#but the way husk says this scratches my brain so good

[starport-rodeo]

this is the funniest line in the whole song and no one can convince me otherwise

[huskersbooze]

Helloo! Can i Request an alastor x reader angst? (I love angst im sorry😭) where reader n alastor are good friends, but soon alastor starts catching feelings, he didn’t like that so he starts ignoring reader hoping it’ll go away, but when alastor realizes it doesn’t, he wanted to apologize for ignoring reader and maybe confessing, but he couldn’t cause he found out reader got redeemed into heaven? Please and thank you!!

A/N : Oh fuck yes I'm a sucker for angst. This is actually a really interesting concept! Completely opposite to my other fic where Reader ignores Al. Thank you for the ask <3

Alastor Doesn't Do Feelings

Alastor x Reader

Pairing : Alastor x F!Reader (M!Reader here, Gn!Reader here)

Warnings : Cusing(what do you expect? It's Hazbin Hotel)

Additional Tags : Angst, no use of (Y/n), use of dear/darling

Word count : 1.25k

It was never supposed to turn out this way. Alastor, the fucking Radio Demon, doesn't do feelings.

But here he was, finding himself getting flustered, his cheeks red, ears pinned back and his smile faltering.

And it was all because of you.

"-and so I told him to back the heck away, but I swear his brain can't seem to comprehend simple words! He-"

You went on and on about your day, but Alastor could only focus on the close proximity between the two of you and your hand came so close to brushing his every minute or so.

"Alastor! Freaking hell!" He snapped out of his trance when he heard you yell his name.

He cleared his throat, quickly gathering himself once more, "Yes, darling?"

"Were you even listening to me?"

"Of course, I was." Which, frankly, was a lie.

"Just go to bed, dipshit."

"I don't need sleep."

"Your brain is hijacked, Al." You try to give his ears a scratch. Alastor attempts a dodge but fails. "See? You can't even dodge a simple pet on the head."

"I let you do that."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night."

"Darling, you know I don't sleep."

"It was an expression, babe."

He knew you meant it as a joke, a light-humoured name you called him; like how he called you "dear" or "darling".

But he couldn't help the blush that found a way to his face.

"Alastor! You're doing it again!"

"I beg your pardon?" He snaps out from his trance.

"You're dozing off again. Are your radio parts radio-ing properly?"

"I'm not an actual radio, my dear."

"Well, you sure act like a broken down machine." You let out a giggle, him doing the same, but it ultimately sounded like he was buffering.

"You need help." You get up and give him another ruffle behind the ears, catching him off guard. "G'night, Al."

He doesn't respond.

He's too busy screaming internally.

-----

Alastor doesn't do feelings. Yet, here he was a broken mess because of you.

No, this was unacceptable. All he'd work for. His reputation. The danger it'd put you in.

He couldn't afford any of that gone — especially not you.

How was he to get rid of this weird churning he gets in his stomach when you near, though? How was he to stop loving you?

-----

Alastor doesn’t do feelings. He nearly did, once, because of you. But he’d found a way to stop it.

Or so, he thought.

“Good morning, Al.”

Out of everyone in the hotel, you were the one person he could tolerate. Despite your polar interests and behaviour, Alastor actually found it quite enjoyable to be by your side.

Sure, you rarely cursed, was so sweet and couldn’t bare the thought of killing, but Alastor never minded. You were the one person he looked forward to seeing everyday. He would usually only talk to you.

“Husker, may I have a word?” Yet, here Alastor was, completely ignoring your existence like you were some irrelevant imp a few rings down.

“Uh, sure, boss.” Husk sends you a questioning stare as you return the favour.

He didn’t actually have anything to say to him; it just hurt to see you. The feelings still lingered and he couldn’t do jackshit about it. 

Staying away from you was only supposed to get rid of his feelings, not intensify them.

“Alastor?” Yet, your voice captivated him in every way possible and his desire to be yours increased.

He simply left the room, and the two of you never spoke after that.

-----

“Alastor doesn’t do feelings, honey.”

“I know, Rosie! But we’re just friends and he knows that.” You take a sip from the tea Rosie prepared for you. “Though, lately, he’s been completely disregarding my presence like I’m the bane of his existence.”

“Don’t look too much into it! I’m sure it’s nothing. It’s just Alastor being Alastor.”

“But it’s not.” You sigh. “Something’s changed between us and I’m not sure what it is.”

“Well, did anything specific happen?”

“I.. I don’t know.” Your voice cracks at the agony. “I just.. Everything was fine that night. I just told him to sleep and the next morning it’s like I never existed.”

“Hm. That does sound odd.”

“Exactly! And I’m not sure what to do or if- if I’ve angered him- or- or maybe he’s sick of me-”

“Honey, breathe.” Rosie’s hand finds yours across the table as she rubs soothing circles on the back of your palm. “It’s in his nature to be sending mixed signals. Just give him time. He’ll come to terms with you eventually.”

“Are.. Are you sure?”

“You came to me for a reason.” She jokes, though her warm smile never left her face.

“Thank you, Rosie.”

-----

Alastor, your beloved strawberry pimp, doesn’t do feelings. He didn’t, he doesn’t and he won’t.

At least, that was before he realised he was catching feelings for you.

He’s tried so hard to ignore it. He’s done everything he could to ignore you, but despite his best efforts, you still found a way to float straight back into his mind.

“Alastor?”

“Yes, darling?” It took him a while to comprehend the fact he accidentally called Husk “darling”. His mind was just filled with thoughts of you.

“Uh.. anyways.” Husk cleared his throat. “You were close with the kid, right?”

“I suppose.” He shrugs, saying it as a matter of fact-ly. “Nothing serious.”

Alastor nearly flinched as he said it himself. 

Nothing serious.

But in fact, it was starting to get serious. He was in love with you, head-over-heels obsessed, but he couldn’t come to terms with the fact and decided to push you away.

Fuck. What was he thinking?

“Yes, well I just.. wanted to let ya’ know she’s-”

“In a minute, Husker.” He says, taking off and trying to find you. He had to apologize. He had to talk to you and explain himself. But then, that would mean he had to confess.

Confess. Alastor’s smile widened as he thought of the idea. Blush crept from his face all the way down to his neck and his tail was uncontrollably wagging under his coat.

He loved you.

Turns out, Alastor does, and will do feelings.

-----

“Husker, have you seen her?” After a whole day of looking around the hotel, he couldn’t seem to find you anywhere. 

“Her?” He asks, then immediately realising there could only be one her. “I was trying to tell you, boss. The kid.. The kid passed.”

“What?” His smile falters, eyes twitching, but still keeping his composure.

“Some drunk ass dude got hold of an angelic weapon from the last extermination. She was stabbed on her way back from cannibal town.”

The static in his ears were ringing louder by the second. This wasn’t supposed to happen. No, it wasn’t supposed to end like this. He was only supposed to get rid of his feelings, not you.

This whole plan backfired. It was a mistake. He kept what he hadn’t wanted, and lost what he desired.

-----

Alastor doesn’t do feelings.

He does, but only for you. He keeps his heart closed in hopes you’re still somewhere out there.

Any other demon who tries to get with him, ultimately gets turned down.

Alastor doesn’t do feelings, no; but he does feelings. He saves the romantic kind for you. The platonic ones, however, are open doors now because of you.

Alastor didn’t do feelings, but he does now — in hopes he gets redeemed and can find you in heaven.

———[ End. ]———

[irkimatsu]

Okay, okay, I have a request, and I know I could write it, but I love the way your pieces are written! ]]

Husk falls asleep at the bar, only to wake up with a blanket around him. He's perplexed and doesn't think anything of it, but when he passes out multiple other times and wakes up with the same blanket. He wonders who it belongs to- He studies the scent, and after it disappears he waits a few days before he pretends to pass out and finds the reader softly tucking him in after a long day at work.

(It would be nice for a f!reader, but any is alright with me!)

Have a good day/night, Mon Cher!!♡♡

Oh gosh, I think I rotted my own teeth writing this request. That's a compliment! This was such a sweet prompt! I hope you enjoy it just as much as I enjoy your own works!

About 1k words, about as SFW you can get in a world where Husk still says "fuck". Let Husk Be Cozy 2024

It’s not the first time he’s woken up to the sight of the lobby ceiling. Fuck, his head hurts. Fuck, his everything hurts. The floor behind the bar isn’t the most comfortable place to pass out.

Husk groans as he sits up and stretches his wings. He’d fallen asleep on them, and now they’re numb. As if being awake wasn’t already annoying enough. He stretches his mouth wide open in a feline yawn, and reaches to scratch a bothersome itch on his chest.

His claws catch onto a piece of fleece.

“The fuck…?” He grips the fabric and pulls it into his eye’s view. It’s a red fleece blanket, fairly large and thick. It’s luxuriously soft, enough that he can’t help but stroke it with his paw a few times. A blanket this nice can’t have possibly been cheap.

Who the hell dumped it on the floor over his sorry ass?

“Hey, Charlie?” he calls out as he pushes himself to his feet; the blanket is fancy enough to belong to a princess, and she’s definitely the type to try to make him more comfortable, even if he was too damn drunk for her to drag to bed.

Charlie’s shout at his appearance would have been comical if Husk had any laughter left in him. “Husk! I didn’t know you were back there!”

“This yours?” he asks, holding up the blanket. “Someone dumped it on me last night.”

“Hm… it doesn’t look familiar…” Charlie says. “I don’t think it’s part of the hotel linens.”

“Where the hell did it come from, then?”

“I don’t know, but it’s great that someone wanted to make you more comfortable!” Charlie responds, her sunshine demeanor at this hour only worsening Husk’s headache.

“They still left me on the damn floor…” he grumbles, knowing damn well that any attempt to wake him is futile once he’s had enough to drink. Out of fucks to give about where the blanket came from, he tosses it onto the couch, then heads for the hotel’s stairwell.

“I’m going to bed,” he grumbles.

“It’s nine in the morning,” Charlie points out.

“Bed,” he repeats, trusting that Charlie’s good nature will let him have the day off. Everything hurts too much for him to bother right now. And his left wing is still fucking numb.

—

He wakes up with his head pressed against the bartop, his cheek sticking to the wood with his own drool.

“Urgh…”

He slowly sits up, wondering what hour it is. He’s not surprised he passed out again… Alastor has been working him way too hard recently, which in turn has been making him drink even more than usual. At least he had enough presence of mind to sit in a stool this time before going temporarily brain dead.

Something soft is wrapped around his shoulders.

He grabs the soft object, and finds the familiar touch of the blanket he found covering him before. Seriously, whose was this, and why were they wasting it on him?

With the blanket this close to his face, he can’t help but notice how nice it smells. The scent is just a standard floral detergent, but it’s still nice… nice enough that he can’t help but lift the blanket to his face and take a deep breath.

His keen sense of smell picks up another scent beneath the flowers. What is that? It’s so familiar. He takes a few more breaths, trying to identify it… some sort of perfume? Does someone in the hotel wear a scent like that? He just can’t place it.

It’s surprisingly calming, though…

He heads off to his hotel room, this time bringing the blanket with him. The comforting scent easily lulls him to sleep, although in the end he never can place what it is. In the morning, he makes sure no one sees him with the blanket - god, he could never admit to taking it to bed with him - and upon confirming that the coast is clear, he deposits it onto the couch.

He hopes to get a glimpse of whoever came to get it, but in the chaos of the day, the blanket disappears without him noticing where it went.

—

Husk is dozing on the couch. He’s so, so fucking tired. If Alastor sends him on one more errand, on top of all the work he has to do maintaining the bar every day, he may very well be the first Sinner to drop double-dead of exhaustion.

The lobby feels strangely cold. Charlie’s usually good with keeping the hotel’s temperature at a reasonable level, but Husk just can’t get comfortable.

He could really use a blanket right now.

Fuck, footsteps. Is someone coming to bother him right now? Is it Alastor? No, it can’t be him, he doesn’t hear any radio static… he cracks his eyes open just enough to see who just walked into the lobby.

It’s that new girl, and she’s holding something.

“Husk? Are you awake?”

As far as you’re concerned, no. He squeezes his eyes shut and rolls over to face the back of the couch, not in the mood to socialize right now.

“You’ve been working so hard recently… I hope you get to rest soon.”

Her footsteps come closer, and she leans over him.

A familiar scent, flowers mixed with something indescribable that he wouldn’t have picked up if he were still human, wafts into his nostrils, and every muscle in his body instantly relaxes. Luxuriously soft fabric covers his body, and gentle hands tuck the blanket beneath him.

“Please keep the blanket this time, okay?”

He doesn’t answer, still pretending to be out cold. A hand lightly caresses him from behind his ear down to his cheek, and then her footsteps fade into the distance.

Once he’s sure she’s gone, he holds the blanket to his face and takes a deep breath. Even if he’s not in his own bed, it’s still the most restful sleep he’s had in weeks.

[hazshit-hotel-hater]

What are your opinions on each of the songs? (you can answer with as much or as little detail as you'd like)

Big shocker that the songs from the 2 good episodes are in S and the only one that isn’t is still B tier/sar

The first 2 songs in S made me either tear up/shake violently or cry, and therefore they deserve to be up there IMO. Out for love is also just genuinely catchy and had actual build up to it. Also God “Ready for This” just. OOUGGGHHH IT SCRATCHES MY BRAIN SO GOOD LIKE A WARRIOR CATS MAP. I like it a lot. You cant have multiple characters sing about working together and expect me to NOT cry.

“Stayed Gone” isn’t one I listen to often but it’s so peppy and fast and full of hatred I can’t help but enjoy it. Also everytime the song starts my brain does this

I dont know anything about Welcome Home

I have. Issues. With “Loser, Baby” but aside from those the song holds a lot more weight to it than I usually give it credit for. And for as cheesy as the start if it is, the line before of Angel talking about self destructing resonates with me a lot. Also Husk lays down in a puddle of vomit and no one talks about that ever.

I think the first song in B is “Happy Day in Hell” and I’m adding it there 1. Because it is the first song 2. It gets a reprise thing 3. Charlie almost gets hit by a truck. Other than that it’s not really my favourite but I respect the impact it has.

“Hell is Forever” just fucks. End of story. Alex Brightman killed it.

“Respectless” is good I love Velvette’s VA, but the sudden start of the song and the ending are so out of left field the first time me and my friends watched this show we had to pause cause we lost our fucking minds. Could’ve been better but I’d listen to it again, yeah.

“Hell’s Greatest Dad” is silly and funny and maybe I’m biased as a violin player and jazz enjoyer but a lot of the instrumental tickles my brain so nicely. I will say though it confuses me so much because why does Alastor care about being seen as a father figure?? My mom said it could just be him wanting to show up Lucifer and that’s it but I dunno.

“More than Anything (Reprise)” AKA “Charlie and Veggie Kiss Scene - Hazbin Hotel”

This song sounds like it’s straight out of Barbie & Th Diamond Castle and I’m honestly pissed the girls in the movie didn’t kiss so I’m coping with this. ALSO THE FACT ITS A REPRISED SONG ABOUT LOVE MAKES ME A BIT CRAZY. I never noticed this was the same song Lucifer sang to Charlie SOMEHOW but that’s actually really cute.

“It Starts With Sorry” Has a big part in Sir Pentious’s character growth and just his character in general. I’ve been working on this in my Pentious rant but I never see people mention how much this song probably meant to him. Yeah it’s super corny, but he was fully expecting to be killed and had just been told to kill himself. This was definitely huge for him and I’m not gonna be convinced otherwise.

“You Didn’t Know” is really good but Lute’s part is by far the best and I pray to GOD she gets her own song in S2 her voice actor can SING. GODDAMN! I am very interested in Lute’s character development and I love seeing what people do with close-minded characters like that and hopefully Vivzie doesn’t condemn her to Vivziepop Woman Syndrome. If she isn’t important in S2 I’m going to be pissed but I dunno maybe S3 if we get one.

“More Than Anything” Wish my dad was like this! This song is incredibly sweet and I appreciate it a lot. Honestly might go way higher on the list if I keep thinking about it.

“Whatever It Takes” Sorry you will never be Imagine Dragons. Vaggie doesn’t sound anything like herself cause her VA is making her voice so much more gruff for her character, which is fine! I like her voice (the voice direction is not very good but I digress) it’s just her voice is so high in this I can’t even tell it’s Vaggie.

“Welcome to Heaven” is boring, but we got a Molly cameo!

“Poison”. Read this and this and this. -10/10. I’d rather make out violently with Elon Musk.

[technicallymaximumkitty]

Angel's tears

ok, bad fanfic i just slapped together, brain rot is eating me alive

(spoilers for Hazbin Hotel and Vulgar Language)

Charlie smiles to herself, straightening her bowtie. Looking into the mirror she smiled to herself, she had gone so far. It was several weeks after that fateful day and everything felt like it was falling into place, at least to her. They rebuilt the hotel, her dad was now a constant part of her life, and they had several new patrons! The wild Cherri bomb, the rebellious Crymini, and the inventor Baxter, all believing in her cause! Taking one more deep breath she straightened herself with a sparkle in her eye. Today was a new day!

She made her way down to the lobby where the air felt off. Everyone was peering over Vaggie’s shoulders, Vaggie herself holding something.

“What’s going on?” Charlie asked, her curiosity piped. Angel dust looked up, “looks like princess got a message from heaven.”

Charlie froze, a message from heaven? What do they want? Heaven hasn't reached out since the last extermination. Dread built up in her stomach as she made her way to the group.

Husk grumbled to himself before taking a swig of unlabeled liquor, “what would those fuckers want?” 

Vaggie handed Charlie the message. It was written on golden like paper with sky blue scrawl, and also smelled like Sweet Alyssum. At any other moment she would have been delighted to get such a sweet scented letter. Charlie unrolled the scroll to read the message:

Dear Charlotte Morningstar;

You are requested to meet with the Seraphim in heaven at 11:30 Am, Thursday. It would be of most delight if you agreed to our meeting.

Best Wishes

Charlie swallowed, the Seraphims? They Seraphims wanted to meet with her? Today? This could only spell disaster especially after their last disastrous meeting.

“Charlie?” Vaggie reached out gently, grabbing Charlie’s hand. Charlie took a deep breath, trying to straighten out her emotions.

“The Seraphims request my presence today.” The room fell quiet.

“You mean those people who you met with when we went to the bar?” Niffty piped up.

“Those assholes that spilled that Vaggie was an angel?” Angel dust tilted his head. 

Vaggie’s eyes widened as she grabbed Charlie. “You're not seriously thinking of going?” 

Charlie sighed, steeling her nerves, “what other choice do I have? Say no?”

“Oh! Oh! Oh! Did they ask about me?” Niffty raised her hands, bouncing around in excitement. 

“You don’t think this is about Adam do you?” Vaggie tightened her grip on Charlie.

“No, this is gonna be a nice and friendly meeting between chums!” Angel snarked with an eye roll.

“You're not helping.” Vaggie spat. 

“I don’t see any other reason they would ask for Charlotte.” a voice piped from the walls.

“Fuck!” groaned Charlie. Of course they had questions about the extermination, of course they would! 

“So what are you gonna do?” husk raised an eyebrow. 

“I have to go.” Charlie sighed, “it’s a diplomatic problem and as the princess of Hell, who caused all of this, I have to own up.” looking at the clock it read 11;29.

“And you think you're going alone?” Vaggie asked. Charlie took Vaggie’s hands with a soft smile.

“I won’t force you to come along-”

“I’ll stop you right now, I'm going.” 

“H-hey do you think we could tag along?” Angel asked with a shy smile. Niffty started to giggle, clapping her hands, jumping up and down.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, it could be taken as a threat if we all went, especially with how thin the ice is right now.” Vaggie said. Charlie nodded along.

“I agree. It’s best if we try to be as unhostile as possible.” 

Angel sighed a little, “worth a shot.”

A portal opened it was almost the same song and dance as before. Charlie took Vaggie’s hand, “we’ll be back soon, hopefully.”

“Hey stay safe kid.” said husk. He raised his bottle towards Charlie in condolences. Charlie returned with a nod.

* * *

The room was blue and silver, brightly lit and definitely not the pearly gates. Scratching the back of her head Charlie looked around.

“This is new.” Vaggie took a defensive stance, “and might be a trap.”

Charlie grimaced, “maybe but-”

The door to the room swung open and in a silver flash Charlie was tackled to the ground.

“Hey!” Vaggie growled about ready to jump on whatever ran over her girlfriend.

“Charlie! Vaggie! Hi! I'm so glad you decided to join!” 

“Emily?” Charlie asked. Indeed it was Emily, the only Seraphim that stood up with her and her ideas, “you were the one to invite me?”

Emily vigorously nodded her head, her smile widening. “Yes! Yes I am, I have important news for you!” Emily grabbed Charlie pulling her to her feet before dragging her, “you’ll never believe it, I almost didn't-”

Vaggie stood in the way between Emily and the door. “What do you think you're doing?” Vaggie growled, her eye squinting. 

“Hey Vaggie it’s ok I-”

“No! Charlie! She can’t just drag you off like that!” 

Emily cleared her throat, “I understand why you might be defensive but this is really, really, really, really important! And you need to see it!” 

Charlie smiled, “see Vaggie? It’s ok.”

Vaggie huffed “Fine.” Emily smiled quickly making it to the door.

“But,” Vaggie raised her finger to Emily’s face, “i'm coming with.” Emily smiled.

* * * 

After a too long hallway they were brought into a room the exact same to the one they arrived in. Emilt jumped up and down clapping her hands. She was giddy, so giddy.

“So what’s the important thing we needed to see?” Charlie smiled.

“Yes! Of course, um,um take a seat! I’ll be right back!” Emily quickly shot out of the room before another word could be spoken.

The two of them took a seat at the golden office table.

Vaggie sighed “Looks like this isn't about-” she was abruptly cut off by Charlie.

“Let’s not jinx it.” she gave a nervous smile, ringing her hands out. Charlie trusted Emily but that didn't stop her from worrying still.

“Hey it’s ok, I got you.” Vaggie gently put a hand on Charlie’s shoulder. Charlie softly smiled. 

“Thank’s Vaggie.”

The door was kicked open, the Seraphim flying in giggling. Charlie braised herself for what was next.

Charlie’s jaw dropped, it looked like, but it couldn't be, could it? 

“Charlie? Vaggie?” it was! Sir Pentious stood in front of them, in heaven.

“You? Sir Pentious!” Charlie ran over and hugged her friend, “you, we, we thought you died!” she smiled with tears in her eyes.

“Asss did I.” Sir Pentous nodded. Hugging Charlie back.

“It worked, you, you did it! You made it to heaven!”

[rius-cave]

Hey! It’s the anon that hadn’t watched Hazbin or Helluva before and wanted some encouragement to try it out 👋 I wanted to let you know that I did it! I watched the pilots for both series as well as helluva boss episode 1 (as I heard that was a better introduction) and 👉👈 I actually liked both. I thought that Charlie was cool she has an attitude that I really like in characters believing in others when she has no reason to. Angel was cute Pentious was really adorable (I like weirdos) and Husk was pushing a lot of buttons for me. The only character from Hazbin that I still don’t really get is Alastor and tbh it’s 90% cause of the hair like I can’t think he’s hot with that haircut I’m sorry 😭. But I really liked it I really took to the humour and tone. 

Helluva Boss was the same I was actually surprised that the kids dying didn’t really bother me at all and the death of background guys were not as uncomfortable as I thought. I think I worked myself up about that aspect which is good cause I liked how horny and gay it was. After seeing so much nsfw of them I do get simping for Blitzo, Moxxie and Stolas now they were all kinda cute in their own way (You can tell I’m a gay guy huh?) and yeah I liked quite a few of the jokes as well. So I feel like I can go on with these shows!

I know this is a really random place to do this but I wanted to tell you since it was seeing all the nice adamsapple stuff and the storytelling possibilities from that as well as you’re specifically more chill and fun side of the fandom that made me want to take the plunge and actually watch it so thank you. 

Heya!! Yay!! We got another one boys 💪

I think I probably said this in your first ask, but well yeah Hazbin and Helluva are definitely... for specific tastes, it's not for everyone, I think if you're someone that gets offended easily they're probably not for you (which is why sometimes I'm surprised at the absolute stupid things some people say in the fandom lol) but I'm glad you gave them a try and liked them!

It's been a couple days since I received this ask so hopefully you've watched more by now and still like it? :D at least I hope so lol. One disclaimer, I believe the Helluva pilot is not considered canon anymore? I'm not a 100% sure exactly what parts are canon or not, but yeah just keep that in mind.

Your faves are absolutely completely valid, I really love those characters too! And it's not just that you're gay, I honestly think the male characters are just more interesting in the writing in general sfdggdf (unfortunately, please Viv throw us a bone here).

I absolutely feel you in not understanding why people love Alastor so much LOL. I love him, I really do, but I do think he's a taaaad overrated because he scratches a specific part of tumblr people's brains. It's... hard to explain, but yeah if you don't simp for him then he's kinda just alright lol.

Don't worry about chatting with me! Happy to hear about a new fan!! Just a heads up though, if you expect to understand why we ship adamsapple after watching the show.... you probably won't LMAO IT'S MOSTLY BASED OFF OF OUR OWN DELUSIONS TO BE FAIR (I have two friends that I got into hazbin after they saw all my adamsapple art and brainrot, and they were like ".... yeah Riu we don't get it" haha)

[summonerscenarios]

Can I get a Headcanon where Hephaestus likes bikes and makes his own motorcycle from scratch to impress MC?

Half an hour left of my bday and what better way to end it than with some finished requests~! As always more than happy to give Heph some love so here's hoping it's up to par cause it's been a while lmao

------

It makes sense that Hephaestus has taken advantage of his time in Tokyo to hone and enhance his craft. In his initial pursuit to make an ideal version in Talos, he branched out and learned about the creations in this world and the new things that could be improved upon. Quite a number of his earlier days once he had settled in with the Kamata Crafters was spent tinkering, building, and picking things apart to figure out what made them work and what was needed to make them even more efficient. It was a way to pass the time for a while, but the machine work with this world’s vehicles ended up piquing his interest; Hephaestus made more than a few test creations, all in varying states of completion as he bounced from project to project. While Heph hasn’t put much thought into seeing these projects through to the end just yet, they’ve become an excellent thing to fall back on when he finds himself getting frustrated with other things - seeing them as a good source for tinkering and tweaking till said frustrations have melted away.

You were never supposed to see any of the prototypes he’s been working on - just the mere thought of you setting your eyes on his unfinished pieces makes him feel like he’d die of shame. He wants things to be perfect and put together, regardless of whether you actually see them or not because that’s just a part of his nature; however it’s by pure chance that you come wandering into his workshop before he can clean all of his usual materials out of the way, gaze falling onto the heap carefully stashed away to the side, just waiting to be worked on. This one in particular is an unfinished lump of metal and motorwork, more of a husk than anything resembling a complete motorcycle; it’s the first one he goes to when he’s breaking things down to see how they tick, and it's clear from how some of the parts look as though they’ve been constantly disassembled and reassembled by careful, methodical hands.

And yet you look at this unfinished mess with wonder, not masking the amazement in your voice as you spin around to look at the crafter and ask him if he’s really working on making a bike. At his confirmation, Hephaestus can feel his heart hammer in his chest at the smile that crosses your lips, expression regarding him as though you’re impressed by the idea even though he’s nowhere near close enough to have finished the thing yet. Praise from you of all people is the highest form of validation, and what pretty much seals it is when you grin and say:

“This looks amazing; I’d love to see what it looks like when it’s finished!”

Consider it done there and then - but if he’s gonna make this bike, Hephaestus is going to do it right.

Of course, if it’s to impress you it’s got to be nothing less than perfect for the simple fact that Hephaestus absolutely refuses to present something to you that he doesn’t consider worthy of being gazed at by the person most important to him. So not even moments after you’ve parted ways Hephaestus doesn’t hesitate to get to work mapping out the framework for this new project, bringing together every piece he’s been working on thus far for what’s going to be a rigorous case of trial and error in an effort to produce the best results. To anyone other than a Crafter the work would be tedious, but if anything that makes Hephaestus all the more determined to perfect this particular project, with each attempt getting more and more refined than the last one. All he can think about is how impressed you’ll be once he creates the perfect bike for you, taking into account personal preferences and wracking his brain for any dislikes and likes that you’ve mentioned in the past.

Hephaestus is so set on it being perfectly tailored to your tastes that you can expect more than a few phone calls from the creator. It’s both amusing and kind of endearing hearing him muttering on the other end of the line each time you answer his increasingly specific questions as he scribbles down your responses for future reference. It isn’t hard to figure out that whatever he’s working on has got you in mind, though you have no idea exactly what it could be given the extravagant nature of some of his previously constructed gifts. And yet you still find yourself smiling listening to him prattle on, unintentionally letting slip comments about making it perfect and doing you proud before he catches himself and stumbles over his words before abruptly hanging up to get back to work.

He wants to make it a bike you’ll like, but Heph also wants to make it safe for you too - if you managed to get hurt trying to ride one of his bikes, or if it wasn’t able to protect you out on Tokyo’s busy roads...it’s a line of thought he refuses to follow. There’s multiple test runs to ensure that not only does it look good but it functions well; it’s not the weirdest sound you’d expect to hear in the workshops, as the other crafters have their fair share of specific projects, but the rev of an engine and squeak of tires raises more than a few eyebrows in the rare instances that Heph exits the workshop to acquire more materials. They know better than to ask when he’s in the zone, so he thankfully goes about his task undisturbed as he works to ensure that everything is perfect for the big reveal.

Long nights working on building it up and taking it apart piece by piece to fix any margin of error finally pays off in the end, and the next time you’re being called into his personal workshop what you’re shown is a far cry from the metal shell you found yourself looking at mere weeks ago. The way your expression lights up in wonder is worth each and every sleepless day spent working on this motorbike; he enjoys making these bikes as a passion project, and now seeing you excitedly step towards it he’s practically bristling with nerves and expectation, hoping above all else that it’s good enough for you.

Of course there’s nothing he needs to worry about - Hephaestus’ so meticulous to tweak each and every piece of this bold machine to your frame and preferences while ensuring complete functionality that there’s no room for error. Even so there’s no hiding the way his shoulders visibly slump in relief when you flash him that wonderful, awe induced smile as you pour over how beautiful this bike turned out. The stress over worrying about what you think seeps out of him completely, finally allowing the ebbs of satisfaction and just a bit of exhaustion to creep their way in as he follows your steps around the motorbike. He’s got the details down to your favorite color, even with little accessories neatly tucked away in places where they’re visibly but also safely out of harm's way with room to add more in the future. The praises are free flowing, and watching Heph’s chest puff up thoroughly chuffed by your words is a clear indication how much your thoughts about this project mean to him.

With that being said however, it doesn’t entirely click that this was made specifically to impress you until he brings out the keys (which you make a note have some of your favorite keychains on them), and comments that if you don’t have your license yet, Talos is completely capable of riding you around anytime you want to use the bike - whenever or wherever you want. That makes you pause, the realization that he’s quite literally offering you a ride that he made himself for you to be able to use whenever you want. There’s a beat where you glance away from the bike and stare at him, and just like that the stress is back again, with Heph worrying that he’s somehow messed up with the way you’re looking at him. Do you not like it? Was there something that he missed? He should have known better than to think he could get it completely right with this one - if you’d just give him some time, he’s sure he’ll make something even better-

Whatever apology or excuse was going to tumble out of his mouth is silenced with just a few swift strides across the workshop, your hands coming to clap around the one holding the keys. It’s then that Hephaestus sees that you’re not looking at him with expectation or disdain - you’re happy, and excited. Your hands squeeze around his, his fingers closing around the set of keys as you begin guiding him towards the motorbike, still flashing him a giddy grin as you nod your head for him to follow as you speak:

“Come ride with me, Heph - Let’s go together, it’ll be so much fun!”

And of course, as with everything that involves you, he’d never refuse, that familiar warm feeling sprouting across his face at the prospect of being able to spend more time with you.

[bump1nthen1ght]

Thicker than Water (Demon x Reader) Chapter 2

Pairing: Fem!Reader/Gender Fluid!Demon

Genre: High Fantasy

Warnings: Panic attacks, mentions of past trauma

Word Count: 3165 words

Summary: You spend a day with your new companion

Chapter 1

“How about this one? It looks rather ripe.”

No, Mistress. The air of decay lingers around it, I fear it will begin showing signs of mold within a day.

“Oh, good eye.” You set the orange down, making sure to hide it away so no other unlucky customer may buy it, wiping your hands on your skirt. “What about this one?”

That one’s fine.

“Sweet.” You say, adding it to the pile of fruit accumulating in your arm. You double check the list. “Alright, I think that’s about everything.” You come up to the stand-worker and set down your fruits on their scale, finagling for the wallet in your pocket.

So many different types of produce. Is this merchant’s estate really so large that they can grow all these things?

“Uh, not exactly.” You mutter, before reminding yourself to speak inwards, as only you can hear the demon lingering nearby. “They actually represent several farms, giving them a cut of the money so the workers can focus on cultivation. Some farms have their own stalls for specialized goods, but these bigger ones are typically conglomerates.” After successfully grabbing your coin purse, you hand the worker some coins and begin loading your bag.

Ah, how convenient.

“Yes, I’d say so.” You once again check your list, mentally checking off the needed groceries. “Okay, I believe that is all the essential stuff. How about we check out some novelty stalls? I hear there’s a fine jewelry maker near the center of town.”

The only jewelry in the Nine Hells is that forged by the damned. Carved out of the husk of dead dimensions.

“So, is that a yes?”

Yes please.

“Cool.”

As you walk along the thinning market crowd, dodging between bakers and families, your shadow twists and turns. Occasionally and discreetly, it will fall behind you and stare at a particularly interesting stall, before leaping back into the darkness and reattaching to your feet. The crowd is so focused on their eye-level, what to be bought, who to sell to, no one really notices the abnormality.

After that night, that horrible night, you woke up in your bed; Sweaty and exhausted, but nonetheless harmed. Your mother had rushed to your side with a pitcher of water, relieved that your fever had finally broken. You had been asleep for a whole 24 hours, your parents finding you in your bed after you didn’t come down to breakfast. Your temperature ran high and you had tossed and turned with some kind of night terror, but recovered rather quickly.

After you had shoo’d your mother away, accepting the large breakfast and assuring her you were fine, the demon had appeared from behind the door frame. You nearly threw a fork right at its face.

-----------

“So that was….It wasn’t just a nightmare?” You muttered, eyes lost in your bowl of cheese grits.

“Yes, my mistress, it was real.” The demon steps out from the shadow of the door, causing you to flinch as their long horns scrape against the low ceiling of your room. They take another step back. “Your body gave out after you spoke your demand. I do apologize for the intrusion, but I searched your mind to find your home and brought you back to your own bed. Was that a correct assumption?”

You nod, shakily stirring your spoon, absentminded. You force your eyes to meet the demon’s, trying to contain your quivers.

“And now-” You gulp, keeping what little composure you have left, “-are you here to collect?”

The demon quirks their head, horns audibly scratching the hardwood. Their brow furrows as they contemplate, before their eyes widen with understanding. They shake their head and take another step forward. You clench your fingers around the blanket, but hold your flinch.

“No, mistress. You are not in debt to me, not in any way. That is not the ritual which was performed.”

You quirk your eyebrows, befuddled. “But, I thought that-”

“The wish you made was not so heavy to require the payment of a soul. Nor would you have been able to make such a wish in the first place.” Without you realizing it, the demon had walked over to your bed. Their staggering height should be intimidating, but the intonation of their words and the look in their eye is calming. Almost reassuring. “The payment was made when you gave me this permanent physical form.” The demon explains, flexing their fingers and faintly tracing the lines of your bedpost. “By pushing your body to the brink of death, you were able to reach across the veil and pull me through . Usually, a soul-paying ritual brings a demon temporarily to the mortal realm, to enact the wish and then take their payment. The summoning spell you performed takes a much stronger mind and body; Not only to bounce back from death, but to carry a new weight with you.”

The demon slowly sets to its knees, laying it’s head down on your blanket. “In that way, I am indebted to you, my mistress, for taking such risks to bring me here.”

You blanch, words escaping you as this massive creature pledges fealty to you. When your vocabulary finally returns to your brain, you shake your hands furiously.

“T-thank you, for your kind words and your help. But you don't need to. I mean, I-I have no want to force you to stay with me. I didn’t even fully understand what I was doing-”

“That is not a requirement, mistress. And you are not forcing me to stay, I want to stay.”

The demon urges, picking its head back up from the quilt. “If it is your wish, however, I can stay in the shadows and not bother you, protect you from afar. I wouldn’t wish to interfere.”

You shake your head once more. “No! No, that won’t be necessary. That sounds even worse, to be honest.” You mutter, picking at the quilt squares with your fingers.

The silence lingers. The Demon, still looking at you in admiration. It’s irises glow even in the soft-morning light, their pupils a deep void amidst the unnatural yellow.

“Well, I am going to eat. Feel free to….look around.” You say, gesturing to your tiny bedroom. The demon nods, slowly retreating from your bedside to the corner, eyes darting around the wallpaper until eventually settling on your dresser and small vanity.

You eat, taking hesitant bites as you watch them wander towards your things, taking the time to observe your minimal decorations. You had a tiny book collection, some knick knacks you had gotten from town or your parent’s travels, and a myriad of plants on your window sill.

The demon hadn’t shown any ill intent, not in their actions nor in their tone, but you still weren’t sure. You had heard stories of tricksters, who lure you in with false promises and sweet lies.

If four young men could do it so easily, imagine what a demon could accomplish.

You shake their faces out of your heads, brushing off the imaginary fingertips clutched around your arms. It’s over; You are safe, in your bed. God knows what happened to them. You fight away that thought as well.

As you slowly finish your breakfast, the Demon is looking at the cover of one of your books. Technically it’s an encyclopedia, filled with all the different types of marine flora and fauna. Your mother had gotten it for your birthday three years ago.

“Umm...demon?”

They pause, setting down the book and looking at you.

“Yes, mistress?”

“I was just wondering, since you’re going to be here for the foreseeable future, what should I call you?” They’re brow furrows, head tilting like that of a befuddled pet.

“I had not really considered that, mistress. Is it important?”

You scratch the back of your neck, avoiding their piercing gaze. “Not particularly, I guess. It just feels a bit rude to acknowledge you only as ‘The Demon’.”

The Demon’s face scrunches up, still confused. “In the Nine Hells, I was referred to by my title, I do not see anything wrong with that. It is a correct statement to call me a demon.”

“Well, maybe. I guess up here, your own name is personal. Something that defines you, a part of yourself. Kind of like the way you look, or how you present yourself.” You say, mussing up your bed sheets in an effort to calm your nerves.

The demon pinches their face once more, eyes darting to the book laying upon the desk.

“Is Captain a military rank in this plane as well?” The say, claws tracing the engraved title of the encyclopedia. Sort of confused by the change of subject, you glance towards the book cover. Captain Amelia’s Guide to the Unknown of the Ocean.

“Yes, but it also describes the heads of ships. Those who sail across the seas, discovering new things or dealing in trade. Pretty sure the only requirement is a boat, not a military career.”

The Demon hums, eyes still locked on the cover, decorated by a painting of a large ship, locked in combat with a Kraken.

“Then I think I’d like to be called Captain.”

You nod, fingers still entangled in your bed sheets. Captain looks back to you, sending a calming smile. As calming as a creature with more canines than a wolf can be. Your own smile is shaky, still wary of what is to come.

--------

That was about a week and a half ago now, Captain staying by you as you rested. Your parents only allowed you to help around the house after 3 days of solid bed rest, most of which you spent reading, crocheting, or talking with Captain. When they went off to work, you gave Captain a tour of the house, showing them all the tools of the kitchen and the apothecary.

Their presence had quickly become commonplace, your body no longer jolting when you caught a glimpse of the dark figure in the corner. You two would chit-chat and entertain each other, but knew when to give the other space.

Captain also demonstrated their shape-shifting ability, although it was not as dramatic as you had read about in grimoires. Mostly it was a day-to-day tiny change, one you had learned to acknowledge and inquire how they would like to be referred to as. Captain had been a little bemused by the limitations of your pronouns, but was rather swift in adapting to a strategy which best suited them.

It was nice, if a little bit strange. Although you weren’t sure if the two of you could be considered friends just yet, if not for the short time or them being a Demon bound to you by a blood contract, but you were definitely closer than acquaintances. Comrades, ship mates? You still didn’t know. But as the domestic days dragged on, you find you’re not afraid to find out.

---------

What animal is this, Mistress?

“I believe it’s a seal? Or a sea lion, could never tell the difference, if I’m being honest.” You say, fingers brushing over the wooden charm hanging off the market shelf. It’s small, the details defining but rudimentary.

You have lions which live in the sea? How fiersome.

“Not actual lions, but I’m sure they could put up a good fight. Are there any oceans in the Nine Hells?”

No. Not ones made out of water anyway; Usually its blood or other excrement.

“...Oh.” You mutter, shoving that image out of your mind. Captain didn’t often talk about their home plane, only offering terrifying details that made sense of why they so desperately wanted to escape. As curious as the thought of another dimension was to you, you tried to avoid the topic all together. Captain didn’t seem to mind.

Looking at the small charm, with it’s adorable, puppy like face, you gesture towards the shopkeep.

“How much for this?”

“Only two silver, miss.”

You look down at your spare grocery change, sending a tiny glance to your shadow.

“Would you like this, Captain? We’ve got the coin for it.”

There’s a brief silence, your shadow staying uncannily still.

….For what purpose, Mistress?

You shrug, tapping the dangling charm and watching how it twirls. “No purpose. It’s just rather cute, and well…” You brush a finger over the woodwork, feeling the tiny indentations carved, “If you’re going to be staying with me, you should have some stuff of your own, right? Seems only fair.”

There’s another pause, long enough that you risk another glance at the shade. Even without any definitive form, it looks pensive.

Yes, I would like it, Mistress.

You nod, quickly passing the silver. From the corner of your eye, your shadow seems to perk up. As you pull away from the stall, you slyly drop the charm down and into the darkness, the demon leaping out a hand to catch it. From inside your mind, the warm feeling of contentment and excitement resonates like an undercurrent, bringing a smile to your face. You can picture Captain fiddling with the toy in their massive paws, eyes alight. Butterflies flutter to life in your stomach.

Thank you, Mistress. I would not have thought such a tiny thing would bring me such happiness.

You shake your head.

“It’s no problem. If you see anything you like, let me know.”

You’re jolted out of your mind when by a large splash, a woman squealing as mud clings to her skirt, and a young man scrambles to his feet.

“And stay in the mud, you low-life pig!”

“B-But Jezebel, I-I can explain!”

“Explain what, exactly?” A small crowd is beginning to form around the commotion, but you find yourself frozen to your spot, thoughts thrown all over the place.

Three women, all beautiful, stand in the small entryway of a house. At the bottom, now covered in mud, is Richard.

“That you’re cheating scum? That you don’t deserve our time?” The first woman shouts, gesturing to the two others. She’s making a scene and she knows it, reveling in her screaming and his embarrassment. “And I’m not Jezebel, you idiot! I’m Viola!” She nothing short of screeches, leaning down and hurling a chunk of dirt at Richard. The other women huff in agreement, looking at him with disgust and spitting at his feet.

A low murmur has fallen over the crowd, gossip thriving as the women stamp their heels and Viola huffs back into the house. The door is slammed shut, the focus of everyone’s eyesight on Richard.

He looks haggard, dark circles and greasy hair indicating he hasn’t slept, at least slept well, in the last few days. His clothes, usually refined and tucked in, were loose and nearly tearing. Amidst the chattering group of people, remnants of conversations linger into your ears.

“They made the right decision, shipping him off.”

“Honestly, it was about time. A cocky brat like that needs some discipline beaten into him. I’ve heard Ivy’s Military School is ranked top in the country.”

“God knows he will need it. The boy hasn’t had class since he learned how to speak.”

The belittlement, the desperate look in Richards eye, looking for sympathy, should enthrall you. That knot of satisfaction should burst, reaping the reward of your suffering, revel in his despair.

But everything about this pitiful man terrifies you.

You nearly drop your groceries, pushing away bodies as you flee the scene, barely finding time to breathe. Your shadow has trouble keeping up with you, bending between foot steps and keeping track of your shape as you dart away, away, away.

You find solace in a dark alleyway, but peace still escapes you. Your heart and brain pound with pure adrenaline, finding purchase on a nearby wall as black spots dot your vision.

All you can see are Richard’s dirt filled fingernails, dragging across your throat, pushing you down. His knee digs into your back as you kneel on wet ground, the cold metal of a knife pressed against your neck, dangerously close to your racing pulse point.

Your shadow shifts and grows, Captain’s shape stepping out of your large shadow, taking tentative steps towards your quivering form. Your knees soon give out, sending you to the ground, but they catch you just in time. You barely feel the contrast of soft fur compared  to rough concrete, curling up into a fetal position as you try to force the images from your mind.

Captain sinks down, claws petting your back. With a small voice, they instruct you calmly.

“In through the nose, out through the mouth. Just like that, mistress.”

The simple instructions give you something to focus on, something other than your fractured mind. You instinctively curl into their chest, their warm fur brushing against your cheek as you shove your face against them. Your eyes are clenched tight and you cling onto their shoulders, chest wracked with your heaving sighs. But the deep baritone of their whispers and affirmations slowly seep into your haze, pushing out the memories.

You continue to breathe in and out, Captain’s warm hands caressing your waist as they hum lightly. They tuck their chin above yours, their hot breathes blowing across your skull.

“It is alright, ____. You can do this, you are safe. I am here for you.” They mutter.

In minutes that feel like hours, your heart rate slows down, your mind loses it’s buzz. Captain hums an unfamiliar tune as they continue to cradle you, claws drawing shapes into your back while rocking your back and forth.

When you finally feel aware, present in the moment, you wipe away the tear tracks running down your face.

“Captain?” You whisper.

“Yes, Mistress?”

“Can we go home, please?”

They nod, standing with you still in your arms.

“Of course, my dear.”

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

You unload groceries automatically, muscles and spirit tired after your crying fit. Captain helps, making sure to stay in the periphery and out of sight of your parents.

You give an excuse to them, explaining that the heat got to you, and collapse onto your bed. Captain lingers in the corner, poised for a command.

“Captain?” You mutter, fingers twirling a thread tassel on one of your pillows. They look up from their position. “Thank you, for being there for me. Today and…..last time.”

They nod, taking small steps towards your bed. Once close enough, they lightly wrap one of their fingers around yours, petting your knuckles.

“Of course, ____. I will always be there for you.”

You nod, a small smile crawling its way across your lips. You slip your palm into theirs, feeling their calloused finger pads, pulling them slightly closer to your form. Your eyes dart up to theirs. With a small blush, you whisper,

“And I will always be there for you.” Captain’s eyes slightly widen, but a large grin appears, a hint of their fangs glinting from behind their black fur.

“Thank you, ____.”

[whatareyousearchingfordean]

Practice Makes Perfect

Summary: With quarantine in full swing, Jensen's wife takes full advantage of her husband's new look. 

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader

Word Count: 1.7K+

Warnings: Language, unprotected sex (be better than this), oral sex (female receiving) 

Author’s Note: Ever since that interview with that New Zealand journalist, I could not get this look out of my head. I don't even care if it's an unpopular opinion, I already miss that hair and beard. Please let me know what you guys think, I live for your reviews xoxo Alex

It had been a long day of chores. Y/n had spent her morning deep cleaning the kitchen and bathrooms, all while catching up on laundry. It was like any other Sunday in her home, well, except for the interview her husband was currently attending to on Zoom. 

For the past hour, she had been listening in on the conversation. Jensen had run away to their study, but he had left the door open behind him. With a basket of folded clothes on her hip, she stopped in the doorway to admire the view. 

Ever since the country had gone into lockdown, the couple had refused to leave the house. Even their groceries were being delivered by a service. The furthest they had ventured was when they had taken evening strolls around the neighborhood for some fresh air. 

Even still, quarantine had been kind to her husband. His beard was out in full effect, just the way she liked it, even the small tufts of gray on either side of his chin was doing it for her. Just thinking about the delicious scratch it leaves against her skin had her shivering. Then there was the hair. This was the longest he had gone since the beginning of Supernatural without being Dean Winchester and he was using it to his advantage. Y/n had offered to trim his hair for him, but he insisted it was fine. Now, staring at him laughing at the camera, she couldn’t say she disagreed. Don’t get it confused, she loved her well-groomed man, all dolled up in suits or tuxes, but something about the dirty hippie look he was sporting had her body aching for him. It was all in that peek of his chest in the rare v-neck henley he was wearing and the way the long locks on the top of his head curled perfectly against his forehead as if they had always been there. 

Jensen’s eyes flickered to her for a millisecond before returning to his conversation. Y/n took the opportunity to set down the basket and saunter over to just behind the camera, a coy smile on her lips. She watched him wave goodbye to Jared and the interviewer, not even waiting for him to disconnect before she shut the laptop closed. 

“Hey,” He smiled up at her as she moved to straddle his lap. Jensen’s hands immediately went to her hips. “What’s up?” 

“This whole fucking look is what’s up.” She purred. “I didn’t even realize until just now how much I like it.” Y/n ran her hands through the long locks on top of his head, tugging slightly at the ends to turn his face up to hers. Jensen let out a low groan as she leaned into him, nuzzling her nose against his ear. 

“Oh yeah?” He urged her to continue, his voice strained as she nibbled on his ear lobe. 

“Mhm. You know what this damn beard does to me. And now you have this hair that’s so… tuggable.” She emphasized her words by pulling on his hair again. 

“God,” His word was a breath on his lips as she claimed them with her own. Y/n adjusted herself in his lap, trying to gain more leverage on him only to feel his growing excitement below her. “Fuck, baby. What are you trying to do to me?” 

“I thought it was obvious,” She wiggled her hips again and Jensen clenched his fingers deeper into the flesh of her hips. “I’m trying to fuck you.” 

Y/n felt the vibration of his growl rumble through his chest. Her words pushing him into action. Jensen clawed at her top, forcing her arms up so he could pull it over her head. Y/n repeated his action with his henley, latching her lips to the pulse in his throat when he was freed of the fabric. Her hips continued their ministrations, the denim of his jeans burning just right through her thin athletic shorts. She was all need for him at this moment, her panties already dripping. 

Jensen latched an arm around her back and stood with her, clearing his items off his desk before laying her naked back against the cool wood. A shiver ran through her body at the temperature difference, her nipples budding in the air-conditioned room. 

“So,” Jensen growled as he hooked his fingers into her shorts and panties, peeling them down her legs in one quick motion. “It’s the hair that doing it for you then?” 

“Fuck, yes.” She keened as he knelt, his hands gripping her thighs and lifting them over his shoulders. Jensen placed a kiss to the inside of her right thigh before rubbing his beard across the sensitive skin. 

“Look at this pretty pussy of yours, you’re dripping just thinking about it.” His breath was hot against her aching core as he moved closer, careful to avoid touching her where she truly wanted him. 

“Jay, please,” she begged, all inclination towards shame completely lost on her. Y/n only had one thought in her arousal soaked brain, and that was his lips latched around her clit. 

“What do you want, baby?” He nuzzled his nose against her sex, that action so light she barely registered it.

“I need you, your fucking mouth and your cock. I need it all.” Y/n let out a huff of air, aggravated with his teasing, only to suck it right back in, her upper body leaving the desk as Jensen latched his lips around her clit and sucked. She fell back against the wood a cry escaping her throat as Jensen went full force, shoving his whole face between her thighs. His tongue was working overtime, switching from long and quick licks to latching back onto her bundle of nerves. 

“Oh, god!” One of her hands snaked down to his head, pushing back his hair to see his dark green eyes smirking at her from his spot in her pussy. Y/n locked her fingers in his hair and tugged, causing Jensen to growl against her and sending every shockwave in her body centering on the knot deep in her stomach. So desperately close to her end, she repeated the action, her husband shaking his head against her and sending her careening over the edge. Her knees buckled up and in, securing his face in her oversensitive pussy, causing the aftershocks of her orgasm to spark across her skin. 

With a chuckle, Jensen pulled her shaking legs away from his head, using her thigh to wipe her juices from his beard. The tingle had her convulsing in the afterglow as she lay panting on the desk. 

“Was that what my wife needed?” Jensen stood and leaned over her, one hand on either side of her head. 

“I need you to fuck me, Jay,” she reached up and pulled his lips down to hers, licking the taste of herself off his tongue. 

“Yes ma’am,” he drawled, his Texan accent making itself known underneath his words. Y/n watched as he moved back to undo his belt and jeans, her fingers slipping down between her folds to quelch the new ache in her cunt while she watched her husband undress. Every freckle on his toned body caught in the light coming in through the window behind him, accentuating the movement of his muscular body. 

“Ah,” Jensen playfully slapped her hand away when he began to stroke his leaking cock. Y/n bit her lip as his fingers rolled over the reddened tip, spreading pre-cum across his shaft. “This is mine, only I get to touch it. Got it?”

“Yes,” Her response was automatic, not even needing to think to respond to him. Which was good considering he pushed himself into her entrance without warning, stealing the air from her lungs for a moment.

“So fucking tight,” he lowered his head to her chest as he regained composure and let her adjust to the intrusion. “Jesus, Y/n/n.” 

“Please stop talking and fucking move.” Jensen had to chuckle at that before kissing the valley between her breasts before standing back up for better leverage. Placing his hands around her hips, he pulled her closer to the edge, setting up a rhythm with his own. Y/n looked for purchase on the desk as her body began to move but there was nothing for her to grab on to. Instead, her hands found their way to her chest, kneading her breasts and tweaking her nipples as Jensen drove into her again and again. 

“God, you look so fucking good, taking my cock,” Jensen licked his lips, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth as he continued to fuck her. Heavy breaths and the soft creak of the desk under her weight filled the silence that the roo once held, the air settling heavily over both of them.

With each push and pull of him inside her, Y/n could feel herself careening towards her climax. Every muscle in her body was tightening, her body so close, yet so far. “Jensen, fu-”

“I know baby, I’ve got you. Come for me, come on my cock.” He moved his left thumb down, spiraling tight circles into her clit, the action mixed with the husk in his words igniting every nerve ending in her body. She came with a cry of his name on her lips, her whole body shaking as her pussy clenched around him. Jensen fell onto his elbows, unable to continue to move as he came with her, his seed coating her insides. 

“Shit,” he cursed, laying a sweaty cheek against her sternum. The position was anything but comfortable, but he was afraid if he moved too quickly his legs would give underneath him. Y/n huffed out a laugh, her chest still rising and falling rapidly as she ran her fingers through his now sweaty hair. 

“I’m gonna need you to keep this hair forever,” she murmured into the room after a moment, her fingers still lazily massaging through his scalp. 

“If only,” he agreed, knowing full well that he was going back to work in a few week’s time, which meant saying goodbye to the hair and the beard, both of them now apparently his wife’s favorite thing. 

“So, do you think we did it this time?” She asked, her heart fluttering again in her chest, anticipation and worry flooding her system. 

Jensen lifted his head and moved so he could nuzzle his nose against her cheek. “If not, that only means more practice.” 

Forevers: @polina-93​​ @22sarah08​​ @callmekda​​ @hobby27​​ @tranquility-or-chaos​ @dawnie1988​​ @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce​​ @sleepylunarwolf​ @stiles-stilinski-24-dylan​  @akshi8278​ @superfanficnatural​ @malfoysqueen14​ @deanwanddamons​ @waywardbeanie​ @emoryhemsworth​ @talesmaniac89​ @winchest09​ @katehuntington​ @flamencodiva​ @janicho88​ @anathewierdo​ @ellewritesfix05​ @mrsjenniferwinchester​ @jensengirl83​ @lyarr24​ @smol-and-grumpy​

[eyelinerda3euro]

The Carrier Bag Theory of Fiction

In the temperate and tropical regions where it appears that hominids evolved into human beings, the principal food of the species was vegetable. Sixty-five to eighty percent of what human beings ate in those regions in Paleolithic, Neolithic, and prehistoric times was gathered; only in the extreme Arctic was meat the staple food. The mammoth hunters spectacularly occupy the cave wall and the mind, but what we actually did to stay alive and fat was gather seeds, roots, sprouts, shoots, leaves, nuts, berries, fruits, and grains, adding bugs and mollusks and netting or snaring birds, fish, rats, rabbits, and other tuskless small fry to up the protein. And we didn’t even work hard at it — much less hard than peasants slaving in somebody else’s field after agriculture was invented, much less hard than paid workers since civilization was invented. The average prehistoric person could make a nice living in about a fifteen-hour work week.

Fifteen hours a week for subsistence leaves a lot of time for other things. So much time that maybe the restless ones who didn’t have a baby around to enliven their life, or skill in making or cooking or singing, or very interesting thoughts to think, decided to slope off and hunt mammoths. The skillful hunters would come staggering back with a load of meat, a lot of ivory, and a story. It wasn’t the meat that made the difference. It was the story.

It is hard to tell a really gripping tale of how I wrestled a wild-oat seed from its husk, and then another, and then another, and then another, and then another, and then I scratched my gnat bites, and Ool said something funny, and we went to the creek and got a drink and watched newts for a while, and then I found another patch of oats.... No, it does not compare, it cannot compete with how I thrust my spear deep into the titanic hairy flank while Oob, impaled on one huge sweeping tusk, writhed screaming, and blood sprouted everywhere in crimson torrents, and Boob was crushed to jelly when the mammoth fell on him as I shot my unerring arrow straight through eye to brain.

That story not only has Action, it has a Hero. Heroes are powerful. Before you know it, the men and women in the wild-oat patch and their kids and the skills of makers and the thoughts of the thoughtful and the songs of the singers are all part of it, have all been pressed into service in the tale of the Hero. But it isn’t their story. It’s his.

When she was planning the book that ended up as Three Guineas, Virginia Woolf wrote a heading in her notebook, “Glossary”; she had thought of reinventing English according to her new plan, in order to tell a different story. One of the entries in this glossary is heroism, defined as “botulism.” And hero, in Woolf’s dictionary, is “bottle.” The hero as bottle, a stringent reevaluation. I now propose the bottle as hero.

Not just the bottle of gin or wine, but bottle in its older sense of container in general, a thing that holds something else.

If you haven’t got something to put it in, food will escape you — even something as uncombative and unresourceful as an oat. You put as many as you can into your stomach while they are handy, that being the primary container; but what about tomorrow morning when you wake up and it’s cold and raining and wouldn’t it be good to have just a few handfuls of oats to chew on and give little Oom to make her shut up, but how do you get more than one stomachful and one handful home? So you get up and go to the damned soggy oat patch in the rain, and wouldn’t it be a good thing if you had something to put Baby Oo Oo in so that you could pick the oats with both hands? A leaf a gourd shell a net a bag a sling a sack a bottle a pot a box a container. A holder. A recipient.

The first cultural device was probably a recipient.... Many theorizers feel that the earliest cultural inventions must have been a container to hold gathered products and some kind of sling or net carrier.

So says Elizabeth Fisher in Women’s Creation (McGraw-Hill, 1975). But no, this cannot be. Where is that wonderful, big, long, hard thing, a bone, I believe, that the Ape Man first bashed somebody in the movie and then, grunting with ecstasy at having achieved the first proper murder, flung up into the sky, and whirling there it became a space ship thrusting its way into the cosmos to fertilize it and produce at the end of the movie a lovely fetus, a boy of course, drifting around the Milky Way without (oddly enough) any womb, any matrix at all? I don’t know. I don’t even care. I’m not telling that story. We’ve heard it, we’ve all heard about all the sticks and spears and swords, the things to bash and poke and hit with, the long, hard things, but we have not heard about the thing to put things in, the container for the thing contained. That is a new story. That is news.

And yet old. Before — once you think about it, surely long before — the weapon, a late, luxurious, superfluous tool; long before the useful knife and ax; right along with the indispensable whacker, grinder, and digger — for what’s the use of digging up a lot of potatoes if you have nothing to lug the ones you can’t eat home in — with or before the tool that forces energy outward, we made the tool that brings energy home. It makes sense to me. I am an adherent of what Fisher calls the Carrier Bag Theory of human evolution.

This theory not only explains large areas of theoretical obscurity and avoids large areas of theoretical nonsense (inhabited largely by tigers, foxes, and other highly territorial mammals); it also grounds me, personally, in human culture in a way I never felt grounded before. So long as culture was explained as originating from and elaborating upon the use of long, hard objects for sticking, bashing, and killing, I never thought that I had, or wanted, any particular share in it. (“What Freud mistook for her lack of civilization is woman’s lack of loyalty to civilization,” Lillian Smith observed.) The society, the civilization they were talking about, these theoreticians, was evidently theirs; they owned it, they liked it; they were human, fully human, bashing, sticking, thrusting, killing. Wanting to be human too, I sought for evidence that I was; but if that’s what it took, to make a weapon and kill with it, then evidently I was either extremely defective as a human being, or not human at all.

That’s right, they said. What you are is a woman. Possibly not human at all, certainly defective. Now be quiet while we go on telling the Story of the Ascent of Man the Hero.

Go on, say I, wandering off towards the wild oats, with Oo Oo in the sling and little Oom carrying the basket. You just go on telling how the mammoth fell on Boob and how Cain fell on Abel and how the bomb fell on Nagasaki and how the burning jelly fell on the villagers and how the missiles will fall on the Evil Empire, and all the other steps in the Ascent of Man.

If it is a human thing to do to put something you want, because it’s useful, edible, or beautiful, into a bag, or a basket, or a bit of rolled bark or leaf, or a net woven of your own hair, or what have you, and then take it home with you, home being another, larger kind of pouch or bag, a container for people, and then later on you take it out and eat it or share it or store it up for winter in a solider container or put it in the medicine bundle or the shrine or the museum, the holy place, the area that contains what is sacred, and then next day you probably do much the same again — if to do that is human, if that’s what it takes, then I am a human being after all. Fully, freely, gladly, for the first time.

Not, let it be said at once, an unaggressive or uncombative human being. I am an aging, angry woman laying mightily about me with my handbag, fighting hoodlums off. However I don’t, nor does anybody else, consider myself heroic for doing so. It’s just one of those damned things you have to do in order to be able to go on gathering wild oats and telling stories.

It is the story that makes the difference. It is the story that hid my humanity from me, the story the mammoth hunters told about bashing, thrusting, raping, killing, about the Hero. The wonderful, poisonous story of Botulism. The killer story.

It sometimes seems that the story is approaching its end. Lest there be no more telling of stories at all, some of us out here in the wild oats, amid the alien corn, think we’d better start telling another one, which maybe people can go on with when the old one’s finished. Maybe. The trouble is, we’ve all let ourselves become part of the killer story, and so we may get finished along with it. Hence it is with a certain feeling of urgency that I seek the nature, subject, words of the other story, the untold one, the life story.

It’s unfamiliar, it doesn’t come easily, thoughtlessly, to the lips as the killer story does; but still, “untold” was an exaggeration. People have been telling the life story for ages, in all sorts of words and ways. Myths of creation and transformation, trickster stories, folktales, jokes, novels....

The novel is a fundamentally unheroic kind of story. Of course the Hero has frequently taken it over, that being his imperial nature and uncontrollable impulse, to take everything over and run it while making stern decrees and laws to control his uncontrollable impulse to kill it. So the Hero has decreed through his mouthpieces the Lawgivers, first, that the proper shape of the narrative is that of the arrow or spear, starting here and going straight there and THOK! hitting its mark (which drops dead); second, that the central concern of narrative, including the novel, is conflict; and third, that the story isn’t any good if he isn’t in it.

I differ with all of this. I would go so far as to say that the natural, proper, fitting shape of the novel might be that of a sack, a bag. A book holds words. Words hold things. They bear meanings. A novel is a medicine bundle, holding things in a particular, powerful relation to one another and to us.

One relationship among elements in the novel may well be that of conflict, but the reduction of narrative to conflict is absurd. (I have read a how-to-write manual that said, “A story should be seen as a battle,” and went on about strategies, attacks, victory, etc.) Conflict, competition, stress, struggle, etc., within the narrative conceived as carrier bag/belly/box/house/medicine bundle, may be seen as necessary elements of a whole which itself cannot be characterized either as conflict or as harmony, since its purpose is neither resolution nor stasis but continuing process.

Finally, it’s clear that the Hero does not look well in this bag. He needs a stage or a pedestal or a pinnacle. You put him in a bag and he looks like a rabbit, like a potato.

That is why I like novels: instead of heroes they have people in them.

So, when I came to write science-fiction novels, I came lugging this great heavy sack of stuff, my carrier bag full of wimps and klutzes, and tiny grains of things smaller than a mustard seed, and intricately woven nets which when laboriously unknotted are seen to contain one blue pebble, an imperturbably functioning chronometer telling the time on another world, and a mouse’s skull; full of beginnings without ends, of initiations, of losses, of transformations and translations, and far more tricks than conflicts, far fewer triumphs than snares and delusions; full of space ships that get stuck, missions that fail, and people who don’t understand. I said it was hard to make a gripping tale of how we wrested the wild oats from their husks, I didn’t say it was impossible. Who ever said writing a novel was easy?

If science fiction is the mythology of modern technology, then its myth is tragic. “Technology,” or “modern science” (using the words as they are usually used, in an unexamined shorthand standing for the “hard” sciences and high technology founded upon continuous economic growth), is a heroic undertaking, Herculean, Promethean, conceived as triumph, hence ultimately as tragedy. The fiction embodying this myth will be, and has been, triumphant (Man conquers earth, space, aliens, death, the future, etc.) and tragic (apocalypse, holocaust, then or now).

If, however, one avoids the linear, progressive, Time’s-(killing)-arrow mode of the Techno-Heroic, and redefines technology and science as primarily cultural carrier bag rather than weapon of domination, one pleasant side effect is that science fiction can be seen as a far less rigid, narrow field, not necessarily Promethean or apocalyptic at all, and in fact less a mythological genre than a realistic one.

It is a strange realism, but it is a strange reality.

Science fiction properly conceived, like all serious fiction, however funny, is a way of trying to describe what is in fact going on, what people actually do and feel, how people relate to everything else in this vast stack, this belly of the universe, this womb of things to be and tomb of things that were, this unending story. In it, as in all fiction, there is room enough to keep even Man where he belongs, in his place in the scheme of things; there is time enough to gather plenty of wild oats and sow them too, and sing to little Oom, and listen to Ool’s joke, and watch newts, and still the story isn’t over. Still there are seeds to be gathered, and room in the bag of stars. by Ursula K. Le Guin

[alastorhazbinintheseguts]

May I request for a Yandere Alastor X Vaggie story? Something dark like Alastor somehow manipulates Charlie into cheating with some else and using that information for Vaggie to make the decision to end her relationship with Charlie.

Yay! First request on this account! I couldn’t think of what Alastor could do to manage to get Charlie to cheat so I got something else that would still make Vaggie break up with her. Alastor isn’t full Yandere mode but he’s making his way into being so. I hope you still like it. Tell me if you did or not! Ask are always open! 🖤

-

It didn’t take long at all for Alastor to notice the small, if not increasingly growing, issues in Vaggie and Charlie’s relationship. While he usually couldn’t care less about such things he had a reason this time. Vaggie was rather interesting to him, for whatever reason.. it could have been the way she talked, a strong woman who Alastor found himself daydreaming of wanting to break down. Then again however he wanted to have a calming talk with her where she wasn’t threatening to kill him in his sleep... It could have been how guarded she was against him as well, he’d never forget his first day coming to the Hazbin Hotel and while she did seem a bit frustrated and nervous to have the Radio demon there, Vaggie didn’t hesitate to point that spear in his face and curse him. He was impressed, more than he’s been in a while by anyone down here in these fiery pits. Vaggie could grant him something if he chased after it enough and after that realization everything between the two girls started to crumble.

Alastor took the time to study the two girls, watching, stalking, and analyzing.. like a predator hunting down its next meal but then again he had managed to look like he wasn’t doing so at the same time. He could get away with staring down Charlie thanks to her aloofness but with Vaggie he had to be a bit more careful. She was right, he was up to something and he knew with the gorgeous brain of hers she’d probably think of a million and one things Alastor could want instead of actually helping with the hotel. While she was correct Alastor shook his head at that, he’d had to work on gaining her trust.

Charlie was the one who spoke out more, even when her ideas were absolutely laughable. She was much like a child to Vaggie who seemed more reliable, how Vaggie put up with such a silly girl with even sillier thoughts would always amaze the deer. Charlie was the more bubbly of the two, while Vaggie was the more cautious one. Alastor guessed the relationship would make sense, opposites did attract he guess which he then turned on himself to somewhat encourage his plans. Vaggie and him were opposites at a certain point but there was still a possibility.. This could work, he’d just have to play his cards right and usually.. he did. Alastor hardly lost at anything so getting in between a relationship wasn’t hard, he’s done it many times before.. unintentionally yes, but he had the ability to do so. So, why did he get... apprehensive.. about his plans. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe they would work out but maybe it was something else. His apprehensiveness would soon develop into frustration and while it may throw him off track for a second, Alastor would figure something out.

Alastor stood in front of the measly picture frame with a wide grin on his face as he always had. That smile promising nothing but trouble which forever seemed to be laced on his face. He had to admit, he didn’t expect to find another plot hole in this relationship that quickly but with this new info he couldn’t be upset about it. The voices behind him spoke as if he wasn’t there or they at least tried not to notice him. Vaggie felt much better ignoring Alastor whenever she could and Charlie was usually the one to come up to him and start talking. Right now he had nothing to say to either of them as he was clearly busy with the picture that he managed to clasp in his clawed hand.

‘An Eldritch hm? Oh goody~’ He thought to himself as he looked at the picture with almost a judgmental gaze, even with that smile his eyebrows furrowed a bit. She dated this creature before finding Vaggie? For whatever reason it was seen as insulting to the radio demon. Vaggie most definitely had ‘bigger balls’ than this man.. the Eldritch family was rather annoying and while Alastor found no need to really go and talk to them at all he knew this could add to his plan. He’s been picking and poking at Charlie and Vaggie for a couple weeks now, either while they were with other or alone whenever he could. He’d have to ask about the picture in a second. He placed the frame back down before turning around with an easy look finding Vaggie, Charlie, and Husk to be the only ones around right now. Ah, a good trio. Alastor was glad Angel wasn’t around, he was either in his room or out but in the end Alastor found that he couldn’t care less to know where that messy pornstar was at.. Nifty was most likely cleaning up somewhere so he didn’t have to worry much there either.

His shoes clicked against the flooring with each step he took, he could’ve walked up silently but then again, he wanted to show his dominance in power even for just a second. He noticed that sometimes it made Vaggie shiver and he had to admit that he rather liked that even if she shivered for her own reasons and not necessarily his. His approach caught Charlie’s attention, as it usually did, and looking away from Vaggie she looked up to him from the stool she’d been sitting on. Vaggie momentarily squeezed the pages of papers in her hands, not necessarily annoyed that Charlie’s attention was driven away from her that quickly but more of a bit tired of it happening so easily..

“Oh Al! Want to help us with some of the Hotel’s planning? Vaggie was thinking we should add a food court but then again we’d have to have someone to watch over the food.” To stop demons from stealing food for themselves.. Alastor hummed and briefly his eyes fell shut only to open once more after hearing a huff. Crimson eyes found the little moth who now lazily held the papers in her fingers, a leg crossed over the other as she leaned against the bar counter while her other hand rested on her cheek to keep her head up. She rolled her eyes which stirred something in the radio demon for a split second before if vanished as quickly as it had came. That also started to happen more and more with him these days... it was almost an itch he just couldn’t scratch and while sometimes that itch could distract him he couldn’t help but like the shivers it caused for him as well.

“It’s just a yes or no question. If you don’t like it that’s all you have to say.” Vaggie murmured, which told him the food court was most likely her idea, but Alastor heard her nonetheless. Charlie practically toppled onto her as she turned back to look at the smaller of the two. “Vaggie! You..” she started, most likely to point out the irritation that lightly made itself in Vaggie’s tone. Alastor stopped her because for one, if he didn’t want to hear her ramble about being nice and surely Vaggie didn’t either, plus he always enjoyed a good talk with the moth even if she didn’t seem to return such feelings. Not yet at least. He put a hand up in defense. “Don’t worry darling, I’m not hurt!” He chuckled with that staticky voice. “A food court isn’t a bad idea at all! Even Angel could make sure nothing is stolen, it’s not like he had much of anything better to do right?” He grinned as he always did before he walked around and nudged Vaggie with an elbow to which she glared at him but nonetheless only sighed.

Oh there’s that itch again, this time it felt hot though.. like an iron rob suddenly poking him out of the blue. Charlie seemed happy with the answer and Alastor knew she’d ask him later. He looked to Husk, who not even three minutes ago was still awake. He must have gotten bored, it made sense though because the only reason he still worked here was for the booze and that he couldn’t runaway because Alastor would just bring him back. Alastor looked away after hearing the nearly quiet purring coming from his drunk friend and looked back at the girls remembering why he had even came over in the first place. Vaggie was speaking again, looking at the papers in her hands and reading them out to her girlfriend as Charlie looked over her shoulder, hovering awfully close.

Alastor could have twitched at that but as strange as he was he knew that if he didn’t control himself the two would ask him what was wrong. Alastor could feel something nagging at his brain, something growing louder and louder each second but for now he’d continue with his plan. At the moment, he didn’t understand why he was so stuck on breaking these two up but that wouldn’t deter him. With an almost smug look Alastor settled his cheek in his hand and looked at them. “So, who’s a gentleman in the picture over there?” He asked suddenly, his words shooting through the air as if he had just shot off a gun.

Charlie had paused and Vaggie had nearly torn the papers right in half in her grip. Her fists tightened and slowly she casted a gaze at him which said more than what her lips could at the moment. Alastor loved it and anyone who knew him well enough could see that he did. Then again though, there was rarely anyone who could get close enough to Alastor like that... not like many people wanted to though. Charlie also looked up at him seemingly not noticing her girlfriend’s growing emotions which happen often seeing how dense Charlie could be. “Ah.. well he’s um.. my ex?” She spoke as she moved back to scratch the back of her neck a bit awkwardly. Vaggie narrowed her gaze at the radio demon just like how he loved to see it. Why did he always ask things like that?.. There was nothing that bothered Vaggie more then Charlie’s past relationships and for it to be brought up so suddenly in a time where they were both slowly crumbling as a relationship themselves? Not to mention, Charlie actually answered him? Oh, she hated this man with a passion...

Vaggie already had a hard time walking pass that picture nearly every day and each time she saw it she had the nearly unbearable need to throw it out. Charlie wanted to keep it though and she wanted to respect that, however who was in the picture is what bothered Vaggie as well as not knowing why it was still around... She really, truly did want to respect Charlie’s wishes but she couldn’t help how annoyed she got just looking at it. She bit her lip to shush herself and Alastor hummed once more, he could practically see right through her right there in that moment but no, he wouldn’t point it out just yet. He would continue this talk though, maybe the results of his plan would happen a lot quicker than he initially thought it would.

He lifted a neat brow and almost as if bored he sighed a little. “Your ex? As in, a partner you’re not with anymore?” He asked curiously and Vaggie looked at him more before looking down at her hands that were starting to tremble. She’d noticed Alastor doing this.. this.. whatever this was for a while now. At first she had thought he was just joking around, bored enough to play with others feelings because he himself had none of his own to play with on his own but now it seemed like he was testing something. What though? What is it? Was he trying to test their patience? Their performance? Their emotions? She just couldn’t put her finger on it right now..

Vaggie was a smart girl, almost too smart for her own good. Her intelligence was the reason that she couldn’t connect her dots and that only made Alastor grin more. “Why are you keeping a picture of you last significant other? Is there a possibility that you still care for him? Ho ho!~ What an interesting turn huh? Did I hit it right on the nail?” Alastor boasted to which Vaggie finally scoffed. The action immediately caught his attention, his eyes moving away from Charlie to Vaggie to see her practically choking out the papers in her shaking hands. “As if! The picture is just.. just um..” she trailed on trying to think of an excuse. Why did Charlie wish to keep that damned thing around? Vaggie wouldn’t even look up at Alastor because she knew what she’d see and she didn’t want to see it. Didn’t want to see that wide evil smirk that only knew destruction. Vaggie paused, freezing completely suddenly. She had just realized Charlie wasn’t saying anything.. she slowly looking to her to find Charlie nawing at his lip as if to keep herself quiet.

It was the first time Vaggie had ever seen her so hesitant other than dealing with her parents. Vaggie stopped shaking but not because she had calm down but because her body had started to feel cold. As if she had managed I die a second time. “Charlie..” she spoke and it took the blond a second to look at her but when she did Vaggie nearly got up and left right then and there. Alastor had managed to break the camels back and Vaggie had finally figured out what he had been testing.. it was their relationship. Charlie has done many things even before Alastor that managed to get to Vaggie but never did she expect this. Charlie scrambled to answer when she had felt the energy that started to seep into the air, an almost icy feeling that made her shiver all over.

“It’s not t-that I still care about him! No no no, Vaggie it just I know he’s still a good guy and I just can’t help..” she cleared her throat a bit already getting choked up on her words and Vaggie felt her eye twitch. “Can’t help what? He’s your ex! Do you not remember what he’s done to you?” She shot back and Charlie visibily flinched at her tone. Pain started to etch her features but Alastor, who’s been rather enjoying the show, watched in gleeful silence. Oh to ruin something that was supposed to be a sacred as a relationship! How could he not get thrilled? Vaggie may not be the strongest demon but she sure as hell could give out an impressive aura. As the storm in front of him grew worse he thought to himself. He’d taken a lot of time to get under these two’s skins, he’d wanted to pull this relationship apart so bad.. and yet, for what?

He could have blamed it on Charlie, the precious little demon princess, and her father.. while Alastor would admit he loved to toy with Lucifer and the things precious to him he actually didn’t care much to see his reaction to this. So that meant it had to be because of Vaggie then right? He looked at the girls again as they argued but for whatever reason he couldn’t focus on their words. For a small thing like herself Vaggie has a rather strong voice, a passionate one even that could catch anyone’s attention if she wanted it to and as Alastor brought up earlier, she was incredibly smart. She was beautiful as well.

It was only until after Alastor had managed to call her beautiful in that boggled brain of his did he himself pause. Beautiful? Would he say that Vaggie was beautiful or did he really just lose his mind completely right there? He blinked, once, twice, three times before looking back at Vaggie again. Their was a glistening in her eyes as she and Charlie went at it, loud enough to even make the drunk, passed out, Husk stir a bit in his sleep. Vaggie.. was strong.. also something Alastor found himself liking about her. The glistening in her eyes were clearly a result of upcoming tears and after thinking about that a twinge bit at Alastor’s lower spine which resulted in him closing his eyes for a second and shivering. It had nearly even hurt a little. He couldn’t imagine Vaggie crying and yet, he could practically feel her need to.

Just to see something, he looked back up at Charlie who was already crying. Tears ran down her cheeks as she seem to plead for Vaggie to calm down and here her out. Charlie.. cried a lot and from what he’s noticed from his time of being here, he noticed that she cried at some of the smallest things.. Alastor saw it now.. the issues of this relationship and all it’s glory. Well not really but he could see some of the main issues and that’s what mattered for now. The words “we’re done..” we’re so soft that it stopped Charlie. She couldn’t tell if she had heard right or if Vaggie’s voice was simply to soft for her to here. She blinked, more tears rushing down her cheeks after doing so. “W-what?” Vaggie has managed to yank Alastor out of his head thanks to those words as well but then again a voice in his own head started to stick out.

She doesn’t deserve her.

She doesn’t deserve her.

She doesn’t deserve her.

I want her.

He shuddered but kept quiet just in time to hear Vaggie shout. “I said we’re done! Do I need to spell it out!?” She tossed her papers onto the counter which scattered on impact, some falling to the floor and waking the drunkard below. She then scooted to hop out of her stool when Charlie whimpered following her lead and suddenly clasping her hands down on Vaggie’s shoulders to try and get her to hear her out some more. Alastor wouldn’t say it now but he has to admit Vaggie was rather cute having to scoot in order to get in, if he had been the one dating her she wouldn’t even have a reason to be this upset. Wait...what? He shook his head a little bit.. Charlie tried to persuade Vaggie into staying, into talking to her some more but once Vaggie pulled away from her hands and that’s wheneveryone their had knew that she was serious. Charlie’s hands fell limp to her sides as Vaggie walked away, wrapping her arms around herself as if to hug herself. When she was gone Charlie stumbled a little before wiping viciously at her eyes to try and stop her running tears. For a minute the only noises that could be heard was the heavy purring coming from Husk and the messy sniffles coming from Charlie who now stood in front of him. He didn’t know if she was waiting on him to somewhat comfort her or not but if she was then that definitely wasn’t going to be happening, he stood and Charlie’s head jerked up as if expecting that Alastor was going to coddle her.. even if he wasn’t the way he was, Charlie definitely wasn’t the one he wanted to coddle.

Which was confusing to him obviously... he wasn’t known to be one who would try and emotionally support another being but here he was actually contemplating it.. he had the strange urge to follow Vaggie and try to support her as best as he could but then again he was the reason that she had just developed a new wound. Charlie sniffled as Alastor turned his back to her. “W-wait..” she whispered and Alastor did so just to amuse the thought. “Why.. why’d you ask that..” she asked and this time Alastor took the time to look at her. For a second he was quiet. Why had he taken the time to ruin their seemingly perfect relationship.

You want her for your own.

A voice whispered in his ear. He had almost looked to where Vaggie had disappeared but managed to keep his gaze on the upset demon princess in front of him. He wanted Vaggie.. he could treat her much better.. He didn’t acknowledge his growing possessive thoughts for the moth at the moment but later he wouldn’t be able to keep ignoring them.. He shrugged nonchalantly as if unbothered by everything that had taken place.

“I was simply asking a question, you two other the other hand seem to have more conflict between each other than I initially thought.” He chuckled before patting her head to which made Charlie’s shoulders sunk. Her hair made his hand itch and if it wasn’t for him playing a role right now he would have snatched it away as if she had fleas. He pulled away carefully with a low hum after a second. “Couples fight all the time! There’s nothing wrong with a bit of a lovers quarrel!” He continued to grin even with the sullen look on Charlie’s white face. She nodded at his words however as he pulled away.

“Your right.. I’ll just give her some time..” she finally spoke and that was all Alastor cared to sit around for. Any longer and he’d probably cackle at her misfortune. That was time he could find Vaggie and inch his way into her like like a slimy little parasite. He could help her, protect her.. cherish her far better than Charlie.. He shook his head before waving the other off and turning once more to part ways. It was done, and now he could experiment more. It was the first time in a while were Alastor wanted to grow close with another being and as strange and new as it was to him he wasn’t completely against it. He should probably give Vaggie some time to calm down but now seemed a perfect time to grow closer to her or maybe that was just his excitement telling him that..

Once he’d manage to get closer to her he’d hold onto her as long as he could, refusing to free her. For now though, he’d give her some alone time, later however he’d probably hunt her down.

He chuckled as his figure disappeared along the shadowy halls of the manor, his eery echo filling the air and he soon just simply disappeared.

When the time seemed right he’d make his way back to her.

[merkavahpartyvan]

The Body: The Eternal Vehicle

I run into a peculiar sentiment no matter if it's from scientists or from occultists or from both. The sentiment is: the body does not have a vote or consciousness of its own, it is just here along for the ride, a silent mass of cells waiting for electrical input from the brain. There are several levels of self that many religions and personality models consider, and all of these levels of self are assumed to be spiritual, mental or astral if they're "any good."

And by that I mean that the body is typically referred to as the "animal self" or "mortal self" or let's not forget these many terms I've found used for the same spiritual concept: corrupt self, husk, mortal coil, remains, corpse, meat sack, skinbag, flesh golem, meat robot, flesh puppet, basal nature, unrefined self.

In a rather fun and refreshing text by VeeDub of the Feri faith (The Big Damn Coloring Book), I read a description of a concept called (what I remember as) "the dark child of broken innocence" that makes me think of how an entity must feel after being called all those above words.

I wonder how it must feel to be my body. I wouldn't know--I, like most human beings, ignore how my body feels all the time. I ignore the feelings in my skin and my heart and my stomach and everywhere else. I ignore the drag of my sleep when I want to keep writing into the night. I ignore the twinge in my arm when I want to keep typing more and more. I ignore the gnaw of hunger when I don't want to get up and take a break and have a snack.

But as much as I ignore it, my body will always win. I will collapse if I try to stay awake too long, my arm will give out if I try to work it too long, and hunger will either become an unimaginable pain or will drain my focus and drive so much that I can no longer continue with my activities. I cannot escape my body, I can only ignore it.

Until next life, of course. Then I reroll. After all, we reincarnate, between species and across worlds even, across times and between them, in configurations and via means that we can't even imagine in this current life. So, I only have to deal with this body in this lifetime. And it can mess with me if it wants. But eventually, I'll be rid of it, I'll escape it, and I'll get a better body that I like more and treats me better--in fact, if I'm born far enough into the future, I won't even have to worry about mortality! Some dread combination of gene splicing and cyborg/robot technology will surely turn me into some undying, half-mechanical monstrosity without the need for a from-scratch old-fashioned body like this one, and that'll be the one I treat special because it's the one I actually want to keep.

Isn't that what the going assumption of humanity is? We just keep waiting out our bodies until our technology helps us outgrow them? So why invest in them long-term? Why keep them?

Do you ever make a typo and hit search and just get a really hot stock pick?

Do you trip on the sidewalk right as you were thinking about a sad moment in your childhood, and as you catch yourself from falling, the moment escapes you and you're free of the past?

Do you sneeze when you need to step back and take a break? Get hungry right when it's lunchtime? When you scan a book, does your eye skip across and flick to the right passage immediately, but only when you're not really thinking about it? Do you see the right book on the shelf before you even think about what you're looking for, when it comes to books? Ever fall over and barely catch yourself, or trip and barely catch something you were going to drop?

Ever wonder how? Why?

Maybe your body knows. It’s the one that did those things, not you.

Maybe it's worth keeping around.

And, this is where it gets fun--maybe it's better at things than you think. Maybe it sticks with us when we reincarnate, making us look similar life after life, always re-manifesting in ways that are familiar to us, no matter the species, place or time. If every other kind of magic is possible then what limits our body from remaking itself infinitely across realities? Or, perhaps just projecting itself into all those realities simultaneously, manifesting in each one according to the reality's rules?

Just saying. It's a thought. Maybe the body is pretty great at being our eternal vehicle through the cosmos. Maybe as our chariot we ought to treat it better and like the extension of ourselves it really is. And maybe we should stop calling it the "animal self" and other terms like that.

Best not to piss it off unnecessarily.

[magpie-scribbles]

Sweet Relief

For the spicy BNHA Server Collab!

!!!WARNING!!! This contains piss kink! do not read this if you are not into that sort of thing! !!WARNING!!

Pairing: Rappa x F!Reader

Rating: E

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Smut, piss kink, mention of PDA, dirty talk 

Honestly...he shouldn't have had that last pint, but hell you dared him to drink it in ten seconds flat and he was never one to not accept a challenge. You hadn't even offered him anything in return if he had done it but fuck, sometimes he liked to peacock...well more than sometimes...Either way he had shown you, though he doubted you actually doubted him. But now he was more than a bit tipsy and more than a little bit horny, especially after the way you had wiggled your hips at him as you crawled into the cab...it didn't help that you had also placed your hand on his thigh, fingers kneading him teasingly the whole ride back to your shared apartment.

 And now you're pulling him out of the cramped car and fixing him with bedroom eyes…

You tug your massive boyfriend up the stairs to your abode, desperate to get him alone, not that you wouldn't let him take you right then and there. You both definitely liked to make a scene every so often...but tonight you wanted him all to yourself, you were tipsy and felt absolutely primal. 

Barely able to get the key into the lock as Rappa cages you in from behind, you would have laughed if you weren't so horny. Because of his height you could feel the press of his hardening cock between your shoulder blades, his thick fingers brushing against the back of your neck. God, he could crush you if he wanted to…

Finally you manage to get the door open, having no time to ground yourself before the brick house of a man behind you is shoving you to the floor of the entryway and pouncing on you. You hear a well placed boot to the door and a slam, and then he's dropping to his knees behind you, lifting your ass up so he can rut drunkenly against you.

"You're such a fuckin' tease, fuck." He grunts and humps against you, you can feel the heat radiating from him and it makes your head spin.

"You make me that way." You whine, turning to look at him. 

Once again he catches you off guard; snarling he lashes out, mindful of his own strength, pushing your face against the floor, one cheek pressed against the cool tile, the other smooshed against his palm.

"I think ya need to be punished yeah? For bein' such a brat." He pulls your hips higher and grinds himself harder against you.

"Is it punishment if I like it?" You say smartly and you hear his deep rumbling laugh...and that should not make you as wet as it does…

"Fuck you're a feral lil' thing aren't ya?" His hand moves and then...you feel his hands gripping the back of your blouse and...riiippppp.

"Kendou!" You feel the fabric around your upper body go lax, you don't have any time to react further when you feel him grip your leggings as well…"My favorite leggings!" You cry as he rips them as well...you wonder if they're anything more than tissue paper to him.

"I'll buy you a new pair sweetheart...fuck I'll buy you three, but right now these are in the way." He's tugging the remains down your legs, mercifully NOT ruining your panties as he removes them too (you knew they were his favorite). 

He removes your blouse as well, also sparing your matching bra from his wrath. Balling up the ruined clothing he throws it down the hallway and presses into you again, your now bare body against his fully clothed one.

"No fair, Kendou, you have everything on stilllll." You whine, pushing your now bare ass back against his dick.

"Well I said I was gonna punish you, so you can wait a little bit darlin’ " he rumbles as he ruts against you. 

Rappa looks down at you, watching you writhe and beg for him...fuck. Running his hand down your spine he marvels at the way you tremble at his touch. 

He palms himself through his jeans, desperate for some relief...but fuck...he really shouldn't have had that last beer. Even in his lust-addled brain he could feel it, he had to piss like a goddamn racehorse; he pushes the sensation to the back of his mind.

“Look at you.” he groans, one hand on your hip, the other reaching to tease your clit. “Fuck you’re already sopping, ya like me pushing you around? Taking ya here on the ground like an animal? Fuck doll, imma make sure ya got bruises on your knees by the end of this.” 

You feel like you're going to lose it, his words, his touch, you need him so bad, everything he has to offer you need it, your blood sings for it. 

“Rappa...Kendou, please, please…” you whimper, glancing back at him, nearly melting then and there. He’s a sight, disheveled but so incredibly powerful, cock pressing against the confines of his jeans, biceps taught as he grips your hip and teases your pussy. You feel more slick run down your thighs.

“Fuck you’re so goddamn good.” he husks, reaching for his belt, desperate for relief, the article was also not helping his other need for relief either. So off it comes.

You hear the clinking of the metal and then feel the cool kiss of it against your backside, you mewl and Rappa chuckles.

“Later.” he promises and you swoon.

You hear the scratch of the zipper teeth as he unzips his pants and then...you moan when you feel his hard cock slap against your ass, the heat and weight of it heavenly.

“Still can’t fucking believe you take me so well.” he groans giving and experimental thrust against your ass, his finger at your clit dipping between you lips to collect more of your juices to swirl around your swollen pussy, continuing to be an awful tease.

“Please…” you whine softly, almost delirious from the need for him, you’ll take anything he’s willing to give...you just need.

His finger presses against your entrance, prodding.

“Since ya asked so sweetly darlin’ ” and then, bless him, he thrusts the digit in all the way to the last knuckle and you howl. 

“Fuck, you’re tight.” he hisses and twists his wrist, already setting up a brutal pace as his finger pistons in and out of you. 

He lines his cock up between you plush ass cheeks and begins to rut against you, chasing his own pleasure as he fucks you with his fingers.

You nearly sob when he adds another finger, stretching you even further; in the back of your mind you wonder how he even manages to fit his cock inside you when you're already so full on just two of his thick fingers. Honestly it doesn’t even matter, you praise whatever Deity brought you this beast of a man.

Rappa groans and presses closer, his cock leaking, making the slide of his thrusting easier, shit he needs this so bad, his mind is a haze, he needs this. But the horrible little sensation of another relief keeps pressing at him, making it impossible to completely focus on his own pleasure and fucking you silly; once again he pushes the need to the back of his head as he continues to finger fuck you.

“Kendou...Kendou I need you dick, please I want it…” you whine, pressing back into his finger and his thrusting cock.

“Nah you’re gonna cum on my fingers like a good girl first.” you can practically hear the cruel smile in his voice. “Ya teased earlier, so now you’re paying the prices…’sides I know you can cum from just my fingers, needy little thing.”

Fuck he knows you so well and it’s not fair, your know you can cum from this, but you are a greedy creature and you want more, more, more.

“You’re such a needy little thing...I fucking love it.” he groans, gripping you hip tighter and pressing impossibly close. “Wanna paint ya with my cum.”

“Pleasepleasepleaseplease.” you chat, as you twist your hips down against his fingers, you’re so close, so so close.

He chuckles but realizes his need to relieve himself has definitely taken front and center, it didn’t matter how close he was to cumming all over your back, his need to piss was greater.

“Don’t think I can darlin’, I’m gonna make you howl, then imma take a piss and then I come back to fuck you nice a good like you deserve.” 

“Do it.” you whine softly.

He pauses in his actions, cocking his head.

“Do what?” he questions.

“...Relieve yourself.” you face is so incredibly red, but the idea, hell, the idea shouldn’t make you this hot and bothered.

“Not gonna leave without you cumming on my fingers.” he doesn’t get it… you feel your face heat up further.

“No...here...do it here.” you’re so fucking embarrassed but you want it so bad.

“I-What?” for the first time in a long time you hear Rappa falter and fuck if that doesn’t do things to you.

“Piss on me, mark me, PLEASE.” you are begging at this point, already so debauched in your need that you don’t care at this point.

There is a long pause of silence and you begin to wonder if you’ve actually pushed Rappa too far...and then.

“Fuuuuuck darlin’ you filthy little minx.” and his fingers are pumping in and out of you with renewed vigor, he even adds a third to your needy hole. “You want me to just fucking ruin ya don’t ya?”

“Yyeessssss.” you mewl, so close to the edge, you can feel it tingling in your spine.

“Shit, I love ya, I fuckin’ love ya.” he trusts his cock against you harder and then he shifts, tapping his cock against the cleft of your ass before rising up a little bit. “Gonna ruin ya for anyone else, gonna mark you just like ya want.” 

“Yesyesyesyes!” you're delirious with need. 

And then you hear him groan and the sensation of warm liquid splashing and trickling down your spine greets you. 

You cum then and there, stars behind your eyelids, a silent scream upon your lips as Rappa relieves himself along your back. 

“Holy shit.” he breathes as you clamp down on his fingers. “Holy fuckin’ shit.” if he wasn’t pissing he’d definitely be cumming.

You hadn’t expected the intensity of your orgasm, and as you slowly come down from your high and you feel the last of Rappa’s piss trickle down your back and pool on the floor, you shiver, absolutely wrecked.  

“Stay right there babydoll, I got ya.” his still hard cock slaps against your ass as his arm comes around you to keep you from collapsing into the mess below you. Not that it would matter it was already all over your back but you can’t help but feel impossibly warm and soft from his care. 

You sigh as he removes his finger from you and carefully brings you to sit up on your knees, gently nosing at your temple as he kisses your cheekbone.

“You’re perfect. So fuckin’ perfect.” he whispers against your skin and you melt into his strong arms. “Imma, take good care a ya; take you to the shower, get ya cleaned up, take care of this mess and then…” he bites at the shell of your ear and you shiver. “ Imma take you to the bedroom and mark ya up again.”

The heat that pools in your belly is instantaneous.

[joheun-saram]

To Make a Power Couple (knj) | 02

Chapter 2 - Pizza and Life Chats

previous  | masterlist | next

Summary- Namjoon and Y/N go on their first date, and Namjoon is whipped.

word count- 5k

pairing- idol!namjoon x ceo!reader

rating- pg13 for now

genre- series, slow burn, fluff eventual smut, strangers2lovers

warnings- mentions of hangovers and panic attacks, tooth-rottingly fluffy

a.n- okay here’s the second part! I wrote this up fairly quickly (don’t expect this to be the norm!). This part I wanted to kind of address the stress of overworking as a young adult (GUILTY 🙋🏻‍♀️) so sorry if it gets a little serious at parts. I also wanted to switch it up so it’s from Namjoon’s perspective. I hope you enjoy it. SOFT JOON BEING A BIG OLD SOFTY.

Feedback much appreciated! 💕

taglist - @beach-bitch-bitch-beach​, @sassyuniversitytacopeanut 

-

Namjoon woke up startled as his phone alarm rang. He was groggy and his splitting headache made him nauseous. “I’m never going to drink again”, he mumbled. He groaned as he got off the couch he had crashed on the night before, trying not to trip over Taehyung who seemed to be dozing happily on the floor as he made his way to his room. He hadn’t stayed at the dorms in a while, preferring the quiet solitary of his own apartment nowadays, and with his hangover in full swing he felt like he was walking through a stranger's house. 

Last month was hell. He had procrastinated on his songs and none of the vocal guides were even halfway done before the due date. Everytime he tried to finish a song a new one would pop up in his head and he would start on that, leading to a hard drive full of files labelled “finish soon” and “draft”, and a notebook full of scratched out scribbles. It was like his brain had decided to abandon him, deciding it had had enough of his perpetual melancholy. He had felt drained and burnt out, a husk with no creative juices left. Luckily, Yoongi and a few of the producers had taken pity on his stressed out state and lent a hand so he had been able to finish the bare minimum three days ago - before the label pressured him further. He was never more grateful for a small break.

In all honesty, he needed a way to jumpstart his brain, and get out of the routine of home, practice, meetings, studio, home. Sometimes, he almost wished he didn’t have the success he had so he could go out and let loose a little - a club, a party, anything. But the last time he went somewhere like that he got swarmed and the police had to be involved. He couldn’t risk that, not after the trouble Big Hit went to threaten media outlets a year and a half ago, when he was caught with what they called a hickey, but was actually a stress rash. 

As he brushed his teeth today, he smiled at the mirror. Last month may have been terrible, but last night was one of the best he’d had in the past year. 

When he had heard Bang PD’s team talk about how they were attending the charity gala as he met them for notes on his songs, he was intrigued. He had read about this non-profit in the paper before. They seemed to be helping bridge the gap between people through communication and that spoke to him. So much so that he had scrolled through their website multiple times, reading testimonials and almost memorizing the mission statement. They wanted to help kids learn English for free so they could communicate globally. He really liked the idea. It was hard for him to learn the language as a kid and he knew that the only reason he became as fluent as he is from the tutors his parents paid for and his obsession with American television and music. Although he doesn’t need the tutoring anymore, he does enjoy talking to the in-house tutor at the company, John, from time to time and improving his skills. The fact that this company wanted to add a John to every school in Korea starting from the rural areas, made Namjoon want to meet the man behind the movement. Little did he know, he’d be meeting the girl who’d shift his idea of the ideal.

He had never been more glad to have convinced his company to let him and the boys attend an event. He had initially suggested it as a way to break the mundane before their comeback practices started and network while supporting a cause he liked. Two days ago, he wouldn’t have guessed it would be an actual fun night leading to him nursing a headache.

He spent the next hour reliving last night as he showered and caught up on the news. He also read the messages he sent last night over a hundred times and had butterflies each time. Wasn’t he too old for butterflies? He wanted to message you again but everytime he tried, he ended up overthinking it. Everything sounded forced or cheesy, and it was worse than any writer’s block. He threw his phone on the bed in frustration watching it bounce and land on the floor, before he grabbed it and pocketed it. Hopping around to get rid of his nerves, he decided to take a break from rereading the thread he already had memorized and check in with everyone. If his hangover was this bad he can’t imagine theirs.

Making his way back to the living room he found Taehyung now sitting on the floor, sleep still very evident on his features as he yawned and groaned. On the couch next to him sat Yoongi, holding an iced americano and staring into space. The rest were missing but he could hear a blender annoyingly whizzing in the kitchen.

“How’re you guys feeling this morning?” He asked as he sat across from Yoongi.

“This is why I don’t drink. Why did no one stop me?” Taehyung whined as he rose from the floor to leave, massaging his head. 

“We tried. You were very excited to try all the disgustingly sweet drinks the hot bartender was making for you.” Yoongi replied with a sigh. “How was your date, Namjoon? You glad I forced you to go to the bar to talk to her?” he snickered, sipping his coffee before exhaling loudly in contentment.

“Honestly, I owe you big time. She was… amazing. I don’t think I’ve talked to someone that comfortably in a while” Namjoon sighed wistfully.

“I’ll add cupid to my resume,” he deadpanned. “Is she tolerating you for another date?”

“Yeah. We’re getting dinner on Tuesday, but I want to message her now. Argh!” He ran his hands over his face in frustration. “What do I even say? ‘Hi I’m the guy who was too scared to kiss you all night so you had to do it for him, what’s your favourite colour?’” Namjoon was annoyed at himself. It’s bad enough that he was having writer’s block in his music, did he have to have it for something as simple as texting too? This was ridiculous.

“Or you could just ask her how’s her hangover today. Jeez. Do I have to draft each of your messages? Stop being a dumbass and text the person you like.” Yoongi scoffed, clearly over Namjoon’s sudden and uncharacteristic insecurities.

Namjoon gave a resigned sigh as he reached for his phone and wrote out exactly what Yoongi suggested. Hey, he was his hyung for a reason - he had a full 6 months of life experience on him.

Namjoon: Hey! Hope your hangover is not too bad today.

As soon as the message was sent, he started getting nervous. Tapping his foot incessantly while staring at his phone, willing it to buzz, annoying Yoongi enough to leave him alone on the couch in the process.

Y/N: Hi to you too! I actually don’t get hangovers so I’m doing great lol. What about you?

Namjoon: What do you mean you don’t get hangovers?

Y/N: I don’t know. Can’t get dehydrated if you’re always dehydrated!

Namjoon: That… makes no sense. Do I need to start reminding you to drink water?

Y/N: Only if you’re better than this app on my phone…

Namjoon: I can guarantee you I’m better than any app on this planet.

Y/N: Wow. Big claims! We’ll have to put it to the test I suppose.

Y/N: You never told me how you’re feeling. Oh and how’s Taehyung? Is he okay?

Namjoon: He’s doing fine. Made a pact to never drink again and if i’m being honest, I’m going to join him. I am shocked that your head is not exploding as well.

The messages continued easily after that, filled with updates of each other’s activities, playful flirting and even photos of dinner. By the time Monday rolled around, you had been messaging each other constantly, with no end to the conversation in sight and the only long pauses being when you were both asleep or working. It seemed like you would never run out things to talk about. Namjoon hadn’t messaged someone this frequently since he got out of his last relationship. It felt nice to relay his mundane day to day events to someone and he found himself excited to hear about your mundane, like how you decided to mix two different types of bad coffee blends to make a shockingly worse one. He was surprised again at how fast he felt comfortable around you. It was even starting to scare him a little - he only knew you for three days and it felt like he had known you forever! What was this weird spell you had on him?

The conversation Monday, however, was fairly sparse, and Namjoon was eager to set up plans for the next day, so that night he decided to call you.

After the first three rings, he was overthinking his decision. Maybe it was too soon to call? Maybe you didn’t like talking on the phone? What if it went to voicemail? Would he have to leave a message? What would he say? His inner monologue was quickly halted at the sound of your voice.

“Hello, this is Y/N” you sounded distant, almost too formal. He felt nervous.

“Hi… uh... this is Namjoon. Is this a bad time?”

“Oh Namjoon! Sorry I didn’t check who called when I picked up!” Relief washed over him at the change of your tone. “Sorry one sec can you hold on.” he heard you say as your voice got mumbled. He waited while he heard you talk to someone about proposals and deadlines. Were you still at work? He checked his watch - it was 10 pm. He didn’t know whether to be impressed by your work ethic or worried that you were overworking.

“Hi sorry about that! How are you?” He relaxed at your airy tone and smiled.

“I’m good. Are you still at work?”

“Yeah it’s only like 7 so it’s no big deal. I usually leave around 8” Were you serious?

“Y/N… It’s 10:04…” He was shocked at how nonchalant you sounded, and suddenly he had his answer - he was worried, not impressed. He had known you for three days and already you were setting his caretaker alarm off. He wanted to scold you for being careless and overworking, like he’s used to doing for the boys, but he knew it was too soon. He doesn’t even know why he’s feeling that way all of a sudden and tried to suppress his protective instincts.

“No it’s not! It’s…” He could hear your voice going further away as he imagined you moving the phone in front of you to check the time. “Oh shit you’re right. What the hell? Okay sorry I’m gonna put you on hold again.” Before he could say anything he heard your voice again, distant again but loud. “Oh my god. Guys, it’s 10pm. Go home! Why did nobody tell me? No it doesn’t matter we can do that tomorrow. Please go home. Pack up now! You too Siwon, don’t worry I’ll go home after I get off the phone. See you!” He smiled at the sternness of your tone - it reminded him of a teacher dismissing class.

“Sorry about that. I didn’t realize I overworked my team. Had to send the troops home” you laughed and Namjoon felt his heart flutter. 

“I don’t wanna keep you from going home. I can call you back once you get there” he offered. He felt bad that you were staying in an empty office on his account.

“Oh don’t worry about it. It was a lie to get Siwon off my back. I’m probably gonna be here till like 1 or something. I still have to get this done” you said matter-of-factly, like it was the most normal thing in the world. He knew that tone fairly well, having used it multiple times himself when he locked himself in his studio, running on nothing but coffee and energy bars.

“Okay I know we’ve only just met and we have our first date tomorrow, but do you want some company?” He asked before he could stop himself. The line was silent for a bit, and he felt self conscious, scared that he had overstepped and driven you away. Before he could check his phone to see if you had hung up you spoke.

“It’d be pretty boring for you to watch me just type away. Are you sure? It’s pretty late.” He was sure his cheeks would hurt from how wide he smiled.

“It’s not a problem at all. I was going to work tonight too.” He wasn’t. “We can just work together. I’ll bring food. Did you eat yet?” his words tumbled over each other.

“How very college of you.” He could hear you giggling on the line. “Now that I think about it - I’m starving.”

“Okay text me the address, I’ll be there soon.”

He had never been this excited to pretend to work.

  ____________________________

He spotted you as he walked through the doors of the 13th floor, pepperoni pizza in hand. You were sitting at a long desk near the middle of the room. He was surprised as he expected you in an office, but he found you typing away at your desktop. Your hair was tied up in a bun and you were dressed in an oversized beige t-shirt, eyebrows furrowed head bopping to the hip hop track playing through the speakers. You seemed to be in your own little world. He felt like he was spying on you as he leaned against the door watching but he also liked seeing how you acted when you thought no one was watching. He was about to announce his presence when the track changed to a Childish Gambino one and you whooped and started to rap along.

You were now fully head banging and rapping the verse at the top of your lungs. He would be impressed by your fairly good amateur skills if he didn’t find the entire scene so endearing. His heart was doing somersaults as he watched you now fully engrossed in the song, typing forgotten as you got up and started to pretend you were on stage, an imaginary mic in your hand asking haters if they “eatin’ though”. You looked so adorable that he couldn’t help but squeal a little “cute!”

That’s when you saw him, eyes wide. He felt a little bad when he saw how embarrassed you looked, immediately stopping and slapping a hand to your mouth before bursting out in nervous laughter. He could write a whole album with that laugh. Oh he was so whipped, he thought to himself as he made his way to you.

“You know you’re not half bad!” He exclaimed as he set the pizza on the table, pulling a chair next to yours and settling down.

“Do you think your fake compliments will save you from the fact that you were spying on me?” you asked, crossing your hands across your chest, pretending to scowl but failing to.

“First, real compliment. Second, would pizza save me?” He opened the box and proudly smiled, loving the way your eyes lit up as you reached for a slice.

“Yes it will!” you exclaimed as you took your first bite, lightly moaning at the taste. “But erase that memory from your brain please.”

“Nope. Never. It was the cutest thing I’ve ever seen and I’m going to save it forever” he said as he also started on his slice. You pouted up at him, cheeks puffed and it took all the self-control he had to not kiss it off your face. He hadn’t felt this way in so long, it was like you were his first crush. Trying to control his pulse, he asked “What are you working on so late?”

“Oh I have a proposal due for a meeting tomorrow at noon and I’m only halfway through it.” you frowned wistfully at the screen as if willing it to type on its own.

“Can I help?” He asked, knowing fully well that he couldn’t. He just had an overwhelming urge to make that frown disappear.

“You being here is help enough,” you smiled sincerely as you looked at him and he felt his heart explode, a blush creeping on his cheeks as he smiled bashfully. “What are you working on?”

“I have a few songs I have to finish the lyrics for. Been procrastinating” he rubbed the back of his neck as he pulled out the notebook from his back pocket.

“Can I help?” you echoed his question to which he echoed your response grinning. He wasn’t lying though. Even though he had planned to not really work, as the night progressed he found the change from his usual writing spot inspiring. Sitting next to you, the sound of the keyboard clicking was soothing leading to words pouring out of him. He filled pages as he stole glances at you concentrating on your proposal, tongue peeking from between your lips, still bobbing to the music which was now playing from your airpods instead of the speakers. He smiled at the sight, before focusing on his notebook.

After about an hour or so of hard work, he finished three songs that he had allotted himself the whole week to do. This was the most productive hour he had all month. Antsy for a break, he looked over at you and found you staring at him, a hand under your chin. As he met your gaze you smiled.

“You’re really hot when you concentrate. Has anyone ever told you that?” you commented. He was taken aback by your remark, heart fluttering at your smirking face. Not missing his chance and spurred on by the comment, he scooted closer in one sweep till your knees touched and you were face to face.

“You’re one to talk. I couldn’t stop looking at you this past hour.” Gazing into your eyes, he was amused to see your smirk disappear as it was now your turn to be shocked. He reached out and tucked a stray hair behind your ear letting his hand linger, enjoying the way you sighed as he did. “Can I make good on my promise now?” He whispered, his face centimeters away, looking at your lips. The way you bit your lower lip made him want to take you there and then. The desk looked big enough. Hell, even if it wasn’t he could make it work.

“Promise?” you whispered as he watched your eyes flutter to his lips.

“To kiss you first...” Too impatient to wait for your answer, he brought his lips to yours, relishing how soft they felt under his own. He was thrilled at you returning the kiss, deepening it as you grabbed the collar of his shirt to bring him closer just like you did after the party. He was beginning to think this was your signature move, and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t immensely turn him on. He moved his hand cupping your face to rest on your neck and he could feel your heartbeat mimicking his. He put his other hand around your waist pulling you closer, wanting to be as close to you as he could get. He traced his tongue over your lips, his head cloudy with endorphins as you opened your mouth inviting him in. He had never tasted something so euphoric, his tongue exploring yours in a rush.

He could feel you pushing forward as he leaned back and allowed you to straddle his lap, your legs on either side of the chair. As soon as you were on his lap, he pulled you closer, both arms around on your hips, your chest flushed with his. He kissed the side of your mouth as he made his way down your jaw to your neck. You smelt like vanilla mixed with a fresh flower garden, and he was sure this smell was better than any drug in the world. He could hear your breathy moans as he sucked where your neck met your collarbone, licking to soothe it before moving further. He wanted to taste all of you. Your hands were in his hair and each tug made him groan into you, making him harder. He could kiss you like this forever. He wanted to save this moment so he could come back to it and relive it. He traced his hands up and down your sides, moving under your shirt but remaining on your waist, enjoying the feel of your soft skin.

“Namjoon… Namjoon... slow down” he heard you say breathlessly as he felt a slight push. He looked up at you, your eyes half lidded and lusty as you grabbed his face and brought it to yours. You were sending him mixed signals, but he didn’t care as long as he could keep kissing you.

“We have to slow down or I’m going to want to fuck you right here.” You whined as you both came back up for air, but you kissed him again nevertheless. Hearing you say that made him want to do anything in his power to make that happen.

“I don’t mind, baby,” he said against your lips, kissing you with urgency, biting your lower lip and pulling it gently to elicit another moan from you. To his disappointment, you seemed to have better self-control than him as you pushed him back, both of you panting as you struggled to catch your breath. He moved his hand back to your hips tracing little circles, feeling comforted by you smoothing his hair you had pulled earlier.

“There are cameras here. I’d rather not make a sex tape on our first date.” You giggled as you pointed to the black sphere in the corner of the room. He had never hated the obsession buildings had for security more, but the crudeness of your comment made him laugh. He had almost forgotten this was your first date, it felt like he had kissed you a thousand times before. You tasted like the relief of an awning in the middle of a summer downpour.

“I think we need to cool down,” you say as you climb off of his lap. “Let’s go.”

He followed you as you led him to the little kitchenette near the end of the room, unable to resist the urge to wrap his hands around your waist in a back hug. He knew he was being too clingy for a first date, but the way you giggled and put your hands over his gave him assurance.

“Lemonade, coke, or water,” you asked as you peered into the fridge.

“You.” He smirked kissing your neck, feeling bold off of the high from your makeout session. 

“Joon!” you pretended to sound scandalized as you turned in his arms, smiling warmly. The nickname made his heart swell. It added a familiarity that he didn’t know he missed from you.

“You haven’t called me Joon before. I like it” he smiled as he pecked your lips.

“Hey! We are cooling down! No kissing! Now pick” you chided and Namjoon couldn’t help but wonder if you were this assertive in bed too, a million scenarios playing in his head. Okay, you were right, he needed to cool down.

“I’ll just have water, thanks,” he said as he grabbed the bottle you passed him, opening and gulping half of it. He hadn’t realized how thirsty he was for something other than you. You both made your way to the tables, sitting across from each other.

“So did you finish your proposal?” He asked trying to cool himself but failing as he noticed you running the cold water bottle against your neck, the beads of condensation dripping on your shirt. He cleared his throat as he tried to focus his attention on your eyes, a mantra of stay focused playing in his head.

“Yes! Finally! It’s perfect.” you smiled proudly and somehow he felt a wave of pride too. “What about you? Made any progress?”

“Actually yes. I kind of finished my entire week’s writing in that one hour” he was still amazed by his own progress.

“Okay, Mr Overachiever” you joked and he chuckled.

“To be honest, I didn’t think I’d be able to write anything, but I don’t know your presence is kind of soothing. It helped me focus.” Watching your smile grow wide, he continued, “I’ve been having pretty severe burnout this past month and it has just been hard to put down my thoughts, even non-lyrical ones.” He fidgeted with the water bottle as he looked at it, avoiding eye contact.

He didn’t know why he was telling you this. He recalled when he told you about his struggles as a leader during your first conversation. Somehow being around you led him to vomit out his feelings. It was… unlike him. Namjoon was usually not this honest on dates, or relationships, as much as he would hate to admit it. That’s the reason he broke off his last one. He felt bad lying to her about a busy schedule when he just wanted to be alone. She would have understood, she was kind and thoughtful, but it just felt easier to lie and not put the effort in to explain his thoughts. Even when they broke up, he lied and told her that it was because he couldn’t handle being in a relationship at the moment, when in reality things had cooled off a while ago and he felt guilty as his feelings faded.

He felt your hand reach out and grab one of his, intertwining your fingers. He felt comforted by the gesture as you rubbed your thumb across him before you spoke two words that warmed his heart. “I understand.”

“You know it’s hard to work at full speed all the time. It’s okay to not be at a hundred all the time. The valleys feed the peaks” you continued. It was a simple remark, but it sounded surprisingly poetic to him. He hadn’t felt this understood outside of the boys for a long time. It was refreshing. It was terrifying. He resisted his natural urge to run and hide.

“Are you speaking from experience?” he asked, needing to divert the attention away from his own vulnerabilities.

“Yeah. I had it pretty tough a couple of years ago. Too much pressure from myself, too many expectations. Led to too many vices and panic attacks” you shrugged as you continued and he squeezed your hand to comfort you. “It creeps up from time to time but my therapist and I have it handled” He looked at you in awe. You hadn’t given him a throwaway answer or switched the limelight back at him. You wasted no time in being as vulnerable as him, if not more. He knew at that moment that regardless of where this thing went, he wanted you to know you better.

“Thank you for being honest.” He brought your hand to his lips and kissed it gently. It was an intimate gesture but he wanted you to know how much he appreciated your words - how much he appreciated you - in that moment. You both sat in comfortable silence for a little while, playing with each other’s hands that were still intertwined, till one of you yawned loudly causing the other to giggle. With the weight of the conversation lifting, you both fell back into playful banter as you decided to pack up and call it a night.

“Do you want me to walk you to your car?” Namjoon asked, wanting to drag the night on longer despite it already being almost 2 am.

“Don’t judge me but I actually don’t know how to drive. I was just going to cab back.” he saw you giggle bashfully as you pulled your backpack over your shoulders.

“Oh, no judgment here! Me neither” he laughed. Why does everyone think it is such a big deal to not drive? It’s better for the environment! “Do you want to take one together? I don’t really want you to ride alone this late.” He rubbed the back of his neck, hoping he didn’t come off as if he was trying to dictate what you did.

“I’d really like that,” you said as you walked towards the elevators. He held your hand as you both got on, liking the way you moved closer to him at that. 

In the cab you both sat closer than necessary, his arm wrapped around you as you both made plans for your scheduled date later that day, trying not to doze off. When the cab stopped all too soon at your apartment, he kissed you gently as he told you how much he enjoyed your company.

That night laying in bed, his heart felt full as he read your goodnight message. He was sure of it now. He really wanted you in his life.

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

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[holylulusworld]

Beardless

Request: Jensen must shave off his beard for supernatural season 15 and he asks the reader to help him. So, she sits on his lap, kinda straddling him, and it gets him hard because she's pressed onto him. So the reader feels something poking her and she's like, "Oh my god Jensen you perv!" In a joking way and she starts teasing him on "accident" so he snaps and fucks her in the bathroom?

Pairing: Jensen x Reader

Warnings: language, hiatus beard, dirty talk, teasing, fingering, smut, unprotected sex, friends to lovers, fun

“Finally,…” Jensen groans rubbing his scruffy chin as you check on the script once again. “I can shave…”

“Huh? Did you say something, Jay?” Blinking a few times, you look at your friend, not wanting to admit you didn’t listen to him.

“I said I can finally shave. Uh…do you mind helping me?” Wiggling his eyebrows Jensen smirks at you.

“Could need your help. You manage to shave your legs all smooth…” Now his eyes drift toward your exposed legs and you snort at his comment.

“Dude, it’s called waxing. I let Sarah do the job, Ackles. She gets me smooth everywhere…” Biting your tongue you gasp as Jensen’s eyes darkened.

“Everywhere…” Now his eyes land on your lap and you toss the script into his face. Cursing yourself for letting your tongue slip once again.

“Let’s get you smooth like a dolphin…” Giggling at your joke you grab Jensen’s wrist to drag him toward his bathroom.

Jensen is following you silently, not able to get the ‘smooth everywhere’ thing out of his head. He’s staring at your back as you gather all you will need to shave his beard but he can't concentrate on anything else than staring at your legs before his eyes wander up to your ass.

Biting his lower lip he imagines how it would feel to bury his face between your thighs. Lost in his daydream Jensen doesn’t hear you calling his name until you grab one of his ears bring him out of his dirty fantasy.

Did you hear anything I said, Jay?” Scolding your friend you point at a chair you brought into the bathroom while Jensen was daydreaming.

“Oh…yeah.” Coughing Jensen sits onto the chair as you realize he’s way too tall. “Anything wrong?”

While you stare at Jensen, the razor already in your hand you blink a few times.

“You are too tall, Jensen. I need to…oh…I got it!” Straddling Jensen’s lap you chuckle as he gropes your ass to make sure you won’t fall off his lap.

“That’s an interesting way to shave a man’s beard,” Jensen smirks, glancing up at you while your fingers slide over his beard.

“What a pity you have to shave it…” Trailing off you imagine his beard scratching your thighs as he…Shaking your head you start shaving his beard off.

“I’m in capable hands.” Jensen is closing his eyes as you use the electric razor to free your friend of his hiatus beard. “Feels so good…”

A low moan leaves Jensen’s lips as you shift on his lap only to feel something hard poking your thigh. Blinking a few times you look at Jensen’s lap only to find a prominent bulge in his pants.

Not daring to say a word you try to find a comfortable position without ‘touching’ his erection but there is too much of his dick and you accidentally rub against his length, earning a low throaty purr from Jensen.

Determined to finish your task you shave Jensen faster than he can pant to get off his lap but he only grows harder with every shift of your legs.

“Holy hell, Jay, you little perv!” Slapping his shoulder, you wait for his response. Jensen’s cheeks are flushed, and you can see the embarrassment all over his face.

While you try to lighten the mood with a joke Jensen mutters under his breath. “That’s just a physical reaction to all the squirming on my lap.”

“Don’t lie, Ackles. You are doing this on purpose. I always assumed you are a dirty little pervert…” Pursing your lips, eyes narrowed you squeal as Jensen jumps up with you in his arms.

Before you can react or say a thing you find yourself pressed against the cool tile wall. Jensen’s lips crush onto yours while your brain tries to keep up with what is happening.

“Jay…fuck…” Jensen’s hands grope your ass, wander all over your body before he rips your dress open, not caring you start yelling at him.

All Jensen can see is the naught underwear you are wearing and the way your chest heaves up and down. “You’re right, Y/N. I’m a pervert. Since you entered my house in this barely not there dress all I had in mind was to fuck you till you can’t walk straight.

Growling Jensen pounces at you to press his plump lips against yours.

Melting into his arms you whimper feeling one hand snake between your legs to slip into your panties.

“Holy fuck you didn’t lie…” Your panties are gone in a blink and Jensen gives you a knowing smirk. “There’s the dolphin…”

Before you can give him a snarky comment two fingers slider through your folds and your cheeks heat up. “Such a dirty slut you are. All wet, almost dripping and you dare to call me a perv!”

“Well…” Sliding your fingers over Jensen’s arms you grip his shoulder tightly. “I’m a dirty girl for you, Ackles…”

Eyes darkened, lips press into a thin line Jensen nods before he starts toying with your clit and you dig your fingertips into his muscles.

“You’re my dirty little slut, don’t you…” It’s a statement, not a question but you nod eagerly as his thick fingers slip into your pussy.

“Yes, you are…Y/N.” Voice lower than usual Jensen buries his face into your neck, marking your skin with his lips and teeth. “Going to fuck you so good…Baby…”

Jensen’s tongue slides along your throat, causing you to shudder when his lips suckle at the sweet spot where your shoulder meets your neck.

Cries leave your lips when he bites down hard, leaving a mark for sure.

“Jensen!”

“I want everyone to see you are my girl, Y/N. Now…” Pumping his digits faster into your cunt he continues assaulting your skin. “I think I want you in the showers…

Not moments after Jensen got rid of your panties you saved your bra before he could rip it apart. He’s smirking as you dig your nails into the hand pleasuring you.

“Such a sight…” Close to your high, so close you can almost ‘taste’ the pleasure Jensen retreats his fingers and you try anything to bring his hand back but he shakes his head, smirking as he opens his pants and your jaw drops. “I got something better for you…”

“For sure…fuck…” Glancing at his cock you barely recognize he got rid of his shirt before he kicks his shoes off to drops his pants to the floor.

“Under the shower, dirty girl. I think I need to get you all clean…” Chuckling Jensen drags you under the spray, running his hands over your smooth skin.

The water cascading over you can’t cure the shiver running down your spine feeling Jensen’s hands all over you.

Leaning into his touch, you let him trap you between the tile and his firm body while your head is spinning. Can you risk having sex with your best friend?

Jensen doesn’t share your concern. His eyes full of lust, hunger even, he hooks one of your legs over his thick thigh to slide into you with one hard thrust. Filling you completely Jensen pants heavily as your hands find purchase at his shoulders.

“Jay…”

“I’ve got you, Baby…” Husking the words against your lips he slowly starts moving his hips and your eyes roll back into your skull with every drag of his cock against your walls.

“Fuck…”

“Yeah…” Hands wandering to your ass, Jensen picks you up to press your back against the cool tile wall. Now one of your hands locks around his neck while the other tangles in his wet hair, tugging hard as he rocks slowly into you.

“God…Y/N. I just knew you would feel good.” Jensen pants against your neck,  as he thrusts up into you. “Fucking knew…shit…”

You don't know how Jensen can hold your weight and move his hips in a maddening pace but you don’t care. Magic. Strength. Simply will power. Nothing matters, only the way he moans your name into your neck and the spark he ignites in your belly with every hard thrust.

“Jensen…” Fisting his hair harder you lean your head against the wall behind you, babbling nonsense to urge your lover on. “Fuck me…”

“I’m on it, Baby…just…oh…fuck…” Nipping at your neck Jensen grazes his teeth along your skin, suddenly biting you hard and your vision blanks out, causing you to curse his name.

“Jay…”

Pressing his body against yours, stilling for a second Jensen groans your name before he paints your walls with his cum. “Fucking shit…”

Shaking, body limp against Jensen’s chest you try to catch your breath as you enjoy the afterglow of your high.

“That was…” Laughing you tug at Jensen’s hair as he nibbles along your neck.

“Overdue…” A cocky grin on his lips Jensen’s eyes meet yours and you nod eagerly.

“Yeah…”

“Awesome…”

“Don’t Dean me…Ackles. Now how about getting me all clean, dirty boy?” Growling Jensen looks at you in his arms.

“Call me like that again…”

“Dirty Boy…” You husk and he leans closer, brushing his lips over yours.

“Your fault, Sweetheart. Now you will never leave my bedroom again…”

SPN Forever Tags

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[mysteries-x-mistakes]

I saw a post about the concept of kishōtenketsu and it’s got me thinking... 

The past few years have been really hard for me. On top of the whole global pandemic and quarantine and isolation thing, I’m disabled; my energy reserves are very very low nearly all the time. Everything feels like too much, there’s always something going wrong. And so I’ve been finding myself drawn to stories without as much conflict. Even stories with happy endings can feel exhausting to watch if the character suffers over and over and over before they can get there. And yet? that’s what we’re told makes a good story- conflict, making the characters suffer. Is there another way? There has to be.

And that’s not to say that I don’t ever want any conflict, that conflict and suffering are bad, I just don’t have the emotional bandwidth for it right now and that’s ok.

I end up watching a lot of japanese shows, anime and I’ve been wondering why I can’t seem to find the same kinds of stories in american media. And I think it comes down to the story structure philosophy- the difference between the three act structure and the four act kishoutenketsu structure. American media doesn’t really have “slice of life” shows, shows that are cozy, that feel like wrapping up in a warm blanket with a cup of hot cocoa, not in the same way. We have “sitcoms” which are comedy or full of unnecessary drama. They’re not fun for me to watch. Also, western media has been phasing out “monster of the week” type stories, where things wrap up neatly at the end of the episode. Now there’s always an overarching plot where things get worse and worse and worse for the character all season until the finale.

And I think that’s part of what I really like about Jane Austen. I saw a review of her books somewhere that was like “it’s just a bunch of people going to each other’s houses”. And like... so what? Why can’t we have cozy little stories where the characters do mundane things? Why can’t the characters sit and drink tea and talk to each other in the comfort of their own homes? Why can’t we have the romantic tension of choosing who to dance with at the ball? Why must we have stories about heroes and violence, about killing things, about dominating things, about using technology to wage war?

I read Ursula K Le Guinn’s “The Carrier Bag Theory of Fiction” and I have Feelings(tm) about it. I’d definitely recommend going to read it bc it’s not long but I’ll put a few of my favorite quotes here:

Fifteen hours a week for subsistence leaves a lot of time for other things. So much time that maybe the restless ones who didn't have a baby around to enliven their life, or skill in making or cooking or singing, or very interesting thoughts to think, decided to slope off and hunt mammoths. The skillful hunters then would come staggering back with a load of meat, a lot of ivory, and a story. It wasn't the meat that made the difference. It was the story. It is hard to tell a really gripping tale of how I wrested a wild-oat seed from its husk, and then another, and then another, and then another, and then another, and then I scratched my gnat bites, and Ool said something funny, and we went to the creek and got a drink and watched newts for a while, and then I found another patch of oats.... No, it does not compare, it cannot compete with how I thrust my spear deep into the titanic hairy flank white Oob, impaled on one huge sweeping tusk, writhed screaming, and blood spouted everywhere in crimson torrents, and Boob was crushed to jelly when the mammoth fell on him as I shot my unerring arrow straight through eye to brain. That story not only has Action, it has a Hero. Heroes are powerful. Before you know it, the men and women in the wild-oat patch and their kids and the skills of the makers and the thoughts of the thoughtful and the songs of the singers are all part of it, have all been pressed into service in the tale of the Hero. But it isn't their story. It's his.

.

I would go so far as to say that the natural, proper, fitting shape of the novel might be that of a sack, a bag. A book holds words. Words hold things. They bear meanings. A novel is a medicine bundle, holding things in a particular, powerful relation to one another and to us. One relationship among elements in the novel may well be that of conflict, but the reduction of narrative to conflict is absurd. (I have read a how-to-write manual that said, "A story should be seen as a battle," and went on about strategies, attacks, victory, etc.) Conflict, competition, stress, struggle, etc., within the narrative conceived as carrier bag/belly/box/house/medicine bundle, may be seen as necessary elements of a whole which itself cannot be characterized either as conflict or as harmony, since its purpose is neither resolution nor stasis but continuing process. Finally, it's clear that the Hero does not look well in this bag. He needs a stage or a pedestal or a pinnacle. You put him in a bag and he looks like a rabbit, like a potato. That is why I like novels: instead of heroes they have people in them

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Science fiction properly conceived, like all serious fiction, however funny, is a way of trying to describe what is in fact going on, what people actually do and feel, how people relate to everything else in this vast sack, this belly of the universe, this womb of things to be and tomb of things that were, this unending story. In it, as in all fiction, there is room enough to keep even Man where he belongs, in his place in the scheme of things; there is time enough to gather plenty of wild oats and sow them too, and sing to little Oom, and listen to Ool's joke, and watch newts, and still the story isn't over. Still there are seeds to be gathered, and room in the bag of stars.

I feel like, while you might easily find this in fan fiction, it’s hard to find this in novels or in tv shows. I want to figure out how to write stories like that, what makes them yet compelling. I want to know how to write those quiet moments with the characters in everyday life circumstances. Every guide to writing I can find is all about how to make things happen to your characters, how to come up with conflict, how to find the main conflict that will drive the story, how to put obstacles in the way. Because a story without conflict is “boring”. 

Maybe I’m just rambling, I feel like I could have worded this better, but I want how-to-write articles with a more diverse approach to storytelling :S