the tension between Kerch and Shu Han being so high it would also probably not be necessary for them to make a deal with the Shu if the had the support of the Kerch. Ultimately, Fjerda and Shu Han are fighting for control of the same land, they just haven’t reached each other yet because they’re still stuck on opposite sides of Ravka. If either country gained control of the majority of Ravka’s land then it would lead to a fight with the other; Fjerda need global support if they have a chance of winning two wars immediately after each other and if Kerch are in fact going to have to lose their neutrality, as it seems they are being forced to do and definitely would have been forced to do if parem became a global resource (Van Eck even says himself on the matter that Kerch has enjoyed neutrality for too long), and already have high tensions with Shu Han and rising tensions with Novyi Zem (due to the assassination of the Zemeni ambassador, which I do believe was an attempt to start a war btw, that they blame the Kerch for and the Kerch suspect the Shu for) then they are the perfect target for Fjerda to form an alliance with. Kerch also has a very strong navy which Fjerda presumably lacks since their efforts have all been focused on Ravka, where they share a land border, so to enter a larger scale/global war they would need a navy on their side. Again, I want to emphasise I know very little about military tactics and history I am approaching this by imagining that it’s a logic puzzle, so you might be reading this and this and thinking that it makes no sense in realistic scenarios but this is just my theory)

But Caryeva???? Even if there weren’t standing for Van Eck and the Merchant Council to be plotting against Ravka, which I personally believe there is, it STILL WOULDN’T MAKE DIPLOMATIC OR BUSINESS SENSE TO GO TO CARYEVA. So in summary I think Van Eck was doing lots of messed up things that young Wylan didn’t understand because he was a small child so why would he, plus this was a time in his life when probably trusted his father, and I think that this is yet another of the very subtle ways Leigh Bardugo shows us that there is a lot more going on beneath the surface than we notice or that the characters have comprehended because it does!’t fit into the focus of the story. Whether or not Van Eck was planning on building his diplomacy towards Fjerda into an alliance or not (but I do want to add that the only other language he hired someone to teach his son was Fjerdan, so that may also be a hint), I definitely think that he was involved in something illegal to specifically be at the races in Caryeva. Like to vineyards or something for a trade deal, sure. But why, after going on and on about the questionable version of Ghezen he believes in and how the Barrel is a “den of filth” and calling gambling a “vice” and arguing with Kaz because he was offended when he said that speculating on the markets was a form of gambling, would Jan Van Eck be at Caryeva horse races?

Anyway I’ve been going on about this for way longer than I intended, hope this made some semblance of sense and thanks for reading

[mxdarling]

[send me a pic]

aventurine fluff post, ooc aventurine, could be read as platonic or romantic, reader is trailblazer, gn reader who uses they/them prns, mostly texting format, takes place after 2.2 trailblaze quest, spoiler free!, a bit rushed, lowercase, 1.0k wc, based on a in-game text interaction with aventurine.

[a/n; got a in-game message from aventurine and decided to write for him LOLL I couldn't resist, my writing is so rusty now i;m sorry huhuu]

you were chilling in your room, laying down with your limbs spread out on the bed, doing absolutely nothing. after the events of penacony, you were completely exhausted. the bed was too comfy to get up from, like some magnetic force pulling you into the soft texture of the mattress. it was unusual for you to be doing nothing—doing nothing would make you bored, and you hate being bored, which prompts you to do anything to make that boredom go away. so having your eyes glued to the ceiling was a new feeling to you; you weren't in the mood to bother march and dan heng with your antics, or help pom pom clean the astral express, or talk to mr. yang and himeko, no, none of that. you simply wanted to be in your room, doing nothing.

minutes have passed, and your eyes, void of excitement, continued to stare down at the ceiling. it wasn't interesting, so it was the only thing your eyes could focus on without much effort. seeing as you weren't going to do much for today, the thought of sleeping away time sounded rather pleasant to you, plus the droopiness in your eyes gave you the go signal to drift off and take a nap. as you're lured into the embraces of slumber, you almost gave in until your phone let out a buzzing noise, pulling you out of rest.

your phone stays still on the bedside table, you sit up straight and leaned over towards your phone to take a peek at the notification that has woken you up.

a: [hey friend!] a: [how's life been treating you?]

caught off guard by his sudden message you leaned back and took a second or two to recollect yourself before reaching for your phone and typing out a reply.

t: [uhh been doing okay, hbu?] a: [a new shop that opened up here on penacony—cosmic star.] a: [checking the place out, it's fun, there's a lot of interesting stuff here.] t: [you planning on buying something there?] a: [well sort of, i'm not buying for myself though] a: [actually gonna buy something for you]

you audibly let out a confused 'huh' as you read and reread his message. this is definitely a first. you knew he had the credits to buy the most expensive things imaginable due to being part of the IPC, but you didn't think he'd let you indulge in his wealth beyond his missions.

t: [wait really? like actually??] a: [yeah gonna buy you something, first i need to find what strikes your fancy] a: [there's this "horizon" series pajama is made with a material so light it feels like nothing, warm in winter, cool in summer, and extremely comfortable] a: [wearing it to sleep should considerably lessen the fatigue from travel]

you were tempted to immediately say that was the item you wanted; after all, having some new sets of pajamas would be nice. though you decided to wait until he described the other items to you, perhaps there was something you'd like even more than the pajamas.

a: [speaking of travel, these "night diamond" series gloves, they're handcrafted and limited to ninety pairs galaxy-wide, perfect for parties and special occasions]

you didn't feel much for the gloves, if you were being honest; the ones you already had were fine and very comfortable during your travels through different worlds. still, you kept the gloves in mind in case you had a change of heart.

a: [and then there's this windbreaker from the "unmanned flight" series—a timeless classic!] a: [you can wear it and stand on the edge of a cliff, listening to the flapping of its hem when the cosmic storm hits… it's because of that scene in the movie, "unmanned flight" has now become the go-to choice for a generation of the nameless and their followers.]

the windbreaker sounded fun, you thought, plus you had a feeling that he picked that item because you’re a nameless as well. though you weren't sure if it would be any use to you.

a: [now, which one do you like?]

thinking very carefully between the three items he had describe to you, trying to sort out the pros and cons of each items but you ended up getting tired of doing so—in the end you settle for the vibes each item gave off.

t: [the "horizon" pjs then] a: [that's all? are you sure?] t: [yeah i'm sure] a: [alright, i'll have it delivered to you, just don't mind the extra packages okay?]

raising an eyebrow at his rather vague message, you hear the sound of hurried footsteps approaching. suddenly, your door slides open to reveal a disheveled march out of breath. "hey! why did you order so many packages!?" march whined, still out of breath as she continued to breathe in and out to catch some air. you watched from your bed in shock as she continued to huff out for air. looking back at you, she whined once more. "hey! these are your packages. help me out over here!" quickly you got off the bed and on your feet running after march, and you helped her carry your packages into your room. you wondered if this is what he meant by 'extra packages'.

t: [how many did you ordered!?] a: [what do you mean friend?] t: [i thought you ordered just the pjs??] a: [i did! with a couple of others things of course!] t: [????] t: [what others things??] a: [why don't you check the packages to see for yourself] a: [don't forget to send me a picture!]

with a sigh of disbelief, you turned your attention to the pile of boxes sent by aventurine himself, guess you should start unboxing.

t: [sent 10 attachments.] t: [what do you think?] a: [10 pictures isn't enough my friend but oh well] a: [as expected, you look really cute in those pjs friend!]

PLEASE DO NOT COPY, REPOST, SHARE, TRANSLATE OR REUPLOAD ANY OF MY WORKS TO OTHER SITES WITHOUT MY PERMISSION + REBLOGS AND COMMENTS ARE APPRECIATED.

[peaceoutofthepieces]

could we have 20 with Andreil ???

you can always and forever have any andreil you'd like

20. Chest Kiss

Neil had begun to think his sexuality (or lack thereof) could have somewhat stemmed from how he'd been taught to view bodies from a young age. Bodies were nothing more than a limiting, physical cage through which you could experience harm and hunger. By the time he was ten, Neil had known which parts of the body bled most and which parts broke easiest; by his tweens, he knew how to take a body apart, either for the convenience of making its inhabitor suffer or to make it more disposable; by his teens, he knew how fast a body burned and he knew how many weaknesses a body resulted in.

He was a mosaic of those results—his parts had bled and broken and been taken apart and burned to ash; and then, reassembled.

This reassambly had never been his point of focus, before Andrew.

Before Andrew, bodies had been a pathway to pain, and little else. Even when Neil did manage to find pleasure in physicality, pain was its basis. Whether he was running himself ragged or his muscles were taut with anticipation or aching after hours-long practices, pleasure and satisfaction and relief did not come without first withstanding pain.

Before.

In the past year, Neil has learned what bodies are good for apart from survival; in the past year, Neil has learned pleasure and satisfaction and release; in the past year, Andrew has taught him.

But in theory, Neil had known the body was capable of these things. In theory, Neil had understood how bodies could warrant appreciation.

Recently, Neil has been learning the pleasure in admiration.

Andrew is teaching him.

Neil does not think it's an active lesson, but he is an attentive student. He'd worried, for a while, that Andrew's remarks about his staring were indicators of genuine annoyance, but he's come to know better. Neil had worried, knowing Andrew had been the focus of unwanted attention before, but they've come to the silent understanding that Neil's attention is wanted, and this is where the difference resides.

So while Andrew never necessarily presents the option, Neil frequently allows himself to admire. He has counted all the strands of Andrew's golden hair; he has memorised Andrew's profile, the slope of his nose and cut of his jaw and curve of his neck; he has measured Andrew's strength under his hands, layers of black fabric unable to hide the broad bulk of him. Unlike most things, he does this quietly, without remark. Like most things, he does not ask for more than he is given freely.

Which is why, in the end, it's nothing more than a pleasant surprise, and it passes (mostly) quietly. Andrew rises from his perch over Neil on the bed to lock the door, and on his return, he pulls his black vest over his head and tosses it aside.

Neil's breath hitches. He understands—the late summer heat has been unrelenting—and in a way, it is not so monumental as Neil sprawled already topless on the sheets. Andrew is not self-conscious or required to hide in the way Neil so frequently is, but there is a line, all the same, that he waries of crossing. The casual baring of skin is one thing, and is the only reason Neil has caught glimpses before. The intimacy of this—the two of them, the bedroom, the locked door—is something else entirely.

So Neil understands, but he doesn't, and his breath hitches, and Andrew notices.

Andrew rolls his eyes and comes to where Neil is sitting on the end of the bed, hands clenched tightly in the sheet either side of him. "Shut up," Andrew mutters, already sliding his hand back into Neil's hair.

Neil stares up at him quietly for a moment, and Andrew gazes calmly back, eyes clear. A smile begins to curve Neil's lips, and Andrew is rolling his eyes again even as he tugs at Neil's growing curls and tilts his head back to allow Neil's mouth to return to his neck. Neil obliges by pressing a kiss there once, twice, but then retreats to duck his head lower and waits.

"Yes," Andrew says, after a beat, and then it's his breath hitching as Neil presses his mouth to his chest.

Neil keeps himself contained, but makes use of the permission he's been given. He trails kisses under Andrew's collarbone, featherlight brushes and sharp nips that have Andrew's hand tightening in his hair. As he moves down over the swell of muscle, he mouths wetly at the smooth skin, and Andrew's other hand comes around his shoulders. Neil grins, and returns Andrew's second "Shut up" with another kiss.

send me a number + ship

[gasolinerainbowpuddles]

Galletita ║ ⓞⓝⓔ๏ⓞⓕⓕⓢ

part of a small fic exchange with random mutuals :)

This is for you, my dearest Beefro! Hope you enjoy!

| GALLETITA | main masterlist | PAIRING(s): chubby Javi P x fem!reader

| RATING: explicit material | 18+ | WORD COUNT:  5.2k | CONTENT: big boi Javi P is hungry and a little cranky, you like to bake and Javi likes to eat, belly kink, feeding kink, probably bad Spanish, we’re playing fast and loose with timelines, canon, and everything in general, so just forget about timey wimey boo boo wah wah and enjoy the story lmao

| SYNOPSIS: Your sister and brother-in-law have enlisted your help with their small business while they await the birth of their first baby. You help with the cafe and find yourself face to face with a new customer whose appetite might have met its match in you.

It had been a rush to open up on your own at the last minute, but your sister couldn’t exactly be blamed for going into labor in the middle of the night. You’d anticipated this eventuality, but manning the entire store on your own for the next couple of hours felt as daunting as if it’d never been considered at all. She and your brother-in-law had brought you down here almost a month ago to help out with their small cafe before the baby arrived, and you had spent most of your time helping out with anything to shoulder the more physically demanding tasks, leaving her with things like manning the register so she could rest on a stool for most of the day.

They only had two other part-time employees, and only one of them was available to come in today around noon, which left you on your own for what felt like an eternity. Thankfully the rain provided a deterrent for many customers, and you held out hope that nobody showed up until someone who actually worked here was able to come help out. You hadn’t heard any updates about your sister’s labor, but there were plenty of things to do to keep your attention until something came through.

The little bell above the shop door rang out the announcement of a customer’s arrival. You quickly smooth over your apron, pat down your wet weather frizzy hair, and walk towards the front counter.

“Good morning! What can I get for you today?” you offer up in a rushed, pleasant voice.

The smooth, deep tone that replies aligns with the gorgeous man it belongs to. Brown hair mussed every which way, a neatly trimmed mustache that frames a pair of plump lips, broad shoulders balanced out with a soft middle pouching out against a light blue button up. Thick thighs stretching the denim of his worn jeans. By the time your eyes travel back to his face, he’s looking at you expectantly with a hint of a smirk. Heat floods your face when you realize he said something you missed entirely because you were too busy ogling.

“Sorry,” you stutter out in a nervous laugh. “O-One more time?”

The handsome customer almost renders your brain into complete mush yet again when his big brown eyes soften into something patient and, hopefully, flattered instead of annoyed with your distractedness. “I asked if you had any kind of dessert type foods. Bakery down past the corner lost power. Saw your cafe sign on when I was driving back and figured I’d give it a shot,” he explains simply with an easygoing sort of confidence that made your knees feel jittery.

“Oh. Right. Yes, we have power,” you assure him. His eyebrow ticks up in amusement as you both take in the overhead lights and sound of machinery running. His lips twitch as though he’s holding back a wide smile - and probably a laugh at your expense. 

“What I mean is, uh, yes. We have a few options, but we mostly focus on coffee based drinks.” You wave broadly at the barely stocked glass case. “I, um, I didn’t quite get it all filled up. Busy morning.”

“Busy, huh? Figured the rain might keep people away,” he observes as he looks over the sparse offerings in the case.

“Yeah,” you agree in a breathy sort of hum. Why on earth could you not stop staring at this man like you’d never seen a male human before? You give yourself a little grace by insisting the hectic night and busy morning have made your brain a little fried. He stays still except for his eyes, which flick over to you with that sparkly sort of warmth you feel you could get used to very quickly.

“See anything you’d like?” you ask, trying desperately to get yourself back on track.

His grin breaks free completely and makes little crinkles around his eyes. “I’m open for whatever you recommend, sweetheart,” he shoots back, smooth and heavy like molasses.

Your face goes from slight confusion to embarrassment  when you realize your choice of wording probably sounded incredibly forward, and it goes into full-fledged mortification when you realize his reply was even more so. He only smiles back warmer, and you feel frozen to your spot, only released when he breaks eye contact to look at the case again.

He chuckles low to himself, but you only catch something that sounds like “linda.”

“My name’s not Linda,” you correct in some sort of autopilot reply. When he bites his bottom lip down in a quiet laugh, you very nearly excuse yourself to the back.

“My apologies, sweetheart. Rude of me to not make proper introductions. I’m Javier. Javi, if you like.”

Your hand floats up of its own accord to meet his, and you think you give him your name in return. You’re not really sure anymore. Maybe you were more exhausted than you thought. You manage to get through enough conversation to direct him to the cookies you’d made yesterday as well as a few pieces of banana bread. He picked a random assortment, and you began to box it up when he held a hand up. 

“Just gonna sit here for a bit and try a few if that’s alright,” he smiles. “Not in too much of a rush to get back out into all that mess.”

You say of course and stay as long as you like and try to make yourself busy with things around the shop so you don’t embarrass yourself anymore than you already have. You watch as inconspicuously as you can from the corner of your eye as Javier downs two cookies, half a slice of banana bread, and a few sips of his black coffee like it was nothing. Your chest felt light and jumpy watching him dive into your baked goods. You were far from a professional, having just heavily dabbled in cooking and baking as hobbies when you had the time or the money, but you’d taken to prepping baked goods for the food case since you arrived to help out.

Javier seemed to appreciate your efforts in full as he munched quickly on each bite. You could see the soft bugle of his tummy over his belt while he sat eating. You wanted to reach out and touch it so badly, to see if it was as soft as it looked or as sensitive as you imagined it would be. It was noticeably rounder the longer he sat and ate.

The already snug pull of his shirt buttons was more pronounced each time he bent forward slightly to sip on his coffee. His waistband sat lower than he was probably used to because he kept fidgeting with it. You wish he’d just undo his belt if it was pressing into his stomach and making him uncomfortable. Frankly, you wouldn’t mind if he undid it all and let his body bow out and breathe easy while he ate and got more of a curved, satisfied middle.

You jump at the sound of your phone going off in your back pocket, and you hastily answer when you see your brother-in-law’s picture fill up the screen. “Hello? Is everything alright? How’s she doing? Is the baby here yet?” You do a little jumpy dance when your brother-in-law shares the news of the latest member of the family making their debut. Baby and mom were both happy and healthy. You shoot Javier an apologetic look when you notice him watching you curiously. He grins and waves you off as he tucks into whatever sweet treat was lined up next.

You pace around the cafe and try to retain all the information being relayed, but between the rain and the busy hospital it was a bit difficult to hear. You were so focused on listening to your call that you hadn’t heard another customer enter the shop. In fact, you didn’t even realize anyone else had come in until a firm, annoyed tap landed on your shoulder. You jerk away in surprise and motion to the phone. “I’m so sorry, my sister just had a baby. I’m getting the update about it. I’ll be with you in just a second,” you promise in a whisper to the impatient customer. He’s tall and thin with a clean-cut suit and haircut to match. Your entreating smile has no effect whatsoever as his face remains cold and annoyed. 

“Half the block is out of power, and the only coffee place I can find in this fucking storm won’t even serve people? Fucking typical,” he bites out, gripping his hips with large, tense hands. “Hurry it up, will you?”

You’re so caught off guard by the rude interaction that you’re stunned into silence. Just as you get your thoughts together enough to tell this guy to fuck off, he rounds on you again. “My boss is going to wring my neck if I don’t bring him some fucking coffee, and some of us have real jobs that we care about. Can you get off your stupid personal call and sell me a cup of coffee?”

When you don’t answer quickly enough for his liking, he plucks your phone out of your hand and hits the button to end the call. He snaps it back into your hand and holds his arms open to his sides. “Was that so fucking hard? You got enough brain cells to rub together to ring up a few cups of coffee, sweetheart?” he sneers.

The scrape of a chair across the cafe is all the warning this harassing asshole got before Javier roughly shoves him into a table, knocking said asshole as well as a couple of chairs onto the ground.

“Get the fuck outta this shop. If you step foot in here again, I will personally see to it that you are arrested for trespassing, harassment, stalking, assault, and whatever else I can think to put on the charges. You understand me?” Javier’s back and shoulders are puffed out and ebbing with heaving pulls of angry air.

The rude customer scrambles onto his knees and feet, reddening quickly from embarrassment. “You can’t just put your hands on people, man!” he squalls. Despite the challenging demeanor, the man slowly takes several steps backwards and away from you, edging closer to the entrance. “Maybe I should have you fucking arrested for putting hands on me, huh? How about that? You think your girlfriend is gonna be impressed when you’re sitting in county? All because you wanted to impress her? You fucked with the wrong guy—”

Javier takes a measured step forward and swings an uppercut into the man’s gut. He doubles over with a groan and grabs at the entrance to hold himself up. He sputters and coughs, bug-eyed with alarm, before scurrying out of the shop.

“Jesus,” you mutter under your breath. It had been a while since you’d been in a retail environment, and you’d forgotten how awful the general public could be, especially towards service workers.

Javier turns to you once he’s sure the man has left for good and gives you a quick inspection, satisfied with your unscathed state, but still asks if you’re okay. You give a quick nod and thanks. 

“You know that guy? He ever been here before and given you trouble?” he presses.

His voice is so stern and pointed, you answer immediately that as far you knew it was the first time the asshole had ever graced the walls of the shop. He dips his head a few times in acknowledgement. “How long are you here alone?” he probes. You don’t stop to consider how he’s so confident that you’re in the shop alone. Instead, you reply quickly to his commanding voice and words. He glances at his watch and makes a sort of grimace. “That’s still some time between now and then,” he muses aloud. He puckers his lips in thought and relaxes a hand onto his hip, leaning casually to one side and somehow still maintaining that confident control of the room.

“If it’s alright with you and wouldn’t make you uncomfortable, I’d like to hang around until it’s more than just you holdin’ down the fort.” His eyes are softer now, like they’d been earlier before the belligerent customer had come and disrupted everything, but you can see the imploring weight behind them. Please just say you don’t mind that I stay for a while so you’re not left here alone.

“No, of course not. Of course I don’t mind,” you half laugh at the idea of not wanting him around. “Just don’t feel obligated or anything. I think you got the message across to that jerk loud and clear.”

You grin a little, and Javier mirrors the expression with a lopsided one of his own. “Well, alright then.

I’ll keep outta your way until cavalry arrives.”

True to his word, Javier settled back into his seat after righting the chair and table he’d knocked over during the scuffle, and you might forget anyone else was here with you in the shop if it had been someone who wasn’t so devastatingly handsome, broad, and protective. You kept stealing quick glances his way and offering up more treats “on the house” for his help if you noticed his plate was empty. After the fourth round of treats, he sighed  and rubbed his ever protruding belly. “I’m fit to pop, sweetheart,” he groans.

“Oh, come on. One more cookie,” you appeal. You shoot him a bright, encouraging smile as you extend the plate of cookies to him. He breathes out a laugh and shakes his head but still accepts one last cookie.

“Damn things taste so good. Everything tastes so good. I’m really  in for it now that I know about this place,” he laughs.

You chuckle and shrug as you absentmindedly sink down into the chair opposite him. “Well if you have anything in particular you like, I can try to find a recipe and make it. The regulars would probably like something new in the rotation,” you reason.

“Chase off one asshole and you get preferential treatment, huh? Not a bad deal,” he teases. 

You giggle and clench your hands where they lay resting in your lap. It’s part giddy nerves at the way his crinkly smile and flirtatious demeanor make your belly feel warm and tingly. It’s also partly getting flustered once you realize that you’d invited yourself to sit down at his table and started pressing him for menu ideas. He seemed like a nice guy, and that’s probably all this was: just a nice guy doing a nice thing. He hadn’t signed up for all of this when he stumbled upon your sister’s little cafe.

“You really make all the food yourself?” he asks. He looks thoughtful and maybe even a little  impressed.

You wave off his unspoken compliments and explain that you’ve taken up the task from your brother-in-law since you came to stay and help out. You admit that it wasn’t very hard to convince him as it wasn’t usually in his wheelhouse to prep any of the food. That had always been your sister, who shared an affinity for baking and cooking with you.

“So, got any ideas for me?” you ask in a hope to get the conversation away from yourself.

The line of his mouth curves until a soft, shallow dimple forms on his cheek. “You’re really gonna make somethin’ just for me?” His voice dripped in a deeper, honeyed drawl that made warmth spark and erupt between your thighs.

“Yeah,” you breathe.

He laughs to himself and rubs a thumb along his lower lip, which isn’t helping with how badly you want to throw yourself across the table and nip at it. After a moment in thought, he nods his head once and says, “Biscochitos.”

You blink a few times, completely dumbfounded at what word just left his mouth. “Biscuit Cheetos?” you repeat in confused whisper.

Javier snorts and covers part of his laugh with a cough. “I’m sure you could make a hell of a ‘Biscuit Cheeto’, but I’m talking about the cookie I grew up eating a lot of. Biscochitos.” He pronounced it slower this time, and you parrot it back correctly.  He gives an appreciative hum at your efforts. “Sound real pretty sayin’ that.”

Your face heats again at the center of attention circling back to you. You wave him off again and look away. “I’ll agree it’s a lot better than ‘Biscuit Cheetos’,” you snort. You sit in a charged silence, fidgeting and squirming under Javier’s steady, calm gaze. He leans against the wall and crosses his arms lazily. His air of confidence was warm and firm in a way that made you feel at ease and electrified all at once. He studies you for a moment and grins again.

You feel like you’re trapped in his charming web, but you’re not exactly a fly struggling to escape. You might not mind being up next on the menu. He certainly  looks like he enjoys a good meal. You excuse yourself to get back to work and pack up some cookies to go once he leaves. All too soon the other employee shows, and your quiet time together is over. Just as you resign yourself to some internal pouting that this handsome stranger turned knight in shining armor was probably never to be seen again, he slips you a piece of paper with his number scribbled on it. With a wink and a “gimme a call once those biscochitos are out in the case, mi galletita” he strolls out the door.

You immediately take your 15 minute break and start scouring the web for recipes.

Javier didn’t know which was harder to give up: smoking, booze, or women. All of his past indulgences felt a little heavy handed now that he was mainly doing consultation work for police and government agencies. He’d settled back in Texas to be closer to his family, closer to the home he’d gone away from with dreams of making the world a better, safer place. While he doesn’t much feel that he’s made a difference, he still tries to politely skirt the heaps of praise and compliments most shower him with instead of shutting them down with the truth of just how fucked up each and every facet of the law was in its own way. 

Still, he had bills to pay. He had a spitfire mind and drive that needed quelling. The first thing he’d given up was smoking. It hadn’t been the uphill battle he’d heard about from so many others. Then again, he really only craved a smoke after he’d been in the company of a beautiful woman. That had sorted itself out as he was no longer hitting the pavement day in and day out, and the pick of female coworkers was an HR nightmare on top of slim pickings. 

He wasn’t meeting up with informants and tipsters down at random bars or restaurants or wherever else, and all his fountain of vices seemed to naturally dry up - at least in terms of what triggered his attention to them in the first place. 

However, Javier had found himself a new hobby that he didn’t have to worry about hiding, scheduling, or monitoring. Food. He could eat at his desk, little snacks tucked into his drawers. His car was good for a quick bite any time he got into it. The guys around the office went out for lunch more often than not, and there were plenty of places to eat around here. It’s how he’d found his favorite bakery. That is, until the storm had knocked their power out and led him straight into your sister’s quaint little cafe. You’d struck him in a way he hadn’t seen coming. He hadn’t found himself too concerned with women or fucking something warm and wet for a while now. Much too enamored with his latest adventures in becoming a “foodie” or whatever it was that the secretary had called it.

He hadn’t gone back to that former favorite bakery since he’d happened upon you. A comfortable, familiar smile crept onto his face when you’d called him a few days later after that fateful firth meeting. You sounded flustered and excited to let him know “his cookies” were ready. 

It’s no wonder his mouth had formed the nickname for you as he left the shop that first day. Mi galletita, my little cookie. God, you were such a sweet thing. When he went to see you first thing after work, you beamed at him and looked all the brighter when he legitimately moaned into his first bite of the biscochitos you’d made. He was almost embarrassed about it until he saw how much you took it as a compliment. He liked making you feel good about yourself. After visiting you week after week - sometimes more than once a week - he’d begun to hope that he might be able to make you feel good in other ways, too.

Your sister and brother-in-law were back into the mix now, and he was starting to worry how much longer he’d be able to just walk in and see you. You’d lit something inside him that had him coming back to see you again and again, like a magnet inching too close to another and having no choice but to be propelled together. He didn’t care too much for how you were closing a lot at night by yourself, no matter how many times you assured him it was safe.

Just like that first day you’d met, he felt a need to look after you and make sure you were taken care of. After all, you’d been doing the same thing in your own way. He’d put on more weight since you started plying him with all sorts of confectionary treats. His pants dug into his waist by lunchtime every day, but he couldn’t keep from gorging himself on all the delicious things you made with him in mind. He’d been fit and active once upon a time, but between the desk job and your baking, the seams of his clothing were hanging on by a weak thread in some places.

But, just like your delectable offerings, Javier just couldn’t get enough of you.

The shop had been closed for almost 45 minutes now, and you hated to think of all the ways you were holding Javi up while he waited for you to finish shutting everything down and prepping for the morning shift. He’d taken to sitting with you on nights that you closed, quietly reading something to himself as he patiently waited for you to complete the tasks around the shop. It had been a hectic day that put you behind, but the sight of Javi eating cookie after cookie and rubbing his expanding belly appreciatively made it all worth it.

When you tell him you just have a little bit of paperwork left in the back, he’s slouched down into the chair to ease the bend of his waist into his tight pants. He doesn’t turn you down when you offer for him to keep you company in the back. He sighs as he settles into the couch in the back office. You eye the pouching bits of his stomach that have spilled over his jeans and lick your lips. You love that something you’d made for him - something you’d put so much time and care into - had resulted in a satisfied tummy.

The couch huffs and puffs as much as Javi does as he tries to find a comfortable position. You turn to look at him, and his expression morphs into a somewhat embarrassed face.

“Ate too many cookies, and now my fat ass can’t even sit comfortably,” he grumbles.

You fight internally over whether or not to suggest the obvious: undo your belt and pants. Instead, you opt for the softer lob of a suggestion. “Here, lie down and stretch out a bit. That should help.” You get his head propped comfortably and slide his jacket away from him. He looks more at ease, but you know what would make him feel really good. Your hands travel down his chest slowly. “And, um, I think that…. this could help, too.”

Before you can talk yourself out of it, your fingers are gently unfastening his belt and jeans, and his stomach bulges out when it’s finally free from the confines of his constricting clothing. He breathes out a heavy sigh of relief, and his entire body slackens a bit. “See? Told you it would help,” you say quietly. You trail your fingertips through the thatch of brown hairs at the top of his underwear. His eyes snap open and find yours, pinning you with a searching, fiery look.

You gently curve the palm of your hand over the taut swell of his stomach, and he groans when you rub soothing motions across it. “Poor belly is so full, Javi. Feels so tight. Does it feel good when I rub it like this?”

He whimpers and nods when you apply firmer pressure, and you continue rubbing for a few minutes. “Makes me so happy to see you eat all the cookies I make you. I bake them just for you, Javi.”

His tongue slips over his lower lip when he groans again. “Know you do. Too fucking good to me.”

“I just wanna make you feel good, Javi,” you breathe. Your hand starts to travel lower. “Can I do that? Make you feel good?”

He watches you with fixed adoration and nods. You drag his pants down to mid thigh and gasp at the sight of him. Belly rounded and protruding from stuffing himself with your cookies. Thighs thick and strong. Cock half hard and dribbling from the tip. Your head is between his legs before your nerves have a chance to distract you. The sound you draw from Javi with a few kitten licks across the underside of his cock makes your head spin. You vacuum your lips around the tip and rub his stuffed belly as you start sucking.

He lets out a pained moan and guides your head faster, bobbing up and down on as much of him as you can take. He pulls you off with a loud grunt. “Hermosa, my stomach,” he hisses. You pushed too hard against his sensitive belly while you worked him with your mouth.

“Sorry, Javi,” you apologize in a soft hush. You lean forward and press soft kisses to his belly in a show of contrition. 

His chest vibrates with a low, approving hum. ‘That’s okay, galletita. Let me have a turn, yeah?”

Despite his bloated middle, Javi moves with relative ease now that it’s not cinched beneath a waistband. He stands and bends you over the desk. He’s freed you from your lower garments in what feels like seconds. You know he’s on his knees between your legs, but your hips still jerk in surprise into the cool edge of the desk when you feel his damp breath fanning over your bare pussy. “Still hungry for you, galletita.” A gripping hitch of breath lodges in your throat when he starts licking into you.

Javi’s appetite for your confections paled in comparison to the famished frenzy happening between your thighs. Strings of warm wet something slide down your legs as your climax quickly approaches. His large hands spread you open for his devouring, and the next sharp suck on your clit has you shaking against the desk. Your lax body is pulled backward, head turned to the side to meet Javi’s mouth. He eats into you again, tongue and spit and the taste of yourself spreading.

You reach blindly behind you and around Javi’s belly to guide his cock into you. He lowers you onto the desk once more to adjust himself deeper into you. You moan when he props his belly onto the curve of your ass. It frees up the space he needs to drive himself to the hilt, and you sputter and squeak at the size of him.

“Yeah, you like my big belly, huh? Got somethin’ else that’s big I think you’ll like,” he chuckles.

Your mouth juts open in a silent yell when he grips onto your hips and fucks into you. Your hands fly backwards to clench onto his as he cleaves you in two.

“Breathe, hermosa, breathe,” he reminds you. You instantly gasp and heave out the breath you’d been holding. “You like all of your man to be nice and fat, huh? Big fat belly and a big fat cock, too, huh?”

Every stroke wiggles his belly on top of your ass, and there’s no sense in denying how much you love it. “YES, JAVI,” you cry out. “WANT YOU SO BIG. YOU FEEL SO BIG FOR ME.”

He pants with the effort of his thrusts. “Can feel you tightening up again. You gonna come again for me? You gonna come on this fat cock? Gonna come on this fat cock while your ass is trying to hold up this fat belly?”

Your eyes slide into the back of your skull as your whole body seizes up. Javi  drives himself sloppily into the pitches of your cunt, gripping and choking him with your orgasm. His frenzied question of where? lets you know he’s close. So close that he doesn’t hesitate at all when you tell him to come inside you. He groans like he’s in pain at the desperate plea for him to fill you up.

“Aahhhh–fuck— my little—aahhh fuck!–galletita wants to be a mommy just like her sister, huh? Want me to come in you and put a baby in there, hm?”

You’re too strung out on your high to coherently answer, and it’s extended by the guttural moan of Javi as he starts to spill inside of you. So often a smooth talker, the transition of Javi’s dirty talk to this vocal, unhinged symphony is a pleasant surprise. You soak in every hiss and groan and whimper. He doesn’t quiet until he’s caught his breath, although the slump of him against your back leaves very little room for him to take a deep breath.

You stumble when he pulls out of you and turns you around with your ass half hanging off the desk. He scoops his fingers through your spent pussy and gathers up the remnants of him leaking out. He brings it to your face, and you obey when he tells you to open up. He slips his cum covered fingers into your mouth and groans. He retrieves another scoop of himself from you and smears it across your waiting tongue.

“You feed me so good, galletita, I gotta make sure I feed you, too,” he grunts.

You swallow all of it down until you’re left with nothing but his bare fingers to tongue and lick and suck on. He lets his wet hand wander down to your stomach where he pauses. “Maybe I like the idea of you having a big round belly because of me, too,” he jokes. Warmth floods your face at the thought of it: Javi with a big round belly stuffed full of your cooking, and you by his side, the swell of your middle filled with the two of you.

I tried my best for you, @beefrobeefcal 💜

Here's the "pic" of Javi in the cafe (aka the edit I made for this fic lmao):

Merry Christmas, ♥Puddles♥