#he only actually served 5 but it was all a part of the deal

[outdraws]

( cole cassidy ) headcanon.

a sting operation conducted by o.w shadow branch resulted in his capture. the process he'd undergone afterwards was a long one; interrogations, settling details and putting names to faces. initially, he barely spoke a word to the investigators. they held him for as long as possible but only long enough, before he was taken to a provisional detention and there he was given a date for his arraignment.

this private military took him the whole nine yards through their judicial system so he was under their watch for a better part of the year, crossing november and leaving behind a birthday he hardly remembered to celebrate.

agents came to him the week before his set date to face the judge and they came again the day before. bargains were laid out, not so soft opinions were shared and then he was left alone.

his attitude with the judge was notably more forthright compared to how he'd been since his arrest. when asked personally about how he felt about being there, he'd stated he'd felt absolutely nothing. what little were in attendance were left potently dissatisfied.

cassidy pleaded guilty to all charges set before him and was sentenced to ten years.

[gutsby]

Wedded Bliss

Pairing: Mob!Bucky x Reader

Summary: The marriage was arranged, and the sex is deranged. Bucky is so obsessed with your pussy that he almost forgets he’s meant to be faking this whole thing—and hating it, like sworn enemies are supposed to do.

Warnings: 18+. Dubcon. Corruption kink. Virginity loss. Arranged marriage between enemies. Brat taming. Breeding kink. Beefy, mob boss Bucky devolving into a fall-to-his-knees-just-to-fuck-you kind of horny mess.

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

You kissed him and wished him dead in the same breath. You said ‘I do’ and meant ‘I don’t,’ exchanged your vows like your own last rites, and felt him slip the ring on your finger as if he’d just tightened a noose around your neck.

You didn’t want to be a bride, and you sure as hell didn’t want to be the bride to Mr. James Buchanan Barnes.

Frankly, you were mortified.

And terrified, too, now that you knew your groom might actually kill you in the kitchen of your honeymoon suite.

“Have you lost your fucking mind?!”

“I walked down the aisle, didn’t I?”

Another plate went crashing on the wall behind your husband’s head just as he managed to duck. He side-stepped a spray of porcelain and glass and probably crushed several hundred shards beneath his polished black oxfords when he walked—stalked—over to you.

You’d just reared back to hurl a serving plate at his face when you found your speed swiftly outmatched. Bucky had your elbow gripped between his forefinger and thumb in less than a second, and, pinching the bone like he might readily break it, he said, even as always,

“Put it down.”

You did as he told you and dropped the platter to the floor with a crash.

Rather than berate you for the broken china—or the four other pieces before it—your husband only smiled.

“Are we done?”

Hell, you wanted to be. Slide over a pen and a one-way plane ticket to someplace in BFE, and you’d be signing those divorce papers in a heartbeat. Unfortunately, your dear husband was just referring to the temper tantrum.

You weren’t totally sure if you were finished on that front, so you looked him up and down and shrugged.

“Now darling—” he started.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Light of my life—”

“I’ll kill you.”

Your cool, level-headed groom took each gibe like it was his sworn duty, and only when he yanked your wrists behind your back and shoved you toward the bedroom door did you sense that he might not be too pleased with your behavior.

Your knees struck the edge of the California King at the center of the room, and before you could will yourself not to fall face-first, Bucky nudged you hard again.

Still pinning your hands behind you, he followed your collapse on the bed and leaned over your prone body.

His breaths were hot on your ear; you could tell he was smiling as he started to hike your dress up your legs.

“It’s all part of the deal, doll.”

You wriggled under his hold and tried to angle yourself better to see him, hoping he’d see your scowl.

“The deal was to get married,” you reminded him.

“Mhmm,” Bucky hummed, just then starting to trail a finger up the uncovered skin of your calf with his other hand, “And what is it that married people do?”

You kicked your foot reflexively, paused, then said,

“Fight. Constantly. Probably resent each other for the better part of two decades before we finally decide that ‘making it work’ for the kids isn’t worth it at all, and I claim half of everything you own in a bitter divorce.”

That earned a chuckle from Bucky. He kept his roaming hand brushing up the back of your thigh and squeezed the flesh just below the swell of your rear.

“Don’t worry, my lawyer drafted a pretty good prenup.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but then he was tracing the contour of your ass with his palm, and you cut yourself short. Bucky carried on, careless as ever.

“But the kids you mentioned,” he said, “How are we supposed to get those?”

You pursed your lips and tried hard not to move when his fingers drifted inward—you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you squirm. The bottom of your dress was bunched around your hips now, leaving you sorely exposed. Had your bridesmaids not thrust that stupid white lingerie set upon you hours before the wedding, you probably would’ve chosen something a little more modest than a thong. But here you were.

At least the sight seemed appealing to your husband, whose eyes hadn’t left you once while his hands grew even hungrier to feel your warmth.

“I’m hoping a sperm donor or one of your double-crossing mobster friends will knock me up, honestly,” you said, feigning enthusiasm at the thought.

A tart slap delivered to your ass told you that Bucky hadn’t found that funny. After, he started kneading the skin a bit harder.

“No shot,” he shook his head, suddenly gliding his fingers down closer to your core and waiting for you to say something in protest, “Only one that’s gonna be pumping this thing full of babies is me, I promise.”

It was like he wanted your retaliation, whether that be by a thinly veiled look of disgust or a reactionary jab of your own. You weren’t keen on fulfilling any wish of his, but at this point, you felt you had no other choice. When you sensed he was distracted by the newly-discovered heat between your legs and had loosened his grip on your wrists, you flipped yourself over on the bed. Shoved at his chest before he knew what to do with himself.

Of course, the push didn’t send him far, but it was enough to get his attention—and his hands off of you.

“I’m not having your babies, Barnes! I am never going to fuck you, no matter how long we stay fake married,” you spat.

At that, Bucky just raised his eyebrows and wet his lips. You were cramming your wedding dress back into place, glaring at him the whole time, and were scarcely more aware of the bright, teeming city outside the window than you were of your husband’s own growing erection.

Finally, you’d said it. His new wife wouldn’t fuck him. The sound of your resistance was almost a pleasure unto itself, and the longer you stared at Bucky with growing contempt and resolve not to do that thing, the more determined he became to make it happen.

Cat-and-mouse games had long been a staple in his life, and he was pleased to see them carry into his marriage as well. Surely if he’d triumphed in every pursuit for the last twenty years—facing the likes of some seriously execrable bandits and racketeers—he could take on a bratty woman less than half his size. You said you didn’t want his babies now, but just wait until he’d fucked you full of his cum once or twice. You’d be begging him for it in no time at all, and shortly thereafter, he’d have you barefoot and pregnant as many times as he liked. Always swollen with one of his children and whining for more.

The woman before him now had a murderous glint in her eyes, but he could fuck that away easy. In fact, he would live to do it. He traced the outline of your thigh over your dress and smiled when you tried not to recoil.

“Surely you didn’t think we’d be finger-painting and reading poetry to each other on our wedding night, hm?” he asked, almost delicately.

“Thought you might have one of your other women lined up,” you snorted. When you tried to move away, Bucky pinched your leg to make you stay. You winced.

“That’s not funny,” he said, a little more consternation in his tone. Like he actually cared whether you thought him a profligate Lothario or not, “Now that we’re married, it’s only you and me. No mistresses, nothing.”

Yeah, and he was just as likely arriving to your marital bed a blushing virgin. You rolled onto your side and pretended not to feel him tighten his grip as you did.

“Try the carnal part of our marriage yourself and I’m sure you’ll find I’m an exceptional fuck,” Bucky continued, speaking low as he stroked the chiffon of your dress.

You didn’t doubt the man was good—certainly the extent of his sexual escapades as a twenty-something seemed to demand it—but exceptional? No fucking way. You knew men like Bucky, with the world and every walking pair of tits at their fingertips, and almost all were incurably selfish. Cocky. The kind to jackhammer a woman for three consecutive minutes, roll over, and say, ‘Did you cum?’

No, there was not a snowball’s chance in hell your husband’s sexual prowess was even half as good as he claimed it was. Deciding to bite your tongue for the first time that night, though, you just stared at him blankly.

What you didn’t know was that your silence only stoked the flames of his ego, prompting him to press the matter further.

“What? You think I can’t fuck?” he said, “Any woman lucky enough to bed me has cum at least twice. Every time.”

Sure they did, Bucky, you wanted to say, but were suddenly drawn into his lap before you could speak.

“But let’s pretend I can’t,” he said, heedless of the face you made as soon as you were straddling his hips, “You wouldn’t let your husband prove himself tonight?”

“I don’t fuck strangers.”

Bucky smiled at that.

“Everyone’s a stranger until you get to blow them, honey,” he teased, squeezing your hips when you didn’t seem amused at all. Then you let out a cry, feeling yourself thrown back on the mattress like a rag doll while Bucky moved off.

Before you knew it, he was tugging your ankles down the length of the bed and widening his stance just a bit. He stopped pulling once your knees were grazing his black dress pants and your feet were dangling off of the bed.

“You like skylines?” he asked.

You frowned and raised a brow that he was quick to interpret as a ‘yes.’ He hauled you onto your feet.

“‘Course you do. All pretty girls like pretty skies,” he rattled on, strolling with you step-by-step to the set of French doors at the end of the room.

Bucky led you out to the balcony. The air was warm as it ever was, dull gusts of the evening wind curling up from the coastline below. Just as your husband had promised, the skyline of Santorini greeted you on either side, and you had to admit, it was more than just pretty. The views from your villa were absolutely breathtaking.

You stood with your back to Bucky, hands resting on the marble balustrade, and you felt him there, behind you. You didn’t bother to tilt your head when he drew even closer.

“What do you like most about it?” The question was simple enough, punctuated with a kiss on your shoulder. Your eyes scanned the horizon, the sea, even the quiet little streets down beneath, and you racked your brain trying to think of an answer that might satisfy him.

Before you could, though, you sucked in a breath when you felt your dress start to come undone at your back.

Bucky was unzipping your gown, gentle as ever, and probably grinning from ear to ear as he watched you shift uncomfortably in place and try to hold the material above your breasts where it had been fastened all day. Presently, you kicked your heel backward and hoped it would land somewhere near his balls. You missed.

“James,” you hissed.

Bucky groaned at the sheer intonation of his name on your lips.

“Yes, dear?”

“Why are you undressing me?”

Bucky had successfully dragged the zipper all the way down to your ass, and it seemed he was trying to shimmy the dress off your frame. You held on tight.

“I’d like to fuck my bride over the balcony railing, if that’s alright with you,” he answered truthfully.

The man was nothing if not blunt and crass. You turned around to give him a look, yanking your gown even closer to your chest.

“I’ll— I’ll tell my mother, Barnes.”

You felt stupid as soon as you’d said it—using your go-to threat whenever you were in distress. What were you, eleven?

“Your mother?” Bucky repeated, words steeped in derision, “Last I recall, mommy dearest was practically begging me to get you pregnant at the reception.”

Your jaw clenched, and you internally cursed your whole family. Your parents were supposed to be on your side throughout all of this—it was bad enough they’d pawned you off to a mob boss of unrivaled infamy all to settle a debt, but this? Your mother had assured you just the day before that Mr. Barnes was bound to tire of you within the year. No mention of sex or babies whatsoever.

The same mother who had beat you over the head with the notion of your own virginity since you were old enough to read, the one who had underscored just how important it was to wait for the right man to give yourself body, mind, and soul to, turning around and telling this filthy criminal to have you any way he liked. And knock you up? The fucking nerve of that woman.

You were so preoccupied with thoughts of your own backstabbing family that you hardly felt Bucky drag your dress the rest of the way down your body. It was only when you were completely bare before him, and your husband had just started to skim his lips over your tummy that you tensed with surprise.

“I don’t have to fuck you just yet, doll,” he murmured, having sunk to his knees and only moving lower. Then the corners of his lips twitched, “Least not with my dick.”

You tried to pry his head from between your legs before he could stretch his tongue so much as an inch.

“James!”

Again with that name.

“You know, I love when you call me that, Mrs. Barnes.”

Bucky was peering up at you now, soaking in the sight of your body in a white lace bra, panties, and stockings.

“Is my bride feeling shy?” he teased, gently nipping at your inner thighs.

You weren’t sure what you were feeling in that moment, to be honest. Revulsion, betrayal, arousal, you name it—each crowned with an all-encompassing hatred for the man currently occupying the space between your legs—while a still stronger desire almost hoped he would stay.

“You can hate your husband all you want and still let him tonguefuck you,” Bucky growled against your skin.

Like he’d read your mind.

In reality, your husband hardly needed the powers of telepathy to tell him just how turned on you were; the sopping wet spot in your panties said as much. From his vantage point, Bucky saw the disgust in your eyes slowly eclipsed by lust, and with a single flick of his tongue, he knew he would have you exactly where he wanted you.

“Just let it happen, honey.”

He felt your fingers thread tight through his hair and the first stir of your hips in tandem. One small, delectable whimper crossed your lips, and it took everything in Bucky not to tear your panties straight off with his teeth.

Instead, the man opted for a soft, gentle lick over your clothed slit. Testing the waters.

Your whimper was quick to meld to a moan, and then, just as fast:

“N-no, Bucky.”

To your dismay, his tongue didn’t retreat, only making firmer laps against your centre while his lips grazed the lace. He gripped your thighs and wedged himself deeper, and again, you cursed the paper thin fabric of your panties for letting you feel everything his mouth was doing. He hadn’t even made proper contact with your cunt, and your knees were already starting to shake.

He pressed a kiss above your clit through the flimsy material, and you almost tore a clump of hair from his head.

“No. Please.” You hardly made sense to yourself; it was clear you wanted his touch, but something inside you wasn’t quite ready to submit to the idea that this was all okay. That your husband’s tongue and lips might be meant for something like this, and you didn’t have to feel so guilty for wanting it either. Fucking purity culture.

“My pretty girl,” Bucky presently murmured above the fabric, words sending a dozen little shockwaves in their wake, “My beautiful fucking wife.”

The man inhaled your scent and could’ve sworn he was in ecstasy. Blinded by desire as he was, he really wasn’t bullshitting in the slightest when he gathered you to him and said you were the best; he’d genuinely grown transfixed by the feel of you, in spite of every fibre of his being telling him not to. The marriage was arranged, fake, and fueled by hatred—and somehow, Bucky couldn’t get enough.

Nor could he wait any longer. One light swipe of his finger tugged your panties aside, and then he was latching on, no cover this time, to take your clit between his lips. Sucking hard, going fast, needing it bad.

A moan rang loud in his ears, and your hand on his head was instantly joined by the other. You yanked his hair like you never had before, pulling so tight at the roots as though your pleasure depended on it. Bucky smiled around the soft pearl in his mouth and flicked it gently with the tip of his tongue.

“Feel good, baby?” he breathed.

His head tilted up to you, and he could see you were struggling just to breathe, face painted with a medley of emotions.

You didn’t know if you could, or should, be feeling this good from a man so evil. Bucky flattened his tongue and licked a long stripe up your pussy to ensure that you would. Then he posed the question again, smirking.

“You like my tongue on this wet, needy cunt?”

His words were so damn obscene, but you nodded anyway. Feeling small and powerless beneath those big, broad hands as they pinned you back on the marble and spread you even wider for the taking.

He loved how innocent and lewd you looked at once, wincing with pleasure and still trying to keep your composure like you thought a good girl should.

Bucky wanted to break that resolve. He brought one hand closer to your entrance.

And, just as your breaths were starting to hitch and grow more ragged in your chest, he pushed two fingers inside. The act surprised your husband almost as much as it did you—not quite, but almost—upon feeling how tight you were, how resistant to even two digits you seemed to be. He hardly knew whether to shove them deeper or pull them out, so fast did your muscles contract around him.

When you whined a loud, protracted, ‘FUCK!’ he figured he would stick with the former. He grinned, having never heard you speak, much less swear, out of pleasure like this.

Your head lolled back and your body made an arch when his fingers curled inside you. You were panting, moaning, coating his hand with your juices, and Bucky knew you were close.

He started pumping his fingers in and out while his tongue worked your clit, chin practically doused in your arousal by now. A swell of pride rose within him: he could finally bring you home to that sweet release, have you a shaking, soaking mess above his face like you were wholly his and no one else’s. He moved his tongue even faster and sank his fingers straight down to the knuckle.

Then, unexpectedly, both were robbed of your touch.

Seized with fear, you shoved Bucky off and stumbled away from his glistening face. You took off toward the doors and fled the balcony before you could think.

“What the f— honey? Honey?!” Bucky sputtered. He bounded after you.

You’d thrown yourself in the master bathroom and locked the door behind you in the blink of an eye. Outside, your husband had only to stare in pure bewilderment and awe, mind reeling at what had just happened.

Fucking hell, he knows. He knows! You collapsed against the door and slid down a couple inches. Your hand reflexively flew to your mouth to stifle the sounds when Bucky began pounding the wood behind you.

“Baby, what’s wrong? What’s—what’s goin’ on?”

In truth, you’d rather chug bleach than divulge the thought that had just scared the everliving fuck out of you back there. It was stupid and senseless and should’ve been frightening you for weeks before it ever came to this, but here you were, panicked in the bathroom of your honeymoon suite because you’d never done this before—and you’d never reached climax in your life without bursting into tears.

Fuck, you felt stupid. How could you think this would be any different—or that Bucky’s tongue wouldn’t eventually attempt to wrest an orgasm out of you?

It’d just felt so good, you thought maybe a new climax brought by someone else’s fingers might free you from the same unsavory demise you’d met a hundred times before, but then it hit you, shortly after Bucky had plunged his fingers inside, you were going to cry.

You winced when Bucky’s knocks grew louder, his voice gaining more ire by the second, it seemed.

“Open the fucking door!”

He’d rake you over the coals for this. Getting so close to what he wanted, only to have his silly little bride snatch it all away and run hiding in the en-suite bathroom? Your stomach turned at the thought of what men in the mob were liable to do with women like you—what Bucky might conceivably do now that you’d sparked his rage.

Your eyes darted to the window just as his fist shook the doorframe behind you. You ran over to the tub, tucked squarely beneath the windowsill, and climbed onto it just to get a hold of the fastenings around the glass.

One click synchronized with the furious cadence being hammered on the door, and just as you started to slide the pane up the way, a heavy thud sounded outside. The weight of your husband’s body being thrust against the door, most likely.

You bit your lip and lifted one leg over the windowsill, shuffling your body even closer to the outside world.

Three floors up! Have you lost your mind? You could hear your father’s words ringing in your skull already. There was a ledge, you reasoned, no more than ten feet below, if you could just grab hold of the frame right there and slide down the cool stone you might—

“Fuck,” Bucky groaned.

You watched your husband heave through the busted door of the bathroom, wide eyes and a ‘Here’s Johnny’ flourish raging hot on his face. Your heart leapt to your throat, and you started to lower yourself out of the window, hoping desperately for that ledge below to be sturdy. But before you could make it even half of the way there, strong arms were circling your frame and yanking you back inside, hurtling straight into the bathtub with Bucky tumbling over you.

“What are you doing?!” he roared.

You wriggled under his weight, petrified of the fiery look in his eyes as he lurched over your frame.

He straightened up just enough to shake you by the shoulders—like a parent reprimanding a child.

“What the fuck was that?! Huh? You think that’s fucking funny, jumping out windows?”

No, no, not funny, you wanted to bite back, but found your mouth dry and unable to speak. When Bucky shook you again, you had only to whimper a pathetic sound.

The man was enraged. Stubble still damp with your juices and looking undeniably frazzled and spent, he drew closer to your face and demanded you look at him. When he took hold of your cheeks in both hands, the command couldn’t have reached you any more clearly.

“What— what was that for?” his voice lowered as he tried to catch his breath. You still couldn’t move.

“I-I don’t—” you stopped and hardly knew how to say it:

Sorry to cut our tonguefucking session short, I was just afraid I might burst into a fit of uncontrollable tears while you licked and sucked me through the best orgasm of my life. I’d rather jump off, or out of, a building than tell my mob boss husband that I can’t cum without crying. By the way, I’m a virgin!

Instead, you just blinked and stared back at him.

“Can’t…do it,” you murmured.

Bucky’s expression only grew more puzzled by the words out of your mouth. He squeezed your face tighter and leaned in even closer.

“Do what? Sex? Fuck, I— I didn’t mean to be that aggressive, hell, I’m sorry.” He stopped to run a hand through his hair, and for the first time, you could’ve sworn you saw the first glint of compunction in his eyes.

He looked away a few seconds, as if collecting what fragmented thoughts he could, then brought his head back down to your level and took your hands in his.

“Honey?” he tried getting your attention, just barely above a whisper now, “I know the whole thing’s fucked, I know.”

That was the understatement of the century. To your surprise, Bucky’s gaze softened when he saw a scowl cross your face.

“We don’t…have to do anything. I was just pushing your buttons earlier. Being a dick.”

His tongue moved to wet his lips once more, this time without the seductive, smug demeanor he usually wore and simply exhibiting discomfort. He swallowed. The bow tie around his neck appeared to him to be fastened far too tight all of a sudden, and then, haphazardly, he started clawing at the garment to get it off.

You didn’t know why you felt compelled to help. It was like all ten fingers just lifted of their own accord to join Bucky’s hands in trying to undo his tie.

The silk fabric wasn’t tied, but knotted, crudely and inflexibly, beneath the little black bow. You frowned. Still unable to meet his gaze as you worked your fingers under the tangled material and tried to pretend like the two of you weren’t still sweating profusely from the events that had just transpired—both the tonguefucking and the window-jumping.

“Who tied this, a five-year-old?” you muttered.

“I’m thirty-eight, thanks,” Bucky returned just as quietly.

Both of you indulged in a smile that lasted no longer than a second, but you felt the tension ease a little.

This was not where you thought your dreaded wedding night was headed before. Curled up in a bathtub with your hands around your husband’s neck—and not actually trying to kill him—while Bucky blinked almost nervously the longer your hands lingered on his collar. It seemed he’d found something especially tantalizing on the wall behind your head, because his stare remained fixed on that spot the whole time you fiddled with his tie.

Maybe that, along with the last ebb of alcoholic influence from the reception still coursing through your veins, had emboldened you to come right out and say it while Bucky was looking away. You couldn’t be sure.

“I’ve never had sex before.”

At last, the tie loosened a little.

Bucky flicked his gaze back to yours in a second.

“What?”

You lifted a brow, wondering if he really needed an explanation as to what it meant to have never gotten laid before, but you decided against indulging him any further. Bucky seemed keen on doing that all by himself.

“You’re a virgin?”

You nodded.

“Didn’t my overbearing mother make sure you knew?”

“Yeah, I thought she was full of shit,” Bucky answered bluntly. Then, catching sight of the semi-offended look in your eye, mixed with a tad more amusement than indignation, he added, “I mean— I didn’t think you’d, uh, wanna wait…twenty-five years for some action.”

He winced when he realized that sounded just as bad. His throat cleared shortly to make way for a new attempt at comity, but you cut him off, shaking your head as you finally got the knot to untangle.

“No, I get it. I don’t know why I waited this long either,” you shrugged.

As soon as you’d freed him from his bow tie, you started to stand from the bath tub. Bucky, too, straightened to his full height and started to close the window while you walked back to the bedroom.

You eyed the rose petals strewn across the duvet and felt a little more relaxed this time around. The weight of the V-word had been lifted from your shoulders, and now you had only to share the crying-while-cumming stuff to Bucky later on. Much later on, you hoped.

You crawled onto the bed and stretched out on your belly, playing with the soft red petals and wondering if room service was still offered at this hour.

Bucky had just stepped out of the bathroom when he halted at the threshold. Saw your body sprawled out on the bed, back arched and ass pointed in the air as you reached over for the phone on the nightstand. He stared for a second too long and felt a familiar stir in his pants.

Sonovabitch, he started to think, before chiding himself silently, Shut up, man, she���s a virgin. Be cool. Be cool—don’t make her jump out a window again.

He ducked back in the bathroom and eased the door to just a crack while you discovered a voice on the line:

“Hi! Hey, I’d like to order room service to, uh…” your voice trailed off. Then, covering the mouthpiece, “James, what’s our room number?”

Inside the bathroom, Bucky squeezed his eyes shut at the sound of his name. Already palming his erection through his dress pants as he leaned against the wall.

“We rented the whole building, dear,” he called back.

“Oh.” He could just imagine the slight pout on your lips as you spoke. Then you asked if he wanted anything to eat, Bucky thought only of the sweet nectar between your legs, and he answered aloud, no, he was fine, really.

For the first time in his life, the man felt positively ashamed he was about to rub one out in a bathroom, alone. It wasn’t like this was the first it had ever been done, but now there was you, innocent and oblivious in the next room over, while Bucky undid his belt and quietly freed his cock from his dress pants. It felt kind of perverted, in a way, but he knew he needed this release to put his mind at ease and not feel so affected by you.

While you scanned your phone for a menu and chatted with the concierge downstairs about various food items, Bucky was spitting in his hand and fumbling for his shaft. You talked American Wagyu sirloin, lobster thermidor, and seared Faroe Island salmon while he thought achingly about the way your cunt had tasted and how badly he wanted to try it again.

How did he feel about an artisan cheese platter? Bucky hardly had the wits about himself to answer beyond a strangled, ‘Whatever you want, honey’ and a tightened fist around his cock, stroking hard to get the filthy thoughts out of his head before the food arrived.

Ever sweet, soft, supple, and savory—his mind reeled with fresh memories of that place between your thighs, and he almost lurched forward in pleasure.

Your brute of a mob boss husband was irreparably pussy-whipped and hadn’t even fucked you yet. He gripped the bathroom sink beside him and sincerely wished it wasn’t his hand doing the work right now. But of course, he had to be patient, had to be kind—couldn’t force himself on a woman who clearly wasn’t ready.

Again, he spit in his palm and jerked himself fast.

Any minute now, he thought with some relief.

Your feet padded softly into the living room as the pleasure inside him was starting to crest. Still pining for your warmth and the way your legs trembled around his head, Bucky was all but fucking his hand at this point. He’d snagged his bottom lip between his teeth in a lopsided smile and groaned, too low to be heard, and pumped himself even faster for his impending orgasm.

A thought crossed your mind as you stopped ahead of the sofa. You pivoted.

Suddenly, you were skipping back to the bathroom, wanting to know Bucky’s wine preferences before you placed another order.

You barged in and froze.

“Sorry!” you squeaked, darting out just as fast.

Five seconds slower and you probably would’ve seen Bucky blow his load all over the sink. As it was, the man was left sorely at a loss for any form of release and heaving fast, ragged breaths from the colossal scare you’d just given him.

Good fucking going, Buck—your wife wants to cuddle and eat cheese and you’re out here beating your meat.

Bucky shoved himself back in his pants and waited an excruciating minute for the sound of your second window exit of the night. A slammed door, a frantic phone call, a few sobs into your pillow as you realized how dirty and depraved your husband was, anything.

He was only met with silence.

Taking one more shaky breath, Bucky reached for the doorknob and started back out. Cautiously.

The man took his slow, silent leave of the bathroom with his gaze trained toward the doors—half-expecting to see his bride rappelling from the balcony—but then quickly shifted to the bed. Finding you kneeling at the edge.

“James?”

Your voice almost pained.

A word was all it took. Bucky was back on his knees.

“I’m sorry. I just wanted it to go away, honey. I’m sorry.”

Go away? You quirked a brow and couldn’t hold his gaze much longer; just trailed your vision down his torso to his pants, then his erection, still standing prominent as ever.

Bucky struggled to decide whether you were ticked off or intrigued, seeing your eyes make their painful appraisal of his length beneath his pants. Your brow was pinched, but your head was cocked. Almost curious.

“Are you mad at me?” you asked, gaze fixed on the spot.

Immediately, Bucky rose to his feet and crawled back on the bed, seizing your body with both of his hands.

“No! No, not mad at all,” he mumbled as he sidled up beside you. Pleased to see you hadn’t recoiled, “I was just, uh…missing you, ‘s’all.”

If his men could see him now, Bucky was sure he’d be the laughing stock of all the town. Doting and kind, eyes softened beyond recognition, he just watched you and wanted nothing more than to repair the smile that had ebbed from your face. Come ridicule, hell, or high water, the man was infatuated with his bride—all broken plates and attempted window escapes be damned.

Presently, you brought your hand down to his bulge.

Bucky stiffened but didn’t speak. He wanted you to do this on your own, of your own volition.

“You seem kinda mad to me.” You hardly knew what you were doing. Just rubbing his length and hoping it was something he’d like.

Where Bucky had wanted to see you smile, you just wanted to hear him grunt and whine—maybe grab your hips and beg you to do something, please. You’d never felt any such degree of control, and you suspected Bucky had never not felt it himself. You wanted him desperate.

You were playing a dangerous game, you knew it, but something inside those baby blues said he wanted to do it, too. Do anything for you, quite frankly.

You watched the rise and fall of Bucky’s broad chest and stroked his length even softer.

“James.”

“Uh-huh?” His mouth hung open with a gentle grunt, fighting every instinct to buck into your touch.

At last, you squeezed his shaft and prodded him on. Let your head drift closer to his so his lips would graze the apple of your cheek, and just when you sensed he wanted a taste, you tilted your face toward his own,

“We haven’t even kissed since the ceremony.”

Bucky stared blankly at you, enrapt with the pulse of your fingers. You could tell he was aching to move.

“Oh yeah?” he murmured.

You nodded a wordless affirmation and slid sharply back in bed as Bucky lunged after you. Your hands flew from his pants to the plush mattress behind you as you shifted—or, rather, scrambled—back in place and felt your husband climb over you hungrily.

“That what my wife wants?” he murmured, frame slotting tight between your legs.

You nodded again, and had only to suck in a breath before Bucky was devouring your lips. The kind of flushed, frantic, filthy kiss that would’ve doubtlessly wrought looks of horror on every face at your wedding had he grabbed you that way after the declarations of ‘I do’ had been spoken.

You loved him like this, impassioned and a bit unhinged.

His tongue worked his way past your lips and scoured every soft, fleshy inch between the insides of your cheeks before he took your face in his hands, kissing you roughly.

Something hard and throbbing nudged your sex, and suddenly you were whining in his mouth. Wrapping your legs around his waist.

“Ah, honey, don’t,” Bucky groaned, visibly straining to contain himself. When you dug your heels even deeper in his back, the groan that followed from him was hoarse and guttural.

“I thought— I…fuck,” your husband turned his head to curse as you grinded your hips up to his. You had to bite back a smile.

“I just wanna do what married people do,” you murmured coyly, pretending not to see when Bucky shot you the most red-hot, wanton look he’d imparted all evening.

“Yeah?” Like a kid in a candy shop the size of Sears.

Bucky took your face in his hands once more and made sure to scan your expression for any shred of doubt. On finding nothing there, he sat panting, half-disbelieving and half-contemplating all the wretched things he wanted to do to you. You squeezed his sides with your thighs and just hoped your husband knew what to do, because, in truth, you didn’t have the first fucking idea.

A few dry, clinical terms flashed before your mind’s eye, along with your mother’s bleak depiction of what treatment lay in store for a woman on her wedding night, and as Bucky started to work his belt and his pants off, you just hoped he wouldn’t be cruel.

He couldn’t be, right? He’d only mowed down a hundred men and dismembered dozens more, you were told, but surely a set of eyes this soft, caring, and kind couldn’t belong to a monster. You let him lift your hips and shimmy your panties, garter belt, and stockings down your legs, and when he returned, you tried your best not to betray the thoughts in your head.

Bucky hadn’t been with a virgin for as long as he could remember—maybe ever. His own ‘deflowering’ an ancient relic of his boyhood and the multitude of partners since then a mere flurry of nameless faces, he sincerely couldn’t recall a time when he’d asked, or cared, whether the woman beneath him had her cherry intact. He didn’t suppose it could be too different, as he peeled the last pieces of your lingerie set off your body and saw you seemed perfectly ready. He ran a finger between your folds and felt you shiver with what looked like excitement. Piece of cake, he thought, smiling.

No doubt he would take great joy in making you his own. His bride, his wife, an unblemished beacon of light in a life as sordid as his, looked perfect spread before him. You would adjust to his size. Bucky trailed the head of his cock up your slit and coated himself in your juices, and just when he’d bracketed his other arm around your head on the pillow, you let out a small sound.

“Are you sure it’ll fit?”

Bucky fisted his length and pressed the tip to your entrance.

“Uh…yeah. Yeah, I think so.”

He hadn’t yet met a woman who wasn’t able to fit him.

“Okay.”

Somehow, your voice sounded even smaller, head lodged between pillows and the crook of Bucky’s elbow. You felt small. Frankly, it didn’t seem like your husband was quite computing the worries that were pervading your brain, but you decided he knew best—your mother had assured you that husbands always did—and when Bucky first pressed the head of himself to the seam of your cunt, you hardly even whimpered.

You watched his brow furrow above you. He tried to go further.

Your folds were as soaked as he’d ever seen a woman’s, your hole practically pulsing with desire, and somehow, he couldn’t push in.

Bucky snagged his lip between his teeth and braced himself with the aid of the headboard, taking your hip in his other hand. A breath sounded on your lips the second he adjusted, and shortly thereafter, he felt your gaze on the same place he was watching: the spot where your bodies were trying to connect.

His features darkened at the prospect of failing, or even appearing incompetent to you in the slightest. He’d done this hundreds of times before, why wouldn’t it work?

When he felt your eyes trail back up his body and study his face—maybe wondering why her new groom hadn’t gotten around to thrusting into her yet, he thought—he felt a swell of panic and pushed.

Against his better judgment and the feel of your body, he muscled his way through and forced his cock inside. Bottoming out in a single, stabbing thrust.

You seized in pain but wanted to be a good wife for him.

Bucky, too, felt his hips stutter at the resistance your walls were giving him, but then remembered how he’d sworn to be a dutiful husband, and kept going.

Together, you stared anywhere but the other’s face and gritted your teeth for two entirely different reasons—you, in agony, and Bucky, in ecstasy, the latter hoping with everything in him that you liked this as much as him.

Bucky took a tender, if not slightly awkward, rhythm rutting against your body and stared steady at the headboard like he always did.

You were in pain and faced with nothing but his hulking chest, moving up and down, back and forth, over and over again like a goddamn seesaw from hell while it felt like your insides were presently being torn to shreds.

Who fucking enjoys this? you wanted to wail, but feigned a moan instead, raking your nails down Bucky’s back, Why isn’t he looking at me? Why isn’t he touching me?

Your walls involuntarily clenched around him, and he swallowed a moan.

Just think of baseball, beer, math, the Roman Empire, anything to keep from busting right now, Bucky told himself as he clenched his jaw and fought to maintain his pace. Your pussy just felt so. fucking. good.

Beneath him, you had tried and failed to fight back tears. The burn was just too much; the longer he thrusted, the more your walls contracted, and confusingly, stupidly, it seemed like he was using you. Your mother was right, most likely, that sex was just a means to an end for men like Bucky, and your husband didn’t care about your pleasure at all. You fought hard to keep the waterworks at bay, that one thing you hadn’t wanted Bucky to see, but eventually, the tears were flowing freely.

You stifled a sob that your husband mistook for a moan.

He fucked you even faster and felt a grin start to twitch at the corners of his lips when you made a sound that seemed consistent with pleasure.

“Feel so fucking tight,” Bucky grunted, about to lower his gaze to your face for the first time since he’d entered you, “So nice and tight and w—hey, hey, baby?”

He stilled inside as soon as he saw that you were crying. Took your face in his hands and almost couldn’t believe the sight of your tear-stained cheeks beneath him.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” he asked, scanning your face for any signs of harm.

You just shook your head and tried to brush him off.

“Keep going, I’m good.”

Bucky seemed angered at the suggestion. He brought your face closer to his and stared almost reproachfully down at you. Then he paused a beat and swiped one of your cheeks with the pad of his thumb.

“Am I hurting you?” he asked.

“N—”

“Don’t lie.”

You squirmed a bit and winced. That was answer enough for Bucky, and he slowly pulled out of you.

“Aw hell.”

The two of you glanced down to see a blooming red spot on the comforter. Bucky rubbed the blood in disbelief.

He’d gone too far. Again. Hurt something inside of you that couldn’t be fixed with a kiss. While you struggled to sit up among the pillows, Bucky was running a hand through his hair and cursing himself up and down.

“Why didn’t you say something?” he scowled.

“I didn’t wanna interrup—”

“If I’m making you bleed, you stop me, for fuck’s sake.”

“Well you seemed to be having a pretty good time!”

Bucky didn’t need to tell you in words what was painted on his face; he was pissed off and probably bound to slip off the bed any second, when your tears started welling up again. Then he eased off, remembering he was more mad at himself than anyone else, and slid closer to you. He tried pulling you into his chest, but you didn’t budge.

“C’mon,” you said, grabbing his wrist, “Let’s keep going.”

Bucky eyed you incredulously.

“Nuh-uh.”

“Uh-huh,” you insisted. He shot you a glare but didn’t protest when you guided his hand between your legs.

You were spread back open for him in no time. Still stinging like hell and ready for another go. Bucky almost couldn’t believe it.

“My headstrong wife.” He managed a smile before kissing the crown of your head, and kept right on kissing that spot no matter how far his fingers were traveling.

“You owe me two orgasms, remember, Mr. Barnes?”

It seemed Bucky’s boastful claims of late were in fact the furthest thing from his mind as he crawled back over your body. He pried your knees apart and left just enough room for his frame, taking his fingers to your folds and rubbing in light, gentle circles.

The bleeding had stopped. What little remained was long forgotten, and duly, the pain from recent memory was slowly but surely purged with every flick of his thumb. Bucky planted an arm next to your head and kept touching you there until your face relaxed completely.

When he chanced a finger inside, he was careful not to rub so much as plunge in quick, shallow motions, and at the first signs of pleasure, press light and tender kisses on your skin.

“If it hurts at all, you tell me.”

He sounded stern as he inserted another finger, but really, the man was all putty in your hands, wanting to please you and tease you in any way that he could.

When you told him faster, he sped up; you gripped his hair and said slow down, he did the same. He curled his digits in time with every whimper and moan you made and took care not to be too harsh on your sweet spot.

The only time he paused was when you looked up and asked him point-blank: could he fuck you sweet and gentle now?

Bucky paused. Swallowed.

The man would’ve screwed you six ways to Sunday if you asked him; that wasn’t the problem. The only traces of hesitation remained where your eyes said something different. Even as he shuffled between your legs at your behest, aligned his cock with your entrance, and felt a wave of desire wash over him, he pressed his forehead to yours and searched your glossy gaze once more.

“You sure about this, bunny?” he murmured.

Your heart melted at the name. You couldn’t deny you were frightened, and perhaps a bit worse for the wear after your last attempt, but his words were a comfort, his hand on your cheek a welcome gesture. When his thumb grazed your lips, you kissed it and nodded.

“Alright sweet girl,” Bucky said, tone laced with affection.

This time, before pressing the head of himself inside, Bucky caught your lips and kissed you softly. Rubbed himself up and down your slit—paying extra attention to your clit—and coated himself completely before trying to penetrate you again.

Your cheeks flushed, and you kissed him harder.

“P-please, Bucky, fuck me,” you murmured against his mouth, eliciting a small grunt from him.

“Yeah? You want your husband’s cock inside you, doll?” He kept the pretense of teasing, but really, he was just trying to make sure you wanted this as badly as he did. By the blissed out look on your face and the soft, ceaseless squelching noises produced by your arousal, he got the message pretty quickly.

He breached your folds with just the tip at first. You both felt your muscles contract. Instead of blindly pushing ahead like he had before, Bucky trained his gaze on your face and watched for any signs of discomfort.

“Everything okay, bunny?” he hummed as he brushed a few strands of hair from your face.

You were half in awe of how attentive he was, and doubly impressed by the stretch that followed—like a pinch, but nothing like the pain you’d felt before. You peered up at your husband and squeezed his shoulders.

“It— it doesn’t hurt this time,” you said, breathless.

Bucky could’ve caved at the sweet, innocent expression alone—like you were pleasantly surprised this hadn’t caused excruciating pain—and his lips moved down to pepper your cheeks with kisses again.

“Doll, I’m so sorry.”

The sounds and sighs of your pleasure beneath him, along with the words telling him it was okay, really, he hadn’t meant to do it, all made him feel even guiltier for having hurt you in the first place. It took him some time assailing your face with tiny, apologetic kisses before he even thought to feed you another inch.

When he finally plunged himself deeper, it wasn’t without your express permission; even then, Bucky feared he might split you in two.

The whole time he eased himself inside, he was moving his gaze between your face and the place between your two bodies—watching you open for him and take him inch by inch. He rubbed his thumb over your clit when you whimpered.

“Doing so good for me.”

“Stretching so nice for this cock.”

“My beautiful, beautiful wife.”

Every syllable of his praises flooded your head like honey. Feeling him stretch you out, fill you up, and rock you softly with his first shallow thrusts, all while talking you through it, had your mind ablaze and near-euphoric.

Pleasure practically searing your veins, you didn’t even hear yourself, or really mean to say it, as soon as you did.

“This doesn’t feel dirty at all.”

An epiphany to you and a puzzle to Bucky.

“What’s’at, honey?” He was still rutting his hips and slowly picking up speed. Your husband groaned when you clenched around him and pulled him even deeper—before you realized what you’d said.

Your cheeks flushed.

“I— I was always told sex made you dirty. This feels—” you stopped to swallow a moan when Bucky grazed a particularly sensitive spot inside you, “pretty nice.”

‘Pretty nice.’ Your husband couldn’t help the smile twitching at the corners of his lips as he leaned down to kiss you. He wrapped his big, muscly arms around you and pulled you closer to his chest.

“Makes you dirty?” Bucky said, disbelief evident in his tone before his smile broke into a grin, “Baby, you’re the cleanest, sweetest thing I’ve ever seen.”

He didn’t let you endeavor to protest, just buried his face in your neck and pressed teasing kisses all over the skin while he continued to pump in and out of you. He knew to keep hitting that spot, too.

You were drowning in whimpers and kisses when Bucky brought his lips to your ear.

“Doesn’t make you dirty at all,” he assured you, “Just makes you my wife.”

You clawed Bucky’s back when he sped up a little, and you felt the pleasure soar to even greater heights when he propped your legs above his shoulders—a brand new angle for him to bend you like a pretzel and fuck you good.

“You take this cock too nice to be dirty,” he gritted his teeth and continued to soothe you just how he knew you liked it, “Such a good little wife, sucking up every inch of me like you were made for it.”

Your lips parted in a soft ‘o,’ feeling him plunge the depths of your cunt like he never had before. Bucky slipped his thumb in your mouth while he held your face.

“That what you are, bunny? A good girl?”

You nodded your head and sucked his thumb, feeling yourself fucked dumb as you did. Bucky loved that blissed out look in your eyes.

“Good girl for daddy?” he cooed.

Your ankles trembled around his neck as soon as he said it. You nodded again, yes, you were, and felt a light coil start to form in your lower stomach as Bucky kept pounding you and pushing his thumb between your lips.

Then, with a pop, he plucked the digit from your mouth and brought it down to your clit. He started soft at first, but before long he was rubbing vicious circles on that little bundle of nerves, watching you come undone before his eyes and clench around him even tighter.

“B-Bucky,” you whined, fisting the sheets underneath you both as you squirmed.

“Mhmm?” Your husband pretended to be oblivious.

“I w— I’m gonna—” The words could scarcely leave your lips without finding themselves punctured with a whimper as soon as they were spoken. Bucky thrusted harder.

“Gonna what? Cum for daddy?” he grinned, “Make a mess all over this cock?”

Your moans of pleasure more than sufficed for an answer. You nodded and winced, felt your whole lower half seize with a warm and heady feeling, and before you knew it, Bucky’s thrusts were sending you spiraling over the edge, with a wave of bliss following shortly behind. Sounds of skin slapping skin hardly faltered, and Bucky kept rubbing and fucking you all throughout the waves of your high.

Tears sprung to your eyes, and you didn’t care. Your mind was alight with more bright, fervid feelings than you could count or comprehend, and your body washed over with pleasure.

You clung to Bucky and felt him keep fucking you, even as you shrieked against his skin.

“One more for me, honey.”

You didn’t think that was possible. You had just spilled all over him, squeezing his cock like a vice and screaming his name, and now he wanted it all over again? So soon?

Your fingernails sunk into his arms as he continued to rut into you, and you started to shake your head.

“C-Can’t Bucky, I can’t, I can’t,” you sobbed, tears still streaming down your cheeks.

“Sure you can.”

Your husband had his mouth at your ear again, panting as the pace of his thrusts grew faster. He tilted his body slightly forward so your legs were pushed even higher above you—damn near grazing either side of your head—and pounded you relentlessly.

His voice seemed so calm and assured as he spoke,

“Cum for daddy. Show me just how fucking good this cock makes you feel and cum again for me.”

With a command like that, how could you refuse?

You came a second time, hands seizing Bucky's forearms, and screams tearing through your chest as you rode your high impaled on his cock over and over again. The sights and sounds and repeated, pulsing spasms of your pussy on his shaft sent Bucky chasing his release not long after, and you felt a warmth spread inside you.

Your eyes were filled to the brim with tears, your cheeks practically drenched already. As you came down from your high, you started to blink.

But just as you lifted a hand to sop up the moisture, Bucky was leaning over you and into you with the brightest smile. Then he was kissing each wet, salty stain like it was the most natural thing in the world, sponging soft and gentle touches all over the spots your tears had overflown.

It seemed every nerve ending in your lower half was on the fritz, your body little more than mush underneath him, but somehow you managed to catch his mouth as he traversed the skin. You kissed him back, and Bucky drew you closer.

The two of you separated for a second, Bucky’s cock still resting comfortably inside you and his broad frame engulfing you in bed. He paused a beat. Seemed to consider something in his mind before speaking aloud.

“Honey,” he started, unsure of how he wanted to say this.

You peered up at him, curious. His seed had filled every contour and crevice of your aching walls and was just then starting to dribble out of you. Bucky seemed unfazed. He cupped both hands around your face.

“I love you.”

You blinked. No fucking way you were hearing those words.

“What?” You felt too awestruck to say anything else.

“I love you,” Bucky repeated. A smile was starting to tug at his lips, his thumb tracing your cheek while you stared at him in disbelief.

You would’ve liked to speak.

Would’ve loved to say those three little words right back.

In fact, you had just opened your mouth to tell him that, when a sound at the foot of the bed startled you both.

The warm glow of moonlight pouring in from the window panes was your only means to see it. But sight wasn’t worth much at all when a man appeared and pressed the barrel of a gun to Bucky’s temple, letting out a chuckle.

Another man, clad head-to-toe in polished black tactical gear approached from the far end of the room. Bucky gritted his teeth but remained motionless, hearing that man cock his firearm as well. You were surrounded on either side of the bed. Your blood ran cold.

“Sorry to interrupt the fun, Mr. Barnes,” the man on the left spoke so low and gruff he could scarcely be heard.

When Bucky started to stir, the man on the right raised his pistol as well. Curled his finger on the trigger.

“We haven’t even met your beautiful bride.” A set of cruel, glinting teeth turned in your direction. Suddenly, all eyes were trained on you—along with a third handgun, pointed at your head, as another man approached.

“Wedded bliss treating you well so far, Mrs. Barnes?”

[beevean]

Continuing my quest on finding good Charlastor content and I keep having Thoughts :)

because most of said content was, understandably, made between the pilot and the beginning of the actual show. And it's not only noticeable by the insistence of having Charlie and Alastor bond through dancing (since in the pilot that's the scene where the two seem to be having genuinely fun with each other), but also because the "creepiest" works (for lack of a better term) do indeed paint Alastor as Charlie's puppeteer, as the one who will push her to the dark side and unlock her demonic potential.

Part of this is still canon. There's all the heavy handed manipulations in ep. 5 where he presents himself as a better father figure than Lucifer and as the only one Charlie should love and trust; and also... well, the everything in the scene in ep. 7 where he finally manages to strike a deal with her lmao.

(you sure are unusually touchy with her :^) )

And this damning line:

Yes, Alastor desperately wants to have a hold on Charlie's mind if not heart. Even after he admitted in the pilot that he doesn't believe in her cause, he wants her to see him as a trusty mentor. And while the pilot is outdated in certain aspects, I can almost see traces of this... possessiveness? in the way he kept pushing Vaggie away: he clearly doesn't like anyone threatening his authority, and in that moment, Vaggie and her mistrust were an obstacle in his objective to ingratiate himself with the Princess of Hell.

I also noticed that Alastor is willing to make deals that don't require owning a soul: he cares about being the one in control even if he doesn't gain anything material. He struck a little "deal" with Vaggie just to do things his way, and he struck a more serious (but still not soul-binding) deal with Charlie so that she could owe him one favor. Alastor very much cares about having the upper hand in any situation, even the smallest one.

But then ep. 8 came along. And we get the confirmation that Alastor is bound by a deal. He hates it. It "clips his wings". He clearly blames this deal for limiting his freedom and causing him to nearly die for the sake of his "friends".

Alastor may be more of a puppet than Charlie is, at the moment.

And if the theory that this deal is what is forcing Alastor to protect the hotel... Charlie may be the one holding the strings, without even knowing it. While Charlie is not the one who directly owns Alastor's soul, she might have power over him.

It doesn't help that Alastor, as much of a self-serving liar he is, really seems to like Charlie...

(He doesn't need to offer her his precious mic that seems to be the source of most of his power. She already owes him a favor, and was shown comfortable enough to talk to him about her personal issues. This is Alastor showing his trust in Charlie.)

(again, he doesn't need to say this to Rosie, who clearly thinks the world of him)

(yes, this is about the entire hotel. But my point still stands that it's more earnest than anything we usually see from him)

So now we have a puppet in the hands of an unknowing, kind puppeteer that he actually be mildly fond of... and he wants out of every constraint possible because he wants to pull the strings, damn it all! And he will do anything to gain mental leverage on the one he's been forced to serve!

And I think this is what makes the dynamic even more interesting than a straightforward "manipulator/victim" :)

[dotster001]

True End

Previous Chapter: One Two Three Choose Another Ending

"So, the end has arrived."

Grim pushed his lens-less glasses down his nose and stared at Silver and Lilia, both of whom were sitting on the other side of a desk.

"I'll be honest, neither of you two is the richest here. That title belongs to Malleus, then Leona, respectively. But Malleus will prioritize his country over me, I mean Y/N, and Leona, well let's face it, it's only a matter of time before he disgraces himself and is off the kingdom's payroll."

Grim waved around a sheet of paper.

"Which puts both of you in third place. Oddly enough, your finance situation is nearly identical. So it comes down to who I think would be a better dad. I know this will come as a shock to you both, but Y/N isn't actually my henchhuman. They're my parent."

Lilia gasped in mock shock as Silver just stared.

"Anyway, Silver you have been a stick in the mud for this entire process, and Lilia is known for his lighthearted hijinks, so I'm gonna have to say Lilia would be the easier dad to deal with."

Both Lilia and Silver had images of Lilia leaving Silver and Sebek alone in the woods flash through their minds.

"Lilia, congratulations, You can expect a call in 3-5 business days about when to begin your new life as Y/N's husband."

Silver stared at his father, his eyes a mixture of disapproval and disappointment.

Lilia heaved a dramatic sigh, before turning to his son.

"Go to them."

"Huh?"

"Go claim their heart. It's always been yours."

Silver nodded gratefully and left the room in a rush.

"What's all that about?" Grim huffed.

"Sore loser, I guess," Lilia said with a laugh.

….

Grim had told you he had something to do, and that he'd be right back. But in the time since he'd left, it started pouring. Which meant he'd probably stay the night in whatever dorm was closest to him.

So, you'd settled in for a quiet night reading on the couch, the rain as ambience, when you heard a knock on the door.

Setting your book aside, you opened the door to a soaking wet Silver standing on your porch.

You opened your mouth to ask him if he wanted a towel or something, but he hurriedly interrupted.

"I'm in love with you. I always have been."

Your jaw dropped, but he was undeterred as he interlaced your right hand with his left.

"I know I'm only a knight. I'm not a king, or an heir, or a thriving entrepreneur, but I'm hoping I can make up for that by pledging myself to your  service. Even if you don't love me, as long as I can serve you, I-"

You grabbed his face and kissed him, not caring about how the water on his body was seeping onto your own, only caring about returning his feelings.

"I love you too," you said with a disbelieving laugh, after your faces parted.

His eyes widened, and his lips were back on yours, both of you too madly in love to notice the rain ceasing and the sun setting in beautiful auroral shades behind you.

The End

[overlyspecific]

Part 6 of Merlin Hood

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12

Still in the past at Merlin’s magic trial, next part will be back to the present!

The first thing Merlin notices when he wakes up is that it’s daylight. He should have waken Arthur up hours ago, but somethings not right. Merlin knows he didnt need to wake Arthur up today for some reason, but what was the reason?

Uther: Merlin of Ealdor, you stand accused of using magic and treason to the crown. What do you have to say for yourself?

Oh, that’s right, its because Merlin is to be put to death today.

Uther: Well, do you have anything to say?

Merlin: *mumbles under his breath*

Uther: *angry* What was that?

Merlin: I said, ‘What makes me any different?’

Uther: 😡 What?

Merlin: Its just that you’ve murdered thousands of sorcerers and magical beings and never listened to them. What makes me any different?

Arthur: Merlin!

Merlin: No, Arthur, I’m already going to die, no thanks to you. I’d like to finally get the answers to questions I’ve been silent about my whole life.

Arthur looks at Merlin with a look on his face between apologetic and confused. Merlin has always found that look adorable, but under the current circumstances he has to look away. Arthur cant save him now.

Uther: You said you have your questions. I am willing to hear your last remarks. Ask away but do not expect any answers.

Merlin: Great! First question, when you decided to keep the last great dragon under the castle, did you do that just so he could torture me with half truths and vague prophecies or did he decide to do that on his own?

Uther: The great dragon?

Merlin: From the look on your face, I’m going to take that as a no and that you maybe didnt even know he could talk. Next question: the law says its illegal to ‘study and practice magic’ if I didnt study it, but just practiced it, would it still be a death sentence or could I be let off with a time served kind of deal?

Gauis: Merlin!

Merlin: What! I’m gonna die anyway, might as well see if there is any leniency.

Uther: So, you admit to practicing magic, then? Guards, take the prisoner to the pyre! I dont want to hear another word.

Merlin: *smiling a little too wide to be friendly* …And here I thought you actually wanted to hear me out. *Merlin shakes his head* Oh, Uther, you see, I don’t just practice magic. I am magic.

As the guards approach Merlin from all sides, he snaps his fingers and disappears.

Uther: Find him!

Merlin: *appears right behind Arthur* Arthur.

Arthur: *spins around too quickly in fright and tumbles into Merlin, who catches him* Ahh!

Merlin: *smiling while trying to keep Arthur upright* I don’t have much time.

Uther: There! *points at Merlin* Get away from my son!

Merlin: *takes off his neckerchief* If you ever need me for any reason, *starts to hand the neckerchief to Arthur, but Arthur doesn’t take it* seriously, Arthur, I’m trying to have a heartfelt moment here, you utter prat.

Arthur: *starts to smile at the insult, but quickly hides it with his blank princely expression* Merlin, you have to leave.

Merlin: That’s what I’m trying to do! *hastily ties the neckerchief around Arthurs wrist* If you need me, leave that in the darkling woods and I’ll be there as soon as I can.

Merlin jumps onto the throne that Uther vacated when Merlin vanished.

Merlin: People of Camelot! I will not die at the hands of King Uther in his unjust war on magic. I am Emrys, the most powerful warlock to ever walk the Earth. The Once and Future king is the only one I serve. I will be back when he reigns. Until then, however… *Merlin looks directly at Uther* …I’m going to make your life a very difficult. *turns to Gwen and Morgana* If anyone needs me I’m only a call away. *Merlin snaps his fingers and disappears again*

In Merlin’s absence, flowers fill the room and nobody says a word just staring at the flowers around them completely covering the floor.

Morgana: *picks up a flower and puts it in Gwen’s hair* Beautiful.

Gwen: *smiles, before creasing her eyes in worry* Do you think he’ll be alright?

Morgana: *looking over at Arthur who is staring solemnly at the neckerchief tied around his wrist* I’ll think he’ll be just fine.

[blingblong55]

So into you-Keegan P. Russ NSFW

Based on a request:

Keegan Russ with 24 and 5 with a cherry on top and so you can actually say yes I'll even add sprinkles it can be m or f reader tbh i don't care --- F!Reader, smut, MDNI, breeding kink, dad's best friend(DBF), unprotected!sex, age gap, all characters are of consenting age(18+)

A/N: it's a well-done deal.

Your dad had served in the Marines with Keegan before he retired and began working elsewhere, Keegan had become a huge part of your adult life. After introducing him to his daughter, he and you grew close. For one, he was at least four years younger than your dad but still much older than yourself. It was around springtime when he came to your parents' house, your parents celebrating their anniversary and you coming back home from a long work trip.

"There she is," Keegan opens his arms and you hug him. "Looking much older now, huh." you tease and he playfully nudges your arm. Dinner went great, all stories from everyone's adventures being told but one thing changed, that being him. He no longer looked at you with innocent eyes, now all there was, was lust. After your parents returned to their bedroom, you and Keegan stayed in the lounge, his hand placed on your thigh. "You've changed, R/N," his voice smooth, filled with some newfound passion. You would be lying if you said you never found him attractive, he was after all a very attractive man.

Much conversation led to his fingers teasing the hem of your shorts. "Keegan-" You wanted to stop him but deep down knew you wanted what he wanted too. "It's okay, I promise to be gentle~" he smirks and without any warning, his lips fall on yours. You let him take lead, his body and yours having the same reaction, "Keegan, is this...this isn't..." but each time you tried to make some excuse he would hush you by making your hnads explore his body. "I don't know i'f i'll be able to control myself, R/N." his voice raspy. His ever needy body pressed to yours, not wanitng any space left between either of you. "Let me have you," he whispers and you nod.

"I need words, sweet girl."

"Yes,...you can have me, all of me," you beg and he smirks. He could do this with you for hours. With one smooth hold, he takes you upstairs, placing you on your bed. "I've waited so long to have you, R/N. The moment you walked in, wearing this-" he licks his lips, unzipping his trousers and then stroking his cock under his boxers. "God, you are such a beautiful view." he leans forward, now on top of you as his fingers linger on your chest. your nipples getting aroused by his grip on them. "I've been wanting to make a move on you," he kisses your neck and eagerly removes your shirt and shorts.

Next thing you knew, your delicate panties were on the floor, and he was still stroking himself. "I won't touch you unless you tell me to," he admits. "I want you to touch me. Please touch me, Keegan," the way you said his name, was like a sweet melody to his ears. "That's my girl." his fingers touching your folds, "I can already tell my sweet girl is so wet for me." he kisses you again. His fingers get coated in your wetness, and you moan as his fingers rub your clit, he looks at you, a smirk on his face. "That's it, let me ruin you for all these guys you meet."

He loved the idea of you never getting any release from any other man but him. He knows deep down, he is the only one who knows how to please you. He bent down, his lips to your hips, leaving a trail of wet kisses on them as he slowly reaches to lick your wet cunt. "Oh, my sweet girl, you taste like heaven." His tongue teases your swollen clit. And his own tip begging to be pleased by some sort. "Moan for me, princess," he begs and begins to eat you out. His moans and groans send vibrations to your sensitive clit. Fingers pumping into you and then he gets back up.

"Can I fuck you, my angel?"

"Please~"

"Atta, girl"

His hips rocking as his length parted your now needy and very wet pussy. His tip pleasing you in ways you never knew your body could feel. "Yes. Oh god yes." you whimper. He places kisses on your collar bone and tits. "Fuck, you're so tight," his lips on yours. It was electric,, all the waves of pleasure he was sending thrugh your body. He ruined you in less than ten minutes of fucking you, you both know that very well. "Just imagine yourself, getting stuffed with my cum," he whsieprs, he keeps thrusting. His eyes on yours, the ones you could barely keep open. Another moan, this time like a mewl. "God, you make the prettiest sounds ever," he comments.

"I want more~"

"I know baby, I know," he kisses your shoulder.

"Say you need me," he continues to kiss your shoulder and neck. "I need you. Fuck, I need you, Keegan," you whisper as he sends more waves of pleasure through you. It wasn't just meaningless sex between you two, it was the unspoken tension that had been building up since your twenty-second birthday. It was love in the form of a forbidden fruit. He loved the way your body moved with his, the rhythm of his thrusts making your tits bounce, your hardened nipples being felt on his own chest.

"I need you so bad, Keegan~"

That was as much as it took to make him lose all control. "Fuck, R/N, you don't know what you're doing to me," his voice hoarse. "I want you to milk me. I want that greedy pussy of yours to fucking milk me for all I'm worth," he demands. As he begins to fuck himself deeper into you, he knows that by the way you clench around him, you are near the edge. His big hand on your tit, gripping it. "Come for me, R/N," he pauses between words, trying his best to keep his own hot seed inside before you come. "I need you to come on my cock," he demands.

His body pinned you down to the mattress, your hands gripping his arms and back, leaving definite scratches. "Keegan," you moan. "I know baby, but I want you to come now," he demands once more. Your back arched, his mouth fell on your tits. Kissing them and nibbling on them. He rubs your clit, circling his thick fingers around the sensitive tissue, being rough, then soft with it. You shut your eyes and come undone on his cock. In that same moment, you felt his thrust slow down, his grip and groans increase but are still low. "R/N," he growls and then stays there, letting all of his cum flow into you.

Both of you panting and kissing through both of your climaxes. He lets out a chuckle and kisses the top of your nose, "You are lucky I can't treat you like a slut," he moves some of your hair away from your face. "What do you mean?" your hands caress his back. "If it weren't for your parents sleeping down the hall, I'd fuck you like the little slut we both know you are." He kisses your lips before pulling out of you. His cum dripping down your cunt, just like he wanted. "I wasn't too rough right, my angel?"

"No. I liked it," you kiss his lips and he smiles. "Good, that's good my girl." he kisses you back.

Tags: @liyanahelena @lazybutsexy

[scoonsalicious]

Unwanted: Chapter 17, Unanswered - Pt. 5*

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: When your FWB relationship with your best friend Bucky Barnes turns into something more, you couldn’t be happier. That is, however, until a new Avenger sets her sights on your super soldier and he inadvertently breaks your heart. You take on a mission you might not be prepared for to put some distance between the two of you and open yourself up to past traumas. Too bad the only one who can help you heal is the one person you can no longer trust.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, Explicit Dream!Sexual Content - Minors: GTFO; I don’t serve your kind here. (dream!oral (f-receiving))

Word Count: 1.3k

Previously On...: A conversation with Steve informed you that Bucky was fine, and on his way back to the Tower. He just couldn't be bothered to contact you, it seems. Cool. Coolcoolcoolcoolcoolcool.

A/N: Yay, look at that! Some more smut! Finally! Last part of Chapter 17. You know what that means, friends! BETRAYAL IS AROUND THE CORNER!

NOTE! The tag list is a fickle bitch, so I'm not really going to be dealing with it anymore. If you want to be notified when I update, please enable notifications from my Blog page!

Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917!

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

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You went about the rest of your evening and night as normally as you possibly could to distract yourself, checking up on the work emails you’d missed while you were ill and approving some requests for PTO. You’d listened to some back episodes of a True Crime podcast you’d been meaning to catch up on and aimlessly browsed Reddit, making some anonymous posts debunking some of the more outrageous relationship theories that were popping up concerning you and Steve. You were most definitely, for example, not having his super soldier baby.

Fortunately, you only threw up once during that time, and you were optimistic when, after you did, your stomach growled with hunger. You headed to the kitchen, considering potentially grabbing a plate of Thai leftovers from the other night, but remembering your reaction to Nat’s to-go plate, you opted instead to just make yourself a turkey and cheese sandwich. Best not to risk a repeat performance.

Once you made it back to your room, you decided you’d been awake long enough and called it a night. Checking your phone one last time, you were disappointed, yet not surprised, to see you still had no new messages from Bucky. As you put your head down on your pillow, you could only hope tomorrow would bring better tidings, and soon, you were asleep.

You were dreaming. And oh, it was a very good dream, indeed. You weren’t exactly sure what you were dreaming about, you just knew that delicious tension was building low in your stomach and, fleetingly, you hoped it was the kind of dream where you actually got to finish, and not the kind that left you frustratingly hanging over the precipice without actually falling. Those dreams were the fucking worst.

The dream slowly came into focus, Bucky’s head between your legs, his soft hair brushing the sensitive skin of your inner thighs as his tongued fucked you, the hardened muscle working its way in and out of your cunt as if drawing life from it.

You moaned in your sleep as his tongue slipped from your weeping hole, only to latch onto your clit, dancing circles around the sensitive bundle of nerves. You felt your back arch off the bed as his thick fingers found your entrance and began working their way in and out of you, the pace growing faster by the minute. God. This dream was so fucking good, you never wanted to wake up. Your orgasm was so close, you could practically taste it.

“Bucky,” you moaned in your sleep. Even as a figment of your imagination, he was good enough to elicit sinful sounds from your lips. The pressure was building. You were nearly there.

“That’s it, doll,” Dream Bucky said, his nose rubbing against your clit. He added another finger, stretching you so damned well. “Almost there, baby. You can do it. Come for me.” His mouth returned to your clit, suckling from it and driving you over the edge. 

Your breath was coming in ragged gasps, the noises you were making positively pornographic without your conscious mind awake enough to dampen them. But Dream Bucky kept working you through your release, rhythm never faltering.

“I think you can give me another one, pretty girl,” Dream Bucky said. He increased his pace, and soon you were falling again, your arousal coating his hands.

When your aftershocks had subsided, Dream Bucky’s hands pulled away, and you whimpered at the loss of contact. But then, you felt your bed dip, felt the solid, comforting presence of Bucky’s body as it crawled up alongside of you, felt his arms wrap around your waist.

You weren’t dreaming.

“Buck?” you rasped, voice still thick with sleep. “Is that really you, or am I still dreaming?” You reached out and touched his cheek, feeling the unmistakably real sensation of his overgrown stubble against your palm.

“I’m sorry sweets,” Bucky said, a devious smirk plastered across his face, “did I wake you?” He was already divested of most of his clothing, down to just a pair of tight, burgundy boxer briefs.

You yawned and raised your arms over your head, stretching out like a cat. “Was I supposed to sleep through that?” you asked him.

“Mm,” he said, kissing the side of your neck and making you shiver, “I’d really hoped you wouldn’t.” He shifted and you could feel the hard outline of his cock pressing against you. It woke you up immediately.

“Why the fuck haven’t you called me back?” you snapped suddenly, all traces of sleep having gone, leaving you with only your anxiety and unanswered questions. “I’ve been worried fucking sick all day long and I haven’t heard a peep from you! You think you can just give me 24 hours of radio silence, not knowing if you were dead or alive, and come waltzing back here with that magic tongue and I’d just–”

Bucky silenced you with a bruising kiss. “Magic tongue, huh?” he said when you broke for air. You nodded dumbly, currently unable to form a sentence with the way he’d just kissed the shit out of you.

“‘m so sorry, sweets,” Bucky said, his hands slowly making their way to the hem of your sleep shirt and pulling up, exposing your breasts to his lingering gaze. “I never meant to make you worry.” He slipped the shirt over your head, and despite your ire, you helped him do it. “Forgot to pack my international adapter for m’ phone.” He began placing gentle kisses to your breasts. “Battery died.” He took one nipple hungrily into his mouth, sucking and nipping at the peaked flesh. “Couldn’t charge it.” Then the other. You carded your hands through his hair. “Think you can find it in your heart to forgive me?”

His hand snaked down your belly to cup your heat. God, he had a way of making you feel so fucking good.

“I might be able to be persuaded,” you breathed as his fingers began toying through your slick folds. But logic soon smacked you like one of Natasha’s “love punches,” and you reached out a hand to stop his movements. “We should probably talk first.”

A flash of panic crossed Bucky’s face, and you wondered if he was worried about the articles. “Did you get my messages?” you asked him nervously.

Bucky nodded. “Plugged my phone in back in my room as soon as I got home,” he said. “Hadn’t seen the articles, but even if I had, I know you of all people would never do somethin’ like that. I’d have to be a fucking moron to think so. I know you’d never hurt me.” He had a far away look in his eyes for a moment, and you wondered if he was imagining you and Steve together.

You reached up to cup his face. “But did you see the other part?” you asked him.

“The part about you being ready to try us again?” he asked with a smile. When you nodded he leaned in and kissed you, a quick, sweet peck. “Darlin’, why the hell do you think I rushed over here to wake you up like that? Couldn’t stand to waste another second.”

“Well, then we better make up for lost time,” you teased, reaching down to slide your hand under the waistband of his boxer briefs.”

“I like the way you think,” Bucky grinned as he rolled over until he was lying on top of you. “I hope you’re not tired, sweetheart, because I got plans to keep you up all night long.”

“You talk a big talk, Barnes,” you smirked as you stroked him, firm and slow. “I hope you can back up your words.”

The look Bucky gave you was absolutely sinful as he reached down to free himself. Pressing the head of his cock against your swollen clit, he kissed you again. “Hold on to something, doll,” he said, nipping at the skin of your pulsepoint. “Cause you’re gonna have to beg me to stop.”

<- Previous Part / Next Part ->

[rileyglas]

The List ~Pt. 8 - Change~

Alastor (Hazbin Hotel) x Reader

Summary: Fueled by alcohol and emotion, you muster the courage to confront Alastor about his feelings toward you. During a heated discussion, more truths come to light. The rules you’ve lived by for so long begin to change as you learn more about who you are meant to become. This will be a night to remember.

Themes: The usual angst, this part does contain SMUT, mystery, sassiness, cursing, fluff, actual plot, Lucifer is a cunning shit, slow burn, and of course 18+

3.9k Words

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 7.A Part 8 (You're on it!) Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12

**sentences in italics are internal thoughts of the reader

You freeze standing in front of the door to the radio tower. A million questions run through your mind. A million scenarios play out. A million possibilities of what you were to expect in the next few minutes. It was second nature by now to prepare for the worst. You deliver three loud bangs against the wooden door that echo through the hall. Every logical thought screams for you to leave but the liquor rushing through your veins keeps your feet planted.

No response. There’s not even a shuffle on the other side. Should I knock again? Maybe he went to his room? You raise your hand to knock again when you hear the click of the lock and knob turning. 

The figure before you is almost unrecognizable. Of course it was Alastor but his usually clean pressed suit was replaced with wrinkled slacks and a button down, mostly undone. His hair disheveled in every direction and his eyes had black circles underneath. How does he look even worse than earlier?

“Alastor -” you breathe in shock. 

His eye twitches at your voice, “Leave.” he tries to close the door. 

You slam your palm against the door to keep it open, “No!”. I didn’t make it all the way up here just to leave without a fight. A snarl crosses his face. He steps aside to allow you to enter. Walking in you see an unusual mess of paperwork along with the rest of his suit pieces thrown frivolously around the room. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure of such a late night visit dear?” he sneers as he locks the door behind him. And just like that, every conversation you planned on the way up suddenly leaves your mind. Wait shit…no no no not the blank brain.

“I’m waiting.” he growls, stepping closer to you, annoyed by your lack of reason to be there. You turn away from him and blurt out the only things your alcohol fuzzed brain allowed, “He wants me to leave here to go stay with him. He promised he would protect me and keep me safe and I don’t know if I want that and his touch feels so wrong and – and - all I wanted was to run to you.” You wince from how horribly jumbled your words came out.

A warmth runs up your back and you feel Alastor on your neck. The smell of liquor taints his breath. You stand quietly, bracing for his retaliation. “Please….say something.”

He places his hands on your shoulders. Every muscle tenses from his touch as he speaks, “He wants you to stay with him? To cage you within his own walls?” 

“Yes.”

“Did you tell him all your little secrets?” he continues with an unsettlingly calm tone. “Y-yes.”

“Did you enjoy his hands on you? His lips against your skin?”

A lump forms in your throat as you shake your head, “N-No.”

Alastor walks around you to stand at his desk, looking out the tower window. “Didn’t we agree you wouldn’t leave the hotel without me?” His voice is smug, exuding his usual radio filter.

Is he stupid?

You scowl, frustrated by his sudden cockiness, “That deal was broken when you decided to be a self-serving, ignorant asshole.” 

“Oh my dear, I don’t know how you’ve managed to climb the ranks like you have. Your emotions make you weak, make you sloppy. I have much to teach you.” He says coolly still facing the window.

Oh, okay so he is stupid.

You choose to ignore his comment. “This was a mistake.” you mutter just loud enough for him to hear. Turning on your heel, you head back to the door and reach for the handle, but black tentacles spring up to stop your exit. What the hell!? "Don't do this Alastor." you warn through gritted teeth.

“Come here, please.” There’s suddenly no static, no ringing. You stand your ground and try to leave again only to be pushed back by his dark appendages. “Please.” He repeats, bleak and emotionless. Rolling your eyes with a sigh, you walk across the room and stand next to him, keeping your gaze out the window as well. A familiar comfort washes over you being this close again, but the ache in your chest outweighed any relief. You stand together in silence. Both looking over the city for a long while.

Hesitantly you speak, barely rising above a whisper, “You’re wrong you know. Sure, there’s sadness, depression, anger, selfishness – those weaken the soul. Break you down more than any fall into Hell.” You feel his eyes turn to you, but you stay locked forward, “I would never expect you to understand, but there are some emotions that can empower even the weakest souls. That is how I’ve climbed.”

Rule #4 T̶̷̸̸̸̸̶̵̴̸̶̴̶̷̴̶̸̸̸̵̷̵̵̡̝̙̰̓̌̈̚u̴̶̴̵̷̵̷̸̴̵̴̶̴̵̴̵̷̷̴̸̸̶̶̬͍̯̓̎̈̑ͅř̴̷̷̷̵̴̶̴̸̶̶̶̸̵̴̴̴̷̵̵̴̴̷̲̼̭̱͛̏͠n̶̸̵̶̷̷̴̷̵̷̴̵̷̵̸̶̷̸̴̶̷̴̴̛͓̝͎̱̈́̆̐ ̶̷̷̸̶̷̸̶̷̶̵̴̸̸̴̸̷̷̴̶̵̴̵̦̥͉͔̎͐̾͆ỳ̷̶̵̸̷̵̶̵̵̸̶̶̷̷̷̶̶̸̵̷̶̸̴̥̜̝͆̈̕͜o̴̸̵̶̵̷̶̸̶̴̵̵̴̸̷̶̴̴̶̵̷̴̷͖̯̥̟̍̾̒͠ú̵̵̷̶̴̴̴̷̴̵̶̸̵̵̴̴̶̴̵̷̷̸̵̳̣͔̳̽͊͌r̸̵̴̶̶̶̴̸̸̷̶̵̶̴̸̶̷̵̴̴̶̷̴̬͚̳̜̔̉̍͝ ̸̵̷̶̵̴̵̸̸̶̶̶̸̶̸̶̸̵̸̷̶̷̸̠͚͓͆̈́͌̕͜ẅ̶̵̶̷̸̷̷̸̸̷̷̵̵̸̶̷̴̸̷̷̶̶̴̛̮͓̖́̏̀͜e̴̷̴̴̷̵̴̸̸̵̶̵̶̴̶̸̴̸̸̸̷̷̴͉̮͉͓͑̏̈̐ą̵̶̸̶̴̶̶̵̴̶̴̵̶̴̵̶̵̵̶̸̷̸̶̮͍̱͗͆̚͝k̵̶̶̸̶̴̵̴̷̵̵̴̸̴̴̷̷̸̶̷̸̵̷̺̻̯̜̅̉͒̈́n̷̶̵̴̸̵̷̴̸̴̷̵̵̵̴̶̴̶̶̸̶̶̴̰̫͔̺͑͂̇̍ȩ̴̴̵̶̸̷̸̷̵̷̶̴̵̴̷̷̷̶̸̵̶̶̶̭̹̙͐́̔͘s̸̷̸̶̶̵̷̶̶̶̷̸̶̷̴̵̸̸̵̸̸̸̷̳͔̦̼̐͂̉͌ş̶̶̷̴̵̷̷̸̸̵̷̴̷̸̸̶̸̸̷̸̷̶̵͚̠̺̉͂̒͝ ̵̵̵̷̵̵̶̷̴̵̵̵̷̵̵̷̸̶̸̴̴̶̵̨̟̬̣̇̓̂͝i̷̸̷̵̶̶̴̵̶̶̵̸̸̸̸̵̶̴̸̵̸̵̸̥̦͈͛̾̂͜͝ṉ̷̶̶̸̶̷̸̶̷̷̷̵̶̶̴̸̴̸̵̵̷̶̴̣͓̳͂̉̿̓ț̴̶̴̴̴̷̸̷̶̴̸̶̴̶̷̸̷̷̷̵̵̸̵̨̪̩̍̒́̐ò̵̵̴̶̷̶̷̷̴̶̶̶̶̶̸̷̶̴̶̷̵̵̴͔̭̙̿̈́͌͜ ̶̶̵̸̶̴̷̷̵̸̸̵̶̴̷̵̸̷̴̵̷̵̷̢̹̖͍̊̄̀̓s̵̴̷̸̸̸̵̴̵̶̴̶̷̵̸̸̷̷̸̷̷̵̷̙̮̭̰̀̽͋̓ẗ̷̵̷̷̷̷̶̵̶̴̸̷̷̵̸̵̸̴̵̴̷̴̸͎̗͉̹́̇͌͝r̷̸̷̶̴̶̴̶̸̵̸̷̶̴̶̴̶̷̶̶̵̸̸̮̭̺̘̀̃̍͆ȩ̷̶̴̵̴̴̴̴̷̸̵̴̷̴̷̴̵̷̵̷̸̴̷̭̤͙͒̂̇̈́n̴̴̶̵̷̵̵̷̵̸̷̴̴̵̶̶̵̴̷̴̶̷̵̢͙̪̩̈́͊̔͘g̵̴̶̴̶̷̷̶̵̴̸̷̶̶̴̴̶̷̶̴̷̵̵̝̘̩̪͒͋̕͝t̶̸̸̷̸̵̷̵̵̷̵̵̶̸̸̴̷̸̴̸̵̴̶̳͚̘̪͐͑͝͝h̵̶̸̷̶̴̷̶̸̵̷̵̸̷̴̴̵̴̷̸̵̴̸̡̭̝̤͂́͆̿

He holds his gaze as another long silence passes. In the past his stare always felt heavy, as if he was trying to find every flaw or insecurity you could possibly have but tonight, he didn’t burn into you. Tonight he was soft and present.

“I think I’m beginning to understand such sentiments.” He mutters. “Look at me.”

You shake your head and look to the floor. “I can’t play this game with you. It was never just about power to me. I need you to realize that.” The last few days you cried so much you didn’t think you could produce any more tears, yet here they are again, stinging just behind your eyes.

“I had every intention of keeping us nothing more than mutual partners, to only feed from the power we could create. I did what was necessary to keep you close.” Alastor gently takes your hand, intertwining your fingers in his, “But I never expected — I - I didn’t think — This is not a game to me.” 

He doesn’t get it. Your hand jerks away from his. “You have a shitty way of making me believe otherwise.”

A frustrated grunt leaves his chest, “I knew the moment Lucifer met you and felt the power you held, he’d try to take you away. His reaction from seeing us together made it all the more obvious. As much as I hate to admit it, that insolent King is far from stupid.”

“You actually think he feels threatened by me? Or you?” You shake your head in disbelief, “It’s Lucifer, THE fallen angel…the fuckin’ devil himself! He doesn’t need anything. Why would he bother being so open, s-so vulnerable? The man practically crumbled to me. He even compared me to…to Lillith.” “How bold of him.” He grumbles unamused, “Do you really think he would say such things to someone he didn’t know could – “

“He kissed me, Alastor. He kissed me like - ” 

“Like he loved you?” he scoffs at the statement. You watch his body grow with rage, “You want to talk about playing games? Are you so blind to not see he’s the one playing you!? You’re weaker than I thought falling so easily to someone like him.”

Hot tears flow down your face, though you can’t decide if it’s out of anger or hurt. “I’m not weak!” 

“Then start acting like it!” His eyes begin to flicker black and red as static floods the air, continuing to grow into his demon form. 

“It’s not weak to want to be wanted by someone who doesn’t have intentions to….just use me!” You find yourself screaming at the demon, flames starting to surround you. Why can’t he see past his own selfishness…

Alastor goes quiet as he comes down from his form. He beams an arrogant smile at your tear-soaked face, “Silly girl, he wishes to keep you in his castle. To keep you as his pet. He might not need your power but if you think he actually wants you without some ulterior motive, you’re naive and foolish.”

“FUCK YOU!” Having had enough berating, you turn away to leave but his large claw catches your arm to pull you back into him. “What Alastor!? What else could you possibly have to say to me!?”

He leans against his desk and pulls your body between his legs, “Do you not remember what I said the first time we made a deal? Together, you and I could become more powerful than the King of Hell himself.” You tilt your head, “Okay and?”

“Use your head for once! What all powerful being would be willing to risk the possibility of being overthrown? Angel or not, he isn’t invincible. He can’t hide his fear of the potential we possess.” 

The lightbulb finally fires in your brain. Of course... 

Rule #1 B̸̶̵̵̷̴̴̷̶̶̶̨͎̈́ę̴̶̸̷̵̷̸̵̸̴̴̜͊̋ ̸̷̴̸̶̷̵̷̴̴̴͔͙̈́͠o̸̸̸̵̸̷̵̷̶̸̸̲̟̐̀p̶̸̸̴̸̴̵̵̵̴̵͍̞̒̂e̵̴̴̵̸̶̸̸̷̵̶̩̊̑ͅň̸̴̸̶̶̵̴̴̴̶̶̥̕͜ ̴̴̸̴̵̷̷̸̷̶̴͇͙̐̎t̸̷̸̴̵̶̷̴̴̴̷̡̝̂͆o̵̵̴̴̴̷̴̶̸̶̸͚͉̍͌ ̵̶̸̷̶̵̵̸̶̷̸̛̱̗͝t̸̵̷̷̸̶̴̴̷̴̸̗͎̎͑r̸̵̴̴̶̶̵̸̴̴̷͙̣̉̑ǘ̵̴̶̸̸̴̸̶̷̷̸̯̦̓s̸̸̶̶̵̸̸̶̵̸̴̩̰̍̿ṯ̷̶̴̶̸̵̷̴̴̴̴̛́ͅ,̸̷̸̶̸̵̵̴̴̶̵̡͍̈͑ ̶̴̷̴̸̷̵̵̴̴̴̣̤̾͝b̸̵̶̵̵̸̵̶̴̴̶̛̜̹̀u̵̵̶̵̷̷̸̶̸̷̵͈͈̎́t̵̸̷̴̶̵̵̶̷̶̵̡̞̔̚ ̴̸̴̷̷̷̶̷̵̷̶̞̯̋̚n̴̶̵̷̴̷̷̴̶̴̶̳̮̎̈ȩ̵̶̴̵̷̴̵̸̶̵̴͍̀̑v̵̷̸̸̸̵̴̵̷̶̴͔͗͝ͅe̴̷̷̵̵̵̵̸̸̵̵̡̤͋̀ř̵̴̸̵̷̵̸̷̵̶̴͈͘ͅ ̴̸̷̶̵̷̶̸̵̶̵͖̟̔̃d̷̷̵̷̴̶̸̷̶̵̵͈̘͐̔o̷̸̵̷̴̵̵̵̶̸̵͕̙͊̌ ̴̴̴̵̷̷̸̶̵̷̴̜̜̅͘s̷̴̴̵̶̵̶̴̵̸̷̬͈̏̍ò̴̵̴̸̸̶̸̶̶̴̶̫̠̀ ̴̴̷̴̶̸̷̴̵̸̶̯̼̃̓b̷̷̴̶̶̷̶̴̶̵̶̘̹̐̈́l̷̵̸̸̵̵̴̸̷̵̴͎̫͂̉i̷̷̸̶̸̶̵̵̶̵̷̤̪͗̾n̶̴̷̷̷̶̵̶̵̸̶͉̺͑̚d̵̶̵̵̵̴̷̷̸̵̴̖̠͐̉l̶̷̸̸̷̸̴̵̴̵̴̖̘͆͌y̶̶̵̷̵̴̴̴̸̸̵͇̆̾͜

You hang your head in embarrassment by the horrible realization. If you could shrink down to the size of an ant, you would. I should have known better… “He wants to keep us apart so we have no way of rising to power…he wants control. He knows what’s possible, doesn’t he?”

Alastor stays silent but his eyes give you all the answers you need.

You bury your face into his chest, furious with yourself for not seeing it sooner. “I’m so stupid. He got me to trust him and…I told him so much…I showed him…shit…he knows.” Alastor wraps his arms around you tightly. You feel his chest rise and fall with a deep sigh.

“You’re not stupid. I should have told you the morning of his visit instead of -.”

“No - I allowed my own desires to cloud my voice of reason. I want to help…to protect those who can’t do so for themselves. But fuck, for once it was nice to feel wanted for who I was, not just what I could do…” you admit sheepishly, surprising even yourself with your words.

Alastor’s hands affectionately cradle your face. His thumbs softly wipe the tears that remained on your cheeks, “I want you. My body aches and pulls to you. I want to be powerful with you. I know I’ve made you feel like you were nothing to me when in reality, that couldn’t be farthest from the truth.”

“Then say it.” You say plainly as your eyes dart between his. He cocks his head trying to understand your demand. “Tell me the truth. Look at me, swear on your mother’s soul, and tell me the truth.” You needed to hear it from him. You need the words to leave his mouth.

He lets go of you and stands up straight, “Husker talked with you, didn’t he?” 

Uhg Husk isn’t going to hear the end of this…

Frustration bubbles in your chest, “Don’t pin this on him! You just said -” 

His lips press into yours forcefully and you melt into his arms. You’ve craved this feeling for so long that you didn’t dare reject him. Static begins to pulse through your body like never before. Opening your eyes, you see pink and green light surrounding you both. My power has never radiated like this with him. It only should only happen when — oooh fuck I get it now…  

Rule #2 Ḑ̸̵̵̴̴̴̴̵̷̷̸̴̷̴̸̴̴̷̷̵̷̫̩̼̃͐̃͐͜͝o̵̴̶̷̸̶̶̴̸̶̵̷̴̶̷̸̷̴̷̴̷̞̗̣̟̖͐͂̽̊͐n̴̶̶̷̸̸̴̵̷̵̶̵̸̵̷̴̶̸̴̴̸̻̤͍̺͋͐̀̈́̂ͅ'̵̴̵̶̴̵̵̸̶̸̸̷̷̶̵̷̵̵̷̴̶̢̫͖̱͑̆̽̌́͜t̶̴̴̶̴̶̸̶̴̶̸̵̴̴̴̴̷̶̵̵̷͕̼̦̠̘̽́̾̄̈́ ̷̷̶̵̸̶̵̶̷̸̸̵̴̸̸̵̸̷̶̶̶͉̹̰͙͔̈́̂͐̆̌b̶̵̴̸̷̸̷̴̷̴̵̸̴̵̶̴̸̷̸̵̸̲̝̖̦͚͗̿͊̎̌ȩ̸̵̴̶̵̸̵̴̴̷̸̴̶̵̴̷̸̷̵̴̵̩̦͎͇̃͌͐̔̕ ̷̶̶̸̸̶̶̴̶̵̷̸̴̸̶̶̶̷̷̸̶̹̬̙͎̲̉̈͆͆̏a̸̴̶̶̴̵̸̷̶̴̷̴̴̸̷̷̵̶̷̷̶̙̣̹͍͙̒̏́͘͝f̸̴̷̶̸̴̶̸̴̴̶̶̴̶̶̷̶̶̸̸̶̨̡̧̻̯̐̓̐͑̈r̴̵̶̴̸̷̵̸̸̵̸̸̷̶̷̷̵̶̸̷̴̭̩̪̞̻̈́̄̆̔̎ả̶̸̵̵̶̶̴̸̸̴̷̶̶̷̶̶̴̵̵̶̶̢̡̦̖̠̾͑̾͂i̷̶̶̷̸̶̵̵̶̴̸̴̴̴̸̴̷̸̸̷̵̪̩̜̗̦͂̔̂̓͝d̸̴̸̸̸̸̶̵̴̸̶̴̵̸̶̷̴̶̶̶̵̰͚̪̺̥̒́̏̍͠ ̵̶̶̸̵̶̴̴̶̶̸̷̸̵̸̴̵̸̶̸̶̧̰̠͎̪͋̋̒͋̿ẗ̸̵̸̵̸̸̴̸̵̷̶̷̷̶̸̸̷̴̷̸̸̳͇͕̜̟̒̓͌̈ȍ̸̵̶̷̴̸̸̸̷̸̴̵̵̸̵̵̴̸̴̶̷̖̳͔̭̖̄͊̐̆ ̷̸̶̴̷̶̵̸̵̶̷̵̴̶̸̶̸̴̸̴̷̲͎̩̣͂͛̂͜͝͝ṣ̴̶̴̸̸̴̴̶̴̶̵̶̶̴̵̵̴̶̵̷̵̨̠͔̮̑͂͗̑̔ḫ̶̵̶̶̵̴̴̶̸̵̶̴̸̷̵̶̴̷̶̵̶̡̨̻̼̿͛̈́͌͘ö̶̶̵̴̶̸̵̴̴̴̴̷̷̴̷̷̶̴̴̶̴̞̲͙͉̬́̈́́̓͝w̸̴̶̶̶̵̸̸̷̶̵̴̴̷̶̴̶̵̴̶̶̝͎͓̼̤͐̆͊͊͐ ̴̶̶̷̶̶̴̴̶̷̸̴̷̸̶̵̷̵̵̶̵̡̻̪͍̙̈́̇͗̂͐y̶̸̶̵̸̴̸̶̴̷̶̵̸̷̶̷̶̸̸̴̵̦͕̲̱̥̾͗͊̋͠o̴̵̵̴̴̵̷̴̸̶̸̵̶̷̷̴̴̸̷̶̷͈̻͚͙̔̎̀̎̕͜u̶̴̸̶̷̶̵̵̴̸̶̸̵̴̷̸̶̵̷̸̵̻̥̩̭̿͗̐͆͌ͅr̸̷̴̵̶̵̸̶̴̷̶̵̴̴̵̵̸̶̶̷̵͖̙̼̝̝̃̽̊͗́ ̴̷̶̵̸̴̸̵̵̷̸̶̴̵̵̵̶̶̶̵̷̧̥̥̫̭͑̈̆̔̈p̵̴̴̸̶̶̸̴̶̴̸̷̸̶̵̷̸̶̴̶̷̺̰̪͎͓͋̆̄͆̕o̷̶̴̸̸̶̵̸̴̵̸̷̸̴̵̴̴̵̵̵̸̹̟͔̱͉͆̀̐́̈́w̶̸̵̵̵̸̶̷̸̵̴̸̶̴̷̴̸̷̶̵̸̼̣̘̖͐͋͑̂͝ͅȅ̷̷̵̶̶̵̶̵̶̷̴̸̷̵̵̷̸̷̸̶̵̛̼̩̭͓̍̅͊ͅr̵̸̸̶̶̷̶̶̸̶̸̸̸̷̶̴̸̶̴̴̷̨̻̹̪̽͛͒͝͝ͅ

He breaks the kiss to rest his head against yours, panting from the sudden passion, “I swear…on my darling mother’s soul…I love you.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” 

Alastor’s face twists with a mixture of regret and embarrassment, “I’ve made it a point to be ruthless and unwavering. I thought showing anything more would label me weak. When I returned to the city feeling such foreign urges…I thought I was going mad.” You smirk trying to hide the pure joy rushing over you, “Is that Alastor or the copious amount of liquor talking?”

“Probably both.” He chuckles through a smile you swear could split his face in two if it went any wider. Your hand runs under his open shirt and across his chest playfully, “Oooo what other confessions can I get out of the great Radio Demon?” 

Alastor huffs at your sudden confidence, “Oh - ho darling don't push your luck. Terrible of you to take such advantage of me in this state.” Your lips curl into a half-hearted smile, but doubt continues to flood your thoughts, “You say you love me - but your words have failed me before.” 

He grimaces, “After seeing you with…him…the pain of possibly losing you consumed my mind. I went to see a good friend of mine who was able to put things in a new light. I believe the words she used were, ‘Words are cheap, but actions, they speak for the truth’.”

Time to test my luck as usual. “Then show me.” 

He presses a kiss to your forehead and trails down your face, stopping at your lips. “Are you sure?” he asks breathlessly. You nod and push against him with enough force he has to brace himself against the desk. He swiftly returns your passion and draws you flush with his body. As he deepens the kiss with his tongue, you feel him spin and lift you up on his desk - slotting himself between your thighs.

Your hands dance up his body, impulsively undoing the last few buttons of his shirt before pulling it off his shoulders. You break the embrace as you feel the scars that riddled his body. “How -?”

“I didn’t become who I am without some loss, my dear. Does it repulse you?”

“Never.” Entranced, you ghost across each mark making him shiver. Desire crashes over you seeing his body react to your touch. Your fingers continue to flutter over his skin to the small tufts of red hair that trail down his stomach. Stopping at his belt, you lift your eyes to his, “This isn’t like before Alastor. I can’t handle any more disappearing or deals or secrets. Are you ready for that? Are you certain I am what you want?” Your words seem to plead rather than question him.

He pulls your hips into him as he lays you back on the desk, trailing kisses down your jaw. “You’re all I’ve wanted for a long time darling.” he purs into your ear, voice dripping with lust. Is this really happening?

You let out a yelp when his claw abruptly slices down your shirt. He’s too impatient, too deprived of you. His eagerness continues to fuel the heat growing between your thighs. He chuckles as the buttons of your shirt scatter across the room, “Nothing a trip to the tailor can’t fix.” 

He begins to pepper kisses across your collarbone, down your sternum, and over your stomach, pulling soft whimpers from your lips. A devious smile crosses his face as he unbuttons your pants and slides them off your legs along with your underwear. He stands himself between your thighs once more, “Utter perfection.” he breathes. The sudden sound of his belt being undone and ripped from its loops sends goosebumps across every inch of your exposed skin. Last chance to - no…I want this….we need this…

You feel his hard warmth start to slide between your folds. He groans from contact, “It seems you’re already begging for me, darling.” Propping yourself on your elbows, you look down at his length as he teases your entrance. Alastor notices your worried expression, “Take a deep breath and relax, I’ll go slow.” He slowly begins to push himself into you and his mouth falls on yours, begging to catch every moan of pain and pleasure.

Your walls clench from the sudden but welcomed sting. He stills to allow your body to adjust to his size. “Too much?” he asks. You shake your head, “No, keep going.” He continues to push into you, hissing into your neck as he bottoms out against you. You can’t remember your previous experiences from when you were alive, but you were positive you’ve never felt this level of fullness or satisfaction.

You wrap your legs around his waist and tangle your hands into his hair, giving a firm pull at the base of his antlers. “F-f-fuck –“ he mouths while rolling against you, craving friction but not daring to push until he feels your body relax. You buck into him as a silent plea to keep going. He begins to pull out at an agonizingly slow pace, groaning gravelly praises each time he drives back inside, “That’s it.” “Deep breaths cher.” “Give in to me.” He was completely controlled, each stroke deep and intentional.

“Al –“ You cover your face to muffle your moans, surprised by how dazed you’re already becoming. Each thrust you feel him hitting a spot that sends mind numbing electricity through your body. He moves your hands away from your face, “No hiding - it’s just you and me.” His voice is laced with a sweetness you’ve never heard from the demon before.

It isn’t long before the tension in your lower stomach builds. He draws you up against him and grips one of your thighs, putting you in a position that allows his pelvis to grind into you as he quickens his pace. Your fingers dig into his arms to steady yourself. 

You throw your head back with a guttural moan, your noises are pure music to Alastor’s ears. He can’t resist breathing sweet words into your neck, repeating how good you look like this, completely filled by him, no one on your lips but him. In between his admirations, he runs his teeth across your throat, nipping and sucking little marks to claim you that much more. 

His gentle whines across your skin bring you that much closer to release, “Alastor…please…more…”. Any self-control he was holding onto snaps at the sound of your pathetic pleas. Feeling him pull out completely, you protest under your breath. He turns you around and bends your body over the cold wood of the desk. A dark groan rumbles in his chest as his hand slides up your spine and his fingers thread into your hair. He pulls you back gently to lean into your ear, “You want me to show you how much I love you, cher?”

Without waiting for an answer he jerks your head back to crash into you from behind, filling the room with an unholy mixture of your cries and the sound of your bodies connecting over and over. Your back arches from his grip pulling you deeper into his thrusts. Any control he had with you before is long gone. The demon loses himself as your walls tightly massage around him and your sweet sounds feed his desire. 

His free hand wraps around your body. You cry out again feeling his fingers start to massage your aching bud. Your nails dig into his desk and tears begin to stream down your face from the intense stimulation. “D-don’t…p-please…I’m.. – ” you pant nearing the edge of your high. Looking back, you watch his antlers grow.

“Say…my name….a-a-AGAIN!” he stammers between breathy grunts. Unable to hold back any longer, you bow back into him, feeling the tension in your stomach finally snap, “Oh God, Alastor!” you gasp. Every muscle trembles beneath him as your body welcomes the long awaited release.

He plunges deeply once more to feel you spasm around him. “There’s no God here, cher.” He growls as he sinks his teeth into your shoulder, making his name fall from your lips once more. Hearing you scream his name pushes him over into his own resolve. His body stutters, filling you with every drop of him. You bask in his whimpers as he rides out the high.

Your body collapses on the desk. Alastor lies on top of you kissing every bit of skin he can reach. You hiss as he runs his tongue across the fresh blood trickling from your shoulder, “No one will have the pleasure of tasting you again.” His chest rumbles against you. He continues to drag his lips across you, remaining inside to take in your body just a little longer. For the first time in weeks your mind is blank, entirely present in the moment, drinking in every second of his body being one with yours.

“Stay still dear.” he commands, grudgingly pulling out and away from you. The cold air from his sudden absence makes you shudder. You let out a breathy giggle at the feeling of his warmth trickling out and down your legs. Alastor returns and starts to run a cloth between your thighs, “I admit, I quite enjoy you like this.” 

“What? Vulnerable and naked?” you tease.

“Unequivocally mine.”

You turn around to wrap your arms around his neck. “Say it one more time for me?” He rolls his eyes but happily obliges to the request, “I’ll say it a million times if I need to - I love you.”

“I love you, Alastor.” Rule #3 K̸̷̵̴̸̸̸̵̵̵̵̸̷̶̶̵̷̴̶̶̴̫̩̻̗͚̇͆͑̈́̀e̴̶̷̷̶̷̷̶̵̵̶̵̵̶̶̶̵̴̷̷̷͙̪͔̫̣͛͐̎̀͝e̵̸̷̵̷̴̸̸̸̷̷̷̴̵̶̴̷̴̵̵̴̢͈̬͍̺͗̌̒̆͝p̵̷̷̴̷̸̶̶̵̵̷̷̴̶̶̷̷̵̷̸̸̧̛̦̤̼͚͋̅̄͝ ̷̸̸̸̴̵̵̷̵̶̷̴̵̷̸̷̵̵̴̴̸̺̳͚̩̤́̓̈́̇̌t̷̶̸̴̶̴̵̴̷̸̴̸̸̷̸̸̸̶̶̶̵̤̣͙̫̹̃̉̌͂̂h̴̸̸̶̷̷̶̶̵̸̷̶̵̵̵̴̶̴̷̶̴̡̘̯͖̝́̽̌̌̏ȏ̵̴̸̷̷̷̵̴̴̶̵̸̸̷̸̶̵̶̶̸̸̱͍̞̉̓̚͜͝ͅs̶̵̴̷��̸̵̸̵̵̷̶̵̴̷̶̷̷̴̵̴̢͙̹̯̗̾̒̃͒͝ȩ̶̴̷̵̴̸̴̸̶̴̵̵̵̵̸̵̷̵̵̴̵̧͇͙̠́̑̈́̊̄ ̷̵̵̸̵̷̷̶̶̶̷̸̸̴̴̸̵̸̵̸̸̧̦̘̖̺̔̀̂̌͛y̸̵̶̶̴̶̸̴̸̴̶̸̷̶̴̶̸̸̸̴̸̢̘̼̗̰̌͒̕͝͠o̸̴̶̸̵̶̸̷̴̸̶̶̷̴̸̶̷̴̷̷̶̡̨̖̭̠̊̾̆̓͗ų̵̶̸̵̷̶̴̸̵̵̷̴̵̶̶̴̷̶̷̶̷̙͕͚̰̀͆̔̉̌ ̴̸̷̶̴̷̴̶̴̶̶̵̸̸̸̵̸̴̴̴̴̤͍̤͖͎̐̐̑͆̕l̶̸̵̶̶̷̷̸̷̵̶̴̶̴̶̵̸̶̷̴̶̡͇̦̩̰͋̈͊̈́́o̸̶̸̷̶̶̸̴̴̶̴̶̷̶̵̸̴̶̸̸̶͕̜̟̥̼͐̐̀̈́̐v̸̶̴̸̸̷̶̷̷̵̵̷̴̶̸̷̸̶̵̴̴̟͙̩̝̭̒̒̋͘̕e̵̶̵̶̴̸̴̶̶̷̵̷̸̶̶̴̵̶̷̴̵̺̬̩͔̺̓̾͆̕̚ ̶̷̶̷̴̶̶̸̷̷̴̴̷̴̷̶̴̵̸̸̴̨͈̣̩͕̉͋̎̿̀c̶̸̶̵̵̴̴̴̷̵̷̶̷̴̴̴̴̷̸̵̵͓̳̘͓̬͐̐̈́̌̈́l̸̶̸̷̴̷̴̷̸̵̷̷̵̴̷̷̷̵̸̵̴̢͎͍̻̈́́͊̚͜͠o̸̵̷̸̷̷̵̸̴̴̶̸̷̷̴̶̸̷̷̸̶͇̻̣̯̖̐̿̕̚͝s̴̷̸̷̷̴̵̴̴̶̵̷̵̸̴̴̵̶̷̵̷̛̠͍̳̥͔͆̐̃͝ë̶̵̴̷̵̵̷̷̸̸̸̴̶̴̶̸̵̴̷̴̷͈̳̙̟̥́͑̔͘͠

Green and pink light reflects off the walls once more as you kiss him, bodies vibrating from the connection. He grins against your mouth, “Your power grows darling. You’ll need to learn to control it if we are going to keep this up.” 

You groan at the thought, “I’ll add it to my list of things to do tomorrow.”

Alastor nods and walks over to a chair where a few of his shirts were laid over the arm, pulling one on himself and tossing you another, “This should suffice long enough to make it back to our room.” You slide the shirt over your shoulders and let out a sigh of relief seeing it was long enough to hit mid-thigh. Last thing I need is someone in the hall seeing more than they want.

Without thought you inhale the intoxicating smell of his cologne that still lingered on the material. Every worry you had could wait until tomorrow. Right now, you selfishly only wanted to live and breathe Alastor. You begin to button the shirt but freeze at the realization of what he said, “I’m sorry, did you say our room?”

A hand presses against your lower back, “You don’t actually expect me to let you too far from me again, do you cher? Your things have already been moved. Now, shall we?” He beams as he picks you up, carefully minding that you remain covered. Like second nature your arms slink around his neck, “I can walk you know, don’t give yourself that much credit over what just happened.”

He starts to make his way out of the tower, “I wouldn’t be so smug if I were you dear. I’ve been without you, craving you, for a long time. This is to save your energy for when we make it back to the room.” His tone was playful, but you could hear the underlying threat.

Two can play that game. You mischievously start to gently bite and kiss his neck while whispering taunts in his ear, “Looks like the scary Radio Demon has lost his self-control.”

That comment combined with a solid bite to his neck is his breaking point.  Before you make it to the door the world spins out and back in. You feel yourself fall back forcefully against the silk sheets of his bed. Looking down you see Alastor hungrily climbing over you with feral eyes. He growls through a toothy smile, “Want to say that again love?”

I don’t think I’m getting any sleep tonight. 

Tag List (Let me know if you would like to be added!)

@rl800 @fairyv-ice @looking1016 @martinys-world @sirens-and-moonflowers @alastorssimp @alastorsgirl48 @mysterisumone @phamtasic @ohnah2022 @eris-norwega @kaylopolis @littlebluefishtail @little-slyvixen @laudrawin @qu1cks1lversb1tch @diffidentphantom

[laurarolla]

Arknights dropped the "Babel" event last week and I did actually read through almost all of it (I got interrupted by something partway through the introduction of the Doctor and ended up never reading that cutscene), and it's an interesting mix of various story elements and character histories. What interests me most is our final answer to the origins of the Doctor and the precursors, as well as the purpose of Originium.

The simplest way to describe Originium, as best I can gather, is that it is a possibly primordial element that the precursors discovered/theorized contained a collective universe of consciousness, or could be used for that purpose. Civlight Eterna is an originium art that can tap into this element of Originium to connect to history, providing a potentially perfect understanding to the one using it. This power, passed through the Black Crown, is not unlike the ability of a Newtype, connecting across conciousness through time and without limitations. However, it can also create physical manifestations of power pulled from that history and those connections, as seen with Ying Xiao, Amiya's sword that was created from the memories of Chen's Chi Xiao in Chapter 8.

In an effort to either overcome or escape the threat of some unnamed malevolent force, the precursors created or modified Terra to serve as a garden of Originium, intending to create that collective consciousness for their own ends. The mastermind behind this project, as far as Oracle (the true original Doctor) and Friston have stated is Priestess, who was set up as the next big narrative mystery to solve or explain post-Victoria. The story of Babel shows a version of the Doctor struggling to deal with the moral dilemma created when living, sentient creatures were born on Terra after the start of the experiment.

Kal'tsit went on a whole personal journey to eventually come to the conclusion that the life on Terra has a right to make their own future, and that any of the intentions of the "experiment" should be abandoned. Oracle comes to the same conclusion, with dialouge options the player must specifically click on as they do when speaking for the Doctor in most parts of the story. However, some other voice inside the Doctor's head keeps pushing them to continue the mission, leading to the tragedy of Theresa's murder and Amiya's crowning. Additionally, Theresa took her last moments to destroy the Doctor's memories, an act that Oracle accepts as necessary. It's likely that only be destroying the Doctor's memories could the Doctor be free of Priestess's influence, allowing them to pursue the path that Oracle, their true self and OUR version of the Doctor, would prefer.

Other little highlights of the event for me include: Getting to see Savage in the history of Babel, the Vampire lord continuing to be a repugnant and irredeemable prick, Ascalon defeating a sociopathic enemy by overwhelming his precognition abilities, little Amiya and the Doctor riding a big animal, and Theresis just being the big old complicated walking catastrophe that he's always been.

Oh, and the chain mechanic is pretty awesome, with the EX stages really requiring you to think very carefully about how you need to deploy to actually use the chains effectively. Probably in my top 5 event mechanics in the game overall.

[jezabelle9299]

Stress Baking; Part 1 S.R X Reader

Authors Notes: Spencer Reid x fem! Reader, fluff, reader is a receptionist or assistant at a police station, this part is mostly set up and introduction. Heavily inspired by me having to get rid of the remainder of my finals week stress baking, some monologuing.

Ok. Got to work 10 minutes early. I can set this stuff down, and make another attempt to get the rest of the flour out of my hair.

You were stumbling from your car, laptop bag and keys in one hand, backpack full of study guides and practice tests resting on your shoulders, and two reusable bags filled with pastries neatly packaged in every foil pan the dollar store had to offer.

“Whoa, Y/N, are you ok?” One of the officers said, holding the door open for you.

“All good, finals week baking.” 

“I can see that. Is that flour or powdered sugar up there?” She kind of gestured to your hair, piled on your hair in a high ponytail to keep it out of the way. Honestly it could be either, you’d neglected sleep and eating real meals, opting instead to take out your stress with some, frankly aggressive, stress baking. It helped keep you focused while re-listening to lectures from this semester, and the results served as great apology gifts for the people who had to deal with your bouts of uncharacteristic grumpiness during the week. In response to the officer's question you tossed a vague shrug and walked through the door.

Something was wrong. Like really wrong.

What had happened on your days off? You hadn’t given so much as a thought to the news, as you were too wrapped up in studying.

And your boss was trying to meet you at your desk. So much for fixing the whole flour situation before clocking in. 

“Y/N, good, you’re here early. Set your stuff down and get ready. The BAU is on their way now, and I need you to help them get set up.”

“The BAU?” you replied, head tilting with confusion.

“The Behavioral Analysis Unit… of the FBI?” He responded, with more condescension than was strictly necessary. 

“The FBI? Here? Why?”

“Really? Have you been living under a rock for the last 3 days? I don’t have time to explain it to you, I’m buried with paperwork over the most recent crime scene, and the governor is expecting a call about all this. Right now I need you to start getting the conference room ready, according to these specifications.” He handed you a piece of notebook paper, containing his nearly illegible handwriting, and a list of what the FBI needs. You finally set your bags down, and grabbed a pen to check things off as you went. 

There. Everything’s perfect, now you can finally get some work done. 

And nevermind. A black SUV pulled up, and out came the FBI, clown car style. 5 of them stuffed into one car, that can’t have been comfortable. They were heading right for your desk in the precinct lobby. 

“Hello my name is Agent Hotchner, where can I find your captain?” Said who you could only assume was their boss, as he looked like a child's drawing of an FBI agent, in a full black suit, while everyone else was much more casual. 

“Hi! I’m Y/N, the captain’s in his office right now, he told me to show you to your workspace and he’ll meet you there?” He gave a quick nod and a thank you as you did a quick turn toward the conference room, your bright pink skirt flaring out to its full radius as you pivot. You keep talking as you weave through the hustle and bustle of the precinct.

“There are fewer of you guys than I thought, so there’s a few extra chairs in there.”

“There are more of us in the second car, they’re running a little behind after picking up some extra paperwork. Dr. Reid and Agent Morgan will be here momentarily.”

“Alrighty then, the supplies you requested should all be here, and I’ll be around at my desk if there;s anything I can do for you, just let me know!” 

Just as you started for the door to get some more studying, and maybe some of your actual work done, a dark haired woman spoke up: “Sorry, but what is that?” She gestured to the small pile of foil tupperware filled with baklava, brownies, cupcakes, and cookies. It felt a whole lot sillier now that you had to explain it to the FBI. You could hear who you assumed were the other agents coming in behind you, but your focus was on the 5 already staring at you, while you tried to formulate an answer that kept you from seeming completely insane. “Oh-uh, I’m a college student, -and it’s finals week -um, when I get stressed I bake, kind of excessively. But-um don’t feel like you have to eat them, I mostly just needed to get them out of my kitchen.”

Hotchner spoke up again, “It was a kind gesture, thank you.”

“Studies actually show that the physical activities and sensations associated with baking are grounding for people with anxiety, as it heightens awareness of the body and presence in the moment; which both reduces stress and improves mood.” Someone spoke from behind you. As you turned to see who it was you saw him. Heaven in a purple scarf.

[creative-frequency]

Lucanis Dellamorte x Reader: Late Nights & Delayed Confessions, pt.2

Summary: Late night of hanging out with the two Dellamortes. Lucanis is concerned for your wellbeing. Part 2 of 5. Word count: 1339 Notes: (Unresolved) romantic tension, pining, you’re an Antivan Crow, no spoilers for Veilguard → Part 1 → My writing masterlist

After instructing the tavern keeper to send up ‘whatever is the most expensive food and drink around here’, you excused yourself to freshen up. The room you had been given was at the other end of the long hallway from Lucanis and Illario’s, even though you were absolutely certain most of the rooms were unoccupied on the floor.

You ate, drank and talked for hours. A feeling that you could only describe as home warmed your chest. The little jabs Lucanis and Illario threw at each other, the silly flirtatious remarks from the latter, and the adventurous stories of grandeur, whose only point was trying to top the previous one. Just like always on the nights back in Treviso.

Things had always been like this between you and Illario; you were good friends who tossed flirty jokes around and shared gossip over a bottle of wine. He was… simple. Safe. On the same wavelength. Nothing romantic had ever happened between you nor were you interested in him as such.

Lucanis was like a brother to Illario, so you had formed this tenuous friendship, that was more about having a loved one in common rather than nurturing an actual relationship.

Lucanis was complicated; intelligent, efficient and business-oriented but also loyal to a fault, kind and considerate. He was an expert assassin, but his heart was in the right place. Not to mention you oftentimes had difficulties taking your eyes off him or stopping undressing him in your reveries. Lucanis was an enigma that made you itch and you yearned to scratch that itch. There was just no way it could ever happen and you had accepted it a long time ago. He was the grandson of the First Talon and you were just… you.

But there was also another reason.

You were terrified that one day Illario would realise you had been in love with Lucanis Dellamorte ever since the day you met.

While you ate, Lucanis and Illario told you about the Wigmaker contract in Vyrantium. It had earned Lucanis the moniker ‘Demon of Vyrantium’ and the rumours were already spreading like wildfire. Caterina was surely pleased.

Illario wanted to know more about your recent contracts, as much as you would be able to share. Lucanis tried to reel in his cousin’s eager insisting, ever the picture of a considerate gentleman.

“Fiore, I’m so happy to see you, but I thought you would surely be busy on a contract,” Illario tried again to inquire as to why you really had come to this small harbor town to meet them.

Maybe three glasses of wine was enough. You glanced at Lucanis, instantly regretted it, hoping Illario wouldn’t have noticed, and started talking:

“I am. Busy on a contract.”

“In here?” Lucanis asked, quirking a brow. The tone said all there was to know about the town and the probability of someone hiring an assassin on a target in such a place. There was literally nothing but the fish market, and a small harbor that served as a logistical centre for other towns further inland that couldn’t afford the taxes and expenses issued by larger harbours. Lots of people passed through, hence the fairly nice accommodations, but usually the kind of contracts you were dealing with would never turn their snooty noses towards a place like this.

“Not here. But–”

“The contract knows you’re onto them,” Lucanis ended the lie before you had the opportunity to speak it out loud.

You shrugged in admittance of defeat. It was just like him to follow your line of thought so fast, then just unravel the whole delicately woven web in a single pull.

“Ah, a false sense of security. I like this!” Illario clapped his hands together and patted Lucanis on the back – possibly as a way of congratulating his cousin’s quick wit.

“Also,” you started and cleared your throat, “There was a small incident yesterday, after I arrived in town.”

Lucanis and Illario exchanged looks.

“Who tried to murder you?” Illario asked in jest, but his smile soon dried up.

Lucanis placed his wine cup on the table and straightened up. He looked annoyed and his gaze started instantly scanning the exits in the room.

“I’m not sure,” you replied slowly. A pang of guilt tried to make a rise. “I took him down, but there was nothing on him to indicate if it was an order or a paid attempt. So who knows.”

“We should leave,” Lucanis said, still rigid and looking really unhappy.

“Come now, Lucanis. She said she took care of the amateur,” Illario argued and motioned towards the almost empty wine bottle. “Besides, we can’t leave a bottle unfinished. The Crows’ reputation will be ruined.”

“I’m sure he was working alone. I will be perfectly safe in my room,” you said and tapped the dagger hidden against your side. 

“Which one is your room?” Lucanis asked, just slightly relaxed.

“At the other end of the hallway.” You nodded to the general direction, already sensing where this was heading and it filled you with ominous tingling.

“Speaking of which, I should head to bed.” You started to rise up from the table and avoided both pairs of sharp eyes.

“Are you going to let her sleep alone in a place like this?” Illario teased, looking pointedly at his cousin.

“I can–” you huffed, but Lucanis shot you an intense look. His eyes were so dark and unamused that it shut you up at once.

“He is right,” Lucanis said. “We might not be able to hear you across the whole building if something happens.”

You swatted the words away. Whatever he was implying was not enough to bring you around.

“It’s fine. Seriously. I don’t think the Merchant Princes would waste any more gold on trying off little ol’ me.”

Illario nodded slowly but Lucanis didn’t look convinced.

“You’re a target. We don’t know who is after you, but if it were me, I would strike tonight.” Lucanis pinched the bridge of his nose and continued explaining carefully: “There are no witnesses. The building is only two stories high. No one will look twice at a murder in a place like this.”

You bit your lip. Lucanis was making a good case and perhaps only because you had been thinking about the same points yourself. If the assailant had not been working alone, it was most likely that they would try again before you had the chance to skip town. Maybe they knew you were with two other Crows, maybe they didn’t, but did you really want to risk it to keep your silly pride?

“I’ll accompany you for the night, just to be safe,” Illario said and for once you couldn’t detect a hint of ulterior motives in his tone. Though, the lack of confidence in your abilities stung.

Lucanis stood up and locked eyes with you. A chill rushed through you. He was determined. And maybe a little pissed.

“I’ll go. You didn’t sleep on the ship so you must be exhausted,” he said offhandedly to Illario.

“Always so considerate,” Illario replied with a blatant smirk that Lucanis missed. He too got up and stretched his arms.

You sighed in defeat and popped one of the few remaining grapes into your mouth. You should’ve never brought up the stupid contract. The Merchant Prince would pay extra for arranging this spectacular shit show.

“I will take care of her. Now rest,” Lucanis turned to say to Illario, who he found still smirking.

“Oh, I have no doubt you will.”

Lucanis replied to his cousin with a flat stare. Heat rose to your cheeks and Illario winked at you.

Great. So it was not about being confident in your abilities. He was just trying to push you into making a move on his cousin. You didn’t want to think about what that implied.

“Well, fine then. Shall we?” you asked Lucanis.

He motioned you forward. “Lead the way.”

There was just one problem: your room had only one bed.

-

→ Part 3

[serasfanfiction]

CW for Alastor being Alastor, but that's to be expected. This chapter is all from his POV.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3| Part 4 | Part 5| Part 6 | Part 7 - Interlude

Alastor was having what he might call an exceptionally good day, if he did say so himself.

His mobility was almost back to normal, that pesky little parting gift Adam had left him having practically healed itself overnight. Why, he'd even been able to remove the stitches!

He had seen some improvement over the last month, agonizingly slow as it had been. Consuming the flesh and souls of other sinners had certainly sped things up a bit, but only finitely. He had resigned himself to the fact that healing would be a slow process, especially after the first time he pushed too hard and undid all the work he'd done up until that point. It had grated on him, but he could be patient.

If there was anything he was good at, it was being patient and bidding his time.

Getting a taste of angel's blood, though? Not just a taste, but a real go at it? Oh, now that had changed everything.

He hadn't had a chance at the holy feast following the last Extermination. He'd been too busy licking his wounds and trying not to bleed out. By the time he'd been able to pull himself together, figuratively and literally, the bodies were long gone. There had been claims about the rejuvenating effects some had experienced following eating of the flesh and drinking of the blood, but as it hadn't been a process they could readily replicate, it had done him little good.

Then none other than Lucifer Morningstar had offered himself up, willingly placing himself on the menu.

When the little king had done that little trick, the thought had crossed Alastor's mind. He was only human (deceased though he may be) and this was the father of temptation himself. Granted, it was likely Lucifer was used to being sexually desired, but hunger of a carnal nature had never been one of Alastor's sins. His hunger for the flesh had stopped at the actual eating of the flesh.

And Alastor craved nothing more than he craved the flesh of others like him.

The Wendigo that lay beneath the surface, a very real manifestation of his hunger was now a permanent part of his being. In life, he had hungered for the flesh of humans. In death, while he could still enjoy the odd sinner here and there, it was akin to 'empty calories,' he believed they were called. They curbed his hunger, for a little while, but it never quite seemed to hit the spot.

No, nothing quite filled him up the way venison did.

Before the creation of his bayou, he'd had to rely on the odd deer demon that appeared on the rare occasion. He was hardly the only one, but there never seemed to be enough of them. Butcher shops occasionally helped, but it never seemed enough. He'd been near ravenous towards the end there.

All the while she had been laughing at him. She had known this would happen and she hadn't warned him. One of her little games, letting him think she was giving him what he wanted only to chain him further to her. He had never cursed his deal as much as he had then when she had taken pity on him and taught him how to bend reality on a small scale. To create the bayou - a reflection of the very place where he had died - and filled it with the creatures that were not only necessary to keep him alive, but to allow him to thrive.

So he couldn't help but wonder, while Lucifer flashed those ears at him and called the very features that had nearly undone him 'cute,' how deep did the transformation go? Could a mimic sate his hunger as good as the real thing? The possibility that the seraphim blood might have rejuvenate powers didn't hurt, either.

It would have been everything he needed, served to him in a little red and white package.

It had been pipe dream, he'd thought at the time. Nothing to seriously entertain. Despite appearances to the contrary, he did know he had limits. Adam had just been an oversight. His growth in power had never truly been tested and well.

Lesson learned. He wasn't keen to try his luck just yet, especially not injured and his microphone broken, limiting his power.

But then Lucifer had done something so left field, Alastor still wasn't entirely certain he hadn't imagined it: a trade of his blood for some good behavior. In deer form, no less! The opportunity had been so good he'd had to hold onto his eagerness by the skin of his teeth.

Everything about the experience had not been a disappointment. Not only had he'd gotten quite a bit of entertainment out of the exchange, but it turned out the stories had been true. Within a few short hours of consuming Lucifer's blood, the wound indeed showed marked improvement.

The real treat, however, was that the hunger had indeed fallen silent. Oh, it had returned in due time, but how long it had stayed away! His appetite had only just been seriously returning when the first attack on the hotel happened, providing him with quite the meal and even a handful of angel's blood. He'd felt positively spoiled.

Getting to see the little seraphim in his full demonic glory had been interesting, as well. He'd known Lucifer had wiped the floor with Adam, despite Niffty being the one to kill him, but it was always different seeing it.

This was Hell's King. This was the entity the stories had talked about. All that power, right there on display, and all Alastor had wanted in that moment was to have this being underneath him again. Wanted to see how far he could push. To see how much Lucifer would let him take.

(Alastor wasn't certain what had possessed him to reach for Lucifer in that moment. Wasn't certain what he would have done had the little king decided to take him up on his offer. Had he simply wanted to hold that power in his hands? To burn himself on it?)

And oh, how his patience had paid off.

Such a huge gain and all it had cost Alastor was a night of his company and some information. Information Lucifer really should have already known, at that.

Now, Alastor was full and so very near hale and hearty again. Why, he was close to being able to tackling fixing his microphone soon!

Perhaps if he could have another feeding in the future...

Ah, but it wouldn't do to get used to this. Three times was already far more than he could have ever imagined, plus it never paid to put his wellbeing in the hands of others. They were so often unreliable. There were only two people in Heaven or Hell that he trusted, and neither of them resided in the hotel.

So, Alastor put the idea aside and went about his day as normal. If he had an extra skip to his walk, and his smile a touch more sanguine that normal, to the point he was receiving some nervous side glances, well, all the more entertainment for him.

He was feeling so well, in fact, he felt up to taking a little jaunt to visit one of his favorite people.

Cannibal Town was as lively as ever, despite their numbers had seen some reduction during Heaven's assault on the hotel. Rosie's Emporium, always the main attraction, was not lacking for people lined up to see their Overlord. The line was already starting to snake out the door.

Alastor strolled in, not minding the line in the slightest. Rosie always made time for him.

Sure enough, the woman in question looked up at the sound of the door opening, her ever-present smile widening in delight on seeing him. She never paused in whatever affair she was discussing with her current client, but she did make an effort to finish it up a touch bit faster.

He stood off to the side politely, waiting to see if now was a bad time or not. He wasn't bringing her anything other than his company and this was an impromptu visit.

"Alastor!" She greeted, loud and affectionate. "A visit twice in one month! You certainly know how to spoil a girl."

Alastor felt that little black thing that served as his heart warm with the genuine sincerity being shown his way. He matched her smile with an honest one himself. "Only those who deserve it, my dear, and you always do."

Rosie placed a hand to her cheek, bemused. "Oh, you." She waved over to one of the tables. "Now tell little ol' me what brings you here. You haven't gotten yourself into any more trouble, have you?"

He could hear a hint of concern in her voice and resolved to bring her a gift the next time he came over. "Oh, you know me. I'm always up for something exciting." He let her maneuver him into a chair set up at a table for two. "In this case, I was up for a walk and thought I'd indulge in your company, if you'll have me."

The Victorian Overlord's body language eased ever so slightly, adding to the suspicion she might have been worried. "Always, dear." She pressed a seemingly delicate finger to her lips. "Give me 30 minutes to clear this lot out and I'm all yours!"

He nodded, and she gave him a light pat on the shoulder as she went back to her work, pausing only briefly to have one of her workers send over a pot of tea. He spent the next half hour sipping on the latest delightful blend she was offering, watching the cannibals coming and going. Most were asking for the same thing they always did: someone wanting someone else to disappear, usually in a body bag they would of course hand over to Rosie.

After what he was sure was thirty minutes and no more (not that he would have honestly timed her, why, that would have been discourteous), his fellow Overlord was escorting the last of her clients out the door. Business completed, she turned on her guest. "Now that all of that work stuff is out of the way," Rosie said as she came to sit in the chair across from the redhead, "Come now, tell me all the gossip! Surely something juicy happened with how lively you're looking today."

Alastor supposed he shouldn't be surprised that she had seen through his mask the last time he'd been here. He'd needed to get away from hotel, just for a bit, as the strain of hiding his wound was wearing on him. None of his usual acquaintances had suspected a thing, and he had wanted to keep it that way.

But Rosie was hardly an 'acquaintance.'

He supposed since she knew already, it wouldn't hurt to assure her the worst was past. He also supposed he had a gift for her after all. Lowering the cup to the saucer on the table, he assured, "You could say I recently benefited from a rather unexpected deal recently."

Rosie raised an eyebrow expectantly, "Well, don't keep a girl waiting! Details!"

Because he was a little bit of a drama queen, he waiting until she had raised her own cup to her lips before he stated, "It turns out that all the rumors about angel blood is true, even more so for seraphim blood."

It was only because she had perfect control that she did not, if fact, choke on her drink. Rosie started at him for a long moment, trying to see if he was serious. When it became clear he was, she stated, "Well, shit, you certainly don't go small, do you?" She leaned forward, placing her free hand over one of his. "This deal didn't put you in a tough spot, now did it?"

Alastor's smile softened. "None of that, my dear." He didn't like to touch people, anymore than he liked being touched in return, but Rosie had always been kind to him, so he placed his other hand on top of hers and gave it a squeeze. "All that was asked for was a who's who on Pentagram City's current political landscape."

Rosie tilted her head to the side, the feather in her hat swaying with the motion. When she withdrew her hand, Alastor released it. "Our King is showing interest in his kingdom?" She blinked, more than a little surprised. He didn't blame her. "My, what could have brought this little development about?"

Alastor pulled both hands from the table, a subtle cue he had had enough tactile contact for the day, although he wasn't completely closing himself off from it. "Someone has been sending mercenaries to attack the hotel. Drivel, mostly. Little more than snacks on the whole." He hummed in memory of all the free morsels that had been sent his way, lately. "The attacks haven't done anything, really, other than rile his Majesty up." He gave her a look of amusement. "He's begun an investigation into who might be behind the attacks and asked after us Overlords. I gave you a good word, of course."

It was a testament to how quick-witted she was that Rosie barely blinked over the idea that their sovereign had apparently not only crawled out of the wood work, but was also finally taking an interest in his kingdom again. "Oh, of course you did." She flapped a hand at Alastor. "Do tell him if he ever want to visit, he's more than welcome!"

Alastor made a noise of acknowledgement. "He's quite the character, our king. I'm sure you'd find him... amusing." Amongst other things, he thought to himself as he sipped on the last of his tea.

Ever the host, Rosie noticed. "Oh, dear me, let me refill that." She raised the pot of tea to do so, offering, "You know, I just remembered: we got in a fresh body just this morning. Would you like an arm?"

The redhead considered the request, but found himself much too full. Whatever room he'd had available had already been taken up by his drink. "I thank you kindly for the offer, but sadly must pass this time." He placed his now empty cup on its saucer. "Why, I dare say I might have to wait on another cup of this delicious tea."

Rosie didn't have pupils that Alastor had ever been able to track, yet he had the distinct impression he was being looked up and down. "That blood must have been quite the thing to curb an appetite like yours." She shrugged before pulling over a box of ring fingers. Some even still had the rings on them. "Hm, knowing you, a certain someone might have to worry about her seat - if she ever intends to come back."

Alastor paused. Rosie did that sometimes: said things that threw him for a loop. "What now?"

She waved a finger in a circle to indicate the entirety of her guest, her smile all teeth and knowing. "Come now, Alastor, I don't think I've ever seen you in such a state before. I almost think you have intentions towards the king!"

The redhead tilted his head to the side, considering. Did he have intentions towards Lucifer? He certainly wouldn't mind having another go at his blood. Riling him up had yet to get old.

The urge to hunt, sated though it was at the moment, thrummed through his veins. Here was the ultimate prey, just waiting for the perfect opportunity to turn the tides.

The memory of the smell of apples and something he'd come to associate with Lucifer rose to mind. Of warm, pale alabaster skin beneath his lips. The feel of hands that could so easily crush him carding gently, absentmindedly, through his hair.

For the first time since their little games had started, though, Alastor realized that sitting beside the urge to devour was the urge to keep.

He examined the thought. He meant it when he said he delt primarily in favors. There were so few souls that interested him enough to keep long term. They were usually individuals who ranked as powerhouses themselves. Investments first, entertainment second.

This urge resembled that desire, but not quite. He certainly wanted access to the power contained within that tiny little package that called himself the King, but beyond that, he was beginning to think he might want to own Lucifer in every sense of the word.

Well. That was certainly quite the turn.

He turned his attention back to the world outside his own head, finding his fellow Overlord watching him and patiently waiting for him to sort out his thoughts. "I'm afraid, my dear, I don't have an answer to that, but you have given me quite the food for thought."

Rosie, bless her, didn't press. Knowing how perceptive she was on matters of the song and dance that was interpersonal relationships, it was likely she knew more than he did.

He really was thankful he made an ally of her rather than an enemy.

The rest of their chat was turned to less deep conversation. Soon enough, she sent him on his way, but not before warning, "Now be careful, Alastor. Kitten our King may be, I saw how fierce he can be when pressed."

If it didn't mean acquiring one of those silly picture boxes, Alastor might have been inclined break down and watch whatever that voyeur Vox had filmed of the fight on Extermination Day. Incidentally, his pride point blank period refused to allow him to let such a thing anywhere near his person if he didn't have to. "Don't worry, dear. It's all merely a thought. I won't do anything lest I know there's a chance at success."

That seemed to mull her over. They said their goodbyes, and he was off back to the hotel.

The conundrum that was his entanglement with Lucifer followed him all the way back to the hotel, dogging his steps as he went through the rest of his day. He didn't see the blonde at any point before he retired for bed, which was likely for the best, as Alastor was distracted and unlikely to be at the top of his game.

He didn't see him throughout any point of the following day either, not that he was looking for him. He didn't give it a second thought, not until he came upon Hell's princess halfway into a tizzy in the main gathering room.

"But Vaggie! He hasn't come down in almost two days!" Charlie wrang her hands together, glancing at the ceiling in the general direction of her father's room. "What if something's wrong?"

Vaggie had a hand on her girlfriend's shoulder, as much a comfort as it was a restraint. "What did he say when you knocked on the door?"

The hotel's owner bit her lip. "Just that he wanted to stay in for a bit. But that was yesterday. He didn't even respond at all when I knocked this morning."

"And you're sure he's still here? That he didn't leave?"

Charlie nodded. "His door is locked. He doesn't bother to lock it if he's not in."

Well, that's a silly thing to do, Alastor thought to himself. He filed it away for later. Deciding he was curious enough to join the conversation, especially since it seemed he might have been the last to see Lucifer. It would be bothersome if anyone thought he'd done anything to him when he really hadn't yet.

Alastor allowed his corporeal form to dissipate, only to reform right behind Vaggie. "What's this I hear about our esteemed leader disappearing?"

"Shit!" The fallen angel jumped, just as he hoped. Predictably, she spun around, bringing the point of her spear right up to his nose. "Cut it out, asshole. We don't have time for your games right now."

Alastor smiled down at her, as calm as a undisturbed pond, taking hold of the end of the spear and redirecting it away from his face. "And who's playing around? I heard our dear Charlie in distress and just had to see if I could help in anyway."

Vaggie narrowed her eye at him. One day, he was going to drive her to actually attempt to stab him. It would be such an entertaining day when it happened.

Charlie sniffed. She didn't necessarily look relieved to see him becoming involved, which, fair, but he could see something easing in her stance.

It was such a delight to see how much she'd grown to rely on him.

Stepping around the most hostile entity in the room like she wasn't holding a certified deadly weapon, Alastor came up to stand beside Charlie. "Tell me, do you have any reason to believe something might be wrong?"

She searched his face for any hint of falsehood. Any hint that he might use this against them.

She wasn't going to find any. She was learning to be more cautious of him, but she still had a long way to go before she'd see through his carefully constructed persona.

"Well... maybe?" She offered at last. He could see it in her eyes, her drooped shoulders: a certain helplessness. It was different from the kind that had driven her to make a deal with him. This kind was old, the sort that came from a time before the autonomy of adulthood. Likely this issue had roots in her childhood. "Mom used to say that Dad just kind of shut down sometimes. Worse than normal." She glanced at her girlfriend, likely for moral support, and then back at him. "Mom said it wasn't good to leave him alone during those times."

Alastor pushed down the eager swell that might have given up the game. Was it really going to be this easy? "And you think this might be one of those times?"

She mulled over this. Nodded, and then shrugged. "It's possible, but without getting past the lock..."

"I tried to pick the lock," Angel put out from where he was lounging on the couch, feet across Husk's lap. Husk, curiously, didn't appear to mind.

Charlie winced. "Yes, which is really not good! We shouldn't pick people's doors."

Angel shrugged, unbothered by the reprimand. "Didn't matter, either way. Turns out the door's magically locked." He made a handsy gesture with his top set of hands to emphasis his point.

Alastor looked between the two. "Is it warded?"

Everyone turned to look at him in confusion. Charlie blinked. "Warded?"

Oh, how quaint this lot was. "Magically locking the door means no one can unlock the door without breaking the spell. Unless the door is warded, there's nothing to stop someone from going, say, under the door."

Vaggie crossed her arms, posture irritated. "We can't go under the door, Alastor."

If he had his mic, he might have bopped her on the head just to mess with her. As it was, Alastor settled for smiling ever so sweetly at her as he pointed out, "Ah, maybe you can't, but it just so happens, I can."

Charlie shifted, uncertain. "You promise you won't make things worse...?"

She was so close that he could practically taste it.

Alastor placed a hand on her shoulder, softening his expression. "Now now, dear, we both know your father is hardly helpless. If he doesn't want me in there, he's more than capable of kicking me out."

Vaggie snorted, glaring viciously at him. "Yeah, not that that's ever stopped you."

Charlie glanced at her, warningly, before looking back at Alastor. She sighed and placed her hand over his. Feeling generous, he let her. "Alastor, please check on him, just... don't push, okay?"

Nothing but a formal deal was going to guarantee that, but he didn't have to advertise it. "I promise to be on my best behavior."

Her smile really was like sunlight breaking on the horizon when it wasn't being forced. She jerked forward as if she'd wanted to go for a hug but had aborted it at the last minute. Instead, she squeezed his hand. "Thank you, Alastor."

He disappeared into his shadow, partially to avoid her changing her mind and going for that hug, but also to avoid any further stipulations on his task. Between the quality of his last meal and the leaps and bounds in the healing of his wound, traveling by shadow was almost as easy as it had been before his injury. Seraphim blood was a marvel. It was such a pity that there was so little of it in Hell.

Alastor had studied the entirety of the hallway that made up his and Lucifer's floor along with the rest of the hotel the first opportunity he got upon his return. His inspection had stopped at white doors, whose handles were adorned with the same apple accents that littered the rest of the hotel. As he slipped under them, he could smell the magic on the handles. True to his suspicion, the spell was only on the lock itself, with nothing to guard again something like a shadow slipping right under the door.

It seemed Alastor's self-restraint in light of his injury had paid off, because nothing hindered him in anyway as he made his way into the room of the most powerful being Hell.

Alastor stuck to the outskirts of the room, where the darkest shadows gathered. It wasn't difficult, as most of the room was in shadow, the curtains drawn with very little natural light peaking in underneath them. The room was silent in a way that, at first, suggested that no one was in.

Perhaps Lucifer had gone out and failed to tell anyone, after all?

Tentatively, Alastor returned to his corporeal form, keeping to the darkest shadow the room he could find. When nothing and no one came flying at him, he turned his attention to the room at large.

Overall, the room appeared sparsely furnished. There was a rug laid out in front of the door. Chairs surrounding a table big enough for two over on one side of the room. The fireplace didn't appear to have ever been used, but it was there. A couple of bookshelves and a desk were the most lived in, but that was only because they were covered in small, yellow shapes he couldn't quite make out in the dark. A bed took up most of the final wall. It was perhaps the grandest thing about the room, looking every bit fit for the king who slept in it. Two side tables sat on either side of it, both with a lamp of their own.

As for the king himself, now that he was looking for it, Alastor could see the faintest outline of a shape near the left side of the bed. Creeping closer, he could see a pair of familiar boots and coat laying on the floor. A little closer, his eyes adjusting to the darkness of the room, he could see a pair of mimicked deer ears poking out the top of the nest of blankets.

For a long moment, Alastor simply stood there, looking down at the lump. His ears were strained for the first sign that his presence had been noticed, but so far there had been none. He could feel his grin widening with each beat of his heart that passed. There were so many things he could do in that moment and there was nothing anyone could do to stop him.

There was a part of him, the part that was still human and remembered what it was like to be human, that wanted to finish the job he'd started two days ago. When he'd been alive, allowing a victim to live would have been tantamount to a death sentence. A living victim could become a witness who could identify him to the authorities and then the game would be up.

Lucifer wasn't just a potential victim. He was the authorities. He was the highest authority.

After his death, Alastor hadn't had to hide who he was or what he was like. It was simply a kill or be killed world, where one's continued existence depended on brains and reputation.

And oh what a reputation the Radio Demon would gain, if he took out the King of Hell himself?

The chain - noose - around his neck sat heavy and loud, ever grating against his sanity. The memory of Husk's deal held so easily in a dark grey hand brought him back down to himself. Reminded him why he wanted to keep the little king around.

There was no other reason. There could be no other reason.

He admitted to himself that it might be interesting to just stand there, looming as he waited for Lucifer to awaken. The subconscious was a funny thing and people on the whole didn't appreciate being stared at when they slept. The general consensus was that it was creepy. It was half the reason he enjoyed doing it and it always left the victim feeling off balance. When his majesty continued to not respond, Alastor also admitted to himself that while he did normally enjoy such a plan, he wasn't that patient.

Ready to spring away, if necessary, Alastor reached out until those tantalizing ears were just under his hand. Unrepentantly, he flicked one of them.

The ear twitched violently, the lump beneath the blanket shuddered, ear going flat. Grey hands appeared along the edge of the blanket, pulling it down for Lucifer peer up at him.

The sinner waved his fingers by way of greeting at his king, who stared back at him with a pair of tired, dead eyes.

Lucifer blinked at him, once, twice... and then pulled the covers back over his head??

Alastor felt the glitch to his system, spitting static. Did Lucifer think he could just ignore Alastor and he'd go away?

Oh, no. Oh no, that wouldn't do at all.

Time to throw away the preverbal Nice Guy gloves. He clapped his hands once, sharply, one shadow going for the lamp on the side desk while another went for the end of the covers. With vindictive amusement, the covers were ripped clean off the bed, while the flick of a switch bathed the room in light. A third shadow went for the curtains, yanking them aside to let the afternoon light in. Over the low groans of the bed's occupant, Alastor proclaimed at just high enough a volume to be annoying, "Rise and shine, your Majesty! You've nearly slept the day away, but there's still some time left to enjoy it."

The blonde still didn't look like he gave any sort of fuck that someone was standing over his bed harassing him. Alastor took in the rumpled state of his king's clothing - he was still dressed in his suit, sans the pieces on the floor - as Lucifer threw an arm over his eyes in a futile attempt to block out the light. Without a word, he merely rolled over, presenting his back to Alastor, as if he wasn't a concern in the slightest. His tail didn't even so much a flick once.

Alastor narrowed his eyes, gritting his teeth. It ground his gears more than a bit to be so blatantly treated as so little a threat, but the more he took in the situation, the more it drove home what Charlie had meant by 'just kind of shut down.' With the absence of the quilt and sheets, the reek of melancholy wafted off Lucifer in waves, nearly overpowering his usual scent. Little things observed over time - the most damning being what was glimpsed during their last encounter - and Alastor recognized what he was looking at.

Lucifer Morningstar, the Devil and King of Hell was depressed. Deeply, truly, very depressed.

This was the potential opportunity he was looking for. Alastor would have to be blind not to see it. Getting close to Charlie had given him influence over Hell's future ruler as well as a possible solution to his ...other problem. It was a long game he'd been more than willing to play for the potential future rewards.

This here was the king, himself, though. As he'd just thought to himself: the highest authority in Hell. Lucifer didn't have much by way of political influence beyond the people's fear of his power. He clearly wasn't willing to use his authority to rule over his kingdom, first advocating it to his much more interested wife, before abandoning it altogether when she left.

On the other hand, who didn't know who he was? The other side of the coin to God himself, Lucifer was one of the most well known beings in all of creation, the originator and father of sin himself. The being who'd given humanity their free will and so neatly interrupted his holy father's plans.

Lucifer's interest in politics may have been nonexistent, but his reputation more than made up for it.

Could he do it, Alastor wondered to himself. Could he force himself into something companion shaped enough to meet the needs another just for power? He'd already debased himself so much already - it was how he landed in his current situation, in every sense of the word - could he do it a little more?

Static emitted from his throat, his desire - his desperation - to be free at war with his pride, tattered though it's remains were. Companionship usually came with other expectations. Expectations that included touching, amongst other things. The mere thought made him want to claw his own skin off and nothing had even happened yet.

He hadn't realized he'd moved until he heard a squeak from the direction of the floor. Attention diverted, Alastor craned his head around, hearing his own neck cracking in the process, as he tried to get a better look at whatever it was he had stepped on. He blinked when he saw the object, unable to resist reaching down to pick up the item to better exam it.

It was... a rubber duckie?

Lips parting in his bafflement, he twisted around to look towards the desk and shelves he remembered seeing earlier. The light of the lamp and the outside world illuminated the yellow objects, revealing them to be a mass pile of what were indeed rubber duckies. Every single one of them was some degree of different from the others, but they were all unmistakably the same thing. There had to be over a hundred of them. Some of them were new, but some of them were old, likely brought over from the palace.

Disgust curled up in his chest like a living thing. Disgust at himself. Disgust at Lucifer for being living proof that power doesn't mean a damn thing in the end. His anger made him reckless, blind to the potential consequences, as Alastor asked, "Is this why they left?"

For the first time since entering the room, he finally gained Lucifer's attention. "What?"

The single word sounded like a warning, but Alastor had already picked up too much momentum. He knew he liked to poke where he shouldn't, that it could be the death of him one day. Perhaps today was going be that day. In that moment, weighted down by everything, he almost didn't care. "While your people were getting slaughtered and your wife's kingdom was being burned to the ground, were you making children's toys?"

Lazily, damningly, like the final nail in his own coffin, he spun around back to the lump that would be his king. He sneered.

"How pathetic."

The only warning he had was the flicking of that silly, ridiculous tail.

Suddenly, the room was spinning. No, he was falling - being pulled? - onto the bed. His back made contact with the mattress and he got a brief glimpse of the ceiling before it was replaced by Lucifer.

Who was livid. Hands like stone pinned Alastor down at the wrists. The rest of Lucifer's body weight rested on the sinner's hips, one leg resting on either side of his body. Every single one of his fangs were visible as he bared his teeth in a snarl mere inches from Alastor's nose. "Who are you to judge me? You dare to speak of things you know nothing about?!"

Eyes void of pupils glared down at him, staring down into his very soul. Feeling exposed, feeling vulnerable, Alastor's flight or fight response kicked in, sending his heart rate through the roof. He tried to dissolve into his shadow, only to find himself unable to do so.

In response to his distress, he shadows rose up, diving in to take out his attacker. Lucifer didn't even acknowledge them. His wings appeared behind him, flooding the room with a bright light that drove away any and all shadows.

Sensing he was caught, the part of Alastor's brain that was every bit the prey animal he worked so hard not to let himself be forced him to go still under a dangerous predator.

"You are nothing more than a rapid dog nipping at my heels." Lucifer growled, the smell of smoke heavy on his breathe. "I should put you out of your misery, once and for all."

Alastor swallowed, forced himself to think through the molasses of his fear. He may be pinned and powerless, but he wasn't completely without weapons. He was never more glad that his smile was fixed in place as he stated, "Ah, there you are, your Majesty. You had Charlie worried about you."

He was almost able to keep the grimace out of his voice. Almost.

Alastor wondered if that had been perhaps the wrong thing to say, as Lucifer tightened his grip until bones began to grind together. Red tipped fingers curled inwards, the only sign of his pain.

Golden pupils appeared between one blink to the next, tracking the movement. As if he actually cared about the pain he could be causing, Lucifer's grip loosened, just enough that they were simply pinning instead of inflicting harm. His voice, on the other hand, held no mercy, as he asked, "What does my daughter have to do with this?"

Growing more confident the longer the king didn't kill him, Alastor explained, "Well, when she didn't hear from you today, Charlie asked me to come check on you, of course!" It wasn't entirely the truth, but it was close enough to hold up under any immediate scrutiny.

Lucifer narrowed his eyes at him suspiciously, all to happy to bring on the scrutiny. "Why would she send you?"

Alastor shrugged like he wasn't pinned under someone who was just trying to kill him mere moments ago. "Because I was the only one that could get into the room. Perks of being the Hotel Manager!" As his panic began to settle with each passing moment Lucifer was slowly returning to his normal form, the feeling of his skin crawling from every point of contact between them was beginning to rise. He needed to get Lucifer off him and soon. "In fact, she's waiting for word back right at this moment!"

Lucifer's eyes, pupils red and sclera yellow again, searched him, likely to see if he was telling the truth. Upon seeing that he was, he proceeded to finally make a mistake.

He took his eyes off of his captive to glance at the door, hands loosing just that tiny, crucial bit more.

Alastor caught his heels on the edge of the bed, using the leverage to raise his hips up into a bridge. The new position forced Lucifer to either release his wrists to catch himself or face plant as he was thrown forward. Luckily for the redhead, Lucifer went for catching himself, releasing Alastor, who immediately sprung up, catching the blond around the waist. Twisting, the two toppled over.

Within mere seconds, their positions were reversed: Alastor on top and Lucifer pinned to the mattress on his back.

The little king blinked up at him. He almost looked impressed with the move. He glanced at the hands pinning his wrists, flexing them as he tested the strength of the grip. Squirmed a little as the new position was likely putting an uncomfortable weight on his wings.

Good, Alastor thought. At any other time and situation, Alastor might have been fascinated by them. At the moment, his grip on those deceptively dainty wrists and any signs of discomfort were the only thing allowing him to hold onto his sanity.

For a long moment, they simply remained still, both parties regaining control over their frayed nerves. As his heart rate settled, his breathing normalizing, Alastor became aware of something he hadn't noticed over the stench of melancholy: his own scent.

It was becoming stale, but he could still was still there, separate from what he was currently leaving behind. It clung to Lucifer's person like a neon sign to tell anyone with the nose for it that he had let the Radio Demon close enough to him to make a claim.

He hadn't gotten rid of it.

The knowledge awoke a beast of a different kind, possessive and wanting, the scales tipping from Alastor wanting to devour this prize to wanting to keep him, if only he could figure out how. It left him nearly dizzy with whiplash.

Movement pulled him out of the thought. The redhead focused back on the outside world in time to see Lucifer directing his attention down the length of his own body. Alastor, without thinking, did the same.

Something hot and mortified clawed at his throat as he realized that while the blonde had been sitting on his hips in the original hold, the change in position had Alastor pinning Lucifer to a bed while sitting between his legs.

Alastor threw himself off of Lucifer and the bed, feeling like every point of contact had burned him. Lucifer raised himself up on his elbows, raising an eyebrow at him. The redhead didn't know what he saw in his expression before it was all locked away behind his mask, but it resulted in the blonde's own expression growing tired.

Lucifer let himself fall back onto the bed, seemingly heedless of his wings, running a hand down his face. "Message received." He waved a hand at the door. The spell on the door fell away with a light shower of sparks. Task down, the limb fell limp down onto the mattress. "Please tell Charlie I'll be down shortly."

It was a clear dismissal. Usually Alastor would have bristled at such a thing, but considering he did not want to be in that room anymore, he let it go. Forcing everything back into place, despite the ways his edges were feeling frayed, he said faux pleasantly, "As you wish, sire."

He paid little attention to the half assed wave of goodbye he received in response. When he disappeared into his shadow, he refused to look too deeply into how much it felt like he was running.

Again.

tbc

Part 8

[thewritertiger]

strawberry shortcake au!

i can't believe i'm actually going to bother you with my recurring hyperfixation, but here we go,folks!

world building:

This Pinescone au is based on the 80s Strawberry Shortcake series. but with some modifications that I made to adapt to the au and the characters and at the same time taking elements from the other reboots

In this version, Strawberryland is a quiet, remote small town where the tiny habitants spend all seasons harvesting their fruits and vegetables. At the pace of the series, there will be no villains, but there will only be simple problems in the town that end well in the end. (like the children's series of those times. Take reference from My Little Pony (the first generations), the Moomins, the Smurfs)

All the habitants are smaller than fruits, each one has their own job or house in a shape of a sweet (like a cake house, etc.). and each inhabitant is characterized by its fruit flavor and aroma. what makes them unique and differentiable

Everyone in Strawberryland has a specific skill in cooking. (For example, Wirt specializes in the sweets served in cafes.)

There are other towns depending on the flavor and taste (a vegetable town, another of flour, another of ice cream) but Strawberryland focuses on fruits.

pinescone headcanons:

They both met like it happens in the 80s series, except that Dipper would get lost trying to find the town and Wirt would offer him a hand. (just look at the damn video and imagine wirt and dipper singing this adorably!. don't tell me this is not a big deal)

2. Wirt runs a coffee shop in the village and lives there. It is his home and his coffee shop at the same time.

3. (NOT DECIDED YET) Dipper being a strawberry his sister Mabel is a blueberry. Together they are the Berry twins (Help I don't know what fruit to give Mabel I'm between blueberry, cherry, raspberry or like the canonical sister in the 80s series "Apple Dumplings". I need help with this part). Mabel specializes in cooking with excessive sugar dishes and is also the town's fashion designer.

4. Mabel forces Dipper to wear the clothes she creates for Dipper. Dipper is embarrassed and frustrated to walk around the town like that. Wirt finds it adorable and cute, and is always curious to know what cute clothes Dipper will wear.

5.Wirt loves cooking for Dipper, it's one of his favorite things because he loves every tender expression of joy that the little strawberry puts on when trying his new and improved desserts.

6.Wirt has the personality of a spoiled and affectionate mother. She loves her friends very much (especially Dipper) and will show her affection through actions.

7.Dipper is considered Wirt's favorite customer at the cafeteria. He sometimes helps him taste his new or improved desserts.

8.They both give each other affectionate nicknames, Dipper is "little strawberry" and Wirt is "orange pie"

9. Dipper doesn't know how to cook, every single thing he cooks burns. It's considered weird not to know how to cook or specialize in a recipe in Strawberryland. But Dipper doesn't care, his true talent is writing. He writes diaries and books and works for the town newspaper (the poor thing has a lot of writer block)

10.Wirt tries to suppress the desire to kiss and pinch those chubby, pink cheeks that the strawberry has. He is so adorable that sometimes he can't control himself.

11. They both like each other, Wirt knows his feelings perfectly while Dipper still doesn't admit it. They both didn't declare themselves for fear of ruining their friendship.

12.Wirt writes music and poetry in his freetime, he shares it with Dipper after closing at night. All his poems and music are dedicated to Dipper but he doesn't realize it yet.

13.Dipper is very absent-minded and clumsy lol

that's all you can go now pipipipi

[beaulesbian]

Thoughts and more thoughts about the potential of Rob Lucci after chapter 1111 - spoilers and theory

(disclaimer: this might be totally implausible and not at all what could happen, but it's something that's been on my mind since last chapter, so here are my thoughts on this. again, very long post ahead, I don't know how it keeps happening)

The way Oda allowed Lucci to feel during chapter 1111, is something I didn't expect to find so intriguing, and it points to how much depth really has each character in this story.

There is a subtle change of certain aspects of Rob Lucci's personality since the start of Egghead, and in the chapter 1111 even a bigger focus is on his reaction to meeting Mars Gorosei and asking for Kaku to be spared.

Given this swept away answer with seeing whom he's been serving all this time, there could come a realization that'd sort of wake him up. There's a potential to somewhat turn power of Cipher Pol agents from blindlessly following the World Government. To stop being the WG's shield.

It's very probable the story might deal with the reform or even collapse as a whole of the World Government - especially since the Gorosei are currently Luffy's main enemies. With that, the Cipher Poll intelligence could play a significant part of it as well, along with other moving pieces like the Revolutionary Army, Shanks, Luffy's fleet or even Morgans and his newspapers, and, of course, the Strawhats.

There's been comments of readers who only saw Lucci and Zoro's fight as one dimensional - one has to win, the other has to lose, and comparing points and skills without really diving into their respective characters - thankfully Oda knows those characters and knows how to make the story interesting and compelling. Where before I hoped we would get a follow up about the words directed at Zoro, instead Lucci was given more space for this chapter.

Where one would hope for Zoro to win and move to other parts of the island with the Strawhats, we instead stayed with Lucci and him witnessing Mars in his full on demon form - something that even Lucci was shocked to see.

Those two pages were such incredible moments for Lucci as a character who serves fully the Gorosei and the World Government in first place, yet! Yet! In the last part he's on the page, he's allowed and shown to be worried and caring for someone else than himself- after arcs and arcs where he appeared here and there just carrying out on orders and missions without seemingly caring about anyone to much depth before, he's given space to actually express the concern regarding Kaku.

Of course he's still this same of bloodthirsty killer, just like in Enies Lobby, (ch. 382),

both his immediate fight upon seeing Luffy on Egghead, and later against Zoro paints it clear what he's capable of.

Rob Lucci is regarded as one of the strongest assassin's in the Cipher Pol agency CP9 (and later with higher rank of CP0). Just reading his wikia to remember more moments, the section about his personality is mostly compiled of traits like cold-hearted, agressive, and especially taking the Wold Governments meaning of Justice into brutal heights, thinking all is allowed to accomplish his goals/missions/orders.

There's his past and how he has been trained by WG to do as they told him, or even go to length which he wasn't even ask to do, but knowing his position as assassin he did as he wanted.

By the end of Water 7 and leaving to Enies Lobby, where he preteded to be friends with Iceberg, Paulie and other shipwrights for 5 years, he didn't show any regrets leaving the place (contrary to Kaku, who seemed to really enjoy his work as shipwright and is sometimes shown really excited about new places and such)

Up until the chapter 1111 I mostly took him as someone really dutiful to follow orders through and through and not gave it much more thought beside that, but it's true that this already started to shift around chapter 1062, when we see Lucci, Kaku and Stussy on their way to Egghead Island:

"They want us to eliminate the most useful man in the world..."

"The last thing a man as keenly perceptive as you should be doing is looking for answers." (says Stussy, a double agent working for Vegapunk, lol).

I wouldn't call it distrust in WG, yet. At this point he was still adamant about following the mission to kill Vegapunk. But maybe it's more visible that he's thinking more about such orders and their consequences.

He fights Luffy immediately after setting foot on Egghead, calls it as it is in wanting to defeat Luffy and destroy his whole crew without any pretense (and maybe that honesty was why Luffy took his word for their brief cooperation in fighting Seraphim). ch. 1076

He says this honestly, yet after the Strawhats and Vegapunks are healing later on, Lucci still tries to attack Vegapunk, ch.1091

Once knowing Kizaru appeared too, Lucci returnes back to finish his mission, he strikes at Vegapunk again - unsuccessfuly because Stussy takes that attack, and Zoro pushes him from the lab and then keep him occupied until the latest chapter 1111.

And that is a big part of him, eyes always on the mission - get information to his bosses, to Navy/Saturn/Gorosei/Kizaru, and keep his enemies occupied or better yet - dead. This thinking was always present with him to this point in ch. 1111, and that is from where it could lead to even more nuance in his future decisions:

The first time seeing Mars in his demon form there's that blink-and-you-miss it expression of pure horror, hinting that even the highest ranking agents probably had no idea just what the true nature of the Gorosei looks like, and that a sight like that can pull this expression from Lucci:

After that brief shocked state, he goes back to immediately report all informations he has on Vegapunks, Strawhats, even their plan of escape, as well as mentioning the other Cipher Pol agents, trapped in the Lab:

then there's this panel, "well done. no further questions.":

which reminded me of very similar words Lucci said to Robin in Water 7, ch. 348: "you've fulfilled your role. good work."

Maybe it's not intended as parallel, but just that similarity of something he's been clearly hearing from his higher ups, that he added it to his own vocabulary.

But then there's this more surprising part of ch. 1111:

After his shock of seeing that monster in front of him, and after giving Mars all the informations, he still finds the strength to ask him to spare his partner's life, to save Kaku:

What he gets as an answer is along the lines of: "it might be difficult when everyone to us is like ants" and that's the last of Rob Lucci for this chapter.

Mars seem to share this same thinking like Saturn expressed before, while the navy guy heard that even the life of an CP0 agents isn't something Saturn (and Gorosei) would really be troubled over, if lost.

and hearing that from Mars could be an eyeopening moment for Lucci.

They're assassins and an intelligence agency of almost the highest standing among the World Governement, but even the lives of Kaku and such seem to mean nothing to the Gorosei.

The point of the current anime episode 1098 where Lucci & CP0 were just arriving on Egghead reminded me how he was asking Vegapunk about the missing Cipher Pol agents and their disappearances, ch. 1068:

It's not that he was only concerned about Kaku in the latest chapter, but since the end of Water 7 - and seeing how his crew cared for him to pay for his medical bills (cover story chapters 491 - 528, manga only, which is very interesting that the anime didn't adapt that cover story), I think he started to care more about "his own people" - the Cipher Pol agents in general - even to visit to their "hometown" while he was healing and defended that place (and the new young trainees) from the Marines who were sent to attack CP9 after their failure at Enies Lobby:

So the question is.. once Lucci saw just who he was serving all those years, the World Government and the Gorosei - and now seeing Mars in his bird monster form disregarding any care for any lives, even their own agents - will that be a tipping point for him?

He asked Mars to spare Kaku but got an answer that all of them, Cipher Pol agents even on the highest places, are still the same as insects in the eyes of the Gorosei

Could that be something that will help him make a certain change?

My possible theory of what he might do/what might happen (given that he still has the strength to walk after his fight with Zoro):

Find Kaku himself - he was trapped in the bubble like the other Seraphim - we don't know if anyone else un-trapped him in the meantime, and Lucci himself doesn't know about the bubble prison, given his flashback to Kaku is just him laying down, as he last remembers that from the Lab.

Sanji said to Kaku that Lucci abandoned him - something that Lucci kept taunting Zoro with during their fight - about the inability to sacrifice one from their team for the greater good. (It could mean that Kaku either wouldn't count on Lucci coming back, but it would work even better if it was shown Lucci actually coming back for Kaku

and they could go finish their side mission of rescuing the other Cipher Pol agents -

and that's another thing -

even during that brief panel of their rescue -they were thankful to Luffy! Despite their positions of agents of Government, which puts them always directly opposing pirates/Strawhats/Luffy, they appreciated and thanked Luffy for giving them food and saving them, ch. 1090

This together I feel could become a moment of all these agents realizing that Luffy isn't their real enemy - or wake up from their WG brainwashed thinking once they see just who is outside fighting: Gorosei in their monster forms vs. Luffy

I think that Rob Lucci stands there now as one of the few who could sway the Governments power to a tipping point from the inside.

Not precisely helping Luffy or Strawhats, but taking that power of the intelligence agency away from the WG and Marines.

It was shown in multiple pages how the Gorosei care more about the rank and position than any lives of their trained assassins, and think of them as something to be disgarded left and right.

Their intelligence agency and assassins act as a Shield to the WG, and the CP0 even carries that in their name: AEGIS, (a powerful shield from greek mythology).

If the other agents would follow Lucci in a different direction, he could be the one to take away that shield from the Gorosei, uncover one of the layers that act as their security, leaving them more exposed and vulnerable to future attacks (possibly from people like Dragon and Revolutionary army when the time comes for them to strike).

[fanfic-obsessed]

Mediation...?

This one I came up with as I walked to work, and so we will all explore it. It is a Post Empire AU. I know, I do not usually go for post-empire, but the horror and humor of this idea spoke to me.  

Let’s take a look, yeah?

The AU part is that both Obi Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker survived through the end of the Empire. So we don’t have to deal with too many changes too early, Obi Wan was severely injured and in Bacta for the entire time of the OT (or he got injured again just before the events of each movie, whichever works better). 

After Vader comes back to the light, he is fitted with prosthetics that actually fit (including being the correct height). He is still required to wear a mask ,but it is more like Plo Koons than Vader (covering his mouth and nose but not his entire face). The burns he got from Mufastar meant that he had no hair, and the suit he wore for those years meant that he was unnaturally pale. As a consequence he no longer looks like Vader (not just because he lost 5 inches in height with the correct legs).  

Most of the galaxy does not know that Vader and Anakin Skywalker are the same person. Anakin was also largely forgotten, and the few who did remember him (without knowing the Vader connection) would quietly muse about how much Vader seemed to hate Anakin Skywalker, the Hero without Fear (there is no doubt in my head that the person Vader hated the most was Anakin). 

The Rebels do know that Anakin and Vader are the same person. Even as they are working to build the New Republic, no one is quite sure what, if anything, Anakin Skywalker should be charged with (War crimes. So many war crimes, they would need to invent new war crimes specifically for Vader-Though to be fair he is not the only living member of the Empire’s ruling body for this to be true). If he does need to be charged, and they could figure out what with, does his fall to the dark side constitute a mitigating factor (some kind of diminished capacity) or an enhancement (like a hate crime)? Where does killing the Emperor fit into any sentence he would have to serve? Is there even a way to enforce any sentence that a court could impose?

All of these questions and more would have to be answered before any trials could commence (including: how far does “following orders” mitigate actions, and how far up the chain of command can that excuse be used?). In the meanwhile Anakin hangs awkwardly around with his son when he is able. 

Luke wants, deeply, to help his father become comfortable around people again. He also does not quite…understand is probably the best term…understand the depth of the horrors that Vader/Anakin created in his 20 years in the suit.  In his mind he knows, and has been told, most of what Vader has done, but to a certain extent he separated Anakin and Vader in his mind so there is a bit of disconnect (Some understandable cognitive dissonance). 

He is at least aware enough that he is not looking to find Anakin friends among the rebels, who would naturally think of Vader first (and thus it would be uncomfortable for all involved). He understands that asking someone like Leia to try and befriend the being that tortured her then blew up her planet is not a good idea. 

But there is one person he knows thinks of Anakin Skywalker and Darth Vader as two different people. Obi Wan Kenobi.  Who is decidedly avoiding Anakin (in this Anakin can not blame him, the return to the light means that he does actually need to face everything he has done), but is also low key avoiding most people. Mostly Obi Wan is staying around the clones that still live (both to help those clones with their own guilt over their actions while chipped, the fact that their aging has finally been brought to human normal,  and frankly because he likes them more than most people these days-I imagine at least Cody-CodyWan for the win-, Rex, Gregor, Appo, and Wolffe but there are a good crowd), and the few Force users that survived the Purge. Also spending time with Leia.

Now a few things need to be made abundantly clear at this point. Luke does not know of the horrors Anakin perpetrated, as opposed to Vader (For all that Palpatine labeled him Vader before the march on the temple, I always headcanon that his last act as purely Anakin was the slaughter of the children in the council chamber but even then he did not truly become Vader until after he finds out that Padme died), not really. Few enough who live remember the march on the temple, what it meant that the temple (the home of the Jedi) was pillaged and burned. Fewer still ever knew that it was Anakin that led the march and slaughtered the children.  

Oddly enough, Anakin Skywalker is the only person in the galaxy who knows the true horrific extent of his own crimes. 

So Luke, with all the best of intentions, notices that Obi Wan is avoiding Anakin, and decides he will help his father and his teacher/mentor/uncle/that weird dude that lived in the desert makeup. Luke is attributing the awkwardness to Anakin’s 20 years as Vader (which, if we are being completely honest, is the least of the issues between Anakin and Obi Wan).

Luke decides he is going to hold something like a mediation to bridge those 20 years. Anakin is, at this point, incapable of denying Luke anything and agrees (in spite of the fact that even he can tell this will go poorly). Obi Wan does not actually agree as Luke does not tell him what they are meeting for, but once he arrives is semi blackmailed by Luke (leveraging the whole ‘you told me my father was dead thing/you lied to me my whole life’) which really only works because Obi Wan is also fairly vulnerable to young Skywalker children who remind him of the people who Obi Wan has lost (Satine would have done something similar, Obi Wan think nostalgically). Thinking that an audience would help create a more neutral location, Luke makes sure that Obi Wan is accompanied by a few of the clones (Appo in particular), and that Leia, Han, and Mon Mothma (as one of the few people who remember Padme and Anakin) are in the room. There are others. 

Now Luke has all the best intentions with this, but he is, at best, missing some very critical information. At worst he is taking after one of his father’s worst traits (so sure he can fix a relationship that is not his, and is probably better left broken). 

Both Anakin and Obi Wan silently agree to humor the sunshine boy.  At first they try to keep it to lighter disagreements and misunderstandings  (who saved who and who made the situation worse kind of thing). Anakin brings up at one point being unhappy that Obi Wan hid his children from him for almost 20 years, Obi Wan corrects that he hid them for almost 10 years from Vader, since he believed Anakin actually dead for the first 10, during which Vader maintained that Anakin was dead. Anakin withdraws his objection.

Then Anakin brings up the limb removal on Mustafar (which causes most of the room to go still, no one but the clones-whom Obi Wan had told- knew about the Mustafar fight). Obi Wan shoots back with an slightly irate rejoinder that it was a really measured response considering that Anakin had just: led a group of brainwashed soldiers into their home and slaughtered as many men, women, and children that he could; choked his very pregnant wife; ignored repeated attempts Obi Wan made to end the fight without further violence. 

It was at this point that Appo started to have a panic attack (being one of the few surviving Clones who was actually there in the temple).  Obi Wan looked over at Luke, apologized and said this was not a good idea.  Then left with the clones, all trying to calm Appo back down. 

The entire room is just…dead silence. Like Luke everyone, barring Anakin who did know this was going to go so badly, had sort of forgotten that Obi Wan was more than the weird desert guy who hung around with the clones, and sometimes Leia.  Luke is sitting there, really pale (He did have good intentions).

Like the people who realized the Jedi suffered a genocide when the Empire came into power had mostly died, the few that had survived all these years had buried that knowledge under the subsequent horrors of the Empire (They also largely forgot, or didn’t understand the horror of the chips both in the context of Order 66 and following orders in the Empire). It was not done out of maliciousness, or even ignorance, because the Jedi and the Clones (in that they lost everything of themselves and their culture in a moment) may have been the first genocide of the Empire but it was not the last. 

I’m not sure where it would go from there, other than Anakin is charged with so many war crimes and accepts whatever punishment is determined.

[yippeeometer]

A (correct) timeline of NE thanksgiving

4:00AM: Hammy arrives. the party isn't supposed to start for another many hours, but he went out drinking and, when realizing he couldnt drive, simply treked the many miles to mass's house. it took him several days. no one is awake when he arrives so he sets about on a sidequest trying to find some rocks to throw at mass's window.

5:00AM: Hammy is allowed in the house. it turns out maine was also staying there, but was so shocked and bewildered by the idea of having to host before he was ready that he laid face down on the floor so Hammy would think he was a rug. Hammy notices him very easily. They won't be speaking for a few hours.

7:00AM: actual thanksgiving prep begins. Mass and Penn divorce 5 times over how to correctly cook a turkey. maine stares into the camera and serves child of divorce whilst taking notes for his next murder mystery. somewhere, many miles away, York is visibly shaking and sweating at the idea of having to talk to people.

8:00AM: First political argument. Cut arrives under the guise of being there to help prep, but actually wants the ego boost of having a life slightly more put together than these lunatics. singlehandedly almost cancels thanksgiving for everyone for not getting the fuck out the kicthen fast enough.

10:00 AM: nothing has been done for two hours. PA and Hammy ripping cables out the tv angrily muttering to themselves. Theyre actively doing each other hindrance as Hammy is sure hes doing this for the parade and PA's only focus is the football. luckily, they havent communicated since the 1800s so the argument can be delayed at least an hour. mass stood outside like ben affleck w a cigarette rekindling his relationship with god to ask him to just let the meteor hit.

11:00AM: another political argument. dela, upon figuring out he was not a key part of this years celebrations, threatens to join the south and tell them all the family recipes. unfortunately, the person he complains about this to is NJ, who was kicked out the chat for too many your mom jokes and doesn't even know whats going on. dela is now faced with the worlds most difficult decision; hold this fuck up above everyone silently or bitch about it to their faces. one of the options involves carpooling with new jersey.

1:00PM: Monty arrives. despite being given a list of things he was supposed to bring, he completely forgot and brought tape, maple syrup and insulated tubes from the nearest gas station. the only reason he doesn't die on the doorstep is bc maine says 'at least theyre edible' and everyone focuses on that bullshit instead. This is a mistake, as one of the things on his list was Rhode Island. The most happy PA looks all day is when he says he'll go get him before anyone else can offer. he and mass divorce once more over him being wayyyy to happy to get away from this.

2:00PM: NJ and dela arrive. dela instantly makes a big deal of mass fucking up the invites. mass threatens to throw him in a lake bc fuck you, he invented thanksgiving, he gets to host. Hammy has long since given up on the tv, and is now establishing a complicated system of terrible drawings w monty and maine so they can experience the parade without seeing it. NJ banned from the kitchen bc hes unable to not be a total control freak.

4:00PM: Rhode and PA arrive. Rhode is instantly pissy and threatens to turn monty into a frittata. is only stopped by the fact that cut is there and he hates his ex-wife more. NJ asks why hammy didn't just use the remote to turn on the tv, to which PA has to refrain himself from smiling. the remote is in his car. fuck that fucking parade. the dinner finally starts.

5:00PM: 3rd political argument. this one is slightly more advanced in the fact no one can hear what anyone else is saying, so they just argue about whatever. communism. the bruins. what a frittata is. York has not shown up yet. Cut tries texting him to ask where he is and he says 'fuck off, thsi number isnt in use'- which is suspicious bc autogenerated texts dont normally contain 'fuck'. they go around saying what theyre thankful for. 80% of the answers are to do with not being from jersey. Nj takes a 45 minute smoke break during which he googles 'fbi' 'how to get the fbi to raid you' 'how to get rid of the family'.

6:00PM: random 4 minutes of actual feelings. very odd. everyone feels deeply uncomfortable with saying they genuinely like each other.

7:00PM: York finally arrives. when asked where hes been, he says the sight of mass's red sox doormat repeled him like a demon with a ring of salt. so he went home. the only reason he's back is becuase its too dark to see it. he brings cheesecake, which causes a great deal more fighting than expected as they all genuinely crash out at the concept of a cheesecake made in a way tehy didn't expect. rhode and mass stood in the garden, again like ben affleck, thinking of the sad relity of their love of thanksgiving vs the people theyre surrounded by.

8:00: 4th political argument. they decide to resolve it with a game of football, forgetting that its pitch black outside and maine has the night blindness of a mole. unfortunately for maine, running at speeds not to be expected for a casual game, rhode is only 5 apples tall- maine instantly faceplants. mass has been doing shots since he woke up and can't even say what a bone is anymore. that brings him to the second, worse choice. dela.

10:00PM: final political argument. they all agree this has been a waste of time. they all agree they hate each other. they stay in mass's house for hours more, which seems to contridict this.