#dividers via cafekitsune :p

[rinneverse]

࿐ ♡ ˚ . 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨: 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞. — 𝒔𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒐 𝒌𝒐𝒔𝒌𝒊 ˒ ⊹

series synopsis. your friend, your pal, your fuck buddy—sampo koski seems to be getting closer and closer with every heated exchange. you wonder, briefly, if there’s something more lurking under the surface of it all. you have a strict rule set in place, though: don’t catch feelings.

[ prev chapter. | don't you trust me masterlist | next chapter. ]

syn. you wake up and are left to ponder the repercussions of staying over at sampo��s. bad decisions are made. (5.6k)

cw. fem reader / alcohol + drinking / food mentions (he makes u breakfast!) / petname usage (doll/dollface, darling, pretty girl, baby, my girl) / oral (f!receiving) / v!fingering / allusions to piv intercourse / reader has bad coping mechanisms i fear / reader goes to the cluurbbb / we also get angsty up in the clurb :3

love, oak! ༉‧₊˚. i... did not mean for this chapter to take so long to come out. and to think i hard part of it written when chapter one dropped. i fear chapter three may take three to five business years. regardless; lots of plot development in this one. i hope this lives up to everynyan's expectations :p

MINORS + AGELESS BLOGS DNI. NSFW UNDER THE CUT.

You wake to the pale light of dawn filtering in through the curtained window. 

With a yawn, you clumsily push down your blanket, fingers curling over soft fabric. You begin to twist onto your other side when you realize that something is very wrong.

Very, very wrong, like the you are not in the safety of your home kind of wrong.

Your breath catches in your throat. You don’t dare open your eyes.

There’s a heavy weight slung across your waist and a warmth you’re curled up against that isn’t usually there. It takes you a few seconds of wracking your brain to remember that you never actually made it home last night—that it was Sampo’s bed that you had fallen asleep in, and that was Sampo himself you were currently entangled with. The tension that had seized you quickly dissipates—then it slams back into you with a ferocity as you realize that you and Sampo had fallen asleep curled up together.

That’s not normal. That is so very not normal, and it takes everything in you to not start freaking the fuck out.

Blinking the sleep from your eyes, the only movement you risk is tilting your head up a fraction. You find that Sampo is still sound asleep, chest rising and falling slowly against you with every breath he takes. The urge to run your fingers along the smooth skin of his cheek makes your fingers twitch once, twice. You hesitate.

Because for once, Sampo looked… at peace. No scheming, no stress, just… him. His face looked so gentle, so soft, that perhaps waking him up would be a heinous crime. Yet you hold your breath, inching a hand up, up, up, tracing the column of his neck, his strong jaw, the apple of his cheek—

Whatever was running through your head is swiftly cut off when Sampo starts to stir. You feel panic grip and squeeze your heart with clawed fingertips. Shutting your eyes and forcing yourself slow your breathing, you lower your hand to its original position. You didn’t want to be caught staring at him, let alone caught stroking your fingers along his face—the mere thought of that occurring alone was mortifying enough.

A heartbeat passes. Then two. You feel the blanket shifting around, hear how he sleepily mumbles and yawns, followed by the warmth of his body slowly slipping away. You suppress the shiver that wants to run down your spine at the cold that creeps in, resist the urge to pull the duvet tighter around yourself; instead continuing to pretend-sleep as you listen to Sampo move about.

You’re about to shed your façade when you feel the bed dip. There’s a warm breath that caresses your forehead—a forewarning before you feel his lips gently press against your forehead.

The world freezes entirely.

It takes a willpower of steel (and perhaps then some) to remain in place, to not even stir, to not snatch his wrist and ask him what the hell he’s doing when he slowly lifts his head. You wait for him to fully pull away but he lingers, his thumb coming up to sweep over the apple of your cheek, then lower to brush against your mouth, swiping gently at your lower lip before he’s truly moving out of your reach.

You’re nearly bursting with impatience when you finally hear the door creak open and click shut.

Shoving yourself up into a sitting position, your mouth drops open in shock as you touch where his lips had pressed against your skin. The feeling lingers, burning like a brand, a mark you felt you would carry with you until the end of time. The thought is enough to have you shaking your head violently.

Suddenly feeling very, very warm, you push the duvet to the side. You clutch your shirt in your hands, balling them into fists—or rather, it’s his shirt that you grasp tightly in fisted hands. His scent still curls around you, utterly maddening, only adding fuel to the fire that consumes you.

If you didn’t confirm it last night, you definitely confirm it then—you were perhaps in the deepest pit of shit known to mankind: having feelings for Sampo. Maybe the revelation of having feelings for the one person you’re not supposed to have feelings for has you imagining things. Maybe you were still asleep and this was just a dream.

You hiss quietly as you pinch yourself.

Nope. This was very much reality.

You sigh.

It takes you several minutes to really process what had just happened—and that you didn’t just make it up in your head. You needed to get the fuck home so you could process it some fucking more. It feels like your entire perception of reality has been shattered with one simple moment of secretive intimacy.

In the distance, a faucet creaks on and begins running, followed by the faint clink of silverware clattering against plates. Whistling. Your crisis is momentarily forgotten as you realize Sampo is whistling your favorite song—it snaps you back into the moment, makes you remember just exactly where you are. This revelation could wait. Just a little bit more, and then you can go home and freak out in peace.

It’s only a matter of moments to gather yourself together and change back into your own clothing thanks to the earlier interaction waking you up entirely. You silently slip out of the bedroom and into the main living area, greeted by a sight that warms your heart.

There Sampo is, in all of his shirtless glory, swaying his hips to the little tune he’s humming as he whisks something together. Food sizzles on the stovetop, adding a quiet backtrack to his song. You lean against the archway that leads into the kitchen area, silent as you take a second to admire him, the portrait of domesticity. Your lips pull into a small, serene smile.

An image flashes before your eyes—a glimpse into the future, maybe—where you could have this sight every day. Sleepy good mornings and quiet embraces, shared laughter and lips pressing together—

The squeak you let out finally alerts Sampo to your presence. He’s quick to turn, whisk in hand and bits of what you assume is flour dusted on his hands, his face—“Doll! How long have you been standing there?”

You stammer dumbly, trying to reel in your head from the outrageous daydream that had barged its way into your thoughts. The outrageous daydream that you know you will never attain. “Um, ah…”

Sampo sighs dramatically, pressing a hand to his forehead as he continues, “And here I was, hoping I could surprise you with a little breakfast—I didn’t think you’d wake up so soon!”

He’s quick to set down the bowl and utensils he held as he approaches you. You tilt your head questioningly at him but he doesn’t give you any indication of what he’s up to until he’s a step away from you.

The devious glint in his eyes being your only warning, he’s suddenly twirling you into his arms and dipping you, a firm hand on your lower back as he grips your wrist with a gentle hand. His eyes crinkle with the smile he gives you.

“Sampo!” You gasp out. You’re so startled by the suddenness of his movements that your free hand grips his shoulder for dear life as you inhale sharply with alarm. Sampo laughs, so unlike his other laughs—the ones where he’s charming his way into scamming a stranger, or when it takes on that darker tinge as his schemes unfold just the way he likes—that you’re blinking in confusion, mouth parting with a question you don’t quite know how to ask on your lips.

“I had to surprise you somehow,” he says by way of explanation. He twirls you again, pulling you flush to his body, and sways you to the cheery tune he hums.

The pair of you dance around the kitchen, laughing and giggling together like there’s nothing else in the world—like it’s just you and him in this pretty little bubble.

Sampo dips you again, forcing your gaze to his. When you meet his eyes, there’s something glimmering there—something that you’d perhaps call… adoration, as delusional as it makes you feel. You pause there, chests heaving in sync as you stare at each other.

You see his eyes flick down briefly to your lips. There’s a question that lies in his gaze—something you can’t possibly answer.

It’s enough to have you scrambling out of his grip.

“Don’t forget the uhm,”—you clear your throat hastily—”the food on the stove. It’ll burn if you’re not careful.”

Sampo blinks, looking at you as if he were snapped out of a trance. “Right.” He pauses—abruptly laughing nervously, clasping his hands together. “I need to be careful.”

He nods his head. After a few moments of tense silence, he glides over to the stove, quietly returning to his task of making breakfast.

Flustered, you take a seat on one of the stools nestled by the island countertop and fold your hands in your lap. You bite your lip as you watch Sampo work. His broad back is turned to you, faint red lines streaking down the hard muscles that ripple as he moves around the kitchen. Your face heats up as you remember just exactly how he received those marks.

The silence lingers in the air, heavy and oppressive, a tension that pulls all of your nerves taut. You’ve never been the type to stay after a one night stand, let alone stay after a night with Sampo. This was entirely uncharted territory you were currently in.

If you’re honest? You’re terrified. You’re not equipped to navigate the unfamiliar feeling that burns bright in your chest. Actually, to take your own mental confession just a little bit further, you want to flee. Really bad. But something—you’re not quite sure what—keeps you tethered here, perhaps like a string wrapped around your pinkie finger that tugs and tugs and pleads with you to stay, just this once. It wants you to see where this goes. It wants you to take a risk, blindly jump into the unknown with nothing to shield your heart but the precarious walls you’ve painstakingly built up over the years. Walls that are swiftly crumbling with every moment spent with Sampo Koski.

Your train of thought is interrupted by the clinking sound of porcelain making contact with the countertop before you register the plate sliding towards you. The sight is mouthwatering—eggs cooked exactly how you prefer (how did he know that?), accompanied by a stack of pancakes that feature a smiling face made with blueberries.

You stifle a giggle, earning you a funny look from Sampo.

“What’s so funny, doll? You’re not laughin’ at Sampo’s hard work, are ya?” He pouts dramatically.

You press your lips together, but there’s no hiding the laughter that glimmers in your eyes. “N-No, I would never! It’s just… it’s so…” Your voice wobbles with the effort it takes to stamp down your giggles.

“It’s so what?” He squints.

“The pancakes are just so…” You shrug one shoulder, searching for the right word. “Adorable? I never would’ve expected that from you, that’s all.”

“I’m full of surprises darling, don’t you worry,” Sampo says with a wink. He sits down next to you with a plate of his own and the two of you dig in. The silence between you evolves into something more.. comfortable. Something normal.

You’d beg to differ (eating breakfast after a night with Sampo felt anything but normal), but you can’t deny that you’re enjoying yourself next to him. And you can admit he’s not the worst cook in the world.

The moment passes in what feels like merely a blink and perhaps too soon you’re already scooping up your empty plate, walking over to the sink to take care of the dishes. The moment Sampo realizes what you intend on doing he rushes over to your side and places a hand on your shoulder. “Don’t worry about it doll, let me take care of it.”

You look up at him and shake your head. “No, no, let me do it. It’s the polite thing to do.”

Sampo’s eyebrows furrow. “I insist—you shouldn’t have to even lift a finger.”

He moves to take the plate from your hands but you pull it out of reach. His eyes narrow as they meet yours—a challenge gleaming there that you refuse to back down from.

He takes a step towards you. You step back. A step forward. A step back. You continue this little dance until there’s a countertop behind you and nowhere else for you to go. He cages you into the corner with one broad arm.

Sampo’s lips curl up in a wolfish grin as you both realize that you’re trapped. “The plate, sweetheart.”

“You’re a real prick, you know that?”

Sampo’s grin widens. “Only for you, dollface.”

Head hanging in defeat, you hold the dish out to him. He takes it, none too smugly, and sets it to the side. His attention immediately returns to you.

You look up at him and tilt your head.

“You going to let me go now, or..?”

Sampo shrugs. “Why should I? I like you right where you are here.”

He’s so big. He crowds your space, enveloping your senses, mingling with the lingering scent of breakfast. It’s something deep and musky. Mouthwatering, if you dare to admit it.

There’s a smug lilt to his voice as he continues speaking, “In fact, I’m still a little famished. Think you can help me out, sweetheart?”

Your lips part slightly, but the question you were about to ask dies on the tip of your tongue as Sampo’s large hands grasp your hips, fingers digging into the supple fat as he lifts you onto the countertop. His eyes are heavily lidded as he sinks to his knees, looking up at you with hunger glimmering in his gaze.

“May I?” Sampo’s voice is darkened with lust, a sort of purr that sends a shiver racing down your spine. A flash of pink between his lips—his tongue darting out to wet them, leaving a thin sheen of saliva in its wake. The grin he shoots you has heat quickly pooling in your core.

You weakly nod your head, too breathless to speak. Sampo’s smile widens.

He makes quick work of your jeans, unbuttoning them and sliding them off of you in one smooth motion. Lithe fingers dip under the elastic of your panties, pulling it taut and snapping the band against your skin. You yelp softly as he snickers.

“So reactive,” Sampo murmurs, fingers dipping once again to slowly pull the fabric off of you. You lift your hips dutifully—you know where this is going. You feel your core tighten with desire.

He tucks your panties into the pocket of his sweats, shoulders rippling as he pulls you to the edge of the counter and slings your legs over them. He looks up at you through thick, dark lashes.

“Doin’ okay up there, pretty girl?” He asks, the deep baritone of his voice making your stomach flutter.

“Mhm,” you respond, biting your lip. You ball your hands up into fists, thighs twitching with the urge to press them together. Sampo seems to notice, because broad hands come up to grip your inner thighs, kneading at the supple flesh. He watches your expression for a moment longer before his eyes dip down to the prize in front of him.

“Thanks for dessert, dollface.”

Sampo’s words linger in the air, a promise of what was to come as he leans forward. His breath is hot as it fans across the apex of your thighs. He presses a kiss to your navel, then dips lower, tongue darting out to drag hotly along your weeping slit.

“Fuck,” you hiss at the contact. Your spine curves slightly, a silent plea for more. His chest rumbles with a dark chuckle as he makes another pass, letting his tongue linger at your clit, lazily lapping at it while your hips tremble.

God. He’s criminally good at this.

“Atta girl. Feeling good?” Sampo murmurs as he slips a finger into your tight heat. It draws a low moan from your lips, one that pulls his mouth into a smug smile before he wraps his lips around your clit. One of your hands grips the edge of the counter for dear life while the other entangles itself in Sampo’s hair as you tremble with just how good he’s making you feel. One tug has him groaning into you, a pleasant vibration that makes you throw your head back as you continue to card your fingers through soft blue locks.

“Feels great,” you murmur, exhaling shakily. Each drag of his finger is tortuously slow, the calloused pad crooking and prodding against your sensitive walls. You tug at his hair again, earning a pleasant moan from him.

You swallow thickly as he adds another finger. He takes it nice and slow with you, a teasing pace that makes you want to beg. You buck your hips slightly to urge him along, to give him the hint, but he’s relentless in his pursuit to drag this out as long as he possibly can.

“You want more, pretty girl?” Sampo purrs softly, pressing a chaste kiss to the apex of your thighs.

“Mhm,” you sigh. He makes a contemplative noise, and then…

He stops.

You let out a cry of outrage as he sits back on his haunches with a smug grin.

“Hey—!”

“You can use your words, can’t you?”

Your mouth drops open, and Sampo can’t help the chuckle that escapes him at your look of shock. He tilts his head as you lean back, chest heaving as you catch your breath.

Fuck, you were getting so close—for him to pull back like this…

“Please…” A quiet, desperate plea. He stares at you expectantly.

You gnaw on your lower lip as he watches you with sharp eyes, glimmering pools of emerald that track your every movement; the way your chest rises and falls with each labored breath, the way your hands press against the cool marble countertop beneath you, the way your eyes glimmer with wanton desire for him.

His grin widens.

“Sampo…” you start, your voice coming out in a shaky warble. You’re none too proud of it, but there’s no room for pride when he dangles your orgasm out in front of you so teasingly, so close and yet so far all at once.

Bait.

And you take it, because you know that Sampo can give you what you need with ease.

“Fuck—” your chin dips slightly as you look down at him, face heating with shame. “I need you, Sampo. Please.”

“Need me to what, baby?”

His voice has lowered an octave—and he crooks his fingers inside of you, giving you a preview of what you could have should you comply with his request.

That subtle nudge is enough to make your hips jump slightly. Your breath hitches in your throat.

You wanted it. You wanted him.

“Need you to fuck me,” you finally breathe. “Sampo, baby, fuck me.”

His resulting grin is feral, eyes glimmering with a wild desire that makes your core clench.

“Whatever my girl wants—”

He withdraws his fingers and stands to his full height. Your eyes rove over his figure, the various love bites littered across his fair skin. Marks you’ve left on him. It sends a sick sense of possession zipping through your veins, and paired with the way he says “my girl”, you wonder what it would be like if he truly was yours in that way. A dangerous train of thought.

You’re distracted, long enough for him to pull his leaking cock out from the confines of his sweats; you’re brought back to reality by his tip pressing to your slit, catching against your clit teasingly.

“—my girl gets, yeah?”

You find yourself in the bathroom again.

This time, you are in your own home.

The rush of water pouring from the faucet is near deafening as you stare at yourself in the mirror. The porcelain is cool against the tight grip you hold on your sink. You glance at the hickeys that litter the expanse of your neck, your shoulder, while you retrace your steps throughout the past week.

You had returned home a couple of hours ago. Only now have you brought yourself to start processing things. You’ve been dreading it, really: coming to terms with something you know will end. As things always do.

You can’t have him. It would never work out.

Sampo is sweet. Kind, even, despite the false benevolent demeanor he displays in order to con poor souls into giving him money. But he’s also as fleeting as a sweet nostalgic memory. The kind of person who comes and goes in your life as they please. You’ve quickly become accustomed to the way that Sampo will sometimes disappear for days, even weeks at a time, and then waltz right back into your life as if nothing happened.

And he does this without any qualms, because this is a casual thing to him. You constantly have to remind yourself that you had told him, “No strings attached. I don’t want feelings involved. This is purely physical.” And he had agreed without further thought, because you’re friends. Friends don’t fall in love with each other.

Friends also don’t eat you out until you’re seeing stars, or fuck you on the countertops so good that you’re babbling and crying, but that’s beside the point.

You think back to how easily the words “my girl” fell from his lips. It’s almost malicious, what that does to your psyche. The way it makes your head spin. The way your heart pounds against your ribs at the mere thought of it.

You frown deeply and shove your hands into the sink. The cold water shocks you momentarily, and the thought fades away, to be shoved in a box and locked away in the deepest recesses of your brain.

Then you scrub your face with the freezing water that pours from the tap. It’s refreshing against your balmy skin, not to mention it doubles as a wake up call for your lovestruck head. Whatever feelings you harbored for Sampo were doomed to die. You may as well just get over it now before it can do any real damage.

And the easiest way to get over things?

You give yourself an uneasy smile in the mirror after drying your face with a towel and shut off the faucet.

The bass thrums through your body as you enter the packed club.

You’ve decided on a rather obscenely short black dress for today—something flattering, something that makes you feel good. You would need some confidence with the goal you have in mind for today.

A goal that feels a little stupid, now that you’re physically here and you’ve sat with it for a little bit. It’s not like Sampo is aware of your inner turmoil; nor would he care that you’re planning on going home with someone that isn’t him. You never agreed on being exclusive when your little arrangement first started.

(Maybe there’s just some sick part of you that hopes that he would care—that it would make him jealous.)

You shake the thought from your head as you weave through sweaty bodies. Whatever kind of goal you set for yourself, it doesn’t matter. There’s truly only one thing that you absolutely need to make happen tonight:

You need to get over Sampo Koski.

And if that involves sleeping with some stranger, so be it. Or perhaps just getting so drunk you forget for a little while. Whatever works.

You steal a seat at the bar and order your usual. Your mind wanders as you wait patiently for your drink—gravitating towards how you felt almost… dramatic, childish even, for feeling so strongly about this.

You can’t help it. You’ve never truly let yourself indulge in romance before; you’re not even sure if this is what it was supposed to look like. If it was supposed to be this aggravating. If you’re supposed to feel as miserable as you do right now.

The clink of ice jostling around as a glass is set in front of you pulls you from your brooding. You swipe up the drink with a quiet “thank you”, turning in your seat to survey the room—and more importantly, the people—around you.

Your frequent spot is busy tonight—bodies upon bodies on the club floor, grinding and dancing salaciously to the bass heavy song that pounds through the speakers. The low lights that glimmer along the ceiling cast deep shadows across everything, making everything look much more dramatic than it really is.

You raise your glass to take a sip when suddenly there’s a hand clasping your shoulder.

“Wha—!” you jump, nearly spilling the liquid all over yourself. You turn to glare at whoever had the balls to just come up to you like that when you’re met with a none too pleasant surprise:

Sampo. Fucking. Koski.

“What are you doin’ here, doll? Especially without even inviting your dear old friend?”

His voice is a smug croon, hard to hear above the club music that envelops you in its embrace. You can hear the hint of surprise, though—and you spot the way his eyebrows are raised, eyes wide and shimmering with curiosity.

So much for escaping him tonight. You resign to your fate with a sigh, settling back into your seat and sipping on your drink properly. Sampo immediately takes to your side, invading your personal space with no regards for your feelings on the matter.

(Usually, you don’t mind. Tonight, it grates on your nerves.)

“I wanted to get out of the house n’ I didn’t wanna bother you. Simple as that.”

Your words are clipped, even if you know you don’t have any right to be upset with him. He hasn’t done anything wrong; you just happen to be in a sour mood.

That he caused.

Indirectly.

“You wound me, doll! I’d never say no to your pretty face, you know that.”

(You want to call him a liar.

You don’t. You smile, and you nod, and you clench your drink so tightly your hand starts to tremble.)

You shrug your shoulders, forcing your gaze back out to the dance floor. Your stomach feels heavy with a feeling you can’t quite put a name to.

All you know is that it does not feel good.

“Sorry, Sampo. I’ll invite you next time, ‘kay?”

Maybe he senses how off your energy is tonight, because typically he’d press the issue further. He doesn’t. Instead, he says, “Sounds good, pretty girl. Save me a seat, ‘kay? I’ll be right back.”

He pushes off the bar counter, making a direct beeline towards the restrooms. You let out a deep sigh, a breath you didn’t even know you were holding in the first place.

You turn towards the bartender and move to flag him down, but—

You only get a few moments of peace until a presence returns to your side. You can’t help but scoff, turning to say, “Sampo, what the hell do you—huh?”

You pause as you turn to a person that is very much not Sampo Koski.

Your face blanches.

The stranger offers you a nervy smile, the portrait of bashfulness.

How fucking horrifying—you can feel your face heat up with shame as you stare dumbly at him.

“Sorry if I’m bothering you. I just thought you were really pretty, so I was hoping you’d maybe let me buy you a drink?” he asks, rubbing the back of his neck. His cheeks are stained a pretty red and his big brown eyes are wide with an eagerness that makes you shake off your mortification and force yourself to smile gently.

“Oh! Uhm—yeah, that would be nice,” you gesture to the open seat next to you. “Sit?”

He tells you his name, something you’re sure you’ll forget later, as you paste a pretty smile on your face and lean forward in your seat. You can see the way his flush deepens, hear the way he stumbles over his words—it’s endearing. He’s like a puppy.

You exchange small talk over drinks, and he’s true to his word: he puts your drink on his tab, and even offers to put the next few on him, too. He’s a little bit odd, but he makes good conversation, so you entertain him, idly stirring the straw that came with your drink.

You’re about to answer his next question (a question that was rather.. strange, you note to yourself), but your reply dies on your lips as Sampo returns.

And he looks none too happy.

“Doll!” Sampo exclaims loudly, pressing into your side. He slings an arm around your waist as he casts his glare upon the stranger you were just chatting up. “Who’s this, baby?”

This might be the worst possible outcome. Mortified, your shoulders hunch slightly as you try to grow smaller, cringing at the venom that coats Sampo’s usually honeyed tone.

“Sorry, you are..?” The stranger asks, bewildered.

“Her boyfriend. Who are you?”

You cringe even further, turning your gaze. The words falling from Sampo’s lips feels like a lead ball dropping in your stomach. You think you might be sick. So sick, in fact, that you tune out their ensuing conversation as your head spins.

Abruptly you stand, chair clattering loudly with the motion. Both men stop and turn to look at you.

“I—” you pause, inhaling sharply through your nose, “am going to go now. Bye.”

You turn on your heel and all but scramble out of the situation, heels clacking against tile flooring. Your heart is about to burst from beneath your ribs. Your face is hot—you feel like you might melt and never recover.

You burst through the door and the cold air immediately hits you. It’s refreshing and miserable all at once, cooling down your heated veins and making your skin prickle with goosebumps.

You’re about a couple feet down the sidewalk when hurried footsteps sound behind you. Your head whips over your shoulder, eyes wide as you stare down who approaches you.

What a joke. You know fully well Sampo can mask the sound of his footsteps—he’s letting them ring out for you.

The weight in your stomach increases exponentially. You turn forward and pick up your pace. You think your vision is swimming.

“Doll!” Sampo pleads, reaching out to grab your shoulder. You jerk away and swivel on your heel to face him.

“What? What is it now?” Your voice is downright venomous. It comes out much harsher than you intend, but the words are out now and it’s too late to take them back.

“Pretty girl…” He starts, and then shakes his head. There’s a moment of hesitation, and then:

Your name. Said so softly, falling like a prayer from his lips, and yet it’s an explosion of color in your world. Your eyes widen.

“Sampo,” you respond with equal softness, your voice trembling as you ball your hands into fists. Chest heaving, you stare at him, meeting deep pools of emerald green that look at you with such desperation it makes you want to crumble into pieces.

“I’m sorry if that was too much,” Sampo frowns, a dusty pink blush settling high on his cheeks. There’s genuine remorse in his eyes, so you listen, inclining your head as you wait for him to continue. “You just.. you looked uncomfortable, and you’re my friend. I was just tryin’ to give you an out.”

You’re my friend.

Friend.

Nausea claims you again, hitting you with the force of a freight train. But you force yourself to smile, and nod, and again your hands tremble with the effort of keeping them at your side.

No matter how much you wanted to reach out to him.

To touch him, to hold him.

You can’t.

“It’s okay.” You can’t help the way your voice strains, so you keep as quiet as possible, voice coming out in a mere whisper. “Don’t worry about it.”

“It doesn’t seem okay—”

“It’s fine.” You cut him off, shaking your head.

Sampo’s eyes search your face as you stare at him. You need to steel your resolve. So you say:

“I think we should take a break from seeing each other.”

It’s like you’ve dropped a bomb.

The way his face falls makes your stomach twist itself into knots. But this is for the better. Until you can get your shit together.

But fuck, he looks so sad, it makes your heart ache.

“Oh,” is all he says.

You gnaw on your lower lip. You taste a hint of metal on your tongue—you’ve broken skin. You nod your head slowly. You need to steel your fucking resolve. The decision is out there, and you cannot take it back.

“Mhm. Just for a little bit.”

He inhales slowly, and on the exhale he manages to mask the desperation he let you get a flash of. It’s too late, though: the feelings are out there, and he cannot hide it.

“For a little bit,” he echoes. His eyes have lost their spark. Your heart withers in your chest.

The pair of you cannot hide your true feelings from the other. Not for long. Not like you hoped you could. You pray to some long-forgotten Aeon that the space can give you the willpower you need to maintain your walls, at least for a little bit longer.

“For a little bit.” You confirm. “I’ll… see you later, okay?”

He’s silent. Then, he dips his chin. A silent farewell.

This time, his footsteps don’t make a single sound as he walks away.

please don't repost on other platforms. rbs and comments are super appreciated ♡ !!

[getitoutofmymindwrites]

The crushing | joel miller x f!reader, 5.2k

Summary: This is the story of a man who had everything in the palm of his hand and traded it all for an empty space in the hollow of his heart. Or This story follows Joel, two to three years after he cheated on his wife.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, ANGST, cheater!Joel, Joel's POV, this is NOT “The Falling” from Joel's POV, brief mention of smut (p i v) but nothing too graphic (I think), self-loathing, depression, therapy, flashbacks and memories from the past, alcohol consumption, Tommy being a supportive brother (eventually), as always let me know if I missed anything!

A/N: Ok, so, Joel gave me a whiplash on this one, he was either staring at me through the screen giving me nothing, or he was mumbling unintelligibly in my ear while I was trying to keep up with him. It started out as a final chapter, but I really think that this part should be Joel's POV and the next and -probably- final one should be the resolving, however that may come. I guess it can be read as a standalone, but if you're interested, it's a sequel to “The Falling”. I edited it seven thousand times because I kept adding things along the way, so I hope it all makes some sense and there are not too many mistakes.. Thank you for taking the time to read anything I write! Love you all! 🥰😘

P.S.: I just wanted to take a moment and let you know that I really appreciate everyone who has read, liked, commented, reblogged and asked about “The Falling”. I honestly didn't think a single soul would take the time to read that kind of story. It means more than you know and I didn’t take lightly how close to home this fic hit for some people; yet you’ve given it a chance, sharing some of your own experiences with me. I love you all, take care and I'll see you -hopefully- in the comments! 🥹🫂

Dividers by @cafekitsune & @saradika-graphics

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

previous | next

...need your reassurance...

...your only focus…

...for the foreseeable future...

He did make it his sole focus. Because of course, he closed the deal, even after he left that damn table like a madman. He still found a way to get what he wanted. That's the man he was. And he wasn't sure if he hated himself for it or not. But self-loathing was a daily occurrence now, so one more reason added to the list was nothing he couldn't handle.

For two years he would wake up every day, is it called waking up if he doesn’t sleep at all?, he would work his ass off, he would go home, he would sink into despair and then he would start all over again the next day. A vicious cycle consisting of 730 days in a row. The deafening silence within the walls of the house was excruciating, the loneliness was unbearable. Even the light penetrating through the windows seemed different than when you were there with him, a dullness surrounding every corner of the now barely lived in space.

You. He hadn’t seen your face in 730 days. He hadn’t smelled your scent or touched your soft skin. He barely listened to your voice anymore, any form of unavoidable communication, you preferred to be conducted by the lawyers, or via text messages, at the most. At the 731st one, he finally knew, something had to change. He couldn’t repeat another day, like all the others that came and went. He simply couldn’t.

Tommy suggested that therapy might help Joel, a few times, but he refused every one of them. Maria was keeping her distance, her place was delicate, being his brother’s wife but also his wife’s best friend. Surprisingly, she was the one who finally got through to him.

“Are you gonna stay a recluse for the rest of your miserable life, then?” Maria wonders, switching her gaze between Joel and the dining room. Everything was untouched, as you left them when you moved out, but the place felt empty, depressing, probably mirroring Joel’s existence.

Joel sighs, closing his eyes briefly. “I’m not a recluse..”, he snarls through his teeth, rolling his eyes at her. He was more than eager to be done with the dinner his sister-in-law insisted on having in his house and be left alone, in his natural state. Alone. Infuriating woman.

“What do you call that?”, Maria persists, goddamn lawyer to the bone.

“What?!” Joel spits back pissed off, looking at his brother next, for support.

“That!” she gestures around his body and his surroundings. “The way you go on for the past two years! Either get over it or do something about it!”, she doesn’t hold back, even when Tommy proposes a gentler approach. Yeah, look where it got you, is the paid answer, so Tommy steps back, shaking his head and raising his hands up in surrender.

“You’ve got him on a leash, hm?”, Joel jokes absentmindedly, “Can you breathe alright, Tommy boy?”, earning himself a hard glare from Maria.

“Maybe the wrong Miller is on a leash..” Maria mutters, causing Tommy’s eyes to widen in horror.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”, Joel retorts doing a double back at her.

“Means that freedom is for those who can bear it.”, Maria throws her napkin on her plate and leaves the room. Joel remains silent, pondering the meaning of her words. It would be a long time before he understood what she meant.

Therapy was hard.

Therapy was hard because he had to do it for himself. He had to concentrate on himself. He thought, being the contractor that he was, that he would walk into the room, get the answers he needed and fix his marriage, just as he rearranged the bricks and the wood and the steel on the construction sites.

But this wasn’t about his marriage. His marriage and the way it crumbled down was the aftermath, he came to learn. It was the outcome of insecurities, selfishness, lack of communication, ungratefulness.

He got it all wrong. Everything. Every little thing. He had to rewire his brain and change every point of view he was holding onto. Honesty. Honesty was the key.

“Why didn’t you reach out to your wife after that night?”, his therapist insists.

“I respected her boundaries.”, Joel was quick to respond.

“And what were those?”

“She didn’t want to see me.”

“Did she say that?”

“No-, I mean-, the way she left that night, she didn’t say much in general. But she blocked my number, so.”, he shrugs in defence.

“So, how can you be so sure that she didn't want to see you? Even if you're right, it doesn't mean that she didn't expect a reaction from you, or that you weren't allowed to try, if that’s what you wanted.”

“Why would she? I upset her, she needed time to think, work things out.”, Joel explains.

The therapist swipes her fingers over her lips, contemplating her approach. “Joel, you walk into your bedroom, into what is supposed to be a safe place and you see your partner with another person in an intimate moment. How does that make you feel? Just say the first words that come to mind.”, his therapist changes the point of view.

Joel shudders just at the thought of it. You, naked, flushed, lips parted and swollen, skin sweaty, breaths short and pupils blown wide, coming for anyone other than him. It would utterly destroy him. “Furious, pissed, betrayed, heartbroken.. I think I would lose it, if I’m honest.” he admits instantly, in his haste to throw the abomination of this image from his thoughts.

“I see. But in her case, you think your wife was just upset?”

“No, of course not.” Joel slightly frowns, shaking his head.

“Do you think she felt all those feelings that you just described to me?”

“I believe so, yes.”, god this is so hard.

“You believe so?” the therapist pushes, again.

Joel’s nostrils flare from the sharp inhale, “I know so.”

“So, she wasn’t just upset.” the therapist concludes and Joel agrees without meeting her eyes, “No, she wasn’t.”

Over time, Joel came to realize that his choice of words was a subconscious attempt to diminish the seriousness of his actions.

“You said in a previous session that you gave space to your wife to work things out.”

“Yeah, it was only fair.”, Joel confirms.

“So, it was hard for you to give her that space?”

“Yes, of course, I missed her every day.”

“Was that a constant in your relationship?”, the therapist wonders.

“I’m sorry, I don’t follow.”

“How did you work things out as a couple, before? I assume you had difficult times as partners, no?”

“Nothing major to be honest, my wife was a very calm and reasonable person. If anything occurred she would talk to me about it.”

“And how did you respond to that?”

“Uh, I was there to listen, we always found a solution together as a couple.”

“Hmhm, so, what changed this time?”

“What do you mean?” He knew exactly what she meant.

“Why didn’t you talk to her? Communicate with her? Maybe help her see your side of things, like you did before, find your way out of this together, as partners.” his therapist explains. “And even before the infidelity, did you let her know that something was bothering you, that you felt differently?”

"I didn't feel differently about my wife. My feelings for her never changed.", he immediately corrects her. "My love for her was never the problem," he confesses and it's the first time since his therapy began that he's shared something so personal, so private.

“But there was a problem, something was wrong if you felt the need to be intimate with another woman. So, why did you keep that from her?”

Joel opens his mouth already knowing he does not have an answer. Or that he doesn't want to give one. He shakes his head, raising his brows in a silent admission that he can’t answer that. Or he won't. His gaze is fixed on a loose thread on the fabric of the couch, his fingers keep picking on it.

“Joel?”

“I- I don’t know what you want me to say, I don’t know.” he keeps shaking his head. He can’t answer that. He won't.

He was so angry when he left the session that day. He was so angry at you. He was angry at your honesty, your clarity, your courage to have a mind of your own and to speak it freely, knowing full well that probably no one else shared the same opinions as you did. That's what he loved most about you, but now he hated it.

“Own it, Joel. Own what you have done. At least that way it will be worth something. Otherwise it was all for nothing.”

This was one of the last things you said to him on the phone, while he was trying to persuade you to change your mind about the divorce. You were always so brave about those matters. Matters of the heart, of integrity. He remembers you always talking about things that he found admirable but utopian. Easy in theory, hard in practice.

“I need to be able to sleep at night. I need to own my decisions; not because I’m always right, far from it, but at least I know I’m being honest with myself. And that matters.” he recalls one of your late-night talks.

You usually found it easier to share your most vulnerable thoughts once you were thoroughly fucked and satiated. When Joel held you in his arms, your breaths almost shared over the same pillow, your scents and your fluids mixed together.

“We’re all imperfect beings, flawed; we all feel embarrassed when we fuck up,” you continue, “it’s hard to admit our mistakes to others, I get that. But deep down we always know what we’re doing and why we’re doing it. Admitting it only helps us to be present in our lives.”

“Be present?”, Joel seems fascinated by the way your mind weaves your thoughts together into deeply rooted beliefs.

“Yes, my love, there's no greater freedom than to live your life truthfully.” you smile at him, softly. Your sleepy eyes roam his face affectionately. Your fingertips caress his jawline, your thumb pressing lightly against the bare patch of his beard. He can feel your devotion pouring from your fingers and sinking into his skin at that moment.

“That’s one of my greatest fears, you know. Living my life in ignorance, in a lie.”, you whisper your deepest insecurity against his soft lips. His hold on you tightens as he rolls you onto your back, nestling his hips between your welcoming thighs. You are safe in these arms. His arms. You surrender to him, body and soul. You can feel his growing erection pressing between your folds, already wet from your combined releases. He tenderly brushes his lips against yours and slowly licks his way into your parted mouth, as he intertwines his fingers with yours. He enters you in one fluid, slow thrust, his warm exhale cooling your wet lips. “Then let me give you something real.”

Thinking back to those moments, Joel couldn't reconcile himself to the fact that he was the one who had brought that fear of yours to life. What broke him was that it was not a lie. Your life together had not been a lie. He loved you. In fact, he was burning up for you. He was a man of control, but not with you. Never with you. You consumed his every thought; being around you for too long made his lungs constrict in pain, begging for a deep breath. Sometimes he was worried sick that if he completely let himself love you like he needed to, he would suffocate you. He loved you. And it killed him that his actions suggested otherwise.

But at some point he had to be honest with himself. He was just protecting his ego. He was trying to get the upper hand out of a shitty, compromising situation. He wasn't being thoughtful, he was being selfish. He was biding his time. He thought the longer he left ‘it’ untouched, the less it would hurt when the inevitable time of confrontation came. He was scared out of his mind that he would lose you forever. No second chances, no redemption, no reconciliation.

No lingering scent on his pillow as your hair pools there, under his chin, as you nestle your face between his neck and shoulder, breathing him in. No laughter through the enormous house, damn, why did he build it so big; you never clarified what the disbelief in your eyes meant when he said he built this house for you, while he pulls you up on your feet for a silly cowboy dance.

No more gentle touches, no more noses brushing together as a silent goodbye in the kitchen before you rush off to work. No more turning around just before you open the door to leave, running to him like a little girl, giving him quick, hungry pecks on the lips while he laughs on your mouth, squeezes your butt cheek and slaps it playfully to say goodbye. Later, baby, he would promise you, his teeth nipping at your earlobe and he could feel your skin crawling with anticipation.

No more I love yous, either breathed, either whispered, either panted, as he makes a home for himself inside your warmth.

When did he fuck you last? He used to have you every day. You craved it every day. You craved him. Why did he stop telling you he loved you every chance he got? When was the last time you said it?

A week before that fateful night, when you touched him longingly, aching for him to touch you back and he told you he had work to do, he wasn’t a teenager anymore. Why the hell did he say that? Why did he sit there and watch the light fading from your eyes? I love you, you said with a sigh against his temple and walked out of his office defeated. Why did you say that? Did you know? Did you suspect? Why didn’t you fight him? You should have said something, anything, pushed him, punched him in the chest, woken him up. Would he have woken up? Or did he need that to come to his senses? Does he have to fall? Does this falling ever stop? Does he have to let you go? Will you come back to him? Does he deserve you?

Days blurred seamlessly into one another. Joel drifted further and further away from everyone. The house haunted him, all the progress he was making within the therapy walls was dissipating once he stepped inside the cold space of his empty house. Leaving the confines of it was his first thought in the morning, while he hurriedly dressed to go to his office far earlier than necessary and his last when he closed his eyes, as he laid his weary limbs on the couch, chasing still your now long gone scent on its fabric, knowing another sleepless night was his only companion until the first rays of sunlight hit the floor-to-ceiling windows to announce the beginning of another day.

People at work tiptoed around him, not knowing how to act. It was as if he was there, but not really. He was focused solely on the Marks project, mechanically going through board meetings, paperwork and supervising the construction site. He. Just. Wasn’t. There.

Joel, will you please sign the papers?

He simply stares at the text message for a good full minute, his thumbs hovering over the screen of his phone. This was one of the rare occasions you had initiated communication with him, always about the progress of the divorce.

No, no, I won’t, the little toddler in him screams, stamping his little feet on the ground.

The papers are not ready.

Joel texts back. He keeps it simple, frightened he might not get an answer back.

Joel, we both know they are. I don’t want any of your assets or your money; this is an easy signature, please.

An easy signature? You think he cares about the houses, or the cars, or the money?

You know I can’t accept that. The house is yours and so is a good part of the money.

The point was to share this house together, Joel, don’t you think us splitting up kind of defeats the purpose? And what on earth makes you think I would ever want to go back in there?

So, there’s nothing I can do to make this easier for you?

Easier? You think money or property can make up for what you’ve done?

Of course not, I wasn’t implying anything like that. Just wanna do something for you, anything.

Can you turn back time?

Of course, he can't. So, he doesn't know what to say to that. He just keeps staring at the screen, lost in thought. After 2 minutes another text follows.

?

You know I can’t..

Sign the papers. Please.

“Is there anything in particular you want to talk about today, or should I take the lead?”

“Actually I’ve been thinking a lot about that night.”, Joel suggests for the first time. He usually lets the therapist decide where to steer the conversation, then simply refuses to elaborate until he feels ready to talk.

“What about it?”, he shifts his gaze from the window to the direction of her voice.

“I should probably rephrase that. I’m always thinking about that night, repeating it in my head again and again and I’m troubled by something I realized.”

His therapist nods to signal that she's listening.

“Why did she just leave? The more I think about it, the more it doesn’t make sense to me. She just left. No shouting, no breaking things, no attacking either me or-”, her. “Why she didn’t stay? Why she didn’t insist that I leave? She was just- so quiet.”

The therapist smiles in recognition of Joel's near breakthrough. They were beginning to get somewhere, his empathy nudging him under the surface.

“I'm really glad you mentioned that, Joel, so I'd like to take you back to that night and try to understand what might have been going through your wife's mind at that moment," she explains.

“So, she walks into the house, finds her safe space violated by her husband, and she chooses to handle the situation calmly and quietly-” Joel tries to stop her, but she already knows what he's going to ask. “I can't tell you why she chose that path, that's for her to answer, only she knows why.” His therapist continues, “She is making one request of you and one request only, can you tell me what it is?”

“She asked me to leave the house.”

“Hmhm.” the therapist looks at him expectantly.

“I just wanted to talk to her.”, Joel elaborates, “I thought that if I refused to leave, she would accept to listen to me.”

“So you forced your needs on her, while she was in a particularly fragile state of mind.”

“I should have made my intentions clearer, you mean?”

“I mean, that maybe you shouldn’t have had any expectations in the first place. Why do you think was so important to you, to explain yourself right at that moment?”

“Because I knew it was probably the last time I would see her for a while, I just wanted to ease her pain, why is that so wrong? Should I be indifferent? Would that be better?”

“Did it ever occur to you that you might be depriving her of her right to choose?” Come on, Joel, break some eggs.

Joel now begins to make connections. He rubs his hand over his face, the realization of what has really happened crushing him. “Oh, god, I-” He's been so selfish from the start. He hasn't shown you any respect, not even at this delicate moment. He didn't give you a choice as to whether you wanted to listen to him or not. He didn't even let you choose where you wanted to stay. He just made you leave the house. Did he make you believe he wanted you to leave? That he wanted her to stay? Because he didn’t. Fuck. “-I never thought about it like that.”

Fuck.

How could he be so blind? Why was he so blind?

His therapist insisted on it. Because no matter how much progress Joel made over the course of a year, he never revealed the true reason behind his infidelity.

“Joel, we’ve talked about a lot of things; you’ve tried really hard to make this all about your wife and about understanding what she was feeling and how your actions have affected her, but as I keep reminding you”, she smiles understandingly, “you’re the one in therapy, you need to heal your wounds before you even attempt to heal hers. And although it is in fact a really noble thought, this” she gestures between them, “can only work if you do it for yourself. I know it may sound selfish, but I promise you, it is not. It is the exact opposite.”

Fuck.

“Yeah?”, his voice hoarse from sleep as he answers the door after the insistent knock at it. Tommy looks at him surprised once he opens it, “You’re sleeping, already?”. No, he wasn’t. He wouldn’t call it that. But when he goes almost a week without any proper rest, passing out is the right word for what he’s doing. “Yeah, I guess I dosed off..” Joel lies. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you.” Tommy responds as he squeezes himself through the door to enter the house. “Yeah, sure, come on in.”, Joel mutters under his breath. “You just saw me at work this morning, is everything all right?”

“I just came to check on you.” Tommy confesses uncomfortably.

“You could have called.”

“Would you have answered?” Tommy deadpans.

Touché.

“Tell Maria I’m fine, Tommy, no need to worry about me; go spend the night where it counts.”, Joel replies in an attempt to push him away, as he walks farther into the house, rounding the kitchen island.

“Hey, brother, I’m here, I am here for you.” Tommy’s eyes narrow in pain and concern as he stares at his sibling's back, following behind him.

Joel exhales hard through his nose, his grip tight as he grabs the edges of the counter, his head lowering between his shoulder blades.

“You shouldn’t, nobody should.” Joel sighs, rubbing the pads of his fingers across his forehead.

“Ok, that’s enough.” Tommy snaps at him. “Enough self-loathing, enough resignation. Enough. You’ve punished yourself enough.”

Joel laughs at that. “Is that right? Is it enough for you? What about her?” he asks, his head turned to the side, looking at his brother over his shoulder.

“What?” Tommy is genuinely confused.

Joel turns his back, resting his waist on the edge of the counter, now looking straight at Tommy. “I should have what? Just get on with my life? Let it all be water under the bridge? Disrespect her even more?”

“Jesus..” Tommy mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose with one hand, the other resting on his hip, his eyes shut in frustration.

“Are you doing this for her? Does she even know that?”

“It doesn’t matter, Tommy!” Joel raises his voice, exasperated. “I’m not doing this for her, I’m not doing anything for her, apparently and that’s the problem.”, his voice breaks, the lump in his throat too big to push down. “She’s not here anymore, Tommy.” he’s standing fully on his feet now, pushing himself away from the counter, leaning slightly forward, like he’s trying to make his brother understand; his eyes are glazed, Tommy had never seen him so devastated before. “She’s gone. I’ve lost her.”, his palms clenched in fists in front of his chest, resisting the urge to wrap them around his shirt and rip it to shreds, as he wants to do with his heart.

“I thought therapy was working..” Tommy whispers, his eyes dropping to the floor beneath him.

“Oh, it’s working, all right!” Joel chuckles in irony, sniffing his nose. “I’m getting a front-row seat, witnessing what a piece of shit I am-”

“Hey!” Tommy tries to cut him off.

“-what on earth was she doing with me to begin with, is beyond me.”

“HEY!” Tommy's eyes bulge out of his sockets, angry at his brother's self-deprecating words. Joel bends his waist forward, puts his elbows on the island in front of him and lets his head sink in again.

“Ok.” Tommy breathes deeply to ground himself, his hands in a position of a prayer in front of his mouth, “Ok, we could both use a drink.” he realizes, as he moves to open the cupboard to grab two tumblers and the whiskey from the shelf with the drinks. “..or five.”

The two brothers drink their first round in silence, both calming their nerves down. Tommy refills their glasses without asking; he knows this is going to be a long night.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.” Tommy begins, pushing Joel’s drink back towards him. Joel wringles his brows in confusion, “What are you talking about? You’re always there for me.”

“No, I haven’t, not really.” Tommy admits, “I let Maria take over when all this happened and I’m sorry.”

“There was nothing you could do, Tommy, don’t sweat it.”

“Let me say this, please.” Tommy raises his hand, his palm facing his brother. “I was just- fuck, we all knew how much you loved her, how much you loved each other, so when it all went down, I just didn’t know how to deal with it. What to say to you, how to comfort you. I didn't know how to deal with you.”

“You blamed me.” Joel says matter-of-factly.

“No-”, Tommy weakly refuses but Joel shakes his head dismissively, interrupting him. “It’s ok, Tommy, you should.”

Tommy looks embarrassed, his cheeks slightly pinkish, not only from the whiskey. “It’s just that I- I couldn’t reconcile the image of the man you were with her, with.. you know..”, he stutters.

“..the image of a cheater. Say it.” Joel adds.

Tommy shakes his head, like he still can't believe what's happened. “Besides, while she was staying with us those first few weeks I saw how devastated she was, man- she was a shell of a woman, so I was confused, I didn’t know how-”

“Tommy. Tommy, it’s fine.” Joel feels his skin crawl visualizing you like that in his head, cutting his brother off once again; he deserves every ounce of mistrust and he knows it.

“No, it’s not.” Tommy insists. “Yes, you fucked up. Brother, you really did. You did a number on her-”, Joel’s body tenses instantly at his brother’s words, his jaw clenching as his eyes darken, moving down to his hands, his grip on the tumbler tightening, his knuckles turning white and Tommy stops abruptly, “shit, sorry, I didn’t mean-”, his face twitches with regret.

“It’s the truth. That’s exactly what I did.” Joel’s gaze seems detached as if he's somewhere else right now.

“What I meant to say, is that I should have been there for you in spite of what has happened. I can see you're suffering, it's taking its toll on you, it has been for some time now; tell me what I can do. How can I help you?” Tommy seems almost desperate, like he’s the one in need of redemption.

Your text flashes through his mind, can you turn back time?, making him smile bitterly.

“Can you turn back time?” Joel's repeating your question and as the words leave his mouth he can feel your presence next to him. That's the most he felt of you for the last three years. He's almost blissful.

“You know I can't.” Tommy sighs. Joel laughs earnestly, the irony of the moment too good not to appreciate.

“Joel, brother, please, just talk to me. Help me understand. You act like you’re the one who’s been cheated on. So, what happened? Why did you do it?” Tommy is pleading with him to give him anything.

Silence fills the room for much longer than either of them would like. Joel feels torn between telling his brother everything or keeping his mouth shut. He wants to tell him, he hasn’t told a soul, but he’s not sure he can get the words out. He’s not sure he can bear to hear the words coming out of his mouth. He’s not sure he can substantiate it, make it real. Because that’s how it feels. He talks about it and it becomes real.

But maybe this is the right thing to do. That’s what needs to be done. He needs to talk about it. He needs to tell the truth and admit the pain he’s caused. Make it real for you, too. Perhaps it is time for him to give you what is rightfully yours. Acknowledgment.

Joel’s made up his mind. He’s gonna talk to Tommy. He lifts his glass to down his drink for some liquid courage, freezing his hand in mid-air as the next words fall from his brother’s mouth. “First of all, who was it?”

“What?” Joel's eyes search Tommy’s through his glass for an explanation.

“Who did you do?”, Tommy clarifies.

Joel feels like he’s been struck by lightning. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Who did you fuck, Joel?”, Tommy begins to feel confused, are they not on the same page here?

“You don’t know?”, Joel can barely speak now, his voice low in shock.

“No one does, not even Maria; she never told anyone.”

You told nobody? Not even your best friend? Why on earth would you do that? Did you feel ashamed? Was it just too much to talk about?

But his brain takes pity on him, helping him for once to understand. He’s connecting the dots while your voice fills the corners of his mind through his memories. His head is swarming with images of you standing in that walk-in closet, remembering what you said the last time he saw you. You’re the one I married, not her. I expected better from you, Joel, not her.

You were right.

It didn’t matter who it was. That is why. He was the one making the choice. He was the one breaking his promises, breaking your trust, breaking your heart; breaking you. He was the one who should have known better. He was the one who should have been honest. Easy in theory, hard in practice.

He feels a fresh wave of pain scattering through his body. He welcomes it. Damn, he’s craving it. He’s glad you chose to withhold the identity of the woman. Not because somehow it’s making it easier for him to defend himself, on the contrary.

There’s no one else to blame. Nobody. Just him. All of the anger, the resentment, the disappointment, all of them on him. He embraces them all. Everything. He will take it all, swallow it down and let it rot inside of him.

Joel tells Tommy everything. Everything, but her name.

previous | next

Taglist: @southernbe, @orcasoul, @auteurdelabre

[charles-leclerizz]

🏎️ ๋࣭ ⭑ sultry vindications

🏁 Pairings : Max verstappen X fem! Reader

🏁 Warnings : Smut, just straight smut. warning below the cut

🏁 Word Count : 2.7k words (2763 words)

🏁 Summary : Today, of all days, is the worst time to tease your boyfriend. And sometimes, you just neeed to take a long, hard look in the mirror to realise

🏁 translations via radio comm below

🏁 credits : word dividers by @cafekitsune, motivation by @vroomvroomcircuit

🏁 Music player : Perfect strangers by Jonas blue, JP Cooper

warning : Swearing, p in v, fem recieving! oral, spit talk, spanking, dirty words [like damn], reeader is a brat lmk if I missed any <33

“-So I told her that, if you need me to bury a dead body, I have the money and the skill.” You spoke into the phone, giggling with your best friend as you walked throughout your apartment, throwing odd pieces of clothing into your arms.

“I know! I would be amazing at it.” You sighed, shoving the dirty laundry into the open machine before shutting the door with your hip and pressing a few buttons haphazardly.

Crossing over the foyer, you fall onto the sofa, laying your head back against the headrest, “Yeah, and then he had the audac- umpph.” You stop mid-sentence, grunting under the weight of a heavy head being rested on your shoulder.

“Oh, hey baby,” you whisper, glancing down at Max, whose face was still buried into your sweater, merely getting a groan of confirmation from him, “Yeah…okay I’ll call you back Kika.”

You throw the device further down the couch, burying your free hands into his hair, “Hey schat-“ He groaned, picking up his neck to launch the rest of his body over the back of the sofa and land clumsily next to you, nose diving into the pillows,”- Neuk mij.”

“Oh, okay.” You raised an eyebrow at him, watching as he pushed himself upright, “You look…annoyed?”

“Yeah- I am.” He grumbled, throwing his head back, “Couldn’t get past even half of my normal weight today.”

“Awh, c’mon Maxie, that isn’t too bad,” You cooed at him, throwing your leg over his to slot it between his thighs as you scooched closer to him.

“That’s like 90kg schat,” He glanced at you, eyebrows furrowing when you stifled a laugh, “You’re laughing.”

“I mean yeah,” You shrugged, “It’s funny watching the big bad max, turn into nothing but, this-“You gestured to him, legs spread widely as he stared at you, arms crossed over one another, “Because what? You weren’t as testosterone-y as you wanted to be?”

You leaned over to kiss his cheek and ruffle his sweaty hair, leaving the thick strands to fall over his creased forehead, “It’s okay, you’ll always be my softy.” Leaving him in the living room, you went to the kitchen, suddenly reminded of the dishes that say waiting to be put away in the washer.  

“Really? Soft?” He grumbled, suddenly appearing behind you, thick arms looped around your waist.

“As a cloud,” You smirked, attempting to wriggle free of his vice-like grip, to no avail, “Babe, let me go.”

Gasping, you felt him twist you around and rested his forehead against yours, his usual baby blue eyes becoming a darker sapphire, “Take it back.”

You harrumphed, crossing your arms over and puffing out your chest, “make me.’ You narrowed your eyes at him, despite the erratic thundering of your heart.

Max matched your gaze, usually wide eyes squinted to a menacing stare before he kissed you. Unlike every other time he kissed you, his lips claimed yours, ensnaring you in an intoxicating haze that made your knees buckle and thank the heavens for the strong grip he had around your waist. He pressed you against the sink, disregarding the annoyed squeal that you let out when the back of your dress became soaked, instead he took the opportunity to slip his tongue inside your mouth.

The taste of him stained your taste buds, making you gasp and moan against him, wrenching your hands away from the counter to instead, latch them onto any part of his body they found available, moving sporadically from his thick shoulders to his grabbable waist and up until his neck where you had tugged at his hair in just the right way that made him groan and guide the pair of you away from the kitchen.

“shit” You gaped, licking your lips savouring his flavour melded with yours, unwanting to flutter open your eyes, lest the fog be pierced through with the unwanted clarity of your reality.

Thankfully, Max met you halfway between your desperate attempts of pulling him against your chest and dove to your exposed neck, sandwiching you between his form and the wall mere inches away from your bedroom door.

He sucked and nipped at your tender skin, trailing his lips down from your ear to the column of your neck, until your collarbone, where he found purchase on the area which made you gasp and arch into his hold, “You ready to take it back yet?” He smirked against you, watching his passion form into multiple purple-ish love bites.

“Not, hah, not really.” You attempt to shrug, but instead your eyes fly open when you feel him press his thigh against your core, “Ohh, you play dirty.” You hiss, bringing him away from your neck to slot your lips together once more, this time properly fighting for dominance with him, your faces melding against each other languidly as heavy breathes left both of you in tumultuous pants.

You barely registered the door clicking upon until he had you locked against the backside of it caging you between his arms, both palms braced next to your head as you cradled his cheeks in your hands.

“Off.” You demanded, tugging at his shirt, barely inching away so that he could rip off the article, throwing it somewhere for it to be collected later.

Your eyes glittered as you admired his chest, muscles rippling and pecs heaving as he shivered when your nails tugged at his nipples ever-so slightly.

Max held you again, this time trailing one of his hands up and under the material of your shirt, until his fingers breached the band of your bra, and instead of doing thee sane thing.

Max pulled away from your lips, looking at you expectantly for your retraction of your statement, consequently when you didn’t give him what he wanted, he hooked his fingers upwards and tore through the material. Leaving only the sound of your squeal and ripping fabric to permeate in the room.

“Max, that was prada, do you seriously need to cave-man your way through things?”

“Watch your mouth.” He answered darkly.

“Or what?”

“I’ll fuck it.”

You stared at him, the overwhelming butterflies had morphed into something darker, needier, controlling you in a way that made you want him to grab you buy the hair and shove his length down your throat until you cried.

“Do it.”

“Really?”

“You too chicken?”

Max gripped your wrist, pulling you towards the mirror, positioning you until you could see both of your reflections perfectly in the large surface, both of you were red, cheeks flushed and chests rising and falling rapidly.

“Strip.”

“What are you, the TSA?”

He growled and dropped to his knees before gripping your lounge pants and tugged them off as well, letting them pool at your ankles, leaving you in just a sweater and panties, exposed to your own eyes as your gaze remained transfixed on his.

You whine and nearly double over when you felt his finger prod the wet fabric that remained soaked over your folds, “You don’t stop watching, schat, want you watching me as I fuck you senseless.” You shiver as he brings his mouth closer towards the leaking cotton, hot breath fanning over your slick covered clothing.

“Stop-“ You whimper, tugging at the waistband, begging for him to give it the same treatment as your bra, “Take, hah, take it off. Please”

“Not so bold anymore, are you?” He chides, bringing one hand away from your thigh to deliver a harsh slap to your ass, hovering over your rippling skin to soothe the sting, “Hm? Too whored out to listen now?”

“I should be getting paid for this then.” You breathe out, laughing to yourself until he meets your dazed eyes in the mirror. Keeping you transfixed on his movements, Max shucks the crotch of your panties to the side too dip a singular finger into your folds before he nudges your clit and blows cool air onto the throbbing bundle.

You hiss and brace yourself on your knees, pushing back against his face, “Ahh, Fuck.”

Max grins, and licks a fat stripe within your pussy, clicking his tongue when he feels you flutter around the muscle and tastes your lust again, and again. Until you’re shaking and moaning, struggling to keep an eye on the reflective surface ahead.

“Don’t stop” You beg, arching backwards until your hands find his hair and you begin to guide his head against your sex, the feeling of euphoria ever rising in quick leaps and bounds.

Until it doesn’t.

You gasp sharply and almost scream when Max detaches from you with a satisfied sigh, a dazed look in his eyes as he watches tears prick on your eyelashes and you turn to look at him, betrayed, “What? You looked away,” He shrugged, standing up again before wiping at his mouth and licking the glistening wetness from his fingers.

You blubbered, mouth moving silently as no sound managed to escape your throat.

“Yes?” Max watched patiently as you crumpled and sunk to the floor infront of him, obediently waiting on your knees, “Look so verdomd perfect.” He hummed, tilting his head affectionately before crooking his fingers and gesturing for you to approach him at his perch on your shared bed.

Just as you were about to stand upright and scurry to him, Max tutted and with his foot, kept a heavy weight on your back. Your eyes widened up at his smug expression, until you grumbled under your breath and scuffled closer to him on your hands and knees.

A painfully embarrassed blush leached into your cheeks, “God- so humiliating.” You hiss, resting your cheek against his thigh.

“You wanna listen now?” Max bit his lip when you paused mid-eye roll, nose twitching when the once tender graze of his fingers against your chin turned into a harsher pull.

“Yeah, just really want to…” You trail off, a self-aware silence donning your tongue.

“You’re going to have to tell me..”

“I would rather not.”

“Well-“ He nodded and began to rise ”-that saves time.”

“No, no-“ You tug at his pant leg, “really want to..cum.” You bitterly mutter.

Max hummed in approval, hand coming to pet your head, “See? Was that so hard?”

“Yes.”

He tugged your head back using your hair, smiling cruelly when you hissed but giggled, “Fucking twisted… You like this, don’t you?” He waited over your open mouth before colleccting spit in his mouth, and dropped the degrading drop into your waiting mouth.

“’Dunno.” You gulped, gasping at the searing hot feeling that scuttled over your chest and throat.

“You sure?”

He guided you up, pulling your panties off simultaneously before sitting you onto his lap, balancing you on his spread thighs, “You sure?” Max cocked his head at you, holding your neck with one hand, the other keeping your waist in place against him.

“Crystal fucking clear.” You’re half tempted to spit on him but refrain from doing so when he arches a daring brow at you.

He swivelled you around in his hold, facing both of you into the mirror once again, but this time, you're back is flush against his chest, head resting limply on his shoulder until his fingers comes up to guide your gaze on his other hand that goes down to his gym shorts.

You shudder when he pulls out his cock, tall and proud in his fist with a red tip leaking pre-cum that made your mouth water and eyes shine.

Max chuckles at your expression, and slaps the tip against your ass a few times, “See that mijn hoer? Look how cockdrunk you look.”

“In, Max, please.” You beg quietly, shaking your hips in hopes he would slip it into your aching hole and heal you of the needy pit that had begun to blossom since the first time he left you high and dry.

“Didn’t hear you schat, speak up.” He ran his dick up and down the seam of your pussy, coating it in your juices and hissed when you shot up, feeling him barely slip into you.

“Please, fuck, Please I’ll do anything, just please fuck me, Goddamit Max I swe-“ You’re cut off by a medley of both your moans as he pushes in his length, “Fuck-“ You squeal, watching as you barely manage to sink down half way, “So big, feel so full Maxie, wanna take all of you though, wanna take it all.” You drool dumbly, forcing your hips lower despite the iron grip he has on them.

“Desperate, aren’t you?” He bites your ear before trailing soft kisses up and down the column pf your neck, even deviating away to pepper his lips at the back of your throat and down your spine.

“Yeah” You follow along, pushing further until you could feel a delightful resistance to your determination and your breathing labours.

“You’ll get hurt-“ He protests, already gritting his teeth and clenching his jaw in an attempt to stave of the luxurious pleasure, “Don’t, I’m serious.”

You interrupt his warning by pressing with more force, until you slip down his length rapidly, causing him to choke and groan, dark, ocean eyes rolling back as he lets himself fall back against the bed, “Fuck, schat, why- why would you do that?”

Ignoring his protest, you roll your hips, moaning loudly when his tip nudges the spongy part furthest within you. You continue to take pleasure from Max, biting your lips and bouncing on his cock with his help, of course, revelling in the feeling of his wandering hand coming up to tweak your nipples our cup your bouncing breasts from his position, laying down on the thick comforter that remained ruined beneath him.

The feeling approaches again, hesitantly like the playful shore breaching the sand and you welcome the sparks of passion with a guttural moan, until Max stops your reverent movements, causing you twitch and whine helplessly, the jittery sea already cresting away from you, taking its astringent sweetness along with it.

“Max.” You scold kicking your legs out.

“You” He thrusts up one, snickering when you fall forward, “Looked” He thrusts again, this time sitting up and plastering his sweaty chest to your back, “Away.” He thrusts once more before stilling and watching as the haze filters out of your pupils, leaving you just as wheepy as you once were, if not more.

“I was so close,” You cried, fat tears running down your cheeks, “You and this stupid mirror,” You curse, sniffling when his fingers came up to wipe away the tears sweetly.

“C’mon,” He urges, guiding your hips once more, “I know you can do it” Max encourages.

“I’m gonna beat your ass.” You promise, allowing him to bind both of your hands together behind your back with his own nimble fingers.

“Sure you will.” He satiates your mindless babbling, watching, amused as you begin to rut your hips continually, clenching around his cock in a way that makes him delirious.

Guiding you, Max controls your movements, one hand around your wrist whilst the other remains tucked between your thighs, tapping, and circling your clit until you begin to quiver and shake around him, just this time, your eyes remain glued ahead.

Whether you’re focusing or not, is another question, but even as your jaw goes slack and eyelashes flutter, your eyes remain open.

Max slaps harshly against your bundle of nerves, grunting throatily when you clench even harder and twitch in beetween your rabid bounces, “Doing so well f’me, yeah?”

You nod your head numbly, spit escaping between your lips and trailing down between your breasts, “Gonna cum Maxie.” You mumble, thighs already quaking and squeezing closed as Max follows suit, his grip on your body intensifying tenfold and cock pulsating until you can feel ropes of cum shoot within your walls, painting your insides with white.

This prompts you to moan, and throw your head back, finally giving up on the inter-personal staring contest to experience the long sought after wash of titillating pleasure and toe-curling bliss that makes your irises disappear within your skull.

Your vision spotted and faded a few times, until you could feel familiar pads of fingers run against your jaw, tapping gently, “Mijn liefje?”

“Mijn liefje? ben je oke?” Max asked again, this time shaking your head slightly, which remained limp against now what seemed to be his arm that wrapped like a poised snake around your breasts, balancing your chin.

“So good.” You confirm, weakly giving a thumbs up before noticing the slight red marks that adorned your wrists, which prompted you to hiss and inspect them, despite the lack of pain.

“Oh shit, does it hurt?” He took your wrists from you, pressing feather light kisses against them whilst rubbing his thumb against the skin, all whilst also brushing your hair out of your face.

“Max you are still inside of me.” You sass, clenching around him as proof, which makes him shudder and wheeze before going back to soothing your skin.

“Yeah, but it looks like it hurts” He coos, bringing a hand down to your ass, where visible handprints were already forming.

“It doesn’t”

“Yeah, it does.” His blonde eyebrows crease with worry as he leans further back, his eyes darting between the bright red indents of his fingers on your hips and the few dozen of love bites that seem to spread through the expanse of your backside, leading futher to your front.

“No max,” You hold his face, kissing his nose once before biting his cheek playfully, “It really doesn’t, I like them- you marked your territory” your voice drops, following his expressions closely, with a cheeky smile.

“What?”

“It means, I’m yours.”

“Well...” He clears his throat once, adjusting himself and you, so that you were now comfortably laying on the bed beneath his hungry, predatory gaze, still buried deep inside you, “You cannot blame me for what happens next.”

📻 Kcccchh.... come in.... come in...translatiion available...over

📻 Kchh...Dutch....to english....over

schat - Darling/Love/Babe [term of endearment]

Neuk mij - Fuck me

verdomd perfect - Damn perfect

mijn hoer - My whore

Mijn liefje - My darling

Mijn liefje? ben je oke - My darling? are you OK

MUTUALS GET INSTANT TAGS [vroomvroomcircuit. [tagged above], @disneyprincemuke, @verstappen-cult, @starkwlkr, @sailing-with-100-ships, @foreveralbon, @lorarri], IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED, PLEASE SEND IN AN ASK, AND MUTUALS LET ME KNOW IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO BE REMOVED ON PRIV !

[synamartia]

[ Featured Artwork © lustylita ] ❀ [ Featured Divider © cafekitsune ]

[ Story © synamartia ] ❀ [ Text Banner created via Text Studio ]

Content Warnings: Alastor x Reader ; Afab!Reader ; No pronouns or Y/N used ; Use of gendered pet names like "good/dirty girl" ; Explicit / MDNI / 18+ ; Sexual situations ; Sex pollen tripe (Love Potion) ; Hematolagnia (blood play) ; Biting ; Dom!Alastor ; Face-sitting ; Dirty talk ; Unprotected sex ; Vaginal penetration ; P in V sex ; Creampie ; Overstimulation ; Alastor is his own CW ; If I missed any, let me know! Word Count: 6,542 Summoning: @hazelfoureyes ; @minkdelovely ; @sugoi-writes ; @fraugwinska ; @lustylita ; @eris-norwega ; @rapturenyx ; @sirens-and-moonflowers ; @swagkittybear ; @l3rittany ; @chibistar45 ; @aceumbrellaheroes ; @pearly-sadness ; @mydickisjuicy ; @daisy-figmund ; @lunaorlunareclipse Author's Notes: Sorry for the delay on this one - we had a couple unexpected issues come up that cut into my editing opportunities ;A; Like Chapter Two, this one is a direct continuation of the previous chapter. I'm gonna try to make the next chapter the end of this particular scene, so we'll be getting into the plot soon! Get ready, 'cause it gets dark right out the gate! Also, I apologize ahead of time for the cut-off point - I know it's gonna leave some of ya'll with blue balls. But I'll make it up to you! I swear! Alastor's dialogue will be in bold red, thoughts in italics red, and Reader's will be in blue. If you would like to be added or removed from the tag list, let me know via ask/comment!

"Ah-! Fuck!"

You cried suddenly when he switched from kneading away at your breast to pinching your nipple, rolling the sensitive bud between his thumb and index finger. Your walls clenched tightly around his stiff cock at this, extracting a raspy whine from him. Alastor was making it damn near impossible to keep your eyes open, to focus on him. Every single thing he did, from the perpetual thrusting of his hips right down to the sounds that poured from his mouth had you close to creaming on his cock.

"Hm? You like that?" Alastor asked you, tone mocking as he parroted back your question regarding his ears. A jovial laugh echoed in yours when he saw your pout, your lip jutting forward as he leaned down closer to your chest, his thrusts diligent and relentless in their speed. It was amazing that the desk was still standing in spite of the rough pounding he was giving you. With one hand switching between massaging the spongy flesh of your breast to pinching and twisting its tip, Alastor's mouth attended to the other - teeth grazing the pebbled tissue, his lips wrapping around your erect nipple. Suckling gently, he began to flick his tongue over it a few times shortly before pulling away to place tender kisses to your heated, flushed skin. "Oh, my dear - you're so soft," he whispered, speaking more to himself than you, biting near your sternum hard enough to draw blood - sucking at the few droplets that trickled from the tiny wound seconds later.

Lapping at the small gashes in a soothing manner, he moaned into your skin as beads of the delectable red liquid coated his tongue. "So sweet," he mumbled against the malleable flesh. Alastor just knew your breasts would look positively radiant with bite marks, varying degrees of bruises and hickeys littering your skin - every single magnificent blemish a result of his ministrations. Knowing that he was the one to put them there had him twitching inside you, eager to make the images in his mind a reality.

"And all for me."

Alastor withdrew from your delectably beautiful breast, his lips popping loudly as the suction ceased. He took a moment to admire his work - the skin already beginning to darken where he had been suckling; his saliva that coated the hickey making it shine in the dim light; the red imprint of his hand and crescent shaped indentations of his nails where he unwittingly squeezed a little too hard; the way the surrounding area of your lacerated flesh where he bit you began to redden and swell. A sense of triumph and pride came over him, as he had been right - they did look absolutely radiant like this. It had him wondering what the rest of you would look like with similar markings; bite marks on the insides of your thighs and neck, scratches down your back made by his clawed hands, bruises littered across your chest and abdomen - his thrusts lost their rhythm at the thought of it all.

Soon after, Alastor was drawn from his imagination when he felt your hands in his hair again - only this time, your slender fingers were wrapped around the base of his antlers. How you were able to surprise him so easily, so often with such miniscule actions, he'd never know. "A-Ala- ...! Fuck, fuck, please- ...!" you choked out in between your gasping for air and loud sobs of ecstasy, your eyes fluttering as you fought against your own instincts, to keep them focused on his face. "Don't stop, don't stop, oh my god- ...! Oh fffuuu-!" you begged him, tears welling up in your eyes as you teetered right on the cusp of euphoria. A guttural moan from deep within his chest filled the air at the vice grip you had on both his antlers and his cock, nearly swallowed by the melodious sounds you were making and the steady slaps of skin on skin each time he slammed into you. His eyes shifted to radio dials as he watched the expressions you were making with exultation, basking in the marvelous rhapsodies you were singing for him.

Pressing his lips back against your breast, Alastor started to suck and bite in previously unmarked areas - determined to cover every inch of your silky skin. "Cum for me," he beckoned, control slipping from his fingers once again as he began to lose himself in the rapturous pleasure your body was providing. That was all you needed to hear - the sinful drag of his length within your dripping cunt finally pushing you over the edge, every muscle in your body contracting as the first waves of delicious gratification washed over you, swallowing you whole and claiming your senses. Alastor relished in the way your brows furrowed and your jaw dropped, a silent scream clinging to the back of your throat as you gave yourself over to the electrifying cascades. "Such a beautiful sight," he drawled, voice thick with lust and passion, the near deafening crackles and pops of static filling your ears - it was impossible that a more heavenly sight could exist, he thought.

If he could focus on anything else except the way you were squeezing him so tight, Alastor would be thinking of ways to save this moment, this beauty that you were oh-so-gracious enough to share with him. "... - sstor! A-Al-! Hoh- ohhh-! Mmmah-! Alasss- ...!" you couldn't form any coherent words, having been reduced to a blubbering mess as your walls clamed down on his erect member, the way they so greedily continued to suck him back in with each retraction of his hips, the near painful hold you had on him only serving to heighten the pleasure that accompanied it ten-fold.

"If you keep- ... Nnghh-! -keep squeezing me like that, darling-! Fuuhh-!" he tried to warn you, the futility of his words falling on deaf ears - he was too far gone, his words no longer mattered. Alastor had been so focused on coaxing another climax out of you that he failed to notice how close he was to his own, not until the suffocating grip you had on his cock was hurtling him down into the euphoric pits of bliss - forcing him to empty himself inside you for the second time. "Wait, wait- ...! Oh fuck, I'm-!" he cursed, unable to finish his sentence in time as his balls tightened and his mouth hung open, his breath hitching in his throat. He clenched his eyes shut and bowed his head, the sensations overwhelming him - your core dragging him down further and further with every pulse, every contraction of your muscles as he painted your walls white with his seed.

As you slowly came down from your high, seeing his reaction had you pouncing on the opportunity to give Alastor a little taste of his own medicine. You tightened your hold on his enlarged antlers, knuckles white as you pulled his head back and forced him to look up at you, a devious smirk dancing across your lips. "Eyes on me, dearest," you teased him, your tongue lingering on the last word as his body shook and shivered each time you pumped the velvety bones protruding from his skull - your hold pushing him straight into overstimulation with each stroke, every twist of your hands, your nimble fingers massaging gently over any branches you could reach.

Alastor stared up at you with hooded eyes, lips parted as he panted hard - his carefully curated mask of control and ambiguity faltering for a split second as he collapsed on top of you, his strength leaving his body. The small glimpse this gave you into his inner word had your smile softening into one of complete adoration, watching him rest his cheek on your breast, his smile exhausted and tranquil as he tried to level out his breathing.

Retracting your hands from the now shrinking bone, you laced your fingers into his disheveled crimson tresses, smoothing out the ruffled strands. "Good boy," you praised, letting the tips of your fingers stroke the backs of his hypersensitive ears, earning you a relaxed sigh as he nuzzled into your bosom. The two of you stayed like this for a few minutes - simply basking in the afterglow of your passionate acts and enjoying the silence that followed. It felt so surreal to you, being here with Alastor in such an intimate manner, unable to recall the last time you felt so peaceful, so safe in the arms of another person. If you could, you would have stopped time, if only to stay like this - in this moment for just a little while longer. You didn't want this feeling to disappear, absolutely terrified of what would come once it did.

'No, not now. I refuse to think about that - about him...'

Alastor broke his gaze first, closing his eyes and turning his head to place chaste kisses to your chest - and just like that, the mask had returned to its rightful place, barring you from the most vulnerable sanctuary of his inner world as the roiling waves of his release finally subsided, allowing him to take hold of the reins once more. A sigh of repose made its way past his lips as Alastor moved to stand up straight now, his hands wrapping around the back of your thighs. "My, my. Brazen little thing, aren't you?" his question rhetorical, his eyes drifting down your sweat covered figure as he pushed your legs further apart. He stared down at the place where your bodies were joined, pride swelling within his being while he admired the way he stretched you open.

Your walls clung to his shaft mercilessly, refusing to release their tight grip as he slowly retracted his hips until he'd pulled out of you entirely - sticky strings of his seen momentarily keeping you connected. "Fuck," Alastor groaned as he watched the viscous white fluid seep from your quivering hole and roll down your ass, a few beads dripping onto the carpeted floor beneath him, admiring the way your pussy clenched around nothing. With his left hand, he swiped at any drops he could catch and pushed it back inside with his index and middle fingers, pumping his digits slowly, eliciting a strangled whine out of you and causing your thigh to strain against his other hand. A haughty laugh erupted from his chest at your weak attempts to close your legs, removing his fingers from your core and bringing them up to your mouth.

"Open,"

Alastor commanded you, then pushed his fingers past your lips to press flat against your tongue. "So messy," he breathed out as you sucked his digits clean of your mixed fluids, not wanting a single drop to go to waste. Satisfied with your obedience, Alastor withdrew his fingers from your mouth a few moments later and cupped your cheek - brushing his calloused thumb over the remnants of your running mascara and eventually drifting back down to press against your lower lip. In that instance, his ever-present smile softened into one of serenity and contentment, drinking in this moment of complete ataraxy.

He could feel the effects of the Love Potion finally begin to drain from his body, being replaced with a sense of relief and... disappointment. 'Something's not right here,' Alastor realized, noticing that despite having successfully remedied his symptoms, he still very much so desired your company and affection. He rarely experienced emotions of a sexual nature outside his ruts, and he couldn't recall having ever felt romantic attraction to anyone in life or in death, so it was strange that he found himself wanting to drag this out as long as possible. But why? What about you was so different that had him betraying his preferences, yearning for your touch and longing to hear those sweet whispers over and over again until you couldn't speak?

Perhaps Love Potion was more than just a potent aphrodisiac and he simply underestimated the range of effects that spray could have on a person. He never had any reason to learn anything about it before tonight, viewing it strictly as another pointlessly annoying invention by those bandwagon riding hacks, so he was in the dark just as much as you. Or maybe his rut hit him early this time around. Whatever the case, Alastor refused to admit these were his own raw, unfiltered emotions and desires - it was too ridiculous, too comical a notion to be true. Him, the Radio Demon, the great and powerful Alastor, famous for his sadistic brutality, experiencing feelings as asinine and weak as romance? How utterly absurd!

... Unfortunately, the longer it went on, the more he was forced to acknowledge the horrendous possibility that dreadful mixture had only served as a catalyst to something much greater than a simple romp in the hay.

'This won't do,' Alastor thought, knowing he had to uproot these feelings of infatuation as soon as possible - before they grew beyond containment and become a threat of any sort. And yet, he couldn't bring himself to do it. He was fully aware that it was a foolish decision, to not cut this off at the source immediately, but he couldn't help himself. The brilliance with which your eyes shined and the promises of bliss your body continued to make even now had him second guessing that course of action. But there was still a very real possibility, one much more likely that this was just a passing fancy brought on by the drug, and all he needed to do was get it - get you out of his system. 'Yes, that's all I need to do,' he told himself, deciding that he would indulge in these cravings - and you - for a little while longer.

Impulsively, Alastor leaned down again to give you a sweet kiss. His lips lingered on yours, one hand moving to curl around the back of your neck, the other finding your waist as he tugged you up into a sitting position. What started out as an innocent kiss soon turned more playful when he felt your teeth nipping and tugging on his lip, causing him to pull away with a light-hearted chuckle. "Quite the mischievous little minx, too," he said as he continued to smile down at you, a breathy giggle emerging from your throat in response to his statement. "There's the pot calling the kettle black," you mused, letting your hands rest on his forearms and leaning forward to press your head against his bare chest. "Hmm... I prefer the term 'cheeky monkey', but I suppose mischievous works just as well," he countered, lightly massaging the base of your scalp.

Silence filled the space between you as your exhaustion was quickly catching up, and you struggled to keep your eyes open. You had to stifle yet another yawn, something that did not go unnoticed by Alastor when he pulled you back gently by your hair to see your face better. "Tired? Would you like to stop?" he asked you, his grin widening when he saw the confusion on your face. Alastor looked down at the small space between your bodies, then to your face as a single brow rose - as if he was hinting for you to look down as well. "As enjoyable as that was, I don't think it was enough to rid my body of these pesky symptoms," he blamed that god-awful concoction, adamantly refusing to admit these desires were all his and nothing more. Following Alastor's suggestions, you looked down to see that he was once again fully erect, beads of precum leaking from his head to join with the remnants of your mixed essences. "Damn... What the hell did they put in that potion?" you asked jovially as you looked back up at him, a smile to match his own plastered across your face.

"I've not the slightest clue," Alastor laughed along with you at this predicament you've found yourselves in, glad that you both were now able to make light of the situation your mistake had caused. "But I will most definitely be having a little chat with our friend, Angel, about bringing such paraphernalia into this establishment come morning," he promised, his voice coming out as a growl as Angel's name rolled off his tongue. Alastor wholeheartedly blamed Angel for this chain of events - had he kept to the initial agreement when taking up residence at Hazbin Hotel, the drug never would have been anywhere near your naive self, and he wouldn't be tearing himself apart inside trying to figure out what it is he truly felt for you. Was it a fair judgement? Probably not, but it was of no concern to Alastor.

That was Charlie's job, not his.

"Uh-huh... And will this be a chat, chat, or should I stock up on tissues and ice cream before telling Charlie that her first guest is, ya know-" you ran your finger in a straight line across your neck as a way of saying 'dead'. Your question pulled him from his thoughts and Alastor blinked innocently. "Oh, heaven's no! I'm not going to kill him over something so frivolous as this!" he reassured you, waving a hand in the air to dismiss the idea. He had thought about it, sure - but it would bring more trouble than it was worth. He would never hear the end of it from Charlie and her pet; not to mention the numerous problems that would occur following his butchery of an owned soul, one belonging to a rival Overlord, and of high quality and value as Angel Dust. He could easily handle whatever the Vee's threw at him without breaking a sweat, but he'd rather not invite that kind of trouble to his doorstep just yet, not with the impending Extermination steadfastly approaching.

"He wouldn't die anyway, unless I used angelic steel. I'd rather save myself the headache he would give me after he puts himself back together."

Alastor had to hand it to Angel, though. He was mildly impressed by the resilience of his soul as well as his mind. When there was more than a fifty percent gap in the level of power, usually the owned soul would lose their sense of autonomy and become a mindless drone within the owner's ranks - but not him. Angel not only maintained his sentience after selling his soul, but he also still possessed the will to fight back too - and fight back, he did whenever Val's abuse stepped outside the parameters of their contract, a feat deserving of his praise. He had potential, that one. "Besides, it's far too entertaining to watch him annoy Husker. Poor fellow brings it on himself," he explained and waved away your concerns, soon turning his attention back to the growing ache within his loins.

"Okay, good. It's not really his fault, anyway," you mumbled as you thought of how you were going to get to Angel first - you had to warn him, at least. He may have brought Love Potion into the hotel, but you were the one ignorant enough to spray a previously unknown substance around one of the most feared demons Hell has ever known in recent memory. Angel already had one Overlord breathing down his neck, abusing him at every turn - it would eat you alive if you were the reason a second was added to the mixture. Drawing your attention back to him, Alastor lowered his hands to your hips and pulled you closer, pressing himself against you in an effort to alleviate some of his pain. "But I can think of a couple things that would be far more entertaining than a cat trying to swat away a spider," he purred, static popping loudly as he leaned down to steal another kiss from you, to which you happily returned.

The moment was fleeting as Alastor pulled back and reached behind you to the small vintage radio sitting near the corner of his desk. He pulled the knob to power it up and turned a few dials until smooth jazz began to play from its speakers. Although still mildly irked by your earlier actions - when you covered your mouth in an attempt to silence yourself - he remembered the embarrassment he saw in your eyes. Now that he was able think more clearly on it, he realized how much it truly bothered you to be heard by someone else other than him, and it sent small pangs of guilt all throughout his being. 'How inconsiderate of me,' he thought, cursing himself for not having any restraint despite his warning of the possibilities earlier. Alastor owed you an apology for the way he ignored your feelings in pursuit of his own pleasure, especially when you had been nothing but compassionate and accommodating of his needs.

Taking a step back, Alastor bent over to unlace his shoes and remove his remaining garments that were wrapped around his ankles - allowing you a glimpse of something curious. Initially, you had no idea what it was as you leaned forward, then side to side in an attempt to get a better look at it. "Hmm...?" Alastor hummed when he stood up straight, immediately noting the perplexed expression that overtook your features as he kicked his trousers and briefs to the side. "Something the matter, dear?" he asked you, tilting his head to the side as you pressed your lips into a thin line. You continued to eye the neatly groomed ball of crimson and black fluff for a few seconds before it finally dawned on you what it might have been.

Does... he have a tail?

"Alastor, is that a tail?" you blurted without thinking, immediately slapping both of your hands over your mouth right after. "Oh- that," he said nonchalantly, moving to stand between your legs once more. Your body tensed as you awaited his reaction, certain that you had earned yourself a good scolding for such an impolite question. You hadn't meant to be so bold or outright, but you've long since known that your body and your brain hadn't been on the same page since the moment all of this began. "Yes, it's a tail," Alastor responded with a sigh and turned slightly, swishing the puff of fur side to side a couple times to amuse you before turning back. "I'm sorry, that was rude- ...!?" you tried to apologize, but a surprised squeal interrupted your speech when his sharpened claws sunk into your posterior after he hoisted you up off the desk, your hands shooting up to grab onto his shoulders and legs wrapping around his waist in the process.

"It's alright, darling," Alastor reassured you, spinning around and taking a few long strides to the rarely used bed. "While I'm not particularly fond of it, my tail isn't something that I've ever gone out of my way to hide," he explained, dropping you onto the mattress and climbing on top of you soon after, nestling himself in between your legs as you breathed a sigh of relief - albeit a short-lived one. He leaned down to whisper in your ear, causing your body to tense right back up with each word that spilled from his lips. "Although, you are correct - it was quite rude to ask such a thing," he clicked his tongue in mock disapproval, his pointed teeth nipping at the shell of your ear, then moving down to tug on the lobe. "Perhaps I should give you a lesson in proper etiquette, hm?" Alastor mused, rolling his bare hips against yours, sending shivers up and down your spine, not missing the flash of panic in your eyes when his words finally registered in your brain.

'Shit. Shit, shit, shit- fucking hell, fuck my life!' you thought, trying to reel yourself back in and failing miserably. If this 'lesson' of his was anything like the punishment he had doled out earlier, you knew you were in for a rough night - one that would leave you physically incapable of walking out of his room come morning. "No- ...! Al, no, no... i-it was just a slip of the tongue, I swear!" your pleas had no effect on him though, his lips ghosting over the carotid artery in your neck, then over your collar bone and traveling further down to your breasts. "I'm sorry, please- ...!" you spoke, only to be interrupted by Alastor's stern gaze, looking up at you as he placed butterfly kisses to your bare chest and his teeth grazed over your erect nipple. "I know you are, dear," Alastor started, kissing further down your diaphragm to your navel, not breaking eye contact for even a millisecond. "But if 'sorry' fixed everything, there would be no hell, no demons, and we most definitely would not be in this hotel," he smirked wickedly, knowing that you couldn't argue with the point he had just made - your silence proved as much.

Alastor continued to move south, soon reaching the delicious mound between your thighs, never once thinking it would be this fun, this intoxicating. But, as much as he wanted to devour you and everything you had to offer him, he was on a self-imposed mission now and couldn't let himself get distracted. He would have the chance to indulge himself in a few short moments, anyway. Heated breath fanning over your soaked core, Alastor lightly kissed and nipped at the insides of your thighs, past your knees and down your calves - stopping momentarily for a taste of your blood that was still seeping from your self-inflicted wound. He groaned as the taste of copper coated his tongue, one hand wrapping around your ankle, deft digits unclasping the strap of your heel - repeating the process with the other and discarding both seconds later.

Sighing in defeat, you wiggled your newly freed toes while Alastor began to kiss his way back up your body until he was face to face with you again. "W-well then... what would this lesson entail, exactly?" you asked nervously, resigning yourself over to your fate as you tried to sift through your mixed emotions, unable to differentiate your anxiety from your excitement for the coming lesson. "Ah, ah, ah - patience, my dear," Alastor chuckled darkly at your question, not bothering to answer it as he roughly pressed his lips to yours and pinched one of your pert nipples. "Mmph-phh!" you whined, your body flinching at the pain his digits were causing as he twisted the sensitive flesh between his thumb and forefinger. Alastor pulled back, his teeth dragging your bottom lip with him as far as it would go - releasing it and your pebbled nipple simultaneously a few seconds later.

"On your knees."

Gulping audibly, you moved to sit up and reposition yourself in the center of his bed, eager yet a bit fearful of what he had in store. "O-okay... now what?" Alastor didn't answer your question at first, his figure evaporating into a cloud of black smoke only to reform in the space behind you. You couldn't see what he was doing, feeling the bed shift with his every move, causing your heart to race as you did your best to wait patiently for whatever it was that he had planned. "Now, we're going to play a little game, love," Alastor whispered in your ear, using his knee to force your legs further apart, tracing his lips down the rigid vertebrae of your spine. He placed one final kiss at the small of your back, eventually moving to lie flat on his own and scooting upwards until his face was between your thighs.

Looking down when you felt his antlers scrape across your sensitive skin, you had to cover your mouth with both hands to stile a laugh. "Alastor, what are you doing?" you asked, not expecting to have seen just his head in this position nor the uncharacteristic look of innocence he was giving you - a stark contrast to his previous display of dominance moments ago. "I told you already - we're going to play a game, one that will teach you some proper manners," Alastor explained despite knowing that your question was rhetorical - he knew it must have been an amusing sight, to look down and see his face when you were likely expecting him to whisper sweet nothings in your ear as he took you in every which way he pleased. He still intended to do exactly that, but not before you finished this game he just now concocted. Hands latching on to your hips, Alastor pulled your lower body down until you could feel his breath against your warmth each time he exhaled, that devilish silver tongue of his licking a single long stripe from your opening up and over your clit, then back down again.

"The rules are simple enough," Alastor began to explain, hands drifting down from your hips to the tops of your thighs and squeezing lightly. "I'll go easy on you, my darling doe. All you have to do is name five basic etiquette rules. If you stop talking, I stop," he paused mid-sentence to lick another stripe up your slick folds, "if you slow down, I slow down," another pause, this time flicking the tip of his tongue over the pink nub in between. "And if you cum before reciting them to me, trust that I won't let you cum again tonight," he promised, smile wide and wicked, a mischievous laugh following his words. You broke out into a cold sweat as he explained, your nerves kicking into overdrive as you tried to remember what the rules were. Most of them were common courtesy and usually taught to everyone during childhood, but with your mind so clouded with lust, you couldn't think of a single one. On the bright side, at least he only wanted you to name five.

"A-and... what if I can't recite any of these rules?" you asked sheepishly, biting the inside of your cheek to hold back your mewls when he dipped his tongue inside your plush walls and swirled all around them, retreating soon after and returning to your clit. He pulled back just enough to speak, inhaling your sweet scent and fighting back the urge to dive right back in - rules be damned. "Hmm... I'll give you one hint. After that, well... You're on your own. Use it wisely, my dear," his voice trailed off, eyes glowing a bright red as you stared at each other.

"Now, shall we begin, my sweet?"

Fuck, this was going to be hard. How the fuck were you supposed to think and form coherent sentences when his ministrations were lighting every single nerve in your body on fire? And you hadn't even begun yet! Alastor was awaiting your signal to start, anticipation and impatience gnawing away at his self-control. "Ooohhh- ohh-kaah- aay-! Let's staa-hahh- arrrt-!" you cried, trying to focus your mind so that you could begin. "Wonderful," he responded shortly before diving back in for another taste of your honey sweet essence. He started by poking and prodding at your slick entrance, then moved up to suck on your clit as you moaned softly with each suckle, each flick over the small cluster of nerves. He could see the gears turning in that pretty little head of yours, trying to find the words to recite the first rule of basic etiquette.

"O-okay, uhm... fuck," you whispered. "One rule is- so the first rule, I mean- nnghh!" a harsh suckle from Alastor was making it hard for you to focus on anything except the pleasure he was giving you. "A-always be respectful to others-!" With one rule down, you heard Alastor hum softly into your heated flesh, gasping loudly when he opened his mouth wider and pressed his tongue flat against your delicious mound, making long, firm strokes. "Aaahh-! Another rule i-is... shit, another rule is- ... is, be punctual- hahh! Let someone k-know if you're going to be- fuck! -To be late!" Rule number two, done; three to go. You tried to keep talking, even if it was just a bunch of babbling nonsense. You didn't want him to slow down or stop, but as the coil in your belly tightened rapidly and threatened to snap at any second, you recalled the third rule he had given you:

'And f you cum before reciting them to me, trust that I won't let you cum again tonight.'

Those words rang in your ears as you reluctantly closed your mouth and forced yourself to stop talking, trying to cool yourself off and push back your orgasm. Alastor wasn't pleased by this, but he was the one that set the rules, so he obeyed - stopping his movements and glaring up at you, his nails digging into the fat of your thighs as a warning not to test his already too thin patience. "Go on," he urged you, his right hand retreating from your leg to travel down his own body to his painfully erect cock, precum dripping from his slit and rolling down the length of it to soak the patch of neatly groomed crimson hair at his base. Swallowing hard, you nodded your head and opened your mouth to continue speaking even though you had not yet come down completely. "A-ask for permission, an-nnnghh-! And uhmm- oh fuck! Fuck, c-cover your mouth when you... when you sneeze, or cough- oh my god!" you recited rule number three and four in quick succession, your hands shooting down to twist and tug at his magnificently opulent head of red and black hair, eventually moving to wrap around the base of his antlers, looking for something to ground yourself as you tried to think of one final rule.

"You're doing well, Mon Amour. One more, and then you can let go," Alastor promised you, lazily stroking his hardened length in an effort to alleviate some of the pain, a bead of pre rolling down the length of it and mixing with your combined essences in the space between his shaft and balls. A soft whine escaped his throat when he tightened his grip and began to pump himself with a little more vigor, drool mixed with the delicious nectar spilling from your core trickling down the sides of his face and coating his chin. "Come now, don't keep me waiting. You can do it," he mumbled against your flesh, waiting for you to begin speaking again.

Alastor continued to pump his shaft, gradually gaining speed as you remained silent, panting hard and squeezing his antlers even harder, struggling to fight back your release long enough to finish the game. But the sight beneath you was one to behold, indeed - you couldn't bring yourself down even a smidgen as you admired the way the soft light shone on his disheveled hair, how his hooded eyes spoke volumes on what he was feeling, new branches forming and growing from the main roots of his antlers as control began to slip from his fingertips once more. And just as you stared at him, he stared back. His own eyes traveled from your blissed out expression, pupils blown wide with lust, to the bite marks and hickeys scattered across your neck and collarbone, and further down to the curve of your supple breasts heaving as you tried to catch your breath before you continued. "My sweet doe, please..." Now he was the one that was begging, voice thick with seduction and desperation. Had you not been so close to your peak, you would have taken full advantage of the opportunity to dominate him this time around.

You watched him for a couple seconds, listening as his breathing became more ragged and the slick sounds of his hand rapidly pumping his shaft grew louder and louder. Moans soon replaced his huffs and gasps as he pushed himself closer to his climax, almost foregoing his own game and devouring your sweet little cunt as he chased his high - but no. He persevered, pinching his tip suddenly to push back his own release in favor of hearing the last rule he so eagerly waited for you to speak. He didn't have to wait for long, as you finally felt comfortable enough to open your mouth and continue speaking, pressing your drenched core down and grinding slow, harsh circles on his mouth. "A-and the last rule- nnghh oh fuck me, just like that-!" you whispered, grip tightening around his antlers as Alastor growled against your ambrosian heat, his left hand moving down to join the other by cupping his aching balls, kneading and rolling them between his digits, slurping messily and sucking harshly on your clit as he came closer and closer to his release.

"The last rule i-is- hahhh-! A-always... always say please and thank you!" you finished, closing your eyes and throwing your head bad in ecstasy, your hips gyrating, desperately chasing that breath-takingly, blissful release. "Oh my god, fuck- thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank youuu-ahh! Please, keep going, Al-!" you cried as the blinding, white hot euphoria crashed into you at long last, tremors wracking your entire body as you rode out your high, your essence pouring from your cunt and down Alastor's throat, eliciting a graphic, drawn out groan as he vigorously pumped away at his cock - too far gone to care that you had broken the golden rule by looking away from him. Not wanting to cum just yet, Alastor retracted his hands from his aching shaft and grabbed hold of your waist, lifting you slightly to slip out from beneath you.

"You're so good for me! So good," Alastor murmured as he moved to sit on his knees behind you, pushing your body forward until you were on your hands and knees. Grabbing hold of your hips and dragging you closer to him, he didn't waste any time as he guided his throbbing member to your quivering hole, your juices making it easy for him to slip inside with minimal resistance. Setting a brutal pace almost instantly, Alastor held you by the hips as you lowered your upper body until your face was pressed against the heavy duvet, your hands clenching the thick fabric as Alastor pounded away at your overstimulated pussy, his balls slapping loudly against your clit as your walls clamped down on his engorged cock. "Hah- A-Ah! Ala- fuck, yes, just like that! Please don't stop, please don't stop, don't stop!" you babbled, your voice muffled by the blanket as you closed your eyes tightly, riding the aftershocks while he used you for his own gratification.

"Fuuuhh-ckkk!" you barely heard Alastor curse, his voice almost completely drowned out by the rhythmic 'pap! pap! pap!' sound of skin on skin, his thrusts becoming more animalistic with every slap, every plea you cried than bounced off the walls and invaded his senses. His eyes traveled down the length of your arched spine, watching as ripples were sent through the fat of your ass each time his hips made contact, his cock sliding against your pliant walls with ease, his tip bullying your cervix. "Hah! Hah! Fuh- ... uhah! Ala- ... Hah! Ah!" you practically screamed, his thrusts interrupting any attempts to say his name each time he plowed forward.

"Take it, take it, fucking take it- fuck!"

[ Master Post ] ❀ [ Chapter One ] ❀ [ Chapter Two ] ❀ [ Chapter Three ] ❀ [ Chapter Four ] ❀ [ Chapter Five ] Chapter Four Coming Soon~!

[suosteacup]

Shared this blurb with my fellow @/pixelcafe-network members yesterday about Suo + nipple play via Discord first, so why not also here? 🙂 No beta coz we cum and die like men; dividers by @cafekitsune

Imagine Suo coming home from patrolling the town one day only to find you sitting on the sofa scrolling through your phone screen, wearing a flimsy tank top and short flimsy shorts. Too much skin shown smh and on top of that, you’re not wearing anything underneath that tank top, so your boobs are seen-through the top + nipples are perking lol

Next thing you knew, you’re straddling onto his lap, whimpering and hands gripping tightly on his shoulders; your neck littered with hickeys—“so they’ll know whom you’re belong to”—and Suo is currently licking one of your tits through your top, a small patch of wetness forming around it thanks to him teasing your perky nipples. To add to the building sensation inside your stomach, he keeps on rubbing your throbbing pussy to and fro through your short shorts.

“S-suo… wait—“

He stops all but licking them buds. “Eh~? I thought we both agreed to calling each other on a first-name basis? It’s Hayato, remember… Y/N-chan?” His ruby-colored eye stares darkly at you, full of lust. You shiver at the sudden feeling.

“…Ha… Hayato, please…”

“Please what? Use your words, princess.”

“P-please make me cum from playing my nipples.”

Suo hums in delight and gently bites one abused bud through the flimsy fabric. “Here we go…” and starts sucking and licking on a nipple hard while one hand is flicking and scratching the other with his fingernails.

“Hayato… I’m gonna cum… C-CUMMIIIIIIIING!!!”

--+--

Bonus:

”Where are you going? We’re just getting started, princess—I haven’t tasted you yet.”

Another bonus:

"Barely, huh? When your sweet little pussy is twitching crazy to me? Liar." Suo says in a dark tone, the word ‘liar’ punctuated with a hard slap on your cunt, dipping two of his fingers between your puffy netherlips and gathering slick before bringing it to his lips. He sucks them with much gusto, pulling them away with a loud pop, grinning at your trembling form. "Sweet~ just the way I like it!"

Likes are okay, reblogs are nice, reposts and plagiarism stuff are frowned upon 🥰 | ALL WORKS BY SUOSTEACUP © 2024

[bleach-your-panties]

KEEP IT JUICY LIKE COUTURE !~ ☆》

- how they eat the 😽🎀 pt 1.

-sugawara, nishinoya, yamaguchi, & tendo! all appropriate age/timeskip age. fem reader.

dividers by adia_morbid via glitter-graphics, @/h-aewo, and @/cafekitsune

☆Koushi Sugawara:

Type of Eater - Slow, Patient, Meticulous

Song: Under - Pleasure P

When Sugawara is eating you out, he most certainly takes his time.

He is a teacher, so his patience is unmatched - especially when it comes to making his special girl feel good.

Prefers more private, intimate settings for oral activities, but is not opposed to eating you out in the teacher's longue at the end of the school day.

"Kou-, wait a second! Is it really appropriate to do this here?! What if somebody walks in?"

*(Both reader and Sugawara are teachers!)

He's kneeling in front of you, his greyish-silver hair slightly mussed, white dress shirt ruffled at the collar from you yanking on it during a heated makeout session, tie askew.

His glasses teeter on the bridge of his nose in danger of slipping off.

Your back arches into the counter behind you, thighs rubbing together in attempt to hold in the slick wetness that's forming between your thighs as your lover looks up at you with those big, round, chocolate-hazel eyes.

"Early-release day, honey." His voice is low and sickeningly sweet while he rubs his hands up your stocking-clad thighs until he reaches the tops.

Rolling them down your hips and over your plush thighs, Sugawara surges forward and grips the fat of them, pushing them up and outwards before letting them close around his head.

Your fingers entangle themselves in his hair as he begins licking you with long, methodical laps of his tongue, up and through your glistening folds. He entire mouth covers your sex as he begins to suck on your clit slowly, swirling his tongue in wide circles.

"K-Koushi..."

His fingers tighten on your flesh while he continues suckling on your bud. He presses you open further and his tongue dives deep into your hole.

"Koushi!"

Your thighs quiver and squeeze around his head while your abdomen clenches and you squirt your orgasm all over his beautiful face.

He leans back and slides his glasses off. Your cum covers him, carefully dripping down over his cheekbones and that cute mole under his left eye.

"Looks like you had an early release as well."

-

☆Yuu Nishinoya

Type of Eater: Messy, Playful, Eager

Song: Dive In - Trey Songz

He is very eager to eat you out, always. You don't even have to ask him, he just somehow always knows.

You could be reclining on the couch with your knees slightly apart, and when you reach over to grab the remote and look back at your show, there his head is, betwixt your thighs.

Loves for you to ride his face and make a mess on it, too.

Can he breathe? Probably not, but ask him if he cares.

Yuu was due to return home today from a long expedition at sea. He often wishes that you can join him on his sometime-months-long trips around the world, but you have a stable job in Tokyo where you both reside together.

You were on the lying on the couch waiting for him in nothing but one of his old volleyball jerseys and a pair of black lace panties.

When the door clicked open and the sound of his suitcase's wheels rolling across the floor reached your ears, a drizzle of arousal slid down your chunky thigh.

"I'm home, baby girl!" His loud, cheerful voice was right next to your ear. As soon as you turned your head, your lips were engulfed in a sloppy, wet kiss.

Yuu circles his arms around your upper back and lifts you up until your thighs are straddling his head.

Yuu-!

"Too late, he's already gotten started. He uses one hand to lift up your (his) shirt and circle his tongue around your belly button before dipping his tongue in.

You nudge his head with your elbow and he pulls back to look up at you with huge chocolate eyes.

"What?" He nips at your side, making you yelp, "You should know better than to wear my jerseys and think that I won't absolutely devour you, right here and right now."

He straightens up, presses you against the back of the couch, and dives right back in.

"Yuu! Yuu, you need to breathe!" You moan and grip the back of his shirt with your nails as he drags the flat of his tongue through your pussy lips and up to your clit before latching on with his lips, sucking hard.

"MmphnoIdonf." He mumbles while continuing to lick, slurp, and kiss through your drenched folds. His forehead is slick with your juices, making his hair flatten down.

He really, really missed you this time.

-

☆Tadashi Yamaguchi

Type of Eater: Shy, Careful, Inexperienced

Song: Just A Friend - Mario

Tadashi and you have been friends since high school.

You both had a crush on each other, but did that thing where you both acted oblivious to the other's desires.

So after graduating from Karasuno, you both attend the same university just like you both planned.

So with the notion that the only thing the two of you will ever be is friends, you move into an apartment together.

Tadashi is out doing the monthly grocery shopping while you tidy up your shared space. When you finish, he's still not back yet, so you decide to go lie down in your room and peruse social media while you wait for your freckle-faced friend to return.

After what feels like hours of you mindlessly scrolling and liking pics on Instagram, you hear the front door slam closed and Tadashi call your name.

He has a cute smile on his face as he asks you to help him put away the groceries, in which you comply.

A quick, simple dinner is prepared and eaten before you both retreat to your room to watch a show.

Tadashi rests his head on your thigh as usual - nothing out of the ordinary - until he rests a large palm on the inside of it, dangerously close to your clothed pussy.

"Yam-Yams?"

His eyes move up to your face and his dick begins to stir awake at the soft, caring look mirrored in your own e/c orbs.

'Fuck it' he says in his mind, and with a surge of confidence he moves his hand closer to your cunt.

It's shaking; he's nervous as hell to ask to eat you out, mostly because he's never done it before. But it's you; you'll be patient with him, even guide him along the way.

So, with an unsteady hand, he slips his fingers beneath the fabric and pulls the panties to the side. He pauses, waits for you to stop him - to pull away in disgust.

You're still gazing at him, now with lidded eyes, and you give a little nod.

Tadashi pulls himself onto his elbows and spreads your thighs further apart with his free hand. A soft, surprised 'oh' escapes your lips when he bites down on your thigh gently, nipping the flesh before he licks through the crease, his tongue grazing your outer lips.

"Tadashi!"

You're shivering - did he do something wrong?

But when you thread your fingers through his hair and push his head closer into your warm center, he grows confident.

His little nose bumps your clit as he gives you kitten licks; the action itself is so sweet and sinfully sexy that it has your toes curling.

The speed of his licks increases at your sounds and he grips your thighs to keep you firmly planted in the mattress.

After you finish (which, he can't believe he made you cum), his cheeks are red, making his freckles stand out even more as he gives you the biggest smile ever.

-

☆Satori Tendo

Type of Eater: Unconventional, Teasing, Mean

Song: Surgery - Peewee Longway, MPA Turk

Tendo is the worst tease on the face of this Earth.

He's mean too, loves to degrade you and make you blush about how well he eats you and how he always leaves you begging for more.

He talks a lot of shit while eating it.

Mans is a menace, fr.

"Satori, please."

You groaned, trying to pull your boyfriend's red head from between your aching legs, to no avail.

"Y-you're killing me...please, 'Tori. Let me have just a little break."

Tendou scoffed and pulled his long fingers from your swollen cunt. A stream of squirt followed them, adding to the soaked towels beneath your ass.

"You act like this is my first time eating you. Man up, Y/N." He cackled evilly and slapped your pussy with the back of his hand, making your hips jerk. He laughed harder.

He kept his devilish eyes trained on you and dropped his long, slender body off the edge of the bed. Hiking your legs over his shoulders, he dove right back in.

Tendou alternated between sucking your lower lips, your clit, fingering you, and slapping your pubic mound.

"Hmm, sweetest thing I ever had in my mouth." He chuckled at his own quip, spit on your pussy, and sucked it right back up before repeating the process.

You mewled and screamed his name, voice only growing hoarser from having already yelled it out so much over the last couple hours. A harsh shiver - another orgasm - racked through your body, making you slump down on the pillows.

Satori licked his lips and looked up at you before smacking your thigh, hard.

"No passing out during a session, Y/N. There's no fun in that. Don't you want to beat your record of squirting five times in a row, back to back?"

Tiredly, you shook your head. You might be saying no, but you only arched your soaked cunt further towards his mouth, making him grin.

As mean as he was, you couldn't get enough of that sinful mouth. He was both your heaven and your hell.

"Too bad for you then. Because I'm going to suck on this pussy until I'm satisfied."

----

#💗💗🍡°tagging: @prettybraat @cunttani @yuujispinkhair @honeybleed @hoesluvshanti @chrollohearttags @darkstarlight82 @krenee1drful

*let me know how i did y'all!*

[synamartia]

[ Featured Artwork © lustylita ] ❀ [ Featured Divider © cafekitsune ]

[ Story © synamartia ] ❀ [ Text banner created via TextStudio ]

Content Warnings: Alastor x Reader ; Afab!Reader ; No pronouns or Y/N used ; Use of gendered pet names like "good/dirty girl" ; Explicit / MDNI / 18+ ; Sexual situations ; Sex pollen trope (Love Potion) ; Begging ; Thigh fucking ; Self-harm (kind of? Reader intentionally scratches themself hard enough to draw blood) Hematolagnia (blood play) ; Dacryphilia ; Choking ; Dom!Alastor ; Unprotected sex ; Vaginal penetration ; P in V sex ; Creampie ; Alastor gets a little mean, and is his own CW ; If I missed any, let me know! Word Count: 6,695 Summoning: @hazelfoureyes ; @minkdelovely ; @sugoi-writes ; @fraugwinska ; @lustylita ; @eris-norwega ; @rapturenyx ; @sirens-and-moonflowers ; @swagkittybear ; @l3rittany ; @chibistar45 ; @aceumbrellaheroes ; @pearly-sadness ; @mydickisjuicy ; @daisy-figmund ; @lunaorlunareclipse Author's Notes: This chapter is a direct continuation of the previous one, with slightly heavier emotional undertones. For those that have been here since the first Smutmus ask, ya'll remember when I said Alastor had Reader "in every position in the Kama Sutra"? Yeah, we explore that a bit in this one! There is a small part where Alastor becomes more forceful that may be triggering for some, so I've added a divider at the beginning and end of that particular scene for those that wish to skip past it. Alastor's dialogue will be in bold red, thoughts in italics red, and Reader's will be in blue. If you would like to be added or removed from the tag list, let me know via ask/comment!

Alastor watched as you swallowed the water he had conjured for you, admiring the rosy tint of your flushed face and the movement of the muscles in your neck with each gulp. He wanted so badly to sink his teeth into the soft flesh, curious for a taste of your blood as it seeped from the small gashes they would undoubtedly leave behind. He wondered what sort of sounds you would make if he did. Would you gasp and moan, or would you scream and beg him to stop? He could feel the blood rushing back to his groin as his arousal began to build again, his half hard cock springing to life once more at the thought of it all.

After you had fully emptied the glass, you turned slightly to place it on the polished mahogany and moved your hands to pull down the hem of your skirt. Despite a lack of evidence, you believed that Love Potion wore off after the first orgasm, which is why you had assumed Alastor and you were done - both sides having fulfilled one another's desires. You were disappointed that you couldn't take things further with the Radio Demon, but it was common knowledge at the hotel that he didn't like to be touched. And with the way he had tensed and shied away from your touch at every turn, you knew that once the effects wore off that he would be done and go about his evening as usual. But then, Alastor did something completely unexpected on your part and grabbed your wrists to stop you from redressing.

"Alastor? What are you doing?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Alastor started, his eyes roaming over your half-nude form - admiring the way your now ruined dress shirt hung loosely from your shoulders and bunched in the crevices of your elbows; the way your breasts filled the cups of your bra and threatened to spill over with the slightest tug to the center band; the wrinkles in your skirt caused by the fabric being pushed up to your waist; the way your heeled shoes accentuated the plump tissue of your rear; the faint trails of mascara present on your cheeks as a result of your earlier crying. He soaked up every little detail his mind could process as he stepped toward you, his pants that were still wrapped around his ankles restricting his movements, pushing you back against his desk. Leaning forward to arch his body over your much smaller form like he did during his flight on cloud nine, Alastor let go of your wrists and placed his palms on the cool mahogany to your sides, trapping you as he moved his face closer to yours - his eyes shifting between your innocent laden irises and your beautifully swollen lips.

Alastor was looking at you like a man starving - a thin trail of drool seeping from the edges of his smile; his antlers growing to double their original size only to shrink back down a few moments later and repeat the process. He was trying so hard to maintain control of his own body, but there was just something about you that evoked the most primal of instincts from him and he couldn't pinpoint what that thing was. Your heart jumped to your throat when you locked eyes with him yet again, completely unsure of how to feel. You were excited and a bit happy that your earlier desires were still attainable - but also confused. You didn't have any first hand experience with Love Potion, so you had no choice but to trust in the information you had gathered from other people that did.

"Did it not work?" you asked, staring up at him as your heart pounded in your ears like a bass drum - ringing louder and louder with every beat. Had the testimonies been false? They had to be. Love Potion was the only thing that made sense for Alastor's still prominent arousal, you thought - the only possible explanation for him using his nail to tear a line down your skirt from waistband to hem, the fabric soon falling from your lower half as the sharp edges of his claw effortlessly glided through the material like butter. You swallowed the lump in your throat that you were positive had been your literal heart as you rubbed your thighs together, unable to contain the excitement, the lust still pumping through your veins and clouding your mind.

You heard him chuckle lowly as his eyes roamed over your body, his predatory gaze tinting your cheeks pink with embarrassment. Transparency never was a trait Alastor appreciated in other people - but with you, it was oh-so-amusing, and he thought it absolutely adorable how hard you were trying (and failing) to hide all of the lewd thoughts he knew were racing through that naughty little mind of yours. If he wasn't already smiling, this would definitely be a moment that would pull an honest one from him. When was the last time he truly smiled, anyway? He couldn't remember - or if it ever happened at all. He was going to have fun trying to figure out how you were able to get under his skin so easily, so effortlessly. He loved a good brain teaser, and this would definitely provide him with a little entertainment.

"This drug is quite persistent," Alastor mused, conjuring a handkerchief and beginning to wipe at the spittle still on your face. After he was done, he tossed the cloth to the side to be forgotten, his hands returning to either side of your figure a moment later. His eyes roamed over your form, specifically your still clothed upper body, making it his goal to remove those pesky garments next. "You have already given me your consent, and informal though it was, I've no intentions of letting you back out of our deal now," Alastor stated flatly, bringing his right index finger up to the band of your bra nestled between your breasts, toying with the taut threads as his eyes rose to lock with yours, his bright red irises flashing pink and slitted pupils dilating. "But if you would like to postpone the next part for another night, I would not object. I am a patient man."

Tracing the tender flesh of his bottom lip with the tip of his tongue, Alastor brought his face as close to yours without making any contact - searching for a sign that you wanted to stop. He really did plan on holding you to it, but he wouldn't force it if you wished to end the night here. It wouldn't be the first time he had to endure, to fight back some of his baser urges - but it would be difficult, it seemed. Already, he could feel that pesky itch growing beyond containment, demanding every ounce of his attention and begging to be scratched. This concoction was rather annoying - he rarely felt attraction of any kind for another person. It felt like that damned spray was generating these emotions and forcing him to indulge in acts so uncouth. It didn't matter what you decided though. One way or another, Alastor made a vow to himself to have you beneath him in every conceivable way - with a little more effort to woo you, it was only a matter of time. Adding a chase to the mix would make it more enjoyable by a large margin, he thought.

"Although, I must warn you. If you choose to keep going tonight, I cannot promise any restraint on my part," Alastor told you, his sclera flashing black and irises shifting to radio dials for a moment, then back to their usual appearance. "I'm just not the type to leave a 'meal' unfinished," he said, a dry chuckle following his wordplay regarding his earlier actions and sending a shiver up your spine.

"N-no, I- ... uhm..." you started. It was infuriating how he was able to reduce you to such a timid, almost virgin-like mess with so little effort. It made you wonder how things would go if he did put in the work.

"'Uhm' is not a word, my dear," Alastor clicked his tongue against his teeth, the first few strands of the center band of your bra snapping apart as he pressed lightly against it. "Do you want to stop?" he asked you again, his eyes narrowing in delight as a slight release of tension sent a ripple through your chest with each string that he cut. Curling your lips inward, you tried to hold back an immediate 'no' response in an effort to appear less desperate, but you were starting to realize that ship had already sailed by the way Alastor's smile widened and your center band was finally severed - your breasts falling from the cups as they sprung apart.

"No, don't! Alastor... don't stop," you breathed, holding back a pleasurable sigh at the relief that coursed through your veins when the taut garment no longer held you tight. You moved to slide the remnants of your shirt and now ruined bra (yet another favorite item you would force him to replace later - they were expensive in life, and Hell only made it worse) off your body - now fully nude except for the heels and accessories adorning your figure. You saw the dim lights of his room flicker as Alastor leaned even closer, his breath fanning your face and his lips grazing yours as he uttered,

"As you wish, Mon Cherie."

Without a moment's hesitation, you found yourself being lifted to sit upon the edge of his polished desk like before. Only this time, he urged you to lie flat on your back as he raised your legs so that you were positioned at a 90° angle. You tilted your head to peer around your own limbs at him, curiosity brimming in your eyes as you silently awaited his next movements. "If you would be so inclined, I would like to try a couple of things first - just to see what all the hype is about. May I?" Alastor asked, tilting his own head in the same manner as you. You had to stifle a giggle as the action was just too cute, you thought. And you just couldn't resist the urge to tease him a little as you began to feel more comfortable and relaxed in his presence.

"I'm up for it. But you know, curiosity killed the cat," you remarked, raising your hands to lay beside your head as he shifted behind your thighs. Alastor laughed at that just before you felt his fingers sliding through your slick folds, eliciting a moan from you. "Ah, yes! But satisfaction brought it back!" he responded, not missing a single beat in the light banter. He peered around your legs once more, only this time with a sultrier look as you felt something hard and wet slip in between the space of your joined thighs and pubic area. "And I intend to revive all nine of its lives, my dear," he drawled out, savoring the way your thighs engulfed his member as he thrust forward, his hips and lower abdomen pressed flush against the backs of your legs. Sighing at the way your soft flesh surrounded him, he wrapped his arms around your knees and lifted your lower half up slightly. "Oh my... I believe I'm going to enjoy this," he said, holding you there as he gave another experimental thrust while keeping your legs pressed against his torso - your ankles now dangling over his right shoulder as you hummed softly each time his hips pushed forward.

Soon, the room was filled with the soft clapping sound of skin on skin and heavy pants on Alastor's part as he built a steady pace. Chewing on your lip as you stared up at the Radio Demon, you smiled as you watched his face contort with pleasure - his brows furrowed together and eyes narrowed, sweat beading on his forehead and his ears laid flat, his smile twitching and shifting between an open, toothy grin to a closed lip, almost serene type; but not once did it falter. It was a sight to behold - Alastor letting his instincts take over but still somehow managing to keep that illustrious grin of his. Part of you wondered if he was even capable of frowning.

"Does it feel good?" you asked, watching as Alastor turned his head to kiss your calf, occasionally licking a stripe up the length of it as he stared right back at you. "You've no idea, Cherie," his response was low and gravelly, his voice thick with his trademark filter as he began to pick up the pace, chasing his second release of the night.

You let your gaze drift down from his face to the gap between your thighs and crotch, the tip of his dick poking through to the other side with each thrust, each grunt he let out. Lifting your legs up another half inch off the wooden surface, Alastor angled himself so that when he pushed forward, his length would slide between the outer lips and his head would catch on your clit, pulling a gasp or a sigh from you at the unexpected sensation. You curled your lips inward around your teeth, enjoying his actions almost as much as he seemed to be.

"Must I remind you already?" you heard him speak suddenly in exasperation just before you felt the claws of his left hand wrap around the back of your neck, tangling in your hair at the roots to yank your head back and force you to look up at his face. His features had become more demonic as he gave a hard thrust and pulled your hair again. "Keep your eyes on me," he told you, enunciating each word as he willed his features back to a tamer appearance - well aware that his full demon form was quite frightening, especially to those that have never seen it before (you).

"Trust that I will discipline you thoroughly if you look away again."

With that said, Alastor released his grip on your hair and brought it back up to your legs. Thrusting forward once again, Alastor released his hold on your calves and drew your legs closer to his chest, resuming his previous pace. With one arm wrapped around your knees to hold you in place, he reached down between your legs to rub slow, tantalizing circles around your clit - using his thumb to push back your clitoral hood to further expose the little bundle of nerves. Alastor could feel the tension in his belly rising, and in an attempt to slow things down, to draw this out just a little bit longer, he asked, "Are you enjoying this as well, my dear?" He watched your brows knit together and your jaw go slack at the continuous stimulation he now provided you, trying to keep himself quiet to better hear the noises pouring from your throat.

You fought the urge to throw your head back and squeeze your eyes shut, somehow managing to resist when you recalled his previous warning. You kept your eyes focused on his face, eyelids drooping as you felt the beginnings of that oh-so-familiar knot start to build with every deliberate motion of his thumb. "M-mmhmm!" a hum and a curt nod was all you could manage as Alastor turned his head to place more kisses on your sweaty skin. Opening his mouth, you felt his teeth glide against the soft flesh of your calf near the ankle, nipping sporadically but never taking a legitimate bite. "Mmphh..." he pressed a muffled moan to your skin as he stared down at you from the corner of his eye - biting the inside of his cheek at the delectable sight before him in an effort to ground himself.

"Do tell me, Cherie," Alastor spoke, drawing you out of your bliss clouded mind for a moment. "Have you ever dabbled in blood play before?" he asked you, fighting back the urge to just sink his teeth into your calf without waiting for a response. Your eyes widened a bit at the question, not sure how to answer at first. "N-no... I haven't. Why?" you asked, that lump returning to your throat. It was an idea that never appealed to you in that sense, so you never explored the possibilities - but that didn't mean that you weren't willing to try it. Who knows, maybe you would enjoy it. But then your paranoia started to kick in, and you were beginning to feel like your life was in danger. Alastor is a cannibal, after all - and anyone in their right mind would be terrified under these circumstances with someone like him.

Smile twitching, Alastor picked up the pace - his hips slamming against the back of your thighs and your breasts bouncing up and down in tandem with each one delivered. "I asked for your consent to have sex, not to cause you any amount of bodily harm," he explained, running his claw up along the side of your calf from knee to ankle. "But the thought of tasting your blood is quite..." he trailed off as he traced his pointed nail back down from your ankle to your knee - adding just enough pressure to leave a red streak but not enough to draw any blood, "... tempting," Alastor finished - taking a moment to bask in the fear evident in your eyes, chuckling ominously for added effect.

"There's no reason to be afraid. I'm not going to eat you," he said, putting your mind at ease and allowing you to relax. You drew your bottom lip between your teeth as you contemplated his question, still slightly afraid that he may actually attempt to literally consume you. Your fears were founded, considering what he had said earlier: that he wasn't sure if he could show any restraint. Even if he promised not to, what was stopping him from ignoring said promise after the first drop? You weren't exactly in a position to defend yourself, especially against someone as powerful as Alastor. "If that were my goal, we wouldn't be having this conversation," he said, ramming into your legs again, forcing you to reach up above your head and grip the edges on the opposite side of the desk.

Then again, now that you think about it, what was stopping him from doing it anyway, at any given moment? Staring into his eyes, you searched for any sign of sincerity, but couldn't see anything past his crazed, lust riddled gaze -a knot tightening in the pits of your belly from the constant stimulation to your clit. Alastor wasn't an easy man to read, even in as vulnerable a state as this. "A-Al..." you breathed out, biting your tongue as you lifted yourself up to rest your weight on your forearms. It sounded like a 50/50 gamble to you, and considering how your luck has been tonight, you were liking the odds.

'Fuck it.'

Alastor nipped at the skin near your ankle, patiently awaiting your response to his request. He expected you to outright refuse the proposal, which he would respect - but he would have been disappointed all the same. 'Another time, perhaps,' he thought to himself as your silence dragged on. Shifting your weight onto one arm, you reached up with the other to trace your own pointed digit along the side of your calf where he had been kissing and scratching. Steeling yourself with a deep breath, you pressed your own claw into the muscle until a few drops of blood began to ooze out of the shallow, crescent shaped wound and roll down the length of your leg.

Alastor lost his composure for a second, letting his shock at your actions show on his face before donning his mask once again. His smile widened further as he threw his head back and laughed dramatically, then returned his gaze to your divine features. "My, you're quite the interesting little enigma, aren't you?" he said, his tongue rolling out to catch the few droplets of blood that had reached your knee and licked back up to where you had punctured the skin. Alastor grabbed hold of the finger you cut yourself with, bringing it up to his face and into his mouth - his tongue swirling around the digit as he sucked any traces of blood from underneath your nail. Satisfied, he pulled your finger out of his mouth with a pop, his arms snaking back around your legs and mouth returning to your self-inflicted wound.

Placing his lips over it, Alastor began to suck and lick, craving more and more with each drop - savoring the metallic taste of your blood mixed with the salt of your sweat. He had to stop himself from taking a bite out of the muscle, not expecting your blood to be so intoxicating. But he essentially promised you restraint on this part, and it was a personal principle of his to keep every promise he made - even the indirect ones.

A rather loud growl erupted from Alastor's throat as he felt the impending release barreling towards him now. Your actions seemed to have a greater effect on him than the thought initially as his soft grunting soon turned into sonorous moans - the rapid clapping sound of his balls hitting your skin filling the room. It was surprising that he managed to continue pushing forward when the crimson liquid first touched his tongue and coated his taste buds. "I'm-! God fuckin-!" Alastor started, his eyes closing and his jaw tensing, causing his pointed fangs to sink into your supple skin. You winced at the pain that it caused, but the way he pressed his thumb down further on that little button between your legs had you forgetting the pain almost instantly.

Squeezing your thighs even tighter around his cock, you stared up at Alastor as he chased his high. You drank in the rare sight before you, taking in every detail you could - putting them to memory and tucking them away like the most precious of treasure, because they were. Even if Alastor didn't look at things the same as you, this night was something that you would hold near and dear to your heart, because it was the first time you ever had the option to participate since spawning in hell. But more than that, you would forever cherish the fact that he trusted you enough to let you see this side of him, drug or no. And in that moment, you wanted nothing more than to provide him with everything he sought. Your body, your heart, your soul - if didn't matter what it was; if you could give it to him, you would.

You could tell that he was close to his next release by the way his hips began to lose their rhythm and how he struggled to keep his appearance under control. You watched his antler grow as testament, the vertebrae in his neck contorting into unnatural positions beneath his ashen skin, a dark liquid beginning to seep from the edges of his smile - it all had you wondering what it would be like to have that side of him, to experience sex with an uninhibited Alastor. 'That poor cat,' you silently mused - if things kept going this way, you'd have to start calling it Prometheus. "Al," you called, reaching up to touch him - his arms, his face, anything that you could reach to draw his attention back to you. If he wanted you to look at him, then you would make him do the same. "Alastor," you called his name more clearly now, your voice ringing in his ears as he opened his eyes to look down at you. "Hm?" he hummed in response, lips pressed tightly together while he tried to hold back his release, to drag this moment for just a little bit longer.

'Not yet,' he thought. 'Keep going- ... fuck, not yet!'

"Look at me, Alastor," you moaned, holding his gaze as you brought your hand down from his face to rest on his wrist as he continued to draw heavy, fast circles on your clit. "Please... I want you to look at me when you cum," you pleaded, heart racing at your own words. Electricity shot up his spine as Alastor stared you down - his hips halting for a moment, his body right on the cusp of euphoric gratification. "... You sure know how to drive a man crazy, doll," he mumbled against your leg, tongue slithering out to lap at the blood that was dripping form the gashes your nail and his teeth had caused. His hips began to move once more, finding their previous pace almost instantly and his salacious groans filling the room - eyes not leaving yours for a single millisecond, just as you requested.

"Da- ... Darling," Alastor rasped out suddenly, pulling his face away from your calf and leaning forward, pushing your body into a more angled position. Unwrapping the arm that had been coiled around your legs, he placed his hand next to your head, palm laying flat against the cool surface of his desk. "May I-?" he asked, his voice desperate as he tried to hold back those needy whimpers your beautiful body and rapturous sounds dragged from him. He didn't have a chance to finish his question. You already knew what he was asking to do - and it was something that you were more than happy and quite eager to give your consent. "Yes!" you agreed with a curt nod of your head. Drawing your hand back from his wrist as he hovered over your folded figure, you reached up to wrap your fingers around the back of his neck, your other arm supporting the rest of your weight behind you.

Halting his movements, Alastor pulled away almost reluctantly - not wanting to leave the comforting embrace of your thighs for a single second, but the promise of an even greater pleasure gave him the motivation to do just that. As he parted your legs slightly with one hand, his other reached down to grip his leaking cock and guide it to the opening of your drenched core. He rubbed the tip up and down your slick folds a couple of times - gathering enough of your essence to use as a lubricant when he pressed into you for the first time that night. Placing both of his hands on the backs of your thighs, a whine of respite escaped his throat and his jaw fell open as the pressure, the heat of your sweet, sweet cunt finally engulfed his throbbing member. Your pliant walls were effortlessly molded to the shape of him as he slid deeper and deeper into you, bottoming out not long after the initial penetration. "Oh, fuck!" he cursed, his hands groping at your legs as he leaned forward again, folding your body over once again.

With your ankles now dangling over his shoulders, Alastor began to slowly and shallowly thrust into you. Every nerve in his body felt like it was on fire, screaming for that delicious relief of a well-earned orgasm. He was trying to give you time to adjust to his intrusion before he took on a more brutal pace, not wanting to cause you any pain or discomfort (not yet anyway). But he was already so close - he couldn't stop himself from splitting you in half on his cock. His body refused to listen to his brain, having essentially developed a mind of its own separate from his consciousness and moving involuntarily.

Alastor's conflicting thoughts and actions showed in his body language. He was still trying to hold back, that much was evident by the inconsistency of his thrusts - speeding up momentarily only to slow back down a couple seconds later, his cock dragging against your walls with long, deep thrusts then becoming short and shallow. Even though you were curious to see him lose it, you were still appreciative that he was trying so hard not to hurt you. Letting your hand travel up from the nape of his neck to run your fingers through his hair, you pulled him as close as this angle would allow. "It's okay, Alastor," you reassured him, giving him a warm smile as his mind and body continued to vie for control.

"It's okay," you repeat, panting and moaning as you could feel your own orgasm approaching. "I promise, it's okay," nodding your head while you let your hand join the other in his crimson and ebony hair, you used him to support your weight. Alastor lowered his hands from your thighs to rest flat on the polished wood, allowing your legs to fall from his shoulders and hook around his biceps. Bringing your hands up a bit higher, you lightly traced your fingertips around the base of his ears - causing Alastor to flinch and bow his head at the unexpected contact.

"Holy sh- ...!" he hissed through gritted teeth. A shiver traveled up his now rigid spine and nudged him over the precipice straight into that blinding, white hot ecstasy he so desperately sought. Alastor's nails were digging into the hard surface and leaving large, unsightly tears in the mahogany while he shot his seed deep within you. Having not expected your light touches to have such a profound effect on him, you smirked proudly and began to massage his twitching ears to ground him as well as help him ride out his high to its fullest extent. "You like that?" you asked, stroking their backsides with your fingers and pressing your thumbs against the inner, more fleshy side.

Alastor couldn't think in that moment, drowning in the pleasure that coursed through his veins with each rope of his cum that he pumped into you. Clenching his eyes shut, he pushed further forward and lowered his head to rest in the crook of your neck, nodding in response to your question. When you moved your hands from his ears to his antlers to massage them in the same manner, he winced and let out a strangled whimper, pressing his lips against your carotid and sucking harshly. Eventually, the pleasure turned to pain and Alastor reached to pull your hands away by the wrists, breathing heavily as the waves subsided and his muscles relaxed.

"... My ears have always been sensitive, even when I was alive," Alastor began to explain, unnecessary though it may be. "The sensitivity increase when I am... aroused," he finished, raising his head and pulling back from you until he was standing upright again. Staring down at you contentedly, he quickly realized that you hadn't reached your own peak yet, and he started to rock his hips into yours. He wasn't able to see your face earlier, so he could only imagine what you would look like, what expressions you would make when you came undone beneath his touch. The thought alone was enough to keep him from going soft, his body already seeking out that next mind numbingly exquisite release.

Raising your hands above your head once more, you curled your fingers around the edges of his desk and tried to roll your hips into his. Alastor had his fun - now it was your turn, and he was more than happy to provide his assistance. "Al-..." you called out to him, your voice barely a whisper and eyelids drooping as you struggled to keep them open. A chuckle filled the air as Alastor began to pick up speed, his cum mixed with yours allowing him to plow into you as easily as a hot knife cutting through butter.

"No need to fret, Mon Cherie. I won't leave you unsatisfied," he reassured you.

Knees sliding down his biceps to link with his elbows, Alastor slipped his hand between your legs again, pressing his thumb to you aching bud and drawing fast, harsh circles. "That was more entertaining than I expected. You deserve a reward for a job well done," he told you, choosing to ignore the fact that you barely did anything this time around while he chased you to the edge of your own end in a matter of seconds. "What would you like, my dear? Tell me, and it's yours," Alastor cooed sweetly, watching your tits bounce with each slam of his hips, stopping for just a moment to pull your lower body closer - your ass no hanging off the edge as it dug into your lower back. Picking up his initial pace, the desk began to rock and squeak beneath you with every rapid movement he made.

Now you were the one struggling to form any coherent thoughts or words, barely aware of the fact that he was talking to you. "H-hah! Ah! Fah- ...! Fu- ... ah-ack!" you cried as you felt your release draw closer with every snap of his hips, every whispered word of encouragement and praise. Then, you heard movement and muffled voices coming from the hallway just outside Alastor's bedroom door. Your heart began to race as you felt your orgasm slipping away, propping yourself up on your forearms - forgetting all about his prior warning as you turned your head to look at the door. Who was it on the opposite side? Could they hear what you two were doing? Somehow the idea of being heard made your cheeks flush an even deeper crimson more than anything else the two of you had done so far.

In an embarrassed panic, you shifted all of your weight to one arm and brought the other up to cover your mouth in an attempt to muffle the uncontrollable noises he pried from you. "Someone's out- ...! Ah, fu- ...!" you whispered against the palm of your hand, turning your head back to look up at Alastor with a pleading expression on your face. But when your eyes met his, you immediately realized that someone hearing you being fucked by the Radio Demon was the least of your worries. "A-Alastor?!" you gasped as you felt his girth grow and stretch your walls nearly to their limit, his ears falling flat against his skull as he wrapped one hand around your throat. His already large stature became even more so as he seethed in his anger at your blatant disregard for the one rule he had set for you. But more than that, he was angry that you attempted to silence yourself.

How dare you try to hide those melodious sounds from him! And you took your eyes off of him, too? You done fucked up! Alastor wasn't about to let that slight go unpunished, especially when he had been generous enough to let you off with a warning, twice.

"Who fucking cares?" Alastor asked through gritted teeth, momentarily dropping his radio filter and neon green stitches manifesting over his smiling lips. "Let them hear you!" his pace became more brutal the higher his anger spiked, his thumb tormenting your abused clit with circles so harsh it had become more painful than pleasurable. Laying back again, you reach your hand down to wrap around his wrist in an attempt to stop him, or at the very least get him to let up. But before your fingertips could even graze his skin, a black tendril wrapped around yours and forced it back up above your head along with the one that had been covering your mouth.

Struggling against the ebony appendages holding your wrists, you pulled your knees up to your chest and tried to plant your feet on his torso to push him away. You didn't expect him to stop entirely (nor did you want him to), you just wanted to make him go easier on you - but the gap in raw power mixed with the exhaustion of a full day's work and your previous orgasm wouldn't allow it. Just as one of your feet found purchase within the crevice right below his clavicle, your heel digging into his flesh, you felt more tendrils wrap around your ankles and pull them back down - holding them apart as he continued to pound into you with reckless abandon.

"Al, please! I-it hurts- ...!" you tried to tell him, but your cries only added fuel to the flames. Alastor's antlers grew in size along with the rest of his body, only this time he didn't try to bring himself back under control as he chortled heartily at your failed attempts. "And?" he asked, static crackling through the air and the filter returning to his voice as he pinched the pink nub - rolling it roughly between his fingers and laughing gleefully at the pain it so clearly caused. A violent wince wracked your body at the action, and you tried to pull yourself free, but with no slack in those dark tendrils of his, you couldn't even bend your limbs. "I don't like repeating myself, darling," Alastor told you, his grip tightening around your throat and his elongated nails digging into your flesh, restricting your airflow and making it difficult for you to produce any type of sound.

Tears began to well up in your eyes the longer this went on, being unable to do anything except endure and hope that he would show you a little bit of mercy. It was unlikely though, considering the clear warning he'd given you earlier should you look away from him again. You tried to blink the tears away at least, but the lack of oxygen was getting to you, and it became harder and harder to open your eyes again after each flutter of your lashes. Seeing that you were close to losing consciousness, Alastor loosened his grip and allowed you to breathe again, watching with utter delight as you greedily sucked in air, the color returning to your face. He made a mental note to explore breath play at a later time, among other things.

"I- ...! Please- ... I-I'm sorry- ...!" you stuttered through your coughs, the tears cascading down your cheeks now as his tip relentlessly bullied your cervix. Another laugh filled the air as Alastor, much to your relief, pulled his hand away from your puffy clit and leaned forward again - moving his hands to press into the curves of your waist. "Lucky for you, I'm feeling merciful right now," he started, nails digging into the soft plushness of your midsection - his form shrinking back down as your tear-soaked apologies quelled his anger. "Do keep in mind that I will not be so forgving next time," he told you, to which you nodded vigorously, thankfully - the black tendrils loosening from your wrists and ankles once you showed your compliance.

Letting one hand drift from your side all the way up to your face, Alastor caressed your cheek in a belying manner of affection and kindness. "Now, where were we?" he asked you, raising a single brow as he began to rock his hips into you once more, his other hand returning to your clit - this time, more gently. Immediately, you opened your mouth to let out one of the loudest, most sinfully sounding moans you would make that night, eyes locked with his as your body began to make that steady climb back to your peak. As embarrassing as it was to know someone could be listening to any of this, you were much more fearful of the punishments Alastor would unleash upon you should you disobey again.

"Good girl," Alastor praised you, his claw tracing down your neck and over your collar bone, then further down to your breasts. Having lost himself entirely in his rush to that first high, he didn't get the chance to appreciate them properly - something that needed to be remedied right away. As one hand continued to rub tantalizing circles on your clit, he let the other cup one of your breasts in the palm of his hand. Alastor gave it a light squeeze before he began to knead the soft mound. The pointed tips of his nails pressed into your skin, threatening to break it and draw blood - which he would be all the more happy and eager to lap up.

[ Master Post ] ❀ [ Chapter One ] ❀ [ Chapter Two ] ❀ [ Chapter Three ] ❀ [ Chapter Four ] ❀ [ Chapter Five ]