#drew this while listening to In Trousers

[a-lazne]

HIM!!!!!!! (Swap au by @saccgiriangel )

[inknopewetrust]

𝔉𝔬𝔬𝔱𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔭𝔰 𝔬𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔖𝔱𝔞𝔦𝔯𝔰

summary: in the blistering summer evening heat, you and felix play a little game. [felix x fem reader. WC: 2.6k]

warnings: smut. minors dni (18+ only). p in v, fingering (fem receiving), saltburn bathtub, slight voyeurism, dirty, dirty talk, some degrading language, not the dirtiest thing but still like… kinda hot?

Though the sun had set long before, the lingering scorch of the sun sat like a film on your skin. Its thin veil dry and aching to shrivel against the boiling water of the tub. You felt the sticky nature disappear under the trails of steam that painted the surface of the water.

A bead of sweat pebbled from your temple to cheek to chin to neck.

But you lit a cigarette anyway. And if you listened close enough, you could hear the crackle.

A blistering bud sizzles; the porcelain was drawing cool waves against the skin of your arms and for once, in the vast nothingness of the bathroom, the heat that rose from its surface made the ghosts vanish.

It made them disappear in house once home to Kings.

Now, as it boiled under the night sky, it was home to something other. It had bled itself into the walls and the ghosts wished to witness not the haggard scrounging of wealth that festered within.

But you imagined Henry the Eighth liked to stare as you bathed. They all did. Felix had told you that once a few summers ago.

How they all wanted to touch you in the ways that he did. How they wanted to whisper in your ear that they were better than him. No one truly was and it kept you crawling back with the poor souls who got sucked into a heated whirlpool of pity each and every summer.

Nevertheless, you envisioned Henry in the corner itching to touch.

They all trembled to flutter their hands onto your skin, onto your breasts, squeezing pieces of you dipped below the waterline.

If his ghost could smile, Henry’s ghastly teeth gleamed.

‘Fuck off, Henry,’ you saw the paunchy apparition lounging in the chair in the corner with a bead of sweat dribbling from his own temple.

Oh, envy, King Henry.

A bit of ash fell onto the tiles below.

“You’re making a mess of it.”

You tapped the cig on the side of the tub as another bit of ash wilted to the cold floor.

Felix hummed.

Stocky Henry vanished. If you gazed toward him, Felix’s eyes bore deep. Heavy and brooding, downcast at a peak of what existed beyond the bubbled suds.

Dinner had long passed. Everyone was supposed to be in bed.

He could feel you in inches. The soft skin of your back, the plush thighs that laid between his own. A hand of his traced over the skin of your collarbone gently as the ash continued to drift.

You were nearly on fire. In the swelter of the stone walls and the patterns of the paper before him, you glowed in a red sweat.

“You’re letting it die.”

“I was thinking,” you murmured.

“About what?”

“King Henry.”

“King Henry?” Felix’s voice peaked. His head leaned to rest on your shoulder, his smile leaving a trail as it grew. His nose drew a delicate line on your dampened skin.

You liked Felix in this way. So quiet and removed. But Saltburn always kept pace in the background.

“Yes, King Henry,” his hand glided along your own, gently taking hold of the cigarette and placing it between his lips.

The smoke of the puff rose high into the air beside you. It’s curls twisted like your insides aching for a touch too far but never too close.

“I like to imagine them sitting… staring at us now.”

“Now?” Felix questioned. “So erotic in an ugly tub. I can see him now,” he pointed to the corner of the room, “he just popped one. Can’t you see it? In his trousers there.”

You grinned. Your laugh filled his chest with a shuddering life. So fulfilled and free yet trapped in this same world as he.

And he was never far away. Here, in Saltburn, always waiting in the same shadows for the opportunity to strike while the others weren’t around. No sister or friends or parents or mewling poor fighting for his attention. They were retired for the evening; all snuggled in beds with curtains drawn and fantasy dancing in their heads.

“He isn’t the only one.”

You tipped your head to the side. The profile of your face meeting his forehead as he dipped his own downwards. The cigarette still burning from his fingertips. It was a mere bud now.

You could feel what waited for you on your lower back.

“I can feel that, you know?” You feigned an innocence he liked. Keen and blatant, but cunning with sin.

“Is it Henry that makes you feel that why?” You whispered, lips ghosting his chin.

Felix breathed in deeply. The same chest that shuddered with joy in anticipation.

Every summer.

The excitement would stir within his bones as the gates would open wide and beside his family would be the one steady thing he had everything to give.

“I hope,” Felix hushed, “for your own sake that’s not the fucking case.”

“So it’s me?”

Felix groaned as you pushed against him. The gentle pressure of your body arching into him without a touch, he begged to put his hands on you.

The cigarette fell to the floor in its end.

Felix took his hand and turned your head back to face him with a firm grip on your jaw. The water around you sloshed. It cleared the bubbles from your chest.

“I want to play a game,” he suggested in a dusty, breathless tone. “Want to play, darling?”

“Can I win?” You suggested. His hand loosened, letting the fingers dance along the column of your neck before beckoning up toward your mouth once more.

His index finger traced the outline of your lips. In a slow glide, Felix pulled your lower lip out slightly, gathering the wetness with his finger before inching it back to the space where your lips had parted.

You kissed his finger with your tongue as it found purchase in the suction of your mouth. The plushness of your tongue, the slight drag of your teeth as it emerged from between your lips.

“I don’t want to play if I can’t win, Felix,” you whispered.

His eyes now hooded with a thick want. He watched his finger redraw the lines of your lips again as you begged with doe eyes to win. A near child’s play of a woman’s ability to seduce.

“You can win,” Felix huffed as his other hand snaked itself from the edge of the tub to your torso under the water. “But I’ll need you to be quiet. We have guests and as much as I do love our dear, sweat guests, I can’t have them imagining the way I fuck you, can I?”

“No,” you relished in the way his hand returned to the base of your throat and squeezed with the slightest amusement. “I’ll be quiet.”

“Good,” Felix smiled at you. Your heart squeezed in the same way your cunt ached for his fingers to gather the strength to follow through.

“What do I win?”

“Whatever the fuck you want. You just have to be quiet.”

You smiled deviously that the thought.

“I can’t see how we’d be able to look a boy like Ollie in the eyes if he heard the sounds that come out of your mouth.”

His hand swooped past your center and to your leg, drawing one over his own which sat you straighter in his hold. You felt his cock jump at the pressure of you pushing on him. Felix flitted his finger tips from your knee to waist, switching hands to bring his wet palm to your breast while the other perched your opposite leg over his other.

The pebbled nipple was taut as he kneaded the skin in circles. He pressed down hard, pulling up on your nipple to elicit the sounds he wanted so badly to hear but knew you’d repress.

You were like him in many ways. He too wanted to win a game of control.

With you in his hands like a play of putty, he felt in control but with one hand on the wheel.

As he palmed your breast, his hand gripped your thigh. His mouth traced a pattern of hot breath along your neck as his tongue relished the salty sweat that had gathered at its leisure. The goosebumps that rose from your skin welcomed his breath kindly.

“I want this house to ourselves,” Felix moaned. “So we don’t have to be quiet.”

“Tell me what you’d do,” you asked him, placing your hand over his own and bringing his fingers to you. He cupped your heat as you groaned, guiding him back and forth to gather the wetness he could feel different from the water of the tub.

“Tell me what you’d do to me.” You spoke faintly. “Tell me and I’ll be quiet.”

You guided one of Felix’s fingers in you as he shushed the sounds that threatened to speak themselves into existence.

He put his lips on your ear as he began to pump his fingers in and out of you with a slow glide. So plush and tight, he thought to himself. It sucked him in and dared not to spit him out.

“I would fuck you on the floor,” he breathed out against your cheek. “I’d spread you wide and taste your sweet pussy as the sun bathes the floor. And when I’m done, we go to the pool-“

Felix pulled out his finger, tracking it along your folds before going in with two. You arched against his back, drawing up as he pulled you back down and rested his hand on your waist.

You curled the toes of your right foot down the edge of the tub.

“-we’d go to the pool and sit out in the sun. You’d give me head in one of the chairs and I’d paint your fucking face with my cum.”

You clenched around his fingers. His thumb pressed into your clit, another jolt aching to send you squirming but he held you down as he patterned circles on the gentle flesh.

“You like that, don’t you?” He breathed in the smell of you. “And maybe we’d go for a walk through the maze after dinner. I’d fuck you in the center and you could scream as loud as you fucking want. No one could get to us. No one would hear us.”

“F-F-“

“No, no, no, shh,” Felix shushed. “Good girls only win by being quiet, yeah?”

You nodded, clenching onto his fingers again as a strangled ‘fuck’ tumbled out of his lips. He could imagine the coil building. Felix wasn’t going to let you finish alone.

Felix pulled his fingers from you and felt the disappointment in the wither of your body.

“But I don’t want to imagine what’d I’d do if we were alone,” Felix blanked. “Turn around.”

As the water sloshed around you, you turned to wrap your arms around his neck. Like you, Felix had sweat beading from his jaw that glimmered in the red light of the bathroom. He looked intoxicated, entranced but in control of what he could.

“I want to see you ride me like the fucking whore you are.”

You weren’t a whore. But for Felix, you could be anything.

At the nape of his neck, you gripped the back of his hair and drew his head back as your other hand gripped him under the water.

Hard and lengthy, his cock was a welcome intrusion every time. You pumped him in your hand slowly. The sounds of water creating currents was soothing against the sounds of your battered breaths kissing his own. You lifted yourself on your knees, leaning against Felix as he squeezed your ass tightly, watching as you lowered yourself onto him under the water. Slender and veined, your cunt molded to him like art. You both would never tire of the feeling so profound.

It would never be like this with anyone else.

Loose pants left his lips as you sat completely full of him. A fit for a King in his own home, he supposed. Once you had settled with him inside, you moved above him.

The water moved languidly too. Meeting the fiery skin of two intoxicated minds too oblivious to see the peering eyes between the crack of a door.

“Right there, baby, right there,” Felix mumbled as you rose again and again, drawing him in and out as he stretched you with every swell and spur he could muster on his own.

“You’re such a good girl, darling. So good for me.”

You could peer down at him from above. Your breath fanning his face and lips but never seeking to truly kiss him as your hand tangled in his hair.

Bits of water spilled over the tub and splashed onto the floor. It soaked the ash tray and the speckles of ash and bud that littered the floor.

“Don’t stop baby. Don’t fucking stop,” Felix crooned in the room’s empty sounds. Only the pleasured sighs and gasping breaths filled the air.

You bounced on his cock with a measured pace. Each stroke of his manhood against your velvet walls lured him deeper into you, entangled with the missing links of a year gone by.

“Felix,” you broke the rules to whisper in his ear. He was taken away by the insatiable need of his rapture. He listened. He beckoned to your call.

“Tell me that you love me.”

From the shadows, Oliver Quick felt his blood run as hot as the sun. He loved Felix.

“I love you.”

Whom did not love him back.

“Tell me you need me.”

He was enamored by the idea of Felix.

“I need you.”

Who was enamored with the idea of Oliver.

“And what do you want from me?”

He was taken by the sight before him.

“I need you to cum, baby. I need you to fucking cum for me.”

Oliver was taken by the gleam of your skin. The way Felix’s throat bobbed as a strangled groan escaped his lips and the way your own melted onto his forehead in a silent struggle to come down from a high.

You placed both hands on his slender chest, careening like winged victory in a heated satisfaction.

Your fingers shook.

He had never seen a woman shake so elegantly before. The tremble of your lips as you breathed in shaking respite, the jolt of your shoulder blade as Felix ran a hand up your back.

Oliver licked his lips at the sight.

Felix lifted his head from its position against the tub. His eyes fluttered open as you pulled away in the slightest.

And Felix smiled.

You returned the grin with one of your own as his still sat erect inside of you. The bubbles of the tub had long ceased to exist and the water that was left was filled with the combined spent of you both.

“I don’t think I won that one,” you chuckled quietly, pushing hair out of Felix’s face before cupping his cheek in your hand.

“I’ll take pity on you, I guess.”

“The water’s gone cold.”

Felix kissed the inside of the palm of your hand. He cherished the high that lingered.

“The water’s gone cold,” he repeated. “But we could stay here forever.”

“Pruned and sweaty? Not a chance in fucking hell, Felix.” You laughed a bit too loudly. Oliver disappeared at the groan Felix let out as you pulled off of him.

You stood before him as the water dripped from every piece of you. Marbled and finite of the most precious carvings he only wished to hold forever.

As you exited the tub and the throb of him began to settle, you grabbed his linen shirt from the floor, draping it over you as it stuck to the wetness of your skin.

“The bed is just the slightest bit more comfortable.”

And you disappeared behind his doorway with call for more as the walls of Saltburn added another sordid story to add to it woven trims.

But it was never just the walls of Saltburn watching.

A/N: as always, the best gift of reading is likes AND reblogs and why not, we love comments too. Thank you for reading and feel free to check out my other works on my masterlist here. xo

[fraugwinska]

I tried my hands on an Human!Alastor fic ;> It's still very different to write for Human Al, but I hope y'all like it ;> Special thanks to @hurthermore for beta-reading and encouraging me <3 This one's for you, love! !! NSFW - Heavy Smut Ahead, Minors DNI - 6k words !!

„You need technical assistance, sir?“

Alastor looked up from the papers on his desk, adjusting his glasses that slipped down the bridge of his nose. He didn't expect her to come in this late, or at all, not while he was still at the station. The curious little sound engineer that had started half a year ago was standing at his office entrance, hands in the pockets of her outrageous trousers. She was tiny, her small figure barely filled the door frame, even with her bulky tool bag that hung from her shoulders. Alastor leaned back in his seat, folding his hands, focusing his tired gaze on her defensive expression.

She was a novelty, that one. Not the first woman working at the station of course, but the first to assert herself in the male-dominated field of technical engineering. Her male colleagues saw the spunky, brass girl as a joke, either ignoring her or trying (very amateurishly) to bed her – both which didn't faze her at all meeting both scenarios with the same contemptuous indifference. The women – secretaries, errand girls and concierges – were much more organized and refined in their bullying. Shortly after her arrival rumors had already spread, one more abstruse than the other, and they had collectively decided to pretend the engineer didn't exist in their periphery. More than once he witnessed her talking to his own secretary Ruth, just to be left standing while Ruth got up and walked out with the other girls to lunch in the middle of her sentence.

The little engineer took it all in stride, though. Never complained, never became outright disrespect- or revengeful. Gradually, her expressions steeled, her answers shortened and her work hours shifted to evenings or nights, with less people to run into.

Alastor had been fascinated by her the moment they first met. He had just started his usual 'Saturday Golden Hour', his favorite and most popular segment to host, broadcasting the newest releases of jazz and swing in the evening, just before sundown. Not even ten minutes in, right after he started playing Bing Crosby's new song 'Dancing in the Dark', listeners started calling the station by the handful, complaining about horrific feedback's and sudden blackouts. While Alastor watched Rufus Ellis, the head of the tech team, frantically run around, yelling at his workers, the little engineer had wordlessly grabbed a few tools and vanished. Five minutes later, his broadcast went back to working perfectly, sound crisp and quality flawless once again. She had returned, put back the tools from where she had taken them, and when Ellis – flabbergasted – asked her what she had done, she had calmly explained that she went up on the roof to check the transmitters connected to the radio tower and fixed a broken generator that had malfunctioned due to some doves nesting in it.

No one thanked or even acknowledged her, they just shrugged and went back to business as usual. But Alastor didn't forget, and from this day he was determined to find out more about this extraordinary girl. She reminded him of his own struggle as the exception to the rule – it was a well-kept secret throughout the station exactly what Alastor looked like and who he was. That was the only reason he was able to do what he felt was born to, a cruel, unfair compromise. So, he felt an unusual sympathy for her, in addition to just his natural curiosity for oddities. However, he didn't expect her to be so elusive.

Whenever he tried to engage her in a conversation, she gave short, finite responses, avoided his eyes and hurried to get away from him, sometimes even bordering on rudeness in her haste to flee from him. Alastor was, to be frank, perplexed - his charm usually drew in the ladies unwantedly. That it had failed him now, with the little engineer, when he welcomed it for a change? Peculiar. To a degree, it angered him, but it also awakened his hunting instinct, just not the one he was used to.

“I'm afraid so, dear.”, Alastor smiled, standing up. He rounded his desk, hands behind his back, and went to her side, looking down a t her. Granted, he was a tall man, but next to her, he felt almost gigantic, which satisfied him in a strange way. “I noticed my microphone was acting up today, and would like you to take a look at it, if you don't mind. Before it decides to give up on me mid-broadcast.”

“That's my job, sir.”, she just answered, eyes intensely staring at the carpet. Alastor's eyebrow twitched in slight aggravation. But he lead her to his booth, unlocking it to let her in. She went straight to his seat, dropping her tool bag next to it and started to pull his microphone to her to inspect it. He quietly closed the door, locking it discreetly – just as a precaution so she couldn't flee him again so easily, now that he finally had her in his vicinity.

Alastor walked over to her, leaning over her shoulder to watch her carefully taking the device apart. She startled when she saw him out of the corner of her eyes. “It may take a while, sir.”, she mumbled, an obvious attempt to make him leave. Alastor laughed. “I've got nowhere to be, dear, take your time.”, he said with a hint of mischievous delight. He heard her scoff, turning back to her work. There was a prolonged silence, her fiercely ignoring Alastor's quiet, content humming while her fingers picked apart and put together parts and cables. He used the time to analyze her appearance – her hair was smooth but more unkempt than for a girl her age – how old must she be? Twenty, maybe Twenty-one? Vanity surely wasn't a flaw of hers, she didn't wear much make-up and Alastor saw various faint, light scars on her arms and hands, little bookmarks of mishaps and failures of her chosen career – the sight of them sent a sick shiver down his spine. Given his... hobbies, he found twisted appeal in scarred skin, finding beauty in those white, shimmering lines where blood once dripped from. He roamed her supple, curved body – unlike the recent fad of skinny, androgynous frames she was built womanly, round and fleshy... how beautiful could he paint her with white streaks on this vast canvas, add some masterpieces of his own to the collection?

“Alright.”, she pulled him out of his thoughts, mounting the microphone back on it's flexible stand. “A few cables were starting to corrode, I've replaced them, it should work fine now.” Alastor grinned down at her, putting one of his hands on her shoulder. The first real contact. “What an efficient engineer you are, dear. Always coming to my rescue, I have yet to show my gratitude.” She didn't look up, didn't even acknowledge that he said something to her, just packing up the various things she had spread out for the repair. Now that was just rude.

“Hello? Is this thing on?”, Alastor strained himself to sound lighthearted as he knocked two times on her head, feeling the shivers of impatience rising. The engineer closed her eyes and took a deep breath in, shifting in his chair with furrowed brows. “I'm getting paid to do my job. I don't need anything else.” She attempted to stand up, but his hand, still resting on her shoulder, holds her in place. “If that's all, sir?”

“Now now, not to hasty. I'd think it's unlike you to leave work halfway done. Normally you are quite thorough, aren't you?” Alastor cooed, tilting his head at her. “My work is done.” she said, her voice now intense and a faint tint of red on her cheek and neck. My, there's the little ferocity he thought she'd lost at the job. “Why we haven't tested the thing, dear – How can I be sure it works properly?”

“Because I know what I'm doing.” She looked outright offended at the implied possibility that she failed the task he asked of her. He had to chuckle, such a childish reaction to something so innocent. Maybe it was because implications like these grated her thick skin, but Alastor had no problem with being the straw that breaks that camel's back. He was skilled in putting people back in their place, and with her, it would be much more entertaining and much less fatal than with his other... acquaintances. He decided to tickle this sleeping dragon just a bit more, with a funny little idea in mind.

“No one is infallible – especially when they are so young. No fault in that, dear, but I'd like to be sure.” Alastor swiftly grabbed her wrist, pulling her up to stand. Putting up no resistance, most likely because of sheer perplexity, he twirled her almost like in a dance, side-stepping to his chair, and sat down, pulling her onto his lap, locking her there by an arm wrapped around her waist. The look on her face was worth it's weight in gold – eyes wide, mouth agape in stunned shock, and tips of the ears reddened. Her hands grappled the armrests so forcefully her knuckles were as white as the scars on her arms, and within seconds of regaining her active conscience she squirmed against his body. “What... that's so... sir, please let me g...” “There you go, dear.”, Alastor ignored her babbling, using his free hand to put the headphones on her. Her pulse under her thin, clear skin drummed faster against him, it's heat felt like it could boil his own blood.

He grabbed his own microphone, swinging it up between their faces and leaned forward, chin resting on her shoulder and the grille brushing his lower lip. She stared, dumbstruck, a bead of sweat forming on her forehead. He chuckled against her cheek, leaning his mouth to the mic as he pushed the switch on the control panel up, and his rich, sultry baritone echoed in her headphones.

"How about it, darling, do you hear me?"

She breathed deeply, gulping, and her heart sped up even more. Alastor smiled devilishly against her soft skin, delighted and in awe by how far he got her worked up as she just nodded sharply.

"No soundrops, feedback or small interferences?", he hummed, his voice dripping sweet honey. She took a moment to answer. "N-no... everything seems alright."

"Lovely." He almost whispered, but she heard it crystal clear through the headphones. He let a low sigh and took off his glasses with one hand, slowly, teasingly, his nose tracing over her neck, as if it was coincidental, as if he'd never ever do such a thing intentionally, putting the accessory on the table next to him, eyes locking on the hazel ones of hers mirrored in them. "Although I wonder..." He pushed the mic nearer to her mouth, seeing a tremble running over her body. "... if the higher pitches might be a problem... You wouldn't mind help with that, would you?"

She stiffened up, barely daring to breathe, her skin erupting into goose flesh underneath his lips, he felt the impulse to press them against her, lick the salt and nervousness from it.

"Sir, I-I can't.."

He chuckled at her strained, whispering voice. How beautiful was her distress, so rich, so fragrant, almost strong enough for him to savor its essence without even needing to touch her.

"Then, may I assist you?", Alastor felt himself giddy with impish delight, his hands slowly trailing upwards from her waist to her bust, cupping her gently through the thin fabric. This made her wriggle again, a small, high pitched squeak leaving her lips that his microphone just amplified in glorious reverberations. Alastor chuckled darkly as she froze, neck burning red in deep embarrassment from the sound she heard from the headphones.

"Now we're talking. A wonderful first try. But let's see what else we can get out of you, darling. After all, we want to be thorough."

His hands palmed and kneaded the supple flesh through the cotton, feeling her squirm and tremble and the warmth of her bosom, imagining the blood rushing through her heart. How exquisite was she?

He could hear a small whimper as her head slightly lowered. Was she closing her eyes? He imagined it so. Imagined she'd shut her pretty eyes closed, furrow her brows in conflict as her legs pressed against each other in fruitless desperation. Her hands tightened on the armrest.

"You are so very quiet, dear. Why don't you relax and turn the volume up for me?"

With one of his hands he quickly loosened the two buttons that kept her blouse close and tugged at the collar to widen the neck hole, then slid under her brassier and gripped one breast with a tight squeeze. Alastor caught his breath as he realized just how sensitive and sweet the freckled skin under his fingertips was. Soft. Warm. So fragile... He would never have imagined this was hiding under her daily uniform, her sagging shoulders and loose jacket hiding those lovely features. Alastor felt a delightful spark crackle in his head and shoot up the nerves of his spine. His hunting instinct pulsed under the mask. But... with a slight delay, Alastor recognized it as a different type of hunger... one of the carnal and more depraved kind. Another novelty for him.

Alastor suddenly wondered what her lips tasted like, how soft and warm would they feel on his, her teeth biting, her tongue teasing him. How many ways could he break her - and could he do it quickly, with his bare hands, with his words alone maybe, or with his undisciplined arousal pushing against her rear-end through the fabric of his trousers? How often did she think of him? How did she think of him? Did she fear him, or dislike him even? He could hear her breathing hasten as he was trying to compose himself.

There was the devil's urge to just let himself go. To shove the equipment aside and tear those outrageously inadequate clothes away from her flesh, run his hands over the skin he didn't get to see yet, trace and map those scars of hers until they fade underneath his fingers. Mark her more thoroughly than any machine mishap ever could. Make her cry, moan, beg and whine under him until there was nothing left in her and this novel hunger was satisfied.

A wonderfully loud moan escaped her, a sweet, silky, vibrato sound of passion, that went right from Alastor's chest into his pelvis. She opened her eyes wide, pressing her hand firmly over her mouth, mortified at her own pleasure.

Oh, Alastor thought to himself, smiling mischievously as the shock of lustful rapture coursed through him, how easy it was for him to undo her. So unexplored, so fresh... "Do you wish to stop, darling?", he asked with a teasing pinch of her hardened nipple, which made her cry out and her other hand fly up and cover her mouth, too. She shook her head, her cheeks flushed and hot, eyes hazed with confused pleasure. He rubbed and teased the nipple gently in his palm, holding her close, making her struggle in defiant silence. The only sound was his gentle, patient humming.

But oh, she was breaking, crumbling like a stale beignet, and the noises his hand bullied out of her turned from hushed whimpers to barely muffled groans and cries for him, long and wanting 'Sir's and 'Oh's. She was melting under his palm. He grinned wickedly, his lower body hard and wanting against her as he put the microphone to his own lips again and spoke into it.

"Say it with your words, dear, should I stop? Or is it that you can't hear me?"

"Y-yes! I mean... No sir... d-don't... stop." There was a suppressed crack in her voice, and Alastor sighed with lust at her gasping affirmation, grinding against her plushy backside. He has found it amusing to push her limits, break through her thick skin and riddle her, like an ice pick cracking open a glacier. And now it would shatter her so gorgeously. "It's Alastor, darling." He whispered into the microphone with a dragging, sultry voice, his hand retreating from her breast, only to snake it's way to the hem of her pants. Her legs twitched, pushing together to futilely protect her modesty, but her body eagerly arched in a way that gave such easy way for his fingers to slip under the garments, feel and stroke the short, coarse hair, following it's trail, only to meet soft, silken and slippery wetness. A startled gasp escaped her and the only reason she didn't leap up was because Alastor kept his firm grip on her waist, pulling her tight against his throbbing erection. Her head fell back onto his shoulder, exposing her delicate throat as she whimpered, hands flying from her mouth to the armrests again, gripping so hard her fingernails dug into the hard wooden surface.

He tried to restrain himself but couldn't, he testily bit into the thin, soft flesh of her neck as his fingers found their way into her entrance and dipped deep in, coating his palm in generous wetness and crooking, exploring carefully, but with a patience even he was surprised at, eyes fixated on the taut fabric as he thrust into her in tandem with the waves her body undulated at the new sensation, her sweet taste on his tongue.

"S-Sir, please...", she groaned against his hand that still remained pressed over her lips, as if it could suppress the bliss Alastor wrought her into. He withdrew his hand for a moment, fingers wet, glistening and slick, as she was breathless, but she couldn't hide how her hips were chasing his retreating touch. He leaned into the microphone, barely lifting his mouth from her neck.

"Say my name, and I shall listen, little engineer."

She hesitated for just a heartbeat, before opening her eyes, hazily staring at the ceiling as Alastor patiently waited, his fingers drawing idle circles around the sweet pearl on her outer folds. She pressed her lips together for a second, seemingly mentally preparing herself, and then opened her mouth, to give in, to submit to him.

"...A-Alastor, please..."

"I like the sound of my name from your lips, darling." He almost purred in return and resumed his movements with added vigor and focus. He put down his head on her shoulder, nuzzling into the juncture of her throat, watching her reaction and every detail of how his hand worked her over with the rhythmic hump of his hips, forcing him to breathe harshly as he was starting to be deprived of blood. He had barely noticed it, how incredibly erotic and sinful this whole thing felt not just for her, but for him, too. Partly of course, because of the chase, the coaxing, the hunt to have her call and writhe for only him, not for any of these imbeciles that tried to get their pick with her, his ears pricked and eager to savor her wanton sounds... A surprising need to be connected, closer to her than anyone ever could be in her whole life, and it made him even giddy to know no man had touched her like he was doing now, taking her purity with ease and glee.

But there was another part, something he thought slumbered too deep within him to be ever awoken, a roaring fire in his guts as the alluring, delicious scent of her arousal assaulted him like a siren's song, lulling, cajoling him with sensual desires to drown in them, to abandon all else and indulge, to completely give in and surrender. It wasn't tactical, calculating or strategic, but wild and primal and primitive, and not at all as painful or awkward to him as he had always thought it'd be.

What a revelation a woman's body could be.

He almost missed her coming into his eagerly working hand - a sudden, full-body twitch that went through her spine, a whine in her voice that ended in a choked sound as her orgasm claimed her and washed her away in the torrent of rapture - eyes going wide as the air escaped her in a desperate cry, hands gripping his thigh and the chair's armrest so hard the nails left little scratches in the wood. He barely had time to notice it before her climax hit him like a truck - the convulsing of her inner walls, gripping and spasming tightly around his fingers as he slowed and stroke out her high.

This moment was pure madness in his veins - his head foggy and airy, like a drug, like a vicious new addiction he would do almost anything for. Her body went slack against him, and the only thing that held her upright was Alastor's arm still securely around her, still keeping her pressed onto his hard length, still pulsing for some release of his own. Alastor wanted more, already was plotting what his hands could be doing to her body next as she came down from her high and back to earth, the heat leaving her body slowly as the soundproofed air trapped within the booth hung heavy with her hot breath and the smell of her passion.

The first movement of hers, after having come undone so beautifully for and on him, was to lift up the headphones.

"Well then, little engineer.", he huffed into her ear, laughing with barely hidden delight. "What is your final assessment?"

"Your microphone works perfectly. J-just like I said it would." She was determined, if nothing else. And unbearably cute when she was defiant. Alastor simply adored a fiery spirit, even as he was already thirsting for more. He looked up, her sharp tone prickling his pride. He shot her a glare from the corner of his eyes, his usually calm smile tugging upward in a half smirk as she avoided his eyes. Oh, was she starting to have second thoughts about her tone towards him?

"I always admired your work ethics and knowledge, my dear, even though you eluded my attempts to give you your well-deserved recognition." The hand not occupied in playing with her still moist, delicate flesh lifted the arm that she had still buried in his thigh, brushing his fingers lightly over her knuckles as he brought it to his lips. She went still as a stone under his fingertips. "I asked myself, what would be the reason you ignored and evaded me for so long? Do you dislike me that much, little engineering girl?"

"No." It took her a moment, a little quiver in her voice, but it seemed like this was the first time in a long while that her answer was as blunt and truthful. He sighed contentedly, planting a soft kiss on her hand. "Quite the contrary, in fact."

His eyes snapped to her, narrowed. She still refused to look at him, still tense and obviously embarrassed, her free hand trembling on her lap. So it hadn't been animosity that made her behave so coldly towards him, not aversion that made her flee his presence and not prejudice that made her avoid their encounters but...

"Ah." Alastor chuckled softly at her awkward behavior, grinning delightedly at the revelation. "Of course."

Shyness was a curious thing, he thought, often misinterpreted as either prude modesty or cold antipathy. And it seemed Alastor had fallen for the latter interpretation - he would've been miffed at the thought if it hadn't brought her here, into his lap, and into his hands - alas, better late than never, he guessed. And there was still something to take care of.

"Well, since you're not running from me now..." His hand left hers and joined his other one in pulling the belt of her pants open, gently tugging on the metal buckle until the strap slipped free. "Let me finally show my gratitude in kind, for the lovely engineer and her marvelous work."

He loosened his tight grip on her, enough so that he could turn her to face him - for once, she glanced at him from under her lashes, not only out of bashfulness now - but he thought he saw something like cautious anticipation there, too. His grin became even wider as she kept his gaze, even if barely. A last stubborn act of shy rebellion - in another situation it would have enraged Alastor, but now, he was delightfully fascinated and challenged by her stubborn nature, by the unpredictability of her reactions even now, as she herself hooked her fingers under the hem of her pants and pushed them down over her shapely hips.

The last barrier of decency fell between them, revealing the full picture before him - there was her reddened face framed by cascading locks, eyes lowered in embarrassed defeat; Her stiffened nipples prominent on her perky, tight breasts; The damp patch of dark pubic hair that barely hid her glistening privates and the plush roundness of her thighs. And the whole body covered in tiny, white streaks, healed cuts and burns scattered in between her freckles. Oh, she would be delightful to ruin over and over again.

He took a step towards her, his hands immediately moving to her hip, exploring, caressing the soft flesh. This time, she did not move away from his touch and watched him with big, wide-blown eyes, full of expectation and a new type of uncertainty as he lifted her up onto the main control panel. He discarded of his jacket, the cloth too heavy and hot for him now, and threw it aside carelessly, leaving his bow tie hanging loosely around his neck as he went back to the woman, his little prey. Her knees parted slightly when his body wedged between them, an inviting gesture from her, though Alastor suspected she herself didn't notice. He grinned darkly, lifting her chin up by a finger, before bending over and planting a firm but restrained kiss on her lips, feeling his own skin crawl in electric stimulation, eager to finally taste her. His hands made quick work of his slacks, freeing his almost painfully erect member with a pleased sigh. From the way she gasped and her eyes widened, he could easily deduct that she had less to no experience whatsoever.

Oh, what a fortune. Alastor relished the thought of claiming precious, well kept treasures, his breath quickened as he broke from the kiss, hands running over her heated skin in swift, soothing motions, goosebumps trailing in their wake as he felt her shudder with hesitant desire beneath him. Oh, this would be fun.

"Let's be sure you'll hear my message loud and clear, this time, hm?"

He took her mouth again before she could protest, discreetly angling the microphone down with one hand just near enough where she would soon enough be connected to him. With a sly grin, he lined himself up to her waiting entrance and slowly pushed in. She stiffened at the unfamiliar invasion, a mewl muffled against his lips and hands in his shirt, and he stilled, enjoying the way her body reflexively tightened and squeezed around him as she tried to cope with the sensation of him stretching her.

She gasped as her chest heaved from the feeling, her walls convulsing around him like a vice. He allowed a low groan to escape him, she felt so gloriously tight and hot he had trouble keeping his composure, hands twitching to rut into her and just plow through.

"Ready for the final test, darling?"

"T-test...?"

He didn't bother to give her an answer as he started to move. In and out, with slow and drawn out movements, keeping his thrusts shallow at first, deep and precise enough to press against her innermost point and making her moan helplessly. The wet sounds of their coupling reached his ears, coupled with her wanton cries, an obscene and enchanting noise he was waiting for. With a mischievous smile, he picked up the headphones from where she had put them down, lifting it to one of her ears. Her face flushed in such lovely shades of red when the squelching echoes of what the mic picked up reached her ears, amplified and oh-so-clear thanks to her own handiwork.

He let out a guttural chuckle as he leaned into her, still thrusting slowly, her head falling on his shoulder and hanging onto his shirt for dear life, knuckles white as she could hear all the sweet sounds their bodies made and how they connected, each inch of her body singing praises for only him, for his size and rhythm. He could tell the moment her walls began to relax around him, squeezing the blood into his member as she took him in again and again, accepting it's size wholeheartedly with greedy eagerness.

"Such a talented woman.", he praised into her free ear, sighing at the delicious way her slick, swollen lips slid over his length, her thighs twitching against his with every single thrust and every word that fell from his lips. "Just listen to the fruits of your impeccable labor, dearest. Almost wasted in a place like this."

A moan, shaky and delirious, a shuddering sob for him, so high and flustered she sounded almost pained escaped her throat. She pressed against him and with a jolt that reverberated through her spine, convulsing so sweetly against him he almost came from the tremor that rushed through his cock. But it wasn't her peak. Alastor hadn't gotten his fill yet and he wouldn't stop now until it was both of their turns, but damn if he wasn't tempted.

He reached to the other ear to put the second headphone on her. Now her world had no escape, she could only listen, only hear every filthy wet noise of his slick slide, his ragged breathing and the beat of her own heart- a heavy, cacophonous staccato.

Her eyes were heavy-lidded, head clouded and flushed, looking up at him with rapt fascination. His own gaze met hers as his pace increased, suddenly snapping his hips with harsh precision, and his voice was low, carnal.

"But their loss is my gain, darling. Don't you ever forget that, now."

And his thoughts went to of those incompetent, thickheaded dunderheads who took their jobs, but were no where as skilled or invested as her, knowing full well they were inadequate and undeserving to get close to her, trying to touch what clearly should have been for him alone to do, and it sent a nasty spark of possessiveness through Alastor, igniting a furious hunger, a beast waking up within him and snarling with unbridled desire, to claim, to mark her as his. And nobody else's.

He grinned devilishly, a low rumble in his throat as a needy whine escaped his little engineer and he grabbed her waist tightly, digging his fingers into the fat there as he picked up speed and drilled into her with more intensity, savage, merciless and utterly ruthless, finally throwing all composure and rationality overboard to replace it with feral instinct and possessive desire. Her hands clutched him desperately, thighs tensing and pressing against his moving hips, her choked cries of his name were nothing else but heavenly and he was filled with lecherous obsession and greed - yes, he could get addicted to the sound of his name being screamed and moaned from her lips, her sweet, wet flesh fluttering around his throbbing length, the violent stuttering of her breath that just enticed and pleaded him to continue.

"Mine. My own, little, eager engineer." he hissed against the shell of her ear, headphones slipping from her, hips still pounding away at her heat with feverish pace and an undeniable pleasure coiling low and tightly within his pelvis. With every harsh thrust, every desperate, salacious cry, he pulled her deeper and deeper into sinful depravity, her head thrown back in bliss, the headphones slipping from her head as her nails scraped desperately over his clothed chest. The sharp bites of pain mixed with a sweet ache and tightening within Alastor, telltale signs of his climax nearing rapidly. "No more avoiding me, no more elusion or flight for you, understood? You are mine and mine alone."

Her toes curled as his words spurred her over the edge with him, her core spasming and quivering around him as her moans became ragged and desperate, jaw agape in rapture but no words found as she toppled into her orgasm, dragging and taking Alastor with her. The immense wave crashed into him and swept him along, and he growled in the sensational and exhilarating feeling and his head fell against her shoulder, with a growl ripping from his throat, low and guttural. His seed emptied in her with long, forceful spurts, her body tensing and relaxing as each twitch and jerk pushed his release deeper and deeper, the pleasure so acute, so sharp it was almost painful, until both their highs subsided and Alastor had to rest against her for a moment, their labored breaths the only noise that reached his ears.

Alastor sighed contentedly, his hand loosened it's grip and his fingertips gently traced over the angry, red lines they had left behind on her tanned skin of her waist, feeling her shivering underneath him. His lips pressed into the soft crook of her neck, placing a tender kiss on the flushed skin. He would have to do something about the bruising and marks... His eyes wandered up and he noticed that she was staring now, hazily and exhausted, her pupils still wide, lips bitten swollen and reddened, her cheeks and chest still painted pink with lingering arousal. The sight was so deliciously debauched and lewd, a smirk crept on his face.

"It seems that the equipment is indeed in perfect working order again, thanks to you, darling."

"...Yes, sir." she replied warily, her voice still breathless. Her usual demeanor returned, too embarrassed to look him in the eyes she tilted her head away from him. He chuckled, lifting her chin and capturing her lips once again, not much for hers but more for his own gain, and then moved off and out of her. He took a moment to savor the view - the red, swollen flesh, leaking his essence that pooled on the metal surface of his control panel he would work on in a few hours, and her thighs glistening in the faint orange light of the booth.

"Please, darling, from now on..." Alastor took a handkerchief from his breast pocket, wiping the mess of his hands and cleaning her with careful gentleness, her legs twitching weakly at the contact.

"...call me Alastor."

He hummed quietly and lifted her from the console, closing the buttons on her blouse again with fastidious efficiency after she slipped back into her pants. Then, with a few quick motions, Alastor picked up his jacket and fixed his own appearance, before helping her stand properly on her trembling feet.

"I trust we won't have any misunderstandings anymore?" He smiled at her, tilting his head slightly, a soft and yet challenging smile, his hand cupping her face and the thumb brushing her lower lip. Her cheeks grew warmer and redder again, her eyes flickering downwards, then back up, before she nodded silently. "Excellent."

Alastor put the headphones back on their rack, before taking his glasses, slipping them back on and reaching for the door handle, his other hand extended towards his little engineer in an inviting motion.

"Come along, my dear. Let me treat you to a nice cup of coffee, I find there's nothing better after a job well done."

She paused, her face going a shade darker and her lips pressing together. Then, after a heartbeat, she stepped next to him and through the door he opened for her. He could see the small smile that crept onto her lips as she hurriedly passed him, a shy glance shot towards him, but this time it didn't feel like she wasn't fleeing, but almost daring for him to chase her.

Another kind of hunt, he mused, and the thought made him smile as he closed the door and followed her out.

[elysianightsss]

La da de da viking Price for the win🛡️🌺

Your heavy snow boots trudged through the thick mounds of pure white snow, the freezing breeze was pinching and nipping at your cheeks. The cold had began to hurt your nose as you breathed, the back of your throat dry. Trying your hardest to keep warm, you shove your chin and mouth further into the top of your coat and breathe out hot air.

You only wanted to hunt for food and go back home, but seeing as you couldn’t find any animals near your little cabin, you had to venture elsewhere for the hunt. Something you annoyingly regretted the further away from home you got.

An exaggerated sigh left you for the twentieth time today as you knelt down on the ground feeling the snow start to soak into the material of your trousers. Pulling your bow off of your body and an arrow from the quiver that was strapped to your back. You drew back the string of your bow, holding the arrow steadily in place.

Closing your eyes, you waited. Listening oh so carefully, for anything. The sound of any animal to make itself known to you. A while passed, all you could hear was the soft wind and a nearby steam trickling quietly.

Until the snort of a deer had your eyes shooting open and your weapon aiming at the creature. Exhaling slowly, you let go, the arrow whipping through the air heading straight for the unknowing animal but ultimately hitting a different target. A huge gasp left you as you watched the arrow go straight into the chest of a man, the deer snorted before running off.

You grunted annoyed and dropped everything to run to the injured man. Your eyes set upon his figure. Large and strong, you recon if you’d hit anywhere else on him that’d he probably wouldn’t have collapsed. Probably would have grabbed the end of the arrow with his big sturdy hands and pulled it straight out like nothing happened. Probably.

The realisation started to set in the more you stared at him, you just shot a man. “Oh my, I’m…I’m so sorry!” You panicked falling to your knees next to him where he was on the ground. His blue eyes meeting yours, looking at you as though you were an alien. His nostrils flared as he quietly grunted, feeling the pain begin to spread throughout his chest and body.

“I was hunting and….and you…y-you stepped in front of the deer. I’m so sorry.” Your hands hovers over his injured while your mind began to become frantic with how to proceed. You eyed the expensive leather that graced his bulky figure. Wrapping around every muscle eagerly. The fur cloak that was spread around him, clearly from a hunt.

It did little to hide the tattoos on his arms. Further up chainmail covered his shoulders proving how sharp you’d made your arrows for it to pierce the chainmail that presumably sat below his tunic and leather. You took note of his face better now, thin lips almost covered by a bushy moustache all connected with thick mutton chops and a full, long beard that caught your attention a little too much.

“Are ya’ done ogling me lass?” He gritted his teeth, wrapping his hand around the arrow and yanking it out. He groaned loudly, deep and rough just like his voice when he spoke. It sent shivers through your body in an unholy way. Nothing like you’d ever felt before.

“Are you a royal from the mainland?” You asked, worry underlining your question.

He bellowed at that, “Ne’er erd’ that one before.” His laugh trailed off as he pressed his fingers into his wound and pulled them away watching the blood drip down his hand.

“My bag.” He was gesturing to the bag that lay a few meters over from where he was. You scrambled to grab it, desperately trying to pull it open. The leather satchel was medium size with about a hundred strings tying it shut.

“W-What do you need?” You were stumbling over your words as you took noticed of the blood that was seeping out of his wound and staining the snow beneath him.

The man grabbed your shaky hands in his and whispered “Breathe.” You listened hesitantly, taking a deep breath.

“Y’know I think I’m supposed to be reassuring you.” A breathless laugh leaving you sounding more like a scoff, he let out a chuckle his face scrunching up in pain.

“In the bag, the bottle with the red liquid.” Nodding quickly, you searched through the bag and pulled out the bottle, pulling the cork out with your teeth and looking at him for instructions. He took the glass container and poured it over his wound and drank the rest of it.

You watched as his heavy panting of pain began to level out. He soon sat up and looked at you curiously, “I’ve ne’er seen ye round these parts before.” He states though you’re pretty sure it was a question, you simply shrug and stand up. He followed suit, a shock jolting through you when he stands only to tower over you greatly.

“I, um really am sorry. It truly was an accident.” You wring your hands together before offering one of them to him. He looks surprised and you don’t blame him, you’re sure a woman has never made this gesture to him before.

“Svo fallegt,” he seemed to look over you for a moment then let his large hand wrap itself around yours with a shake, “S’okay.”You nodded letting go of his grip and making your way to pick up your bow and quiver.

“What’s ya name?” He asked suddenly feeling a wave of panic as he watched you walking away from him. You answered, waiting for his in return. “Price. John Price.”

Now where had you heard that name before?

[helluvaoutlaw]

Gimme Shelter

((( Warning: The song Striker is singing in this post contains sensitive content. )))

Under the dim, smoky lights of the Sugar Buzzed club, Striker stood on the small, worn stage, gripping his electric guitar. Usually filled with vibrant neon hues, the club had dimmed its lights tonight to recreate a Wrathian country blues atmosphere. The crowd, a mix of regulars and curious newcomers, buzzed with anticipation. Striker's outfit was a blend of vintage charm and rugged style:

Brown trousers, black suspenders, an old mauve-colored shirt with its sleeves rolled up, and a black vest that completed the ensemble. He was enjoying a cigar while arranging his guitar and giving time to the other musicians to prepare themselves.

The two Hellhound vocalists (recommended by Queen Bee herself), were more than excited to perform with him, given the two girls were giggling and whispering to each other, probably commenting his physique.

He adjusted the microphone stand, its metal frame barely reflecting the subdued glow. The club’s atmosphere was thick with the scent of spilled drinks and the low hum of conversation.

He drew one last smoke from the cigar, before putting it out in a metal ashtray.

The cowboy nodded at the rest of the group, before starting to play.

Striker's fingers danced across the guitar strings, coaxing out a raw, soulful riff that immediately quieted the crowd.

"Ooooh, a storm is threat'ning

Myyy very life today

If I don't get some shelter,

Ooh yeah, I'm gonna fade away...

Waaar, children,

it's just a shot away

It's just a shot away

Waaar, children, it's just a shot away

It's just a shot away."

His voice, deep and gritty, cut through the room as he began to sing a blues rock tune, each word dripping with emotion and authenticity.

"Ooooh, see the fire is sweepin'

Myyy very street today

Buuurns like a red coal carpet,

Mad bull lost its way...

Waaar, children, it's just a shot away

It's just a shot away

Waaar, children, it's just a shot away

It's just a shot away

It's just a shot away

It's just a shot away

It's just a shot away

It's just a shot away..."

The guitar came alive, electrifying the room. Striker's skills were evident in every note, his fingers moving with precision and passion.

"Look out!

Raaaape, murder!

It's just a shot away

It's just a shot away

Raaaape, murder!

It's just a shot away

It's just a shot away

Raaaape, murder!

It's just a shot away

It's just a shot away..."

The crowd swayed and nodded, some with eyes closed, lost in the music. The rhythm section backed him with a steady, driving beat that resonated in the chest of every listener.

The vocalists were doing a splendid job, enhancing the feeling of the song with their honeyed voices.

"Ooooh the floods is threat'ning

Myyy very life today

Gimme, gimme shelter!

Or I'm gonna fade away..."

Striker’s performance was a blend of raw talent and heartfelt emotion, the kind that left an indelible mark on everyone present.

True, the song wasn't exactly a cheerful one, but he didn't care. They came to feel the true Wrathian spirit tonight, which was anything but sweet and joyful.

It was crude, merciless and painful, delivering the harsh truth of life.

"Waaar, children, it's just a shot away

It's just a shot away

It's just a shot away

It's just a shot away

It's just a shot away

I tell you love, sister,

it's just a kiss away

It's just a kiss away

It's just a kiss away

It's just a kiss away

It's just a kiss away

Kiss away, kiss away..."

His voice rose and fell, his eyes closed as he sang every lyric with ardor, his mind miles away.

As the final notes echoed through the club, the audience erupted into applause, the sound filling the small space with a wave of appreciation.

Striker grinned, nodded, and thanked the public, letting the band to take care of providing ambience music as he left the stage to get a drink.

He would've sang again a bit later, but for now he just wanted to enjoy a glass of bourbon.

(((Song: )))

(((Art belongs to: )))

[talesof-old]

the light you gave me | g.r.

pairing: geralt of rivia x reader

warning(s): 18+, rough (ish?) sex, possibly ooc geralt, sex in the woods, unprotected sex, geralt needs better coping skills lmao, reader has a vagina and he calls reader witch and sweet girl, geralt tackles reader in the woods?, severely unedited and not proofread at all, i think i might actually rewrite this/add more once i get my shit together

word count: 1.6k

kinktober series

geralt saved you from a life that would’ve killed you, so if he wants a chase on occasion, you’re happy to give it to him

prompt: primal, rough sex/outdoor sex

masterlist

You paused, listening as the forest around you silenced. Your heart thundered in your chest, a plea to finally slow down. Something sounded from your right and you bolted, chest heaving as you wove through trees. Geralt had given you a knife, and it rested snug on your hip, a small solace given what monsters may lurk in this wood.

You panted, spotting your makeshift camp in a clearing. You’d been circling the site for at least thirty minutes, drawing Geralt out. It wasn’t too often that he got so riled up from a hunt that he needed to take his energy out on something other than a monster. Today, however, the monster found him first. You still weren’t entirely sure what it even was, but it had come out of nowhere as the two of you were traveling. You’d been knocked off your horse and thrown across the road, thankfully entirely uninjured except for a few nasty bruises on your back and arms. Geralt had yelled for you to stay down and drew the monster away.

By the time he’d come back to you, whatever elixir he had taken was still coursing through him, his eyes dark as night with spiderwebs of black reaching out across his face. The magic of elixirs was not lost on you. Interest swirled in your gut as you helped him set up camp, but you held back as you noticed his clenched jaw and tense shoulders.

It hadn’t taken long for you to strip your outer layers, stuffing them in a bag to avoid anything getting on them in the night while you slept. Geralt’s eyes followed your every move, and you kept your questioning gaze to yourself. Instead, you simply examined him back. His hair was damp from your forcing him to at least rinse off in the river, and you could see the still healing bruises on his collarbone. His shirt was revealing enough to give you a good view of his chest, and you smiled gently, an idea already forming in your mind. Running from Geralt wasn’t easy. He was fast, and had longer legs than you. Besides that, you were more of the healer type, and running didn’t particularly suit you.

It was after dinner, the few dishes you did use cleaned, dried, and put away before you started enacting the first steps of your plan.

Geralt knew you were up to something, saw the mischievous glint in your eye that was far too familiar to ignore. You’d unlaced a fair amount of your dress, showing cleavage that always seemed to grasp his attention. When you’d first done it, he was convinced you’d put a spell on him. He still wasn’t sure you hadn’t.

His eyes wandered over your skin, jaw clenching and blood simmering when he caught sight of a nasty bruise on your arm. What he didn’t realize was that you saw the shift, far too aware of how he was feeling.

You disappeared from his sight, entering the little tent you’d put up for privacy. It wasn’t something you used often, but you thought maybe it would be nice for after the hunt. However, you knew tonight it would not be used. Instead, Geralt would take you somewhere in the woods, after he’d done whatever he needed to get the anger out of his system.

You grinned, unlacing your dress further and tossing it into a corner. Your corset wasn’t particularly pretty, but it was functional, and would aid in your little chase. You made quick work of the lacing, switching into a thin chemise. Your tunic and trousers were discarded and neatly folded, resting on top of your bedroll as you relaced your corset and poked your head out of the tent. Geralt’s back was to you, a clear shot at escape. You drew in a deep breath and bolted.

“I know you’re close, witch.”

His voice took a turn, lowering with each word he spoke. You were drawn from your thoughts as warmth pooled between your legs and you silently cursed yourself.

The chase continued until you were wheezing, bringing yourself to a stop behind a tree, hoping no spider decided to crawl on you. The forest went silent and your heart skipped a beat. A deep growl sounded from behind you and you jumped, barely turning in time to see Geralt racing towards you. Your eyes widened and despite knowing there wasn’t a chance to outrun him, you tried. You’d barely made it a few feet when suddenly he collided with you, arms wrapped around you to soften the fall. You landed with a huff, struggling against his arms. No matter how many times he did that, and no matter how much you liked it, it was still annoying. He was hovering over you in a blink, fingers digging into your soft skin. You fisted your hands in his shirt. He growled again, pressing his lips against yours. The kiss was a flurry of teeth and tongue, a convincing distraction as he hiked up your skirts and removed your undergarments.

Something stroked your lower lips and you jolted as he slipped his middle finger into your cunt. A moan escaped your lips, body arching into his. He chuckled, free hand gripping your ass to pull you closer. Geralt began to guide your hips, fucking you with his fingers as the night darkened. You grasped his wrist, bucking against his hand until he pulled away. You began to whine, all noise stopping when he slapped your thigh. His eyes were nearly all pupil when you made eye contact, both waiting to see what the other did.

He broke first, flipping you around and resting his hands on your hips, positioning you on all fours.

“Take what I give you.”

You hummed, ignoring the sound of ripping fabric and a slight pinching of the hem as he exposed your breasts to the cold forest air. Geralt tugged you back towards him, ass pressed against his pelvic bone as you both grounded against each other.

“You’re such a good girl, doing what I want.”

You only sighed in response, mind focused on the roughness of his hands. Calloused fingers roamed your skin, a wet spot forming on his trousers as your bare cunt rubbed against the fabric. He hissed, making quick work of the buttons and pushed them down to his knees, guiding his cock inside you. You gasped as the head pressed against your lips, unconsciously pushing back against him. He groaned, using his free hand to keep you in place as he inched inside. You moaned, fingers grasping at the rotten leaves on the forest floor. Geralt bottomed out, hips flush against you as you clenched around him, chest heaving. He trailed a hand down your back before resting it between your shoulder blades.

You shifted, urging him to move before you lost your mind. Geralt wasted no time.

He pulled nearly all the way out before slamming back into you, a cry escaping your lips as he hit some spot inside you that had you seeing stars. He kept up a relentless pace, grunts filling the air as he used you for pleasure. All you could do was moan brokenly, mind foggy. The feeling of him inside of you was too much.

He thrusted in and out of you, stimulating every spot that had you gasping. You clenched around him, arms and thighs shaking. He took mercy on you, sliding his hand further up your back until he could clasp your hair, tugging you backwards to rest on him. You gasped at the new position, arching into him and squeezing your eyes shut. Geralt kept a firm grip on your hair, tugging at it in time with his thrusts, using his other hand to tug at whichever nipple he felt like touching. You rolled your hips, back bent as you tried to chase your own pleasure. He just scoffed, continuing to play with your nipples until they were nearly sore and you were crying for release.

The tightness in your gut was too much, all encompassing as Geralt pulsed inside of you. You arched your body further, burying your face in his neck as he rammed into you. He brought his hand from your chest to your clit, ghosting over it to see your reaction. You barely registered the touch at first, too cock-drunk and lost in the sensations. Geralt growled against you, the sound sending vibrations through you as he began to rub furious figure eights against your clit. You cried out, pressing yourself against him further, desperate to run from the feeling. It was too much.

Stars burst behind your eyes as your orgasm began to wash over you, your limbs shaking furiously. Geralt grinned, pressing a kiss to your shoulder before sinking his teeth into your flesh, a broken sound leaving you.

Geralt mockingly cooed at you, releasing his grip on your hair as he thrusted hard into you, cock pulsing as he grunted. You squeezed tight around him, a hiss escaping his lips as he came. You followed not too far after with a hoarse cry, grinding your hips against his to ride out your high. Geralt wrapped his free arm around your waist, chests heaving as he pulled out of you. You whined at the sensitivity of your cunt, turning and nuzzling into his chest. He stroked your cheek, pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of your head. The two of you stayed like that for a while, waiting for your hearts to return to their normal beats. Geralt started to pull away, chuckling when you whined and weakly pulled him back to the ground.

“We’ll stay here a while, sweet girl. We’ll move when you’re ready.”

[quickiesgirl]

Vampiric Mistress - Eddie Munson

Paring: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Warning: 18+, Smut, Dom/Sub, Switch!Eddie Munson, Handjob, Guided Masturbation, Semi-Public Sex, Breast Fixation, Praise Kink, Mistress Kink, Reader Wears Corset, Halloween Costumes, House Party, My Shitty Writing.

A/n: October has gone by so fast, and I can't believe Kinktober is already over. I've really enjoyed posting these shitty little fics out into the world so thanks for reading.

Kinktober 31 - Breasts Fixation

Eddie’s eyes were on you throughout the night, unable to keep his attention off you when you were dressed in such a risky outfit. You took the role of the vampiric mistress in your tight, red lingerie corset with silk, maroon-colored lace in the back, and a long, tattered skirt with a gothic make-up look. 

He was dressed as her victim, clothed in a vintage renaissance-looking pullover, ruffled and laced in the front, and wearing a pair of black trousers. Fake blood smeared on the collar directly below the prominent bite mark on the side of his neck. 

You’d been collecting pieces for your couple's costume for weeks, up until Halloween day, when it finally came together, it was tastefully revealing on your gorgeous frame, exactly as you imagined. The second your boyfriend got a proper look at you, a lustful yearning began growing deep within. 

The teasing aspect of it all was your favorite, making your partner a submissive, needy mess throughout the night. You made little remarks that drew attention to your body, and “accidentally” brushed your ass against his crotch, listening to a small grunt fall from his lips which he quickly tried to cover up with a cough. Knowing his trousers were becoming increasingly tight and restricting further into the night. 

Between the loud, popular hits of the decade playing through the household, the boozy drinks, and dancing people, he still found moments to show you just how hard you’d made him, and what looked like giving a loving hug from behind was him purposefully pressing his strained cock into your ass.

With an excuse, you and your boyfriend began heading upstairs. He was dying to have a moment alone with you. You lead him into the unoccupied bathroom, hips swaying confidently ahead of him, feeling his dark brown eyes burn holes into your body. 

The music on the costly stereo below muffles when the door shuts behind you, only feeling the sound of the base vibrating within the floor. 

He put his beer aside and leaned back into the wall, crossing his arms over his chest, watching you in the mirror. Fixated on those gorgeous breasts while you stand there, looking at your reflection with the counter-pressing into your midsection, back arched forward, and ass pushing out teasingly. 

“You’re okay, enjoying the party?” You asked, checking in on Eddie, knowing he wasn't the biggest fan of parties. 

“Y-yeah, I’m glad we’re here. Your friends are cool,” Eddie excused his needs for a moment and reassured you so sweetly, “and I am especially happy to be dressed up with you, my beautiful, vampiric mistress.”

You glance back at him, noticing that the last part said in his slow, sexy Dungeon Master voice, the same one he uses when narrating the quest of his campaign, making a mischievous smirk creep across your face, “Mistress, huh? I think I could get used to that,” 

Silence consumes him as a flustered look spreads across his face, the bulge in his pants twitching noticeably. 

“You seem a bit distracted, my love. Something on your mind?” You asked, stretching your neck to the side, massaging your exposed shoulder, before delicately strolling the tips of your fingers down with a feather-like touch, sliding between the crease of your cleavage over the material of your corset, watching as the pretty, metal-head becomes flustered by your actions. 

You spin around on the tips of your toes and take a few steps towards him, laying a hand on his stomach as the other brushes the hair from his shoulder, leaning in to slowly kiss the uncovered part of his chest and neck. “Don’t be shy, baby, you can tell mistress.” 

You held a steady, dominant tone in your voice, seducing him with every last word, not to mention that name rolling off your tongue, Mistress. It felt sinfully right to hear it coming from your mouth. 

A quiver rolled through his body, practically melting in the palm of your hand while he felt you mark him with a bruising hickey above his collar for everyone to see. 

“You know what’s on my mind. I’ve been horny all night just from looking at you. All I’ve been able to think about is removing that corset and using my mouth on those gorgeous breasts down to that beautiful stomach of yours.” 

A smile curls on your lips, moving back to position your hands on the counter and rise to seat yourself on the cool felt surface, thighs widening with a very tempting invitation. Your fingers glide across your round, lifted bosom, “So, why don’t you start making that mouth useful then.” 

Eddie obeys at a moment's notice, attaching his full lips to your breasts, which were practically jutting out of your corset. With admiring eyes, you look down as he lays soft, lingering kisses along every inch of your skin. 

Submissiveness was a natural part of him. Sure, he enjoyed being dominant from time to time. But sometimes, nothing felt better than being dominated himself, soft or rough, getting ordered by his partner, being your personal fuck toy on occasion, getting topped, and fucked senselessly. 

You reach behind and pull at the laces that bind the material to your chest, removing your top. The head of his dick begins to throb, watching your breast spill out. 

“Holy shit…” He said, gawking at the sight of your body on full display, licking his lips instinctually before leaning forward, hovering his mouth over your erect nipple, and slowly tracing the areola until he finally wrapped his warm, silk-felt lips around your bud. 

Eddie Munson had been blessed to have a well-skilled tongue used in all sorts of pleasurable ways. He could have your chest heaving within seconds and hips squirming at times just by stroking himself along the sweet spots of your body. He’d studied where every single one of them lay. 

The tip of his tongue applies a few kitten licks, nose brushing into your skin before releasing with a suctioned pop, cursing to himself silently as he stares at your glistening nipple. His fingers graze along the sides of your body, feeling your skin prickle from his touch. 

“You’ve been such a good boy, waiting so patiently. I’m very proud of you,” You praised, driving your hand through his dark brown curls while the other cupped the nape of his neck, “This was everything you wanted, wasn’t it? You were so quiet and reserved, knowing you’d get rewarded.” 

“Mmm, yes.” Eddie lets out, completely infatuated with your seductive-sounding voice in his ear. He trails lips across your chest, finally giving some attention to your other nipple. 

He gently nipped at your bud while his dominant hand slid up your stomach to cup your breast, squeezing at the soft flesh weighing in his palm. His spare hand remained on your lower back, keeping your body arched into him. You rolled your shoulders back and let out a teasing moan that forced out an audible reactive grunt from him. 

 “F-fuck, I won’t last like this…C-can I - stroke myself, mistress?” He begged, watching your eyes examine before permitting him to do so. 

He swiftly pushed his pants and boxers down to his thighs, sighing with relief when he freed his restricted cock, which had been tucked into the waistband of his trousers since earlier in the night, blood pumping to his swollen, enlarged penis with a slight tingling sensation, desperately waiting for your attention, which he got the second he pulled it out. 

Your lecherous gaze ogles his erection, held firmly in his grasp, watching the way his thumb swipes over the pinkened tip, spreading his pre-cum around, making you nibble on your bottom lip. 

“Rub your palm against the head of your cock. I want you to touch yourself, just like I would.” 

Sweet little moans and whimpers began to fall from his lips as he massaged the head of his dick, his spare hand, once holding you nearly moments ago, snaked into his boxers to fondle his heavy balls, pretending that his large fingers were your small, nimble ones. 

“Mmm, best keep quiet, or someone may hear those slutty little noises.” You warn, raising his chin and pulling his bottom lip down before feeding your fingers into his mouth, feeling puddling warmth wrap around you. His soft moans vibrate around your digits before you draw out and line his swollen lips, making them wet and glistening with saliva. 

You raise the front of your dress to reveal your clothed slit and swipe your panties aside, rubbing your clitoris in languid circles, forcing him to watch. Still holding that devilish gaze, giving him a look as if you were the apex predator and he was just another helpless piece of meat for your enjoyment. 

He looked down, completely fixated on your sweet-looking cunt, glistening lips with your manicured nails rotating around the hood of your clit, applying a bit of pressure.

All of these thoughts went to the head of his cock with a pulsating sensation while everything around him, the muffled sound of music and people conversing below, completely faded out, almost in a lustful, hazy blur. 

“M-may your good boy cum, mistress?” 

“I think you’ve waited long enough. Where do you want it, or- should I surprise my sweet boy?” You questioned, tilting your head and hopping off the counter. Your heavy plat-formed shoes beneath you made a loud thumping noise when you dropped. Hopefully, it wasn’t as noticeable for the people below. 

You wouldn’t want to get caught taking care of Munson's needs in your dear friend’s bathroom, or maybe it was the risk of it all that turned the two of you on so much, the fact that you were getting off your submissive boy at a Halloween party, all because of a little costume that turned him on. 

“I-I uhm, s-surprise me, please?” His voice rose with a slight tremble, not so subtly eyeing your body, warmth spreading over his face, paying attention to your chest. He had a fixation, after all. 

A grin merely spreads across your lips before he slides his hands back, lacing one around the base of his drooling cock while he watches you kneel to the ground. The wood flooring, hard on your knees and likely to leave bruises as a reminder of this moment for later.

 You look up into his eyes seductively and grab his thighs, placing a single kiss on the head of his penis before rubbing your tongue back and forth across the glans, coating your taste buds in precum.  

He moaned breathily, watching you aim his cock at your breasts and finally give permission to jerk off. He only gets a few strokes in before strings of his hot, sticky cum are painting your chest beautifully. 

“Oh fuuhck, ’m cumming-” Eddie alerted before being cut off with husky grunts and moans, knees weakening and head pressing back into the wall, milking himself as much as he could physically handle.

When he finished, he loosened on his softening cock, and eyes glanced down, watching you wipe the beads of cum with your finger and lick the mess away as he came down from his high. 

“Jesus, I think I’m seeing stars.” He let out a slow exhale, still trying to regain his breath. 

“Good,” You chuckle softly, standing up to press your lips to his, tongue driving past his warm wet lips, making him moan into your mouth, getting the taste of his own bitter yet sweet cum. 

It looked so disgraceful stepping out of that bathroom together. Eddie's neck was covered in lip prints and hickeys while your lipstick smeared slightly with a few additional love bites across your bosom, only adding to the erotic effect of your costume.

Eddie Munson Smut Taglist: @sunflowerharrington @madmax-thewise @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @rottenstyx @cantthinkofauserlololol @natashamacimoff69 @zestychilli @luna-munson83 @chaoticcancer @ruinedbythehobbit @emxxblog @emsgoodthinkin @jjmaybankswifes-blog

Taglist Form | Message if you want to be removed <3

[angryducktimemachine]

Oh yeah I also drew Davenport again because I listened to the skeleton pirate live show while falling asleep yesterday and he's still my favourite <3

[ID: a digital, fully coloured drawing of Davenport from The Adventure Zone.

He is a white gnome with freckles and ginger hair and beard with grey streaks. His hair is in a bun. He's wearing a wide, white shirt and blue trousers with brown boots. He's swinging on a rope. /End ID]

[poppitron360]

*slides you a 20 [whatever currency you're using] bill* now tell me about how you got to ship valzhang and what you like most about it, along with your headcanons and scenarios

...please<3

THANK YOU SO MUCH I LOVE YOU.

Okay sorry for taking long to reply I needed to schedule 3hrs out of my day to respond to this because I have a LOT of thoughts- Valzhang was my otp LONG before Valgrace. Be prepared for a lot of caps lock, keysmashes and exited ramblings.

We are phenomenally deprived of Valzhang fanart/fanfiction and that is a CRIME. They are so fun and cute to draw next to each other because they’re just so different- I love how Leo looks SO FUNKING TINY next to Frank.

But seriously, we are lacking. I searched up “Valzhang” on Pinterest earlier and there is NO JOKE only 5 pieces of fanart on there. We need to step up our game!

I’ve already posted this, but here is some Valzhang fanart I drew a while back-

So, how did I come to become the No.1 Valzhang Defender, you ask? Well…

Reading TLH was going slowly (bc of Spotify Audiobooks and their stupid listening hours feature), but I needed to shovel content into my brain like popcorn and so by the end of the first book I’d known all the spoilers and I knew that Frank and Leo would have a rivalry- and I was already SUPER attached to Leo, so I was prepared to HATE Frank.

So imagine my absolute frustration when I read SoN and found myself absolutely falling in love with this massive softie. I tried not to, I really did, but I couldn’t help it.

So, naturally, I was COMPLETELY on board with them becoming besties.

I was also all for their rivalry because it had so much potential for Leo angst- he’s already antagonising himself because of his powers, so someone else treating him like shit would only make him feel worse- thus I have more ways to cathart my own pain through fictional characters, so either way, it was a win-win for me.

But the blossoming bromance we got from it-

Oh my gods.

I already made a post about my feelings on Valzhang and how Caleo is just a shitty re-cycled version of them, but NO WAY was that all my thoughts, so here goes (and bear in mind I am only on HoH so this isn’t even their arc as a whole):

*Clears Throat*

*Shuffles note cards*

*Clears throat again*

*Deep Breath*

1. FRANK IS NO LONGER AFRAID OF FIRE BECAUSE OF LEO!!!!! I mean HOW CUTEE IS THAT!!!!!! He thought that there was nothing worse than fire, he was terrified of it, it was his biggest weakness. And then he met this tiny annoying hyperactive boy who is the MOST UNLIKELY OF FRIENDS- And he taught him to not be afraid. Like there is a moment where his trousers are literally ON FIRE and he doesn’t freak out because Leo taught him to not be afraid anymore. AND IT’S NOT JUST BECAUSE OF THE POUCH!!!! Frank learns to trust Leo with his life- and there’s that moment in that scene where he’s faced with a choice to give him The Stick or not, and he chooses to trust Leo. He learns that fire (Leo) may seem scary and intimidating, but it can also be good and warm and wholesome and healing.

2. AND IT GOES BOTH WAYYYS!!!!! Leo was afraid of opening up to people, of letting down the mask and letting people see the real him. Sure, he did it a bit with Jason and Piper, but notice how in TLH, he only does it bc he didn’t have a choice. He used his fire powers to save them, and then Jason sort of just pieced together what happened the night Leo’s mom died. The first time he actually TELLS someone about it was when he tells Frank- someone who he thought was big and intimidating and so was putting his defences up with the jokes. To him, Frank looked just like someone who would’ve bullied him in the foster homes, he was the last person Leo thought he’d open up to. But he does, and Frank comforts him. They realise they’re not as different as they thought, and bonded over similar trauma and dead moms.

*Takes another deep breath*

3. LEO REALLY IS SO BRILLIANTLY TINY NEXT TO FRANK. IT. IS. SO. CUTE. Unlike Calypso and Leo, who were not planned out, Frank was WRITTEN to be Leo’s rival. They are exact opposites. The Yin and the Yang. The Sun and The Star (lol). They both juxtapose each other so beautifully- on the surface they contrast and clash but looking deeper they actually parallel each other but ultimately they compliment each other both in flaws and in strengths!!!! (*steadies myself on table* “Whoa, flashback to GCSE Eng Lit- using the same analysis structure. Are you proud of me, Miss Cox?”) But seriously, they initially are rivals because they look like complete opposites- tall/short, muscular/built like a twig, calm and careful/reckless and loud, animals/machines, Roman/Greek, Outwardly confident/Outwardly insecure, etc, etc.

4. But, as I said, looking deeper, they actually have a lot in common. Not just losing their moms, but Leo’s just as afraid of fire as Frank is. The only difference being that Frank’s afraid because of how it could hurt him, Leo’s afraid because of how it could hurt others, which directly contradicts Frank’s initial impression that Leo is self-centred and egotistic. Honey, that’s just an act. They’re also both very insecure, and both feel like the least useful member of the seven, and struggle to feel accepted. Because of how Leo felt threatened by Frank, he put his defences up and lashed out with his jokes, attacking Frank where he was most vulnerable, ridiculing him. They completely misjudged each other at first, and had an ANTI-meet-cute (Leo firing on New Rome) and it took a while for them to take down those walls that they’d built up, making it a lot more meaningful when they do open up.

And now we get onto specific hcs/scenarios I have, and I have a LOT of them:

1. Nico reveals to Leo that Frank’s mom is in Elysium because she gave her life in war to save others, whereas Leo’s mom is not, and instead is in Asphodel, despite all the little things she sacrificed in order to raise him, knowing he’d be important to the fate of the world. This causes a lot of resentment and jealously for Leo, as Frank has the one thing he desperately wants- a chance to see his mom again, make things right, get closure. Frank is annoyed by the fact that Leo is suddenly acting so cold and angry towards him, until Leo finally explains why.

2. Leo’s lactose-free mac n cheese is Frank’s favourite thing on earth. He has some sort of magic ingredient that makes the fake cheese not taste so plasticky, but he refuses to tell Frank what it is so Frank has to keep begging him to make it. Leo also makes it high in fibre and carbs, so it’s good workout food. Leo makes sure all his meals are Frank-Friendly.

3. I need to see them in battle together. Frank is incredibly anxious and overprotective of his tiny reckless bf/bff. Leo’s just a ball of freaking energy bouncing around going “ahahahbahjabkakdfkajkjaaa” and Frank’s like “Leo, no, those have teeth-“ He’s fine though.

4. As much as Frank acts like he hates Leo, he would risk his life for him in a heartbeat. I imagine Leo gets injured in battle and Frank drops whatever he’s doing and just fucking RUNS to help him. I can vividly picture him transforming into an elephant and scooping an unconscious Leo up in his trunk, and carrying him over to the medic tent. Yes, he’s currently being fired on by so many enemies, but nothing matters except getting Leo to safety.

5. Frank helps Leo with his machines. He can turn into small animals and get into tiny spaces, and he can become desert creatures, so the heat in the engine room doesn’t bother him.

6. Frank often finds Leo asleep on top of his blueprints, his welders-goggles askew, and he turns into a cat and curls up next to him to keep him company.

7. Also, when Leo skips meals because he’s spent too long working and he’s lost track of time, Frank makes sure to bring him food and water and his ADHD meds… and then he asks him to make him some mac n cheese.

8. Frank knows about PTSD from seeing his mom and her military friends, and so is often there to comfort Leo when he has flashbacks to the night his mom died, or one of the other miserable things that happened in his childhood.

9. All the things that used to freak Frank out about Leo (Leo making fun of his insecurities, Leo’s fire, the whole Sammy thing-) they are now 100% comfortable joking about together. Before, Frank would get upset when Leo ridiculed him, but now Leo does it as a sign of affection rather than as self-defence, and Frank can tell the difference. It is their love language.

10. When I write fanfiction, I often write important scenes when I think of them, and then write around them. Sometimes, it’s just one or two lines, for example I found this in my notes app the other day:

“I hate Hera,” Leo said, “She yeeted my dad off a cliff.”

“Yote,” Frank corrected.

And I had nothing written around it, nowhere to put it, it was just lying there. Anyway, that was important to share.

11. Also, I have this:

“I’m hugging you now,” Frank said, pulling Leo into an embrace and squeezing him tight.

“O- Okay, big guy,” Leo said, his voice muffled in Frank’s chest. His tiny body was practically swallowed in Frank’s bear-hug. He squirmed and fought and wriggled, but his weakling arms worked about as well as spaghetti against Frank’s brick-like build.

“No,” Frank insisted, “I will smother you with love and affection.”

“Get. Off.”

“No.”

“Let go of me, Zhang, or I’ll burn you.”

Frank let go. Leo rubbed his bruised arms.

12. I ship them platonically, but the joke-flirting is 1000% a thing they do. Hazel is the main pedaler of this, and often introduces them as “My boyfriend Frank, and Frank’s boyfriend Leo.”

13. Frank reluctantly admits to Leo that he likes Taylor Swift. Leo is obvs a swiftie, so absolutely goes MENTAL at this news, ofc ridicules him mercilessly for it, despite how hypocritical it makes him look (“This is not about me!”), but still insists they sit down with Hazel and make friendship bracelets (Frank no longer has the heart to tell him that he wasn’t actually a huge fan, just had a couple of her albums and liked her songs, unlike Leo who knows every word to every song, all the lore behind it, and Tay’s favourite colour, star sign, and shoe size.) AND I KNOW I HEADCANNON EVERYONE AS A SWIFTIE SHUT UP LET ME PROJECT.

14. Frank buys Leo fidget toys he think’s he’ll like. Sure, Leo can make his own, but it’s the sentiment that counts.

15. And they stay friends after the War. Frank frequently visits from New Rome University. They have long iris messages where they gossip and talk shit.

16. Leo becomes godfather to Frazel’s children. Absolutely SPOILS THEM ROTTEN (I also have a shit-tonne of hcs about Leo babysitting Percabeth’s kids, so lmk if you’d like to hear that.) Will visit the Zhang-Levesque household on the weekends, makes the kids gifts, teaches them how to safely use a fire extinguisher, helps them prank their dad.

17. I know Jason is meant to be Leo’s best friend BUT if Valgrace was cannon then that would leave room for Frank to be the BFF. NO BUT, YOUR HONOUR, YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND- They started out hating each other, but then became INSEPARABLE once they took the time to get to know each other and realised they were actually really cool people. It’s not enough for them to be friends, they need to be BEST FRIENDS. They need to be their ONE AND ONLY. They need to knock on each other’s cabin doors on the Argo II at 3am and have long discussions about Their Feelings. They need to be 100% comfortable with each other and tell each other everything. Yes, Leo is annoying but he is Frank’s annoyance. Yes, Frank is a goof but he’s Leo’s goof. BEST. FRIENDS.

They’re just such an unlikely pairing, I love them sm.

Thank you for sticking with me, I will not apologise for my ramblings, you were warned, but if you did make it to the end, here, have a sweet 🍬 You are clearly just as dedicated a Valzhang stan as I am (It is currently 00:54am where I live)

I will probably have a lot more Thoughts and Feelings coming your way soon, so don’t think for a second that I’ve got it all out of my system. I still haven’t finished the series yet, and I know that as soon as I post this I’ll think of something else that I should’ve added, but I hope this was enough for now.

(Also, I’m British, so I’d use a £20 (“twenty pound”) Note, in case you were curious.)

Again, thank you so much annon for the Ask- as you can see, I LOVE VALZHANG.

[prettysquishygirl]

Chapter 4 of Murder at Gallows Hall is now up. And I have gone for the smut because it was both necessary to the plot and funny and made me grin. I can't think of a better reason. Anyway, my favourite bits are below the cut. If it interests you, it's over on AO3:

"When it's happened before, I've been alone," said Aziraphale and wondered if any of this would be considered oversharing. He wasn't quite sure about the etiquette in these situations and felt he was navigating it blindly. It didn't hurt that Crowley's fingers were still stroking the skin just below his waistband and Aziraphale decided that they were very much venturing to what could definitely be considered to be his buttocks. One cheek anyway.

"And what did you do, when you were all alone?" asked Crowley. He kissed the angel and drew back slowly, his teeth catching briefly in Aziraphale's bottom lip before he released it. "What terrible sins did you get up to?"

"I don't sin," said Aziraphale, who wasn't quite sure if this counted and didn't really care if it did. "I took care of it."

"Uh, interesting," said Crowley as his fingers spread wider under the close fabric of Aziraphale's trousers. "What did this taking care of entail?"

"You know what it entails," said Aziraphale.

"I'm interested to know what that means for you," said Crowley. "For instance, do you find a good book and use your free hand?"

"I don't read books while I'm dealing with that," said Aziraphale.

"Films?" said Crowley and tilted his head as he seemed to seriously consider it. "You listen to music. Chopin? Beethoven? Glenn Miller?"

"Gershwin," said Aziraphale and Crowley laughed. "What now?"

"You've got rhythm," said Crowley and squeezed his fingers. "That's amazing, angel. I'm impressed."

[indulgencecentral]

Warm Me Up

AKA when you need more than blankets to fight the cold

Pairings: Suguru Geto × gn!reader

Genre: smut and fluff oneshot

Warnings: Established relationship, nicknames, (sugar, darling, love) fluffy sex for the sake of it, Suguru wears glasses, reader is a bottom.

MDNI

A/N: If it isn't obvious already, giving Suguru the nickname 'sugar' is my favourite thing in the world because he deserves a reverent nickname. I wrote this because it's cold where I live, but I always wear shorts and therefore am plagued with icy coochie syndrome. I also wrote this while listening to All Mine by Plaza.

The two of you had been reading in companionable silence sharing a blanket as you sat at opposite ends of the couch, feet tangled together. Occasionally you would look up from your book to admire Suguru, his hair falling into his face as he read with rapt attention, a pang in your heart when you realised how pretty he was. 

Flame crackled in the fireplace, and empty mugs of hot chocolate rested forgotten on the coffee table, and still, you found yourself chilly all over. 

After catching yourself staring at your lover for the fifth time, you sighed and put your book aside, sliding Suguru’s bookmark between the pages of his novel and clambering into his lap. Automatically, his free arm went around you, and you waited till he finished the paragraph he was reading.

“Hello darling,” he said, his eyes sliding to meet your tired ones. His voice was a rumble in his chest, and you burrowed closer, relishing his body heat.  

“Sugar,” you sighed into his chest. “I’m cold.”

Placing a kiss on your forehead, he drew the blanket tighter around you, pulling you into his solid embrace. “Better?”

You hummed in affirmation, lavishing kisses on his jaw. “That’s not where I’m cold, though.”

At this, he laughed, tucking your hair behind your ear. Had watching him while he read made you horny? Yes, yes it had. But could you be blamed? There was something so attractive about his soft hair in his eyes, the glasses resting low on his nose, his intense focus, the way his jaw ticked and brow furrowed, the way his hands spread the ages apart.

“Where are you cold, then?”

You threaded your hands through his hair, nails scratching lightly along his scalp as you pulled his mouth to yours. “You know where,” you whispered against his lips, a barely-there brush of his mouth enough to make your breath hitch. 

Suguru pulled you into his lap, hands sliding low to cup your ass. “Do I?”

“You do,” you nodded, drunken on his closeness, the lingering scent of his cologne and aftershave making you dizzy as he squeezed your ass. 

“And how would you like me to warm you up?”

You tipped his head back, your mouth making a mess of his neck, teeth grazing along the soft column, the apple of his throat bobbing with each kiss and lick. “Please, Sugar, I’m so cold,” you whined brokenly, paying careful attention to the sensitive speck of skin beneath his ear. 

Instead of replying, his hand traced the sticky heat of your crotch over fabric, your knees buckling when he did. “Like this, love? Is this of you want?”

You ground against his stiffening cock, your motion enough to draw a groan from him. “Let me feel you, sugar,” you moaned, rubbing yourself against his thigh. 

“I’m all yours, darling.”

Your hands found him then, drawing his thick length from his trousers, pumping the shaft gently, whimpering when his hands found your nipples. He kneaded them softly, capturing your bottom lip between his teeth as you slid down on his cock, moaning as you felt him warm up your insides.

Settling on his hips, you mewled as he thrust up in you, shallow slow fucking with no intention of an orgasm, just warmth, comfort and that gorgeous feeling of being linked together. 

Every time he shifted beneath you, the steady pace of your breathing stuttered a little, and every time you nipped at the canvas of his collarbone and neck, his eyes shuttered. 

“Better now?”

You snuggled into him, a sleepy daze clouding your senses. “So much warmer.”

With another kiss upon your temple, you heard the rustle of pages as he picked up reading where he’d left, his length snug inside you. 

Yeah, you thought as you drifted off to sleep. This is the best way to warm up in the winter.

Original Work

All reblogs and iteractions are appreciated!

Do not plagiarise, copy or repost my work anywhere.

All characters belong to Gege Akutami.

© all rights reserved @indulgencecentral

[dot-cant-write]

A Different Chord - Sammy Lawrence x Reader (Part 6)

You horse around with one Wally Franks on your lunch break.

A/N: i have not played batdr in it’s entirety yet so please no spoilers but i pray that mr lawrence is in the game

————————————————————————

You and Wally were on lunch break. And by break, you meant that Wally was leaning against your desk in the art department while you tried to finish a sketch for the next Bendy cartoon. Oh, and Wally was definitely eating the sandwich you’d packed. Damn. There goes your peanut butter and jelly.

Wally peered at your drawing, spilling crumbs on the paper. “Whatcha drawin’?” He asked with his mouth full.

You brushed the crumbs away. “Boris the Wolf. And if you get one more crumb on this paper I’m gonna make you regret taking my sandwich, Wally.”

He laughed. You would never hurt a fly, and you both knew it.

“So anyways… What’s up with you and Sammy Lawrence?” Wally grinned mischievously.

“You have peanut butter in your teeth, Wally,” You ignored his question. If you could just get Boris’ stupid nose right…

“Oh come on! Half the studio knows something’s up by now. You’re from the Art Department, he’s from the Music Department- heck, you’re practically Romeo and Juliet!” The janitor teased.

“Nothing is going on, dumbass. Don’t spread rumors. You wouldn’t want me saying stuff about you and Allison, would you?”

“Now see, me n’ Allison are just friends, but Allison and that Tom Connor—“

“My point exactly. Quit spreading rumors,” you interrupted. You put down your pen. Drawing could wait for later.

But the truth was, after your strange encounter with Sammy Lawrence, you weren’t entirely sure how to behave around him. You still weren’t entirely sure if what Norman said was true, either. Wally picking on you certainly didn’t help.

Wally piped up again, making you lose your train of thought. “Listen, all I’m sayin’ is that I’ve never seen Sammy Lawrence look as happy as he is with you.”

Isn’t that what Norman said, too?

“And I think there’s somethin’ up with that kooky composer. He keeps askin’ me about the art department’s ink supply. He’s a strange one, (Y/N). But I support it if you’re into him.”

“Wally! For the last time, I’m not into Sammy! Besides, aren’t him and that Susie girl a thing or something?” You reddened from Wally’s teasing.

“Nah, Susie Campbell? She sure likes him, but I don’t think he sees a darn thing in her. Nothin’ but the voice of Alice Angel. And uh, you’re blushing,” Wally added with a shit-eating grin.

“That’s it you little rascal-“ You suddenly jumped from your desk and chased Wally down the hall.

“Oh shi-“ Wally turned on his heel, sprinting.

Meanwhile, Henry, who overheard the whole conversation, chuckled. “Kids.”

————————————————————————

Wally had no idea you could run so fast. He must’ve really pushed some buttons, huh? But he had no time to laugh at you while you were hot on his trail. The janitor weaved his way through employees, nearly bumping smack into Shawn Flynn, a toymaker.

“C’mon Wally, this one’s got a crooked smile now!” Shawn complained as you ran by.

Wally chanced turning around, only to yelp in surprise. You were like, right behind him! He tried to speed up, running downstairs.

“Oh no you don’t!” You raced after him.

Joey Drew Studios was a maze. You don’t even know how you ended up down by the Music Department.

Joey Drew Studios was a maze. You don’t even know how you ended up down by the music department.

You barely heard the sound of the band playing over the sound of your thumping heartbeat. You were so close to catching that son of a gun-

Bursting through the doors to the recording room, you tackled Wally- wait, why was Wally laughing at you from behind a violinist? Oh no-

You had tackled one Sammy Lawrence instead. Pushing up and off of him, you apologized profusely.

“Oh gosh, Sammy, I’m sorry-“

You glanced at Wally, who blew as raspberry in your direction. Idiot, you mouthed at him. Then you turned back to Sammy, you had stood up off the ground and was brushing off his trousers. He looked at you and shook his head.

It felt like the whole room was holding its breath. Was (Y/N) going to get chewed out? they wondered. Sammy Lawrence shocked them all.

He started laughing.

Goosebumps rose on your skin. Why does what would usually be a wonderful sound, sound so strained?

“I cannot believe your horsing around interrupted us. We have a cartoon due tonight, y’know. Not everyone has time to screw off and run through the halls.” He wheezed, seeming more than a little crazed. “Due tonight! And two more songs I need to write. How the hell does Joey expect this to fucking work?” It seemed more like the composer was talking to himself now. It scared you.

You hesitated for a moment. Should you respond? You supposed it would be best so you and Wally could get out of there. “Yes, of course, it won’t happen again, right Wally?”

“Course not! No horsin’ around from me, no sir!” Wally agreed eagerly.

And with the, the two of you hurried out the way you came.

————————————————————————

“That was scary as anything I’ve ever seen!” Wally sighed, exasperated. You nodded nervously.

“I’ve never seen him like that… I wonder if he’s just really stressed?” You wondered aloud.

“Listen, I think you should keep an eye on that Sammy Lawrence. There’s something going on, I just know it. Bet it’s gotta do with all that ink he takes. Think he injects it or somethin’? Wouldn’t that be crazy!” Wally theorized.

“Oh Wally, you always think there’s something going on. He just takes extra ink for writing sheet music, I’m sure. And he’s gotta be stressed from Mr. Drew’s deadlines.”

Wally just shook his head. Little did you know, Wally Franks knew a lot more than he let on. It probably saved his life. He wasn’t sure if he could save yours, though.

[dujour13]

Patching up a wound👀

Thanks for the prompt Romeo 💕 A little Act II moment. Prompts here

---

“Take it easy chief.”

Flat on his back, Siavash opened one eye at that. Woljif was the one panicking. Although, he reflected, maybe he ought to start. Before he passed out.

“Lemme see.”

Siavash removed a bloody hand from the slash wound across his thigh. Damn schir caught him just under the buckler. Keep your shield up, Seelah had told him. Shouldn’t have listened.

“Yeah, that’s bleedin’ a lot. Doesn’t look too good.”

“Ruined my favorite trousers.”

“Uh—” Woljif choked. The green ones with the stripes. The ones the Count had looked at and said “Ah, the brave city defenders leaping into battle without even taking the time to change out of their pajamas.”

“Tell me you have a potion on you.”

Woljif choked again. He’d been hoarding them and selling them off to the foot soldiers. You could get twice what they were worth on the Kenabres market, and he could always talk Ember into looking after his own little scrapes and bruises.

“Drank my last one. Don’t you have a spell?”

Siavash shook his head. He’d squeezed out his last drop of magic when they were ambushed by cultists on the road earlier that day.

“You’re tellin’ me we went scoutin’ without one spell or potion between us?”

“We’re a couple of amateurs, aren’t we?” Siavash chuckled weakly, and then realized what that meant for the Fifth Crusade he was meant to be leading, which wiped the smile off his face almost as quickly.

Woljif mistook this for a grimace of pain and began to panic again. “Hold on, chief—we’ll figure somethin’ out—”

Though the thought flashed through his mind that now might be a really good time to abscond. Sure, they’d taken Vilareth’s Ford but how long would their luck hold out? No—he banished the thought. He wasn’t sure he could find his way back to the camp, let alone the road. City streets had names and landmarks. Trees all looked the bloody same.

Besides, there was more to be milked out of the Fifth Crusade. Not to mention he still owed the chief and it was good to have fr—contacts in high places. He realized his hand was on the chief’s thigh and drew it away.

And then the chief started to unbuckle his belt.

“Um. What—?”

“Help me get my scarf off.”

There was a close-quarters struggle to untie the fringed blue scarf and pull it out from under his waist without budging the wounded leg, during which time some color returned to Woljif’s cheeks.

“Just rip it,” Siavash coughed. Moving had caused a surge of blood and pain.

“Yeah, right. Like in the stories? With my teeth?”

He didn’t have the breath to tell him about the one time Kel Five Knives had taken an arrow to the leg and still managed to lead the Order of the Gate on a merry chase. Later, at camp. That was a good one.

“It don’t work like that.” Woljif stood up and trapped one end of the scarf under his boot so that he could slice through it with his dagger and rip off a long, fringed bandage. This he began wrapping very carefully around the chief’s thigh.

“Tighter. It has to stop the bleeding.”

He grimaced and pulled tighter. Just as he feared, the chief let out a yelp. “S-sorry.”

Between shallow breaths Siavash wheezed, “You’re a man of many talents, Woljif, but I don’t think healing is one of them.”

“Gimme a lock to pick anytime. This ain’t my kinda work.”

Once he was bandaged, or at least as well as could be expected, Woljif gave him a hand up and waited while he bent double, blinking sparks from his vision.

It turned out the chief was just the right height that if Woljif leaned a little he could fit his shoulder into his armpit and help him limp back to camp. It felt strangely intimate. Friendly-like. The chief was in pain but he still laughed when they had to stop and negotiate their way over fallen branches, hopping and clinging to each other. Woljif found he didn’t mind so much that his shoulder was starting to ache, because the chief’s arm around him made him feel a little floaty.

They made it halfway before they stumbled across Lann, who had come looking for them when their absence stretched on longer than was quite normal. He shook his head and sighed.

“Don’t tell me you went scouting without one healing spell or potion between you.”

[naviculariis]

The rain was heavy, falling steadily from the heavy clouds overhead. Thea stood in the doorway, watching as the crew scampered about, laughing loudly while ducking for cover, going below deck. Her brow furrowed, storm cloud eyes narrowing. Rain.

“Why look so sad, Highness?” Malekai mused as he settled beside her in the doorway, close enough that his arm brushed against her shoulder.

She could smell the cinnamon from the kitchen lingering on him. What was he doing down there? “I don't like the rain.” She sniffed, going to turn only to pause as he chuckled. “What?”

“You do not like rain, yet we need rain to help things grow.” Malekai countered, stepping out from the safety of the doorway and into the downpour. He turned, holding a hand out to her as the rain soaked him to the bone. Strawberry blonde hair clung to his high cheekbones, to the back of his neck, waves straightening out. The shirt he wore quickly clung to his form, heavy with the water. “When was the last time you simply let the rain fall on you?”

Thea stared at him incredulously. She was no longer clothed in royal fineries nor gowns of silk. A cloth shirt. Trousers given to her by Kaith. Her hair was not carefully washed and styled. She wore no makeup.

The Queen stepped out from the safety of the doorway into the downpour, and gasped at how cold the rain was. “It's frigid!” She hissed, but stubbornly, she pressed forward, standing in front of the Captain. He was grinning down at her. Damned wolf. “Happy?”

“No. You are not feeling it. Close your eyes, now.” He reached up, covering her eyes with his hand briefly. “Feel the rain. Stop fighting.”

She wanted to curse him. To scream at him, to yell at him and retreat inside, to the blankets and warmth. Instead, she drew in a slow breath- and listened. To the rain hitting the wood of the Crimson Grace, to the rain hitting the water that surrounded the ship, to the soft sound of Malekai breathing. The rumble of thunder in the distance that rolled across the water like a soft drum. The way the rain washed over her, through her hair, over her cheeks. She tilted her head back; she was relaxing, she realized. As if-

“The rain washes away our worries.” He murmured, studying Thea curiously. Her cheeks were rosy from the cold and her anger, yet her brow had relaxed, her lips were no longer curved into a frown. He nodded to himself, turning away to finish securing the crates on the deck while the Queen of nothing remained in place, letting the rain take away her anger, her pain, her frustrations. When he next looked over, she had actually laid down on the deck, spread eagle. It was hard to tell due to the rain washing over her face, but he could have sworn that she was crying.

[tiny-elf-of-doom]

A Man & His Car 🖤

Good Omens fanfiction

Crowley x The Bentley (yes, really)

Best if you listen to I’m In Love With My Car by Queen while reading!

Nsfw 🔞 MDNI: m@sturbation, dirty talk, descriptions of s€x, & a sassy 1926 Bentley.

Crowley lounged back against the upholstery. He loved the way his car purred when it was given the right attention. Using two, thin fingers, the demon lined the CD slot from left to right, slathering it in a cleaner he kept under the seat. The Bentley surged from his touch, flashing the front lights as darkness approached.

“You like it when I play with you, isn’t that right, love?”

Another roar and the steering wheel turned sharply to the left, cutting off a rather displeased driver. Steam gathered under the immortal wheels as the car sped into the distance, pushing through the heart of London to where the M-25 began its course. Crowley loved it when his Bentley pushed her limits on the speedometer, swerving from one lane to another with ninety years of demonic ease. The demon managed to see her reflection in one of the vehicles to his right- holy hell, what a looker. He admired her vintage curves which were made far shapelier by the black paint job.

The radio began to play, I see a line of cars and they’re all painted black.

Bentley’s design had been what drew him to her in the mid-1920s, but it was her attitude that made him stay. He tightened his grip on the wheel, clenching his jaw as she pushed ninety. A growth had begun to rise from behind the seam of Crowley’s trousers and his car took notice. The radio whizzed out of nowhere once more, searching the inserted CD for the perfect song. She finally found what she was searching for, eventually, and it was then that Crowley realized the Bentley still had a wicked sense of humor.

When I’m holding your wheel

All I hear is your gear.

The demon laughed as they passed a rather large bus traveling the highway. “You’re a naughty thing! Do you want me to have a wank while you drive?”

This time, the Bentley growled.

Crowley did have a feel for this automobile, especially when she was all fired up and ready for action. How could he have turned her down? Taking his time unbuckling his trousers, the demon finally pulled out his cock which had just started to turn a bright shade of red. The Bentley’s wheel suddenly steered on its own as Crowley laid along his front seat. He gave himself a few short strokes before tugging at himself more feverishly while the Bentley pushed a hundred. They went in their first circle when Crowley allowed his voice to carry through the car.

“I do fancy you, Bentley…” Crowley hiccupped through a rather loud moan. “You’re my car, I bought you from new, you will always get me where I need to go… such a beautiful thing you’ve turned out to be, love.”

He caressed her upholstery, taking in the detailed lines and that fresh car smell that had never went away. Like a bottle of perfume, it had become her signature scent and one of Crowley’s most familiar comforts.

“Now that we got the mushy shit out of the way, I want you drive like you mean it. I’ll take care of the rest.” Crowley whined when the engine revved. “Good girl.”

Suddenly, the M-25 became barren. Not a car could be seen besides the Bentley, which gave her plenty of room to drive. Crowley knew he had to watch when her wheels screamed against the pavement. He lifted himself up behind the wheel once again, staring as she made the streetlights connect in a flurry. His chest tightened with delight seeing her so excited; so free. Crowley sat back and allowed her to guide him as he pleasured himself. She rumbled from under his grip on the gear shift, playing her music higher and higher until it flooded the enclosed space.

Crowley’s cock wept, leaking from the head as the Bentley turned around the bend of the road. The pounding of her mechanic heart was unbearably sexual. Her tires shrieking as she hit a hundred and ten threw the demon’s head back in pure ecstasy.

“Yes, baby, keep going, drive until I come,” Crowley whined.

The car would not disappoint. It was nearing its second loop when Crowley’s movements became flustered. They neared the exit to Mayfield.

“Almost there, Bentley,” he assured while giving the gear shift a few accompanying strokes. The car was already losing itself to the demands of her driver, but didn’t wish to stop, not when he was this close. She turned rubber into dust as Crowley screamed at the top of his lungs, working his hand to the point of agony. “Yes, yes! Fuck yes, I love you, baby!”

The driver came in a full body wave of pleasure. His hips bucked into the wheel, bringing the vehicle to swerve slightly, left and right. There had been the exit and the Bentley rushed into the softly lit road ahead; one that hadn’t been doused in tire tracks. A snap from Crowley’s thin fingers brought the traffic back to the highway once they were far, far away from the bustle of Central London. Both the demon and his car were exhausted, but it was mainly his prized antique that needed the break.

“Stunning work,” Crowley patted the wheel, then took it into his hands. The car radio wobbled, which was the best way of putting it. “Sorry, baby, I know you’re still sensitive. Let me get us home.”

And they drove off into the night, satisfied with one another as a man and his car.

[olet-lucernam]

A Hollow Promise [17] chapter iv, part i

main tags : loki x original character, post-avengers 2012, canon divergence - post-thor: the dark world, canon-typical violence, mentions of torture

-

summary: In the aftermath of the Battle of New York, the Avengers need a few days to build a transport device for the Tesseract. With the Helicarrier damaged and surveillance offline, SHIELD sends an asset to guard Loki in the interim: a young woman who sees the truth in all things, and cannot lie.

Even long presumed dead, her memories lost to her, Loki would know her anywhere.

And this changes things.

Some things last beyond infinity. And the universe is in love with chaos.

(Loki was never looking for redemption. It came as an unexpected side-effect.)

-

chapter summary : astrid starts to get to work, right under shield’s watchful gaze.

recommended listening : sharks, imagine dragons

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[PREVIOUS] | [MASTERLIST] | [NEXT]

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A set of knuckles rapped at the steel doorjamb.

"Doctors? Am I clear to enter?"

It was Banner who responded first, unsurprisingly- snapping upright from the monitors and swivelling towards where she stood, on the threshold of the laboratory.

A few hours before the arrival of the prospective Avengers on the Helicarrier, Fury had tossed a set of dossiers her way, seeking last minute insight on his roster. She had swallowed down a snide question of whether Fury actually intended to apply anything she said- as he had told Loki upon his capture, Fury had been made desperate, and Astrid suspected that nothing would be enough to dissuade him from his emergency solution. Instead, she had silently accepted the files, studying them in detail and reading between and through and past the lines. Fury was unwittingly arming her with something that she could use- even if she didn't yet know when or how.

And as usual, I was right. Strange how that keeps happening.

From his history, Astrid had anticipated Banner's hypervigilance. She had consciously pitched down her natural tone a single notch, into a voice like cashmere- a few shades too soft to be silken, a few degrees too warm to be false- holding still and steady and reined in.

Yet Banner still reacted slightly too quickly, as though she had strummed against an exposed nerve.

Astrid pinned down any flicker of a reaction- discontent, or pity, or knowing- giving an unhurried blink in response. She had gained practice in restraint, in these past months under SHIELD.

His hand flicked up towards his glasses, hesitating halfway through the motion, before slowly pulling the square-rimmed frames off.

"Uh, yes," Banner said, casting it as a question, easing upright and away from the shimmering energy graphs he was studying, tapping his glasses against his palm. "We are- all clear."

While he was preoccupied, Astrid skimmed an assessing gaze over him.

Dr Robert Bruce Banner, MD, PhD, was nondescript, painfully civil, and quietly disquieted, buttoned into a pale primrose dress shirt and pressed grey trousers. A healing exhaustion drew his fair complexion a few shades paler, draining some of his warmer undertones, the wave of his brunet hair untrimmed but neat, tension in the lines around his eyes. When he moved, Astrid noted that the pattern of his steps formed small circles, like the flow of water buffeting between rocks, or a leaf tossed into an eddying updraft; he never quite approached without a retreat, never getting close enough that he couldn't slip loose. It wasn't lost on her that he was standing at the bench closest to the door.

Astrid could place a name to the restlessness prickling under his skin.

She wondered when Banner would figure it out.

Sooner rather than later, she hoped. Running away had its attractions- Astrid almost wanted to try it for herself- but while Banner could delude himself into believing that he could, she had no such luxury.

"What, uh-" Banner glanced about himself, then back to Astrid. "What can we do for you?"

Astrid stepped through the doorway, flowing and telegraphed, like a diplomat entering the camp of a foreign delegation.

It wasn't the same space that had held the Chitauri sceptre. That laboratory had been wrecked by the assault, and wasn't a priority for immediate repairs- for which Astrid was grateful. Its miasma had leached into the sterile glass and aluminium of the room, like the residue of cigarette smoke on fingertips and in clothing; she had felt it, when Fury sent her in to appraise the weapon, while Stark and Banner were attending the briefing on the bridge.

She had felt crushed under its pressure, like nitrogen narcosis, leaving her with a directionless rage and strangely intense grief.

Not that her report had been worth the labour of producing it. Fury would hear what he thought was relevant, and SHIELD would interpret the information to flatter its raison d'être.

But she had resigned herself to trying, screaming into the abyss, throwing pearls of wisdom before swine- because she was in the unenviable position of simultaneously always knowing exactly how bad the odds were, and also that the faintest, most ephemeral, grudging chance of maybe was one of the scarce few unwavering constants of the universe.

Speaking of which.

Astrid blinked back the leaden haze of exhaustion, chiselling herself back into sharpness.

Well. She had operated on less- everything- sleep, information, time.

"I have been sent to examine the Tesseract transportation device," she said, raising a hand to loosen the taut, fresh braid pinning her hair up against her scalp. "If it's ready. I- apologise, if I am premature."

"Oh." To Astrid's relief, Banner's posture loosened by a few degrees. "Well, we're pretty much there. Not sure what kind of tests you want to conduct, though. Without the Tesseract as a power source-"

"Oh- hold on, Jolly Green. I think I know who this is."

The voice echoed out from the other side of the room, and Astrid and Banner looked up.

The speaker was standing deeper within the laboratory, near the broad external view windows, his back towards them and dressed down in a faded band t-shirt and dark jeans. Tossing aside a set of pliers with a light clatter, Stark pivoted to face them, shoulders slanted with an insouciant ease.

Astrid was immediately struck by the set of dark, intensely intelligent eyes that met her.

Conducting the attention of the room like electricity, Stark wore his confidence like well-worn cotton, and his intellect like a sharply tailored suit. It was a classic showman's misdirection- his charisma weaponised, so that you only ever saw what you thought he wanted you to see. Tony Stark was a white-hot spotlight flashing against glitter and gold, brassy as jazz, smooth as liquor, all carefully styled from the neatly trimmed goatee to the switch-quick smile, from the blasé quips to the traces of motor oil on perfectly manicured hands.

The rim of a perfect circular plate, the breadth of the palm of her hand, pressed against the distressed logo of his shirt, gently glowing with an inverted triangle and studded ring of clean blue light.

Crackling with amusement, Astrid's mouth twitched.

Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain. He was broken, and reforged himself in the flames of his destruction, and wears the rearranged fragments of his old armour.

And some people were still waiting for Tony Stark to be humbled. As though that was the issue.

Astrid took a cooling breath.

"Alethia, right?" Stark asked, strolling in her direction. "Yeah, your name wasn't included in the briefing packet, but- came across it while JARVIS was digging into SHIELD's servers. Not entirely sure why Fury omitted your contributions to the Tesseract project. Especially with Dr Selvig hijacked into playing for the enemy team. Could have used you down here."

At hearing that Fury had deliberately concealed her existence, Astrid twisted into a cutting smile, unsurprised.

"I would have been willing to lend my assistance. It wasn't requested," she said, seamless and light. "It seems Director Fury deemed it- undesired? But I can only speculate. He rarely explains himself."

For a long moment, Stark gazed at her incisively, prying her open.

He drew himself up sharply, glancing up and away. Within a split second, his attention on her turned glancing, wandering across the room, as though he might flit away to a more interesting prospect at any moment.

"You've got quite the resumé, Agent. Developed the equations instrumental to understanding the physics of the Tesseract, giving Selvig and Project PEGASUS a solid foundation to figure out how to harness its energy. Also reported that the Glowstick of Destiny isn't actually powered by the Cube, as originally theorised, but by a separate, similar power source," he absently paused to flick through a graph on one of the ceiling-mounted glass screens, "hence the similar gamma radiation signatures." He glanced back up towards her. "You've got a nice writing style. Not too academic. Clean, concise, show your work. It was a decent read."

Astrid gathered her lower lip between her teeth, only partially hiding a pleased smile.

Evidently, he and Banner hadn't directly received her assessment of the sceptre- and now Stark was all but explicitly questioning why.

And this was why she had isolated the two newly laureated Avengers as her starting point.

"All this to say that's probably why they had you draft the design for the Tesseract activation device." Stark halted just behind the bench where Banner stood, twirling a magnetic screwdriver in his grasp. "And also why you're here to inspect it. Agent Alethia."

"Not an agent," she clarified swiftly, "but in all other respects, you are correct, Dr Stark."

Almost too perfectly blended into his expression to be of note, Stark's eyebrows lifted.

Astrid wondered how many exerted themselves to remember his doctorates.

"You're an expert on the Tesseract?" Banner ventured, his academic interest piqued.

Astrid turned her head to him, lips parted in a stalled breath as she measured her answer.

"Yes and no," she eventually said, delicately. "I just- know things."

"Truth in all things," Stark quoted, carving into the air like the flat of a razor blade. Astrid flicked her eyes to him, an eyebrow arching. "That's your gig. You're a living lie detector, and you can't lie." He paused, the corners of his eyes tightening briefly, honing in on her. "So. Party trick, or the real deal?"

One corner of her mouth sharpened. Astrid smiled against the thundering of her heart, biting down into a brief grin.

Exhaling a soundless laugh, she steeled her nerves and lifted a shoulder, bright and sparkling.

"Lie to me."

Stark stared at her for a long moment, the beginnings of an intrigued grin forming- before looking to his fellow scientist, as though inviting him to participate in testing a hypothesis.

Banner only scoffed a quiet laugh, ducking and shaking his head slightly. Astrid didn't miss how his expression brightened tellingly, betraying his interest.

"Okay." Stark said decisively, straightening. In response, Astrid shifted her weight, resettling and cocking her hip in preparation to play the game. "I- had eggs for breakfast this morning."

"Lie," Astrid determined easily.

"Huh. Too easy?" Stark wondered, slanting the question towards Banner.

"Maybe a little obvious," he answered with a tilt of his head, smiling wryly, typing into the terminal.

"Bagels and black coffee," Stark confessed to Astrid, shrugging his impassive defeat.

"Also a lie."

"Huh, not bad. It was this green energy smoothie- kale, spinach, flaxseed, peanut butter, almond milk. Not bad for looking like Soylent Green meets lawn trimmings in a blender."

"Another lie." Astrid paused, creasing into a speculative frown. "Did- you even have breakfast this morning?"

"Did you?" Stark retorted, whip-smart.

"I had a matcha latte."

"Does that even count?"

"If it has calories, it counts."

The flash of Stark's grin was almost boyish, like a child who had found a new playmate.

"Huh. Gotta remember to use that one on Pep. For the record," he added with an outward flick of his fingers, as though gesturing for her to stay in place for him, "didn't have time, working on the device and with Fury cracking the whip for the deadline. Figures you didn't either. I heard you were alone babysitting Mr Tall, Dark, and Crazy down in the basement these past few days."

"I knew Barton got that name from you," Astrid muttered before she could help herself.

"Wait, he stole it?"

"Well, he said clinically insane instead of crazy," she added absently. "Yours has a little more-" Astrid clicked her fingers briskly, crisp as the swish-flick of a lighter, "snap to it."

Stark glanced between her and Banner, who was looking increasingly amused.

"Plagiarism," he condemned with an air of faux affront. "Unethical. We're gonna have words. Anyway, where were we?"

"An impromptu version of Two Truths and a Lie?" Banner offered. "Except they've all been lies so far."

"Just making sure the not-agent wasn't slacking. Never take a first or second answer as the complete truth," Stark advised.

"Wise words," Astrid said, skimming her fingertip along the line of her lips, halting against the corner of her mouth, "considering our- gracious hosts."

Her words struck like a weighted throwing knife, pointed by her pause, the mild-toned contempt she allowed through forming its glancing edge.

Banner's hands stalled over the holographic keyboard for a moment- before acting as though he had heard nothing. Meanwhile, Astrid could track the way that Stark mentally filed away the remark for later consideration.

The truth was a weapon.

"Hm. Alright, next." Stark tapped the screwdriver against the palm of his hand. "First AI I ever created is called JARVIS. He's my co-pilot in the suits."

Astrid canted her head, hand dropping away on the hinge of her wrist.

"First AI," she repeated slowly, "that is the lie. The rest is true."

Stark's mouth pulled into a shrug. "Four for four. Not bad." He paused mid-motion, setting the screwdriver on the bench behind him, and tapped the glass and metal plate inset in his sternum. "This is the third iteration of the miniaturised arc reactor technology."

"Truth."

"I synthesised a new element to replace the palladium core."

"Truth."

"Tastes like coconut and metal."

"Tr- wait, really?"

"Yeah. It's recognised under the name Badassium."

"I sincerely wish that were true."

"Yeah, we ran into some- issues, with IUPAC." Stark said ruefully. "Current top alternative is Starknium."

Astrid nodded consideringly. "Starknium. I like it."

A second element named for an Avenger, she thought laughingly. Although I'm certain that Esmark and Berzelius couldn't have predicted that.

Stark shrugged, hooking one hand into his jeans pocket. "Well, it's marketable. Alright, let's make it a square nine." His eyeline skimmed up, over the top of her head and into the middle distance. "I- am currently going commando."

She restrained a smirk.

"Are you sure you want me to answer that one?"

"I vote no," Banner spoke up, glancing up at them from beneath his eyebrows, "if I get a say."

Stark laughed, before turning a renewed gaze on Astrid, apparently sufficiently convinced of her ability.

"You said you're not an agent," he recalled. "Fury didn't make the offer?"

"Fury doesn't make offers," Astrid replied softly, her smile turning faintly ominous, tracing her collarbone.

The look in Stark's eyes shifted.

"So, not an agent. Consultant?"

"Outsourced asset," she said dryly. "Filed under external acquisitions."

"Acquired? How'd they get you?"

The truth was out of her before she had fully consented. "Well, it wasn't with the carrot."

Banner twitched.

Astrid held back a rush of delirious laughter.

She thought of orchestras, and conductors, and the careful tuning of the instruments into harmony with a simple twist- of the plan that Loki had laid out before her, the trap he was setting for the Titan, and of how they had carefully woven her own patterns into its mesh, fine and subtle as lace and cinching tight.

Now dance, fucker, dance.

"Ah, right." Astrid straightened, unfolding herself, calling herself back to attention. "The device?"

"Oh, yeah. Right over here." Stark gestured backwards into the laboratory, leading the way.

Leaning slightly to glance past his shoulder, Astrid identified the table ahead of them. The sterile white biochemist's surface had been commandeered and repurposed as a mechanic's workbench, strewn with a scattering of spare parts and scorched precision tools, the air surrounding it rich with the smell of metal dust, ozone, and solder. One of the screens was pulled in overhead, displaying her digitised blueprints for the device- sketched freehand, hasty and inexperienced but invariably precise where it mattered most, her lack of expertise compensated for with an accompanying sheaf of detailed instructive notes.

"Followed your design specs to the letter," Stark announced lightly- and generously offering no further comment, despite the ripple of tension in his jaw, demarcating a professional scorn.

Astrid nipped at her lip.

"About that. I, ah- I should apologise," she said, pressing her thumb into her fingertips. "I have the raw knowledge, but- no formal training or practical experience. So, for me, engineering is like- knowing a language well enough to understand it, but not well enough to speak it fluently."

Stark softened with an amused snort. "Never would have guessed," he teased, somewhat mollified by her admission. Setting the screwdriver aside, he circled around to where the device rested, mounted in a cradle constructed from a few bars of scrap metal, welded and reshaped to hold it stable.

Lifting it by its struts, Stark shunted the device's plinth within her reach, the corded muscle in his arms smoothly tensing through the motion- toned from manual labour in a way that most wouldn't think to expect of the genius billionaire playboy philanthropist.

"Well, it did the trick. The roadmap was a little unconventional, but we got there with your notes. Only thing left to do is secure the casing."

At the invitation of his open palm, Astrid pulled herself in with a trailing step, visually sifting for overlooked faults and errors.

The design was sturdy, inelegant, constructed around a containment cylinder of thick shatterproof glass, approximately the length of her forearm from wrist to elbow, with a single hatch into which to drop its power source. The chamber was stoppered on either end with a set of flat-plate conductors, anchored by external metal caps, resolving into a pair of handles, one set perpendicular to the other- when turned parallel upon its gear, it would activate the device, a simple and effective mechanism.

It was a refined, drastically compacted version of the stabilising apparatus that had held the portal open over New York- reduced from something the size of an MRI machine to the approximate volume of a small oxygen tank. With some assistance from Thor, the precise coordinates of Asgard on the Orion spiral arm had been isolated and hard-coded into the device.

Astrid leaned her elbows against the bench, lowering herself until the top of the glass tank was almost eye-level.

When she traced the seams of the metal caps, she felt the slight shift and give. As Stark had said, the dense casing was still loose, unaffixed in its inset, waiting to be welded and bolted into place.

Dragging its pedestal an inch closer, Astrid began easing away the device's heavy casing, sliding one plate off the handle and catching its weight on her palm, setting it on the bench with barely a sound. She could feel Stark's gaze upon her, following and evaluating each smooth, methodical motion.

At her back, Astrid sensed Banner's approach.

"So, you, uh," he began cautiously. "You were recruited by SHIELD, for Project PEGASUS? To work with the Tesseract?"

Bracing her grip and applying just enough force, Astrid unlocked a protective cuff with a quick twist, removing it and placing it aside, all without removing her gaze from the exposed inner gears and wires underneath.

"My primary assignment is a separate SHIELD project," she said distractedly. To avoid the possibility of NASA operatives raising uncomfortable questions, she didn't bother to mention. Nicholas Fury hoards his secrets as a dragon hoards gold. "As test subject for the development of a highly advanced lie detector. But that is- I have heard them refer to it as holster procedure. Keeping me on metaphorical ice, until they require what I can tell them about the Tesseract, at any given moment. Therein lies my greatest value to SHIELD." She turned the device forty-five degrees, facing the internal workings towards her. "Ostensibly. They were never that attentive while I was talking."

Banner shifted on his feet. From the way that Stark reacted in front of her, his torso inclining towards him, Astrid thought that Banner might have caught his eye.

"There was a report, included in the information packet," Banner continued. "Dated from August of last year. No name attached, no authorial accreditation. Just marked under Project PEGASUS. It was a concise summary of the unique physics of the Tesseract. The most comprehensive analysis in over six decades of research."

Blinking slow, Astrid let her lips flatten and curl into a catlike smile, her gaze still fixed on the device.

"Is that so."

She heard the low, warm lilt of her own tone, melodic and amused.

"It made several strong recommendations," Banner continued, momentum gathering in a force like a gentle uphill slope, "for the safety of personnel, and the integrity of the project. Chief among them- relocation of principal research. Even if it's somewhere as remote a restricted zone in the Mojave, you're dealing with a potentially unlimited power source, experimenting on it a few hundred feet underground, with no venting. If there was a sudden, accidental activation, all of that energy would have nowhere to go."

"And would critically compromise the structural integrity of the facility within a matter of minutes, causing a chain reaction failure of loadbearing structures, and a subsequent collapse of a several hundred tonnes of rock, and killing- oh, say- five dozen people or so." Astrid remarked dryly, tracing the configuration of the circuitry. "Stars. Who could have possibly predicted that."

Stark scoffed mirthlessly, and a knot in Astrid's chest eased at the commiseration.

"Tapping the Tesseract as a power source was proven viable back in the Second World War. We've read the original Captain America comics, seen the declassified files. It's old news. Quite literally." Banner continued with an air of neutral academia, tapping his folded glasses against his hand. "But this report was the first source to explain how that's possible. That the Cube is a near infinite source of energy due to its unique internal physics- a world in a grain of sand, I think, was the analogy used. Said physics results in its effectively folding the fabric of spacetime, generating Einstein-Rosen bridges- both by the multi-trillions, on a molecular, transitory level, and on the larger and more stable scale we saw in Nevada and New York. Through these Einstein-Rosen bridges, it can theoretically draw energy from anywhere in the universe. Which is probably why the report stressed establishing containment and emergency deactivation protocols. As long as you don't completely know how it works, any activation could result in a wormhole forming to an unknown point in spacetime." Banner paused. "And, potentially, in something- or someone- coming through from the other side."

Pausing, Astrid straightened slowly. Her eyes remained fixed on the device, smudging her thumb against the inner rim of the metal cap.

Her explanation of the Tesseract in that report was a limited version of the truth. Echoes of its true nature were easily overlooked- whether within her words, or in Selvig's near-reverent fascination with the artifact- by anyone who merely wanted the Tesseract in its capacity as a glorified battery. It irritated her, but it was safer that most of the planet continued to labour under that assumption.

But it seemed that Banner, like any scientist worth the ink on their degree, was already looking beyond the conclusion, re-examining the route taken to reach it.

Good.

"SHIELD has known about alien civilisations since the incident in New Mexico, at minimum." She said calmly. Finally, she lifted her head to look at them- finding Stark standing across from her, unmoving as a statue, and Banner hovering at her left, shifting slightly in place. "They knocked on the door by tampering with the Tesseract, and were somehow surprised when something answered. When I gave SHIELD the equations, I asked them if they were ready."

"For what?" Stark's question was just slightly too quick.

She held him in a steady gaze.

"What waited on the other side."

The words were hot in her throat, ruthlessly clear as cloudless skies.

The emotion that suffused beneath Stark's brute-forced calm was a strange, macabre combination of horror and relief.

Astrid almost wanted to apologise. But this was not needless pain- it was the shock of agony that came from setting a dislocated bone back into its socket.

"I guess not." Astrid hitched one shoulder, tipping her head aside into a shrug. "Maybe this has taught Fury something."

"What? That things would be easier if everyone would just-" Banner swept his glasses through the air, his tone mild, like silverware coated with poison, "take your word as gospel?"

"That things would be easier if they took me seriously," Astrid countered, allowing her irritation to burn through the glare she swept up towards him. "They cannot have it both ways, and want me for my abilities but then pretend that I don't have said abilities when it is inconvenient."

Banner held against her, flatly and silently sceptical.

Astrid gazed back, steadfast.

She was walking a wire. If she overbalanced, even for a second-

She saw the shift of Banner's jaw, the tensing of his fingers as he turned his glasses in his hands, and knew that she had claimed a little more ground.

"Selvig was researching how to harness energy from the Tesseract," Stark remarked, staring out into nothing, drawing Astrid and Banner away from their unspoken battle of wills. "But you already knew how to do it, right?"

Stark met her eyes, unreadable.

The device rested heavy in the space between them- proof of what he had guessed.

Fanning her fingers across her mouth, Astrid smiled coyly.

"Dr Selvig extrapolated from the equations that I provided SHIELD with," she said, sharp as sunshine on glass, "so a case could be made that it no longer matters, what I did or did not know."

She avoided any mention that Selvig, as exceptional as his mind was in the field of theoretical physics, had been unknowingly guided in the directions of his research. That Loki had subtly influenced Selvig for months before his arrival was not a truth that needed to be told. Fury's paranoia should ensure that Selvig received the intensive psychotherapy he would need in the wake of the sceptre's control, which was the only part that Astrid cared about for now.

And the fact of the Tesseract's sentience- that it was by its consent that Loki had arrived on Earth- was, similarly, something that they were better remaining ignorant to for the interim. Even if the irony made Astrid want to laugh herself sick.

Who stole who? She wanted to taunt them. Did Loki steal the Tesseract from SHIELD, or did the Tesseract steal Loki from Thanos?

"Then why not just give SHIELD all the equations from the start?" Banner asked, unexpectedly blunt. "Why withhold it?"

Astrid turned to look directly at him.

"Would you entrust Fury with the full potential of the Tesseract?"

Astrid tried not to take too much pride in seeing how those words struck, like a blade driving into its target.

And then, the full implication of her question took hold.

Stark flicked a glance down at the device, the revelation uncoiling into his shoulders, and looked up to find Banner doing the same.

Give them smoke-

They both looked towards her.

- and they'll find the fire. Excellent, quick on the uptake. Now- what are you going to do about it?

Astrid tilted her head at them, heart pounding. It was like spilling fresh blood, scenting the air, and waiting- offering herself up to the entropy that drove the universe.

Nothing promised, nothing guaranteed, nothing certain.

There was no way of knowing how they would react.

It was Stark who spoke first.

"What do you need?"

-

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